Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Panhima (2)
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The students of the Cradle Knight Department are fundamentally guided by the spirit of advancing without retreat in battle.
No matter who the opponent is, they charge forward bravely first, never backing down, and fight with all their might.
⋯⋯That was certainly the case.
“Who wants to go?”
“⋯⋯.”
Seeing the silent freshmen, the second-year senior let out a sigh filled with disappointment.
Ah, even in Cradle, the continent's top academy, the talent pool is this thin.
No matter who the opponent is, charging in with the spirit of advancing without retreat—that's what an imperial knight should do.
No helping it. He would have to set an example himself.
The second-year adopted a solemn expression as he gazed at the outsider standing firm outside the building.
A massive circle was drawn on the ground nearby, and she stood within it—as if saying that anyone who wanted to fight her should step inside.
“Alright, outsider! I’ll be your oppon—”
Before he could finish his line, the moment his foot crossed the circle’s boundary, a sword came flying and smashed into the second-year’s jaw.
The freshmen fell silent as they watched their senior crumple like a puppet with its strings cut.
“⋯⋯.”
The woman who had demolished the second-year in one strike silently brushed back the hair that had fallen over her shoulder.
She hadn’t even broken a sweat—boredom itself lingered in the corners of her eyes.
Nearby, the bodies of other students who had charged in to uphold the Knight Department’s honor—and met the same fate—formed a veritable mountain.
No, at this point, the ones who deserved praise were the students who had still dared to charge after witnessing that.
“⋯⋯Should we call in some support from the Magic Department?”
One of the freshmen, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke up.
Considering the usual rivalry between the Knight and Magic Departments, it wouldn’t be surprising if he were treated like a madman for suggesting it—but the situation was what it was.
If things continued like this, the honor of the entire Cradle was at risk from that single unidentified person over there.
But even that proposal wasn’t the strangest thing in the current circumstances.
“Did you arrive late?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Someone tried using magic to enter the circle earlier, but their spell got sliced by a sword and they got beaten senseless.”
“⋯⋯.”
“They took an even worse beating than the Knight Department folks. Looks like she hates magic.”
“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”
Ah, someone had already tried that.
Meanwhile, the woman inside the circle stabbed her weapon into the center of the ring and scanned her surroundings.
Her sharp gaze seemed to ask if there were any more takers.
“⋯⋯.”
But no one stepped forward.
After she had made such a spectacle, no one could easily set foot in there.
Watching them, the woman crossed her arms with a look of disdain, narrowing her eyes.
And in that pose, certain parts were inevitably accentuated.
“⋯⋯.”
“⋯⋯.”
“⋯⋯Stop staring so blatantly, you idiot.”
“You’re the one making it obvious.”
⋯⋯They were big.
Those certain parts.
An overwhelming presence that naturally drew everyone’s eyes.
And as she noticed every man nearby with their gazes fixed squarely on her chest, the woman’s eyes grew even fiercer.
“—! ----!!”
Something exploded from her in words far more savage than before.
But it was a language no one could understand.
If they could at least make out what she was saying, they might be able to calm her down.
That was the exact sentiment of someone who had just arrived on the scene.
“Man, no idea what she’s saying.”
At the sudden voice, the woman inside the circle’s eyes widened.
Unlike everyone else she had demolished in one hit upon entering, the owner of this voice had approached without her even noticing.
“Guess we need to calm her down first.”
“—!”
The woman yanked her sword from the ground in an instant and spun around.
A front kick aimed at her abdomen was blocked, sending her body sliding backward.
With a crunch of shattering stone—kwagagak—the ground cracked under her as she was pushed back, proving the sheer physical force behind that strike.
“—Well, now.”
Shea grinned.
He had aimed to knock her out in one blow, but she had reacted to it.
And quite effortlessly, at that.
‘Not student-level at all.’
She looked about freshman age, though.
Why were there so many promising youngsters to watch out for at Cradle this year?
As Shea mulled that over, the woman regained her balance and stood with narrowed eyes.
She gave a formal bow, then assumed her stance and pointed her sword at Shea.
“Panhima.”
“⋯⋯?”
Shea tilted his head, and the woman frowned, repeating it more fiercely than before.
“Panhima!”
“Hmm, what’s that mean? Sounds like a name.”
That question wasn’t directed at the woman in front of him.
“It’s the duel etiquette.”
Carlyle stood at the circle’s edge and explained.
“—‘Pan’ means the head of a clan. What follows is the clan name. She’s showing respect because she’s met an opponent worthy of facing seriously.”
Panhima. Head of the Haima Clan.
She deemed him a worthy adversary, so he should reveal his name in turn.
The highest form of courtesy one of ‘clan head’ rank from the East could offer.
It was a ritual he remembered seeing before.
Carlyle cautiously stepped into the circle.
“⋯⋯—”
Panhima looked at him entering and said something.
“⋯⋯What’s she saying now?”
It would sound like gibberish to anyone else.
But to Carlyle’s ears, it came across like this.
“If you’re not going to fight, get lost. I’ve got no business with a slug that looks like an old hag parasite.”
“How’s the clan head going to manage with such a foul mouth?”
Panhima stared at Carlyle in shock.
It was an expression leagues beyond what she’d shown during her exchange with Shea—her gaping mouth and trembling eyes perfectly conveying her bewilderment.
That made sense.
What had just come from Carlyle’s mouth was her native tongue.
A perfectly understandable reaction.
The Divine Kingdom, Panhima’s homeland, was infamous for its extreme isolationist diplomacy. Even among the far-east continent’s cultures that prized distant relations as a virtue, it pursued the most radical seclusion policy.
Moreover, the Divine Kingdom’s people shared incredibly tight bonds among themselves.
To the point where, rather than exposing their culture to outsiders, there was a prevailing sentiment that anyone who knew it must be treated ‘amicably.’
And yet.
No one would expect to encounter someone speaking their native tongue in the empire, thousands of miles from home.
“⋯⋯You, a barbarian, how do you speak the Divine Kingdom’s language⋯⋯?”
“Someone taught me.”
⋯⋯Learned it right here from the person standing before him.
Through the countless cycles he’d endured.
“⋯⋯.”
Panhima lowered her sword with a dazed expression.
“⋯⋯A compatriot who shares the will of our great ancestors.”
⋯⋯No doubt about it.
The fierce aura she’d exuded until now was gone, replaced by a voice as gentle as could be.
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“So.”
In the dean’s office, Shea gazed wonderingly at Panhima, who sat primly.
The woman who had caused such chaos just moments ago had turned compliant after a few words with Carlyle—it was astonishing.
“How’d you do it? Did you charm her in that short time or something?”
“⋯⋯Not quite. But she’ll behave as long as I’m around.”
The Divine Kingdom, Panhima’s homeland, demanded near-absolute loyalty to their own rules and norms.
Thus.
Carlyle’s role wasn’t just as her interpreter—he was more like a control device to keep her tethered to civilized behavior.
“So, what’s she here at Cradle for? What’s her goal?”
“⋯⋯She came looking for someone strong.”
“What?”
“She wandered into the biggest building around here on impulse, planning to take down the strongest person and build her reputation.”
“⋯⋯.”
It was like some wandering swordsman on a dojo-destroying spree.
“Why do something like that?”
“⋯⋯She’s searching for someone, and thought if she raised her fame, that person might seek her out.”
⋯⋯A reason Carlyle knew well.
It was her lifelong wish.
‘Her⋯⋯younger sibling, right?’
She had drifted all the way here on a whim, chasing traces of a long-lost sibling.
With no common language and no desire to mingle with outsiders from the Divine Kingdom, that was likely the only method she could think of.
“I see.”
Shea eyed Panhima up and down.
“Then tell her to stick around for a while. Help her adjust—stay by her side.”
“⋯⋯.”
What was this old man saying?
“⋯⋯Pardon?”
“Just kicking her out seems like a waste of talent. Polish her up a bit, and she could be useful.”
“⋯⋯.”
“Her goal’s a bit odd, but we can fulfill it somehow. She listens to you better than anyone else. That should work fine, right?”
⋯⋯It was Carlyle’s misfortune that Cradle’s dean was such an utter eccentric.
Keep her by his side and attend to her?
‘Panhima’s no slouch in the eccentricity department either.’
Recalling her actions in his past life, she was no minor oddball—not on Gray’s level, but close.
A sharp one who could cause any manner of trouble.
⋯⋯Starting with calling everyone outside the Divine Kingdom ‘barbarians.’
“So. You gonna do it?”
“⋯⋯.”
But he had no choice, clearly.
No one else could put a leash on her and manage her.
The problem was the one person who openly took issue with that fact.
“Ah, perfect timing.”
Running into Gray—who looked like bad news—in the hallway was undoubtedly a massive stroke of misfortune.
⋯⋯On second thought, maybe not so unfortunate. She spent half her day asking him for favors anyway. Not running into her would be stranger.
“I’m craving something for dinner. Prepare—”
Gray’s words cut off abruptly.
Thanks to spotting Panhima behind Carlyle.
“⋯⋯Who’s that?”
Gray spoke with a slightly stiffened expression.
Behind him, Panhima said in a dignified tone,
“Tell me. Who is this vulgar-looking brat?”
“⋯⋯.”
⋯⋯Translating that verbatim would get heads smashed.
“⋯⋯Sorry, Lady. I’ll introduce her later, so if you’ll just—”
Carlyle bowed his head, trying to defuse the situation somehow, but someone grabbed his shoulder as he did.
“No, compatriot.”
Panhima declared solemnly.
“Bowing and fawning to a barbarian? How could one who inherits the will of our great ancestors act so recklessly?”
“⋯⋯.”
⋯⋯Uh, no.
He hadn’t expected this.
Gray’s face began to crumple.
Even without understanding Panhima’s words, the fact that she dared ‘interrupt’ while speaking to Carlyle had veins bulging on her forehead.
“⋯⋯Hey.”
She opened her mouth in a voice seething with anger.
“Who’s this, and what the hell is she doing?”
“⋯⋯Lady. I can explain.”
As Carlyle broke out in cold sweat and spoke, Panhima frowned, glancing back and forth between Gray and him.
She clearly didn’t like seeing him so troubled.
“Compatriot. Is this brat the one troubling you?”
“No, not at all. Please step back for a moment?”
Gray, meanwhile, looked equally displeased.
She didn’t appreciate Carlyle and Panhima conversing in a language only they understood.
“⋯⋯What are you two saying? Who is she, clinging to you like that?”
“—Lady, no, just a moment.”
“⋯⋯.”
“⋯⋯.”
The situation grew swampier by the second.
Tempers flared before words could even be exchanged.
“⋯⋯.”
And in such situations, one person always snapped first.
Gray’s hand twitched toward the holy sword slung on her back, veins pulsing on her forehead.
“⋯⋯Wanna go, bitch?”
“⋯⋯.”
Panhima’s eyes narrowed at the sight.
Her hand went to the sword at her waist, while her other arm yanked Carlyle into a tight embrace.
Likely to shield him from any potential threat.
“Step back, compatriot. As expected from such vulgar aura, she knows no manners.”
“⋯⋯No, both of you, wait—”
Carlyle tried to speak.
But his mouth snapped shut.
He had just realized how this looked.
Panhima probably hadn’t intended it.
But it was inevitable with certain body parts being so prominent.
⋯⋯He broke into a cold sweat as he felt the press of Panhima’s ample chest against his.
So, right now, from his perspective—
Panhima had one arm around Carlyle, rubbing her voluptuous bosom against his chest, while aiming her weapon at Gray approaching from the front.
To any onlooker, that would look like—
⋯⋯Protecting a ‘very intimate companion’ from an outsider.
Far more intimately than necessary.
And how Gray would feel seeing that—
“⋯⋯.”
Carlyle sensed it from her expression.
Ah.
We’re screwed.
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