New Technique: Glan Braden
Fortunately, I managed to get into the Imperial Central Academy, the empire's top academy. With the help of the mercenary group that protected me like a father and raised me like a mother, I scraped together just enough funds to make my way to the capital.
I have to get strong. Strong enough to repay everyone.
I wasn't nobility or anything special, but thanks to my unique birth, I could wield both sword and magic—which got me qualified to take the entrance exam for the Imperial Central Academy. And today was move-in day for the dorms.
What's that? That girl?
As I headed to the dorms with my backpack slung over my shoulder, I felt an intense gaze and naturally turned my head. There was a girl quietly watching me. No—her eyes were closed.
How could she have such a piercing stare with her eyes closed? It didn't make sense, but I decided not to worry about it and kept walking.
No... wait. She might have some eye condition.
I tried to ignore it, but that thought made me stop in my tracks. When you're debating whether to help someone, it's best to just go up and ask. You might miss the chance otherwise. I turned toward her and approached.
Even with her eyes closed, she must have heard me, because she turned her head my way.
"If it's not prying, can I help you with something?"
"Pardon?"
"Oh, sorry. You were just standing there with your eyes closed, so I thought you might be having trouble..."
The mercenary group I grew up in had rules. No matter how big the payout, we don't harm the weak. And we don't ignore people in need. The captain always said that was what separated mercenaries from adventurers.
If she really was blind, she could get lost in the middle of this massive academy.
"Ah, my eyes aren't blind. Glan. I've been rude."
"...!"
But she just gave a faint smile at my reaction. In that instant, I felt something was off. It was like she knew exactly what I was thinking. And she knew my name. How?
"We'll be seeing a lot of each other, Glan. I hope your path ahead is smooth."
With that, she vanished. Not figuratively—she really disappeared. Faster than my eyes could track, like flipping a page.
"What... was that?"
Suspicious. Some kind of warning? But... from who? Why?
"Ah."
When I snapped out of it, I had drawn my sword and was aiming it at where she'd been. But nothing happened after that.
Anyway, I'd made face-to-face contact with the protagonist. Just like in the original story, he wouldn't turn against me right away. Not until it came out that I was a traitor siding with the empire.
Check-in at the dorms went smoothly, and the moment I stepped into the special class's luxurious dorm, what I did was dive straight into "reading comics."
"Annette? Could you bring some macarons and juice, please?"
"Right away, miss."
"Ah...! Miss! Want some comic recommendations?"
Yuna, who was cleaning nearby, perked up when she saw me settling in for comic time. She seemed to know a lot about them—practically itching to recommend some. I get that urge sometimes myself. Like when I crave smashing something.
In that way, she and I were kindred spirits. I nodded generously.
"Go ahead."
"How about this one? It's called Flower Over Florist, but... um, I hope you don't mind BL...?"
"Back to work. Now."
I jumped at "BL." Got it... Yuna was dangerous. I'd have to keep my guard up around her.
Anyway, I dove into comics featuring badass protagonists. Key traits: the hero has to be cool, and get praised and adored by allies and crowds alike.
Perfect. Data was accumulating.
This debut scene isn't bad either...
I grabbed a notepad and jotted down traits of cool protagonists. First off, they don't appear right away. They show up at the crisis moment, with perfect timing. Timing is crucial for dramatic flair.
They also had signature moves, their trademarks.
I need to develop one too...
In one comic, the hero slices foes just by drawing his sword. I considered imitating a quick-draw, but since I sometimes use wooden swords, I passed.
Another drops a massive meteor. But that's no joke—my dad could do that too—so pass.
Better to create an original move than copy. Then a fighting comic caught my eye.
"Oh... this could work."
The hero's trademark in that fighting comic was the brutally simple yet insanely cool "128 Strikes." Against enemies swarming from all eight directions, he unleashes 128 punches—super fast and precise. Plus, he could scale it to powers of two: 64, 32, etc., for controlled power.
I grinned.
"Annette, sorry, could you tidy up the comics?"
"Of course, miss."
I grabbed the Black Demon Sword leaning against the wall and headed straight out of the dorm.
When deciding on a technique to become my trademark, first things first: name it. I settled on "Kenbu 32 Strike." Thirty-two sword swings, thirty-two strikes. The key was speed and power—fast enough that no one could track it with their eyes.
Outside the capital in the woods, I closed my eyes and drew the Black Demon Sword.
"I'll take you on with my eyes closed."
Pretending enemies were there, I visualized myself using the technique. Full focus on my movements. I felt my muscles. My breath. The unavoidable vibrations of a human body.
Horizontal slash first, then diagonal, horizontal again, diagonal. Changing directions constantly. That creates six sword paths. Good. Now rotate them across eight directions around me?
"Kenbu 32 Strike."
Whoosh—! Boom—!
Dust kicked up. It was so fast, it felt like one massive barrage. My Kenbu 32 Strike had devastated everything in a three-meter radius. Tree branches fell cleanly sliced to the ground.
"Hoo..."
One full-focus try, and it was tougher than expected. I thought I'd gotten stronger, but 64 strikes might be pushing it. Still, 32 was cool enough.
I sheathed the Black Demon Sword and slowly released my focus. As it unwound, my awareness expanded naturally. Ground, trees, sky, air, wind. And... a terrified person fleeing.
"Huh...?"
"Gasp...!"
Someone must've been watching. Awkward... From the voice and running form, a guy. Black hood, dangling with all sorts of trinkets. What...? Black mage?
Eh, whatever. I knew weirdos lurked outside the capital.
"Gasp...! Gasp...! Crazy bitch! Should've ignored my curiosity!"
Villaint, an adventurer from the kingdom. He was actually on a well-paid mission.
Just supposed to scout the terrain near the capital and done...!
Simple job: map the area around the capital's walls and hand it over. He didn't know the reason or purpose. Just told to "keep your identity hidden," so he'd pulled his hood low and gotten to work.
But then some woman showed up and ruined it. She looked blind with her eyes closed. Yet her actions were bizarre. She'd zeroed in on his hiding spot perfectly, eyes shut.
Then she drew her sword, pointed it at him, and grinned.
—"I'll take you on with my eyes closed."
Just thinking about it gave Villaint chills. One swing from that blindfolded woman, and he'd have been diced up on the ground.
She acted like she knew him. Like she saw everything despite closed eyes. It filled him with unknown dread.
But in the end, he completed the mission.
"Haa... No more sketchy jobs like this."
He'd mapped every terrain feature around the capital, even noting the blindfolded swordswoman. Then he headed to the rendezvous with his clients and handed over all the info.
The clients hid their faces with black hoods and masks too. They skimmed the intel, then pointed at something.
"What's this? Blind woman swordfighter?"
"I... I don't know. She spotted me out of nowhere and tried to kill me, so I ran. That's all."
"No other oddities?"
"None."
"We'll look into her. And..."
Shing— The clients drew their swords. And aimed them at adventurer Villaint.
"Wh-what the hell?!"
"Better to eliminate witnesses. Good work till now."
"You bastards...!"
Slice—!
With a gruesome sound, Villaint's head hit the ground. The client pocketed the intel, wiped his sword.
"Woman swordfighter...? Might know who we are."
"What now?"
"Dig deeper. Can't afford screw-ups."
The black-hooded clients said that, lit a fire by Villaint's corpse, and torched the rendezvous spot. They grabbed what they needed and fled.
After the blaze, the building was ash—nothing left.