Sparring with the Monster - 1
Everyone knows that undead in fantasy stories aren't exactly treated kindly. Monsters that hate the living. Castrated upon receiving new life. Outcasts rejected by priests for defying the gods' laws.
But this is a soft-hearted romance fantasy world, so even with the Holy Kingdom of priests right there, the criteria for "acceptable" undead were pretty lenient.
Thus.
Clack.
"I'm Luke Eahenril, in charge of 'Fundamentals and Understanding of Swordsmanship.'"
A skeleton emitting blue soulfire from its eye sockets standing at the podium right in front of me wasn't a stretch either.
Sleek, pristine white bones. Every time it opened its mouth, a human voice emerged with a clacking sound. No vocal cords, but somehow it spoke. And that blue flame flickering in its right eye socket.
The professor introduced himself as Luke Eahenril, a textbook skeleton. The cadets were stunned by the sudden undead appearance.
Some even applauded sincerely, eyes shining with admiration. Even Asdel from the Holy Kingdom was just surprised, not contemptuous. Probably because that skeleton on the podium was Luke Eahenril.
Luke Eahenril. A mysterious figure whose arrival at the academy no one knew. Rumors said the Red Sphere brought him, or he spawned naturally, or he was a former student who overworked to death and got turned undead by another professor.
The star of endless gossip. One of Lumiere Academy's Seven Wonders.
And another title defining him: Mentor of Heroes.
Swordsmen who'd passed under his hand all agreed: "Third-rate as a living being, but first-rate among first-rates as a teacher."
Most of the continent's top swordsmen were his disciples. Enough said.
Someone might say it's because he teaches basics, but even Sword Sovereign was his student and publicly respects him. His fame wasn't empty.
In the game, he was just comic relief, and that was all the setting revealed.
But he wasn't weak. In the story, he was strong—single-handedly crushing the foes that later gave the protagonists hell during the academy raid.
Impressive for a low-tier undead. A professor had to be at least Sword Master level, right? Around 70?
Huh? Did I see that wrong?
I rubbed my eyes and checked the alert again. No change—90 glared back at me.
Fuck, 90? If Insight was accurate, this bony bastard was on par with that 500-year-old chicken coop dean.
Lumiere Academy indeed. Not just anyone becomes a professor here.
"...Um, Sir Ian?"
Fuck, that tickles. A sudden breath and voice in my ear made it itch like crazy.
Were my ears always this sensitive? It was Iris whispering.
"Drop the 'sir,' milady. What's up?"
"Why is there a skeleton at the academy?"
"Academy students say it's the curse you can't escape. Slaves to the professors."
Iris stared at Professor Luke in horror.
"The academy is terrifying..."
"Sometimes a professor will suddenly offer to buy you food."
"You just follow?"
"...That's when you gotta be careful."
This girl's gonna get in big trouble.
Don't follow strangers offering candy.
Professor Luke clacked his bony fingers on the podium, then opened his jaw.
Clack!
"Since it's still the adjustment period and orientation, I'll keep this lecture brief."
The clacking jaw was vivid as he spoke.
"The first step in learning the sword is knowing thyself when wielding it. Magic department? Just plop your hand on the crystal orb. But we can't do that, unfortunately."
His eye flames shrank, like narrowed eyes.
"Today's first lesson: sparring."
In short: too lazy to teach, so fight among yourselves.
Do undead even feel lazy?
Luke scanned the cadets, clacked, pointed a bony finger.
The target: a woman with jet-black hair and blood-red eyes.
"Was gonna pick randomly, but... Miss Angelica? Care to come up?"
Angelica di Olivier.
She nodded, stepped forward slowly.
Luke raised a bony index finger at her.
"Special privilege for the top student. Pick your opponent, Miss Angelica."
She scanned the room; most nobles avoided her gaze.
No wonder. Top ranker from Karl Kingdom. Obvious beatdown. No one wants that, especially imperial nobles hating to lose to Karl.
Only commoners, Iris, and the capture targets met her eyes.
If story went as planned: she'd challenge a protagonist, win, spark his interest in her talent.
And I'd copy their skills with Insight, licking the plate clean.
Perfect plan...
Then I accidentally locked eyes with her red stare.
No worries—she'd pick a protagonist...
But her bloody gaze stuck to me.
Eh? Shouldn't she look away by now?
Why won't she stop staring at me?
Hey, come on...
"Ian de Logres."
Fuck.
Don't do this, please. Say it was a slip.
But no.
"I'll nominate Ian as my sparring opponent."
Confirmation kill.
Fuck this.
2m hulking muscle giant vs. fragile beauty. Looks unfair, but it is unfair as hell.
Why me? 2nd Prince is there, your boss Charles too. Why pick poor me?
I wanted to yell at the monster ahead with her wooden sword.
Angelica di Olivier. Slender, curvaceous, vacant beauty. But a sword user who beat Sword Masters in spars. A monster in lady's clothing.
Fight for real? Only doom.
What can I do? Take one hit and drop?
If she picked me to humiliate? Wrong target. I'm pro at falling spectacularly.
Quick hit, lie down, done...
Oath of Chivalry activated.
The Knightly Stars watch you.
The voyeur saints said: no quick KO, or you're screwed.
Fuck. Can't even go easy.
Guess I trust it then.
Reward from Oath of Chivalry after smashing cultists. Bonus for slaying heretics? Dropped a skill book.
Thought only via Knightly Stars comms, but level up or something changed it.
The skill:
◈ A saga written by one of the Knightly Stars, the One-Armed Knight.
◈ Grants Skill: Insight of the One Who Saw the End upon use.
Insight of the One Who Saw the End Lv.1
May you survive and reach the end.
— The One-Armed Knight —
◈ Calculates and predicts the future, discerning a thousand possibilities.
Discern a thousand possibilities, pick the winning one. No way none lead to victory, right?
I believed that.
Clack!
"Ian de Logres vs. Angelica di Olivier. Sparring begins."
Insight of the One Who Saw the End activated.
Predicting a thousand possibilities.
As she raised her sword.
Discerned possibilities: 0
I realized it was a delusion.
The air shifted as Angelica gripped her sword. Her presence changed. No mana or sword aura, yet her small frame loomed large. Human? Doubtful.
Damn. Just take the hit and end it.
The Knightly Stars watch you.
Facing impossible foes is chivalry, but this is too much.
Then.
Angelica stepped forward.
Crack!
Silent massive force slammed me. One sound, but I felt four hits in that instant.
Fucking hurts. Pure wooden sword power. Without armor, I'd be out.
She couldn't see the armor, though.
Insight activated.
Confirmed Angelica's saga, Olivier-Style Swordsmanship.
Acquiring Olivier-Style Swordsmanship......
Insight kicked in, eyes copying her technique. But stuck on "acquiring." Too much to copy from one exchange.
Hah.
I sighed deeply.
"I am Ian de Logres. Angelica di Olivier, I challenge you to a duel."
Clash for real then. Can't avoid? Enjoy it, as Isabella said.
Room went silent. Expected jeers, but maybe from my earlier antics. Or her aura crushed them.
Clack!
"Oh, that chivalry line from the knights' tales? Romantic."
Only Luke could crack his jaw in this mood.
Insight of the End was useless. Only hope: copy her swordsmanship and counter directly.
No other way. Countering a Sword Master-beater? And survive till copy finishes?
Still. Face impossible foes, reach for the stars. Isn't that my goal?
Just an extension.
Come at me, Angelica. Break her head-on...
Crack!
Still hurts taking it frontal.
The sword was simple.
Interest sparked sword aura. Swung freely, parried freely.
When friends sipped tea, I swung swords. Fun.
Swung easiest, most fun. Thought others grinding harder felt the same.
Then.
Beat an uncle without mana or aura. Realized: I'm not normal.
Gazes after beating Uncle Astolfo: admiration, despair, genius, monster, monster, monster monster monster monster monster.
Wall between us. Ladies I thought friends left with similar eyes.
Uncles didn't see it that way. Felt alone.
Hated the sword that built walls. Haven't swung in earnest since.
Hated but wouldn't quit. Swung freely, mindlessly.
Then Father said go to academy. For Charles's enrollment, needed peers—me.
Hated it, said nothing to learn. But Father, always listening, insisted.
Followed Charles to the banquet.
"Milady, coming along?"
Met a weirdo. Suggested watching couples fight. Hid massive frame behind thin pillar.
Blocked 2nd Prince's slap on a duke's daughter, challenged to duel.
His bare-hand spar was real. Prince's moves logical, but he predicted, blocked all.
Even I lacked confidence winning him. Zero error in life-or-death stakes. Victory.
To "future sight?" absurd claim: "I'm a genius."
Arrogant. But "genius" hooked me. First since uncle.
Interest in Ian.
Same kind maybe.
So when skeleton prof said pick opponent, chose him fiddling with pen.
What if same kind? Understanding me?
Raised sword, his eyes matched that time.
Monster. Why look like that? Why me? You too...
Bit lip. Swung.
Unlike bare-hand, he took it clean. Dull thwack.
Realized: didn't block. Couldn't.
Ah. Not you either. Monster alone.
Raised sword to end it.
But his eyes changed.
Eh? Not monster, genius, or kin. New pattern. Unseen eyes.
Still. Eyes don't win.
From swing: he can't win.
But.
Hit dozens times. No collapse.
His swings missed. Took hits, unyielding.
Stared same eyes.
Why? Knows he loses.
'Angelica, I really want you at the academy.'
Why.
'But nothing to learn there.'
Not fall?
'Not to learn. To broaden insight.'
Why still those eyes.
'Insight?'
On me.
'Yes. World's vast. Connections everywhere. Friends to spark interest.'
Suddenly, he raised sword again. Futile.
Won't reach.
Assumed failure.
'Such people exist?'
Thwack!
His sword curved. Grazed slightly.
"Just once now."
One in thousand. Luck? Still, success.
'Met your mom that way.'
"Getting familiar. Round two, Angelica."
His sword touched me for sure.