Chapter 6: The First Letter (6)
Chapter 6: The First Letter (6)
Class began.
The ‘Swordsmanship Practice’ course led by Professor Derek was a class that felt more like a training session. Most of the time was spent swinging swords, sparring, or picking a day to participate in the subjugation of low-level demonic beasts.
Even if it weren't for the lecture, these were activities any student in the Swordsmanship Department would be doing anyway. That was why the Swordsmanship Practice course was always popular.
If you had to do it regardless, you might as well get credit for it.
And above all, wasn't the Swordsmanship Department mostly made up of the physical types? Many preferred sweating and moving their bodies over getting a headache from learning theory in a classroom.
However, today’s class lacked its usual vitality. The reason was simple. The attention of the students, who should have been focusing on their training, was fixed on someone.
That ‘someone’ was, needless to say, me. My head was already starting to throb.
Everyone was sending expectant looks my way, but to be honest, I didn't have the confidence to beat Seria. I was in a situation where I didn't even know what trick the 'me' from last week had used.
At least there was a clue: ‘Muscles are honest when you only deal with demonic beasts.’ But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't understand what that meant.
Was I supposed to observe how the opponent's muscles moved amidst a frantic exchange of offense and defense?
Even if I had that level of observation, I wouldn't be able to see the parts covered by clothing. It was a complete conundrum.
After agonizing over it for a long time without finding an answer, I was now swinging my sword with a half-resigned attitude.
Perhaps because the tension had left my body, my sword path was clean. Come to think of it, my mana capacity seemed to have increased a bit, and my meridian points felt quite widened.
What on earth happened during the past week? The question reared its head once more, but I soon suppressed my curiosity.
Even so, I was still no match for Seria Yurdina. She was an opponent who had spent her entire life honing a heaven-sent talent. It was impossible to close that gap in a single week.
As I was absentmindedly swinging my sword, Professor Derek approached my side before I knew it.
Brown hair, a scar running across the middle of his face, and a rugged, bronze-tanned body.
He boasted a sturdy physique that made it hard to believe he was nearing old age. It was a tough, masculine body, befitting a man who had once roamed all sorts of forbidden zones hunting demonic beasts.
He watched me swing my sword with his arms crossed for a while, then spoke in a satisfied voice.
“You’ve dropped the killing intent.”
“……Pardon?”
I could only respond with a question to the sudden compliment. Despite my bewildered look, Professor Derek only nodded with a smile. His hand stroked his bushy beard.
“I said you dropped the killing intent. Very well done. The sword I saw from you last time was consumed by the goal of killing someone. Of course, if you reach a certain level, a terrifying killing sword is born, but there’s no point in becoming a human who feels nothing when taking a life.”
He seemed to be talking about the ‘mentalism’ that veteran swordsmen blindly believed in. Of course, it was common sense that the mind was important in swordsmanship.
This was because it was the mind, not the body, that controlled mana. One had to form a mental image to advance to a higher realm. There was a good reason why the Academy forced swordsmen to sit down, injected them with theory, and made them meditate.
Recently, however, this ‘mentalism’ had been facing various challenges. This was because some swordsmen thought of ‘mentalism’ as a kind of ‘mental omnipotence theory,’ which drew criticism for being a somewhat unscientific way of thinking.
Training can only achieve maximum efficiency when combined with proper rest and nutrition. Yet, some swordsmen, based on mentalism, would swing their swords to their absolute limits. They claimed that only then could the mind be tempered as well.
It was a foolish thought. At the very least, the younger generation of swordsmen no longer followed such training methods—unless they were the children of high-ranking nobles who could use healing potions like water.
The idea that the sword path changes according to one's mindset was also a characteristic of swordsmen who blindly believed in such mentalism. Unless one was at a level where they could manifest their mental imagery into their sword path, a sword simply swings the way it is swung.
Meeting my skeptical gaze, Professor Derek soon clicked his tongue. It was a reaction that said he expected as much.
“You think I’m wrong? But I know very well how much mental strength helps in a life-or-death struggle. When you’re driven into a corner, it’s like some latent potential is forcibly awakened, you see?”
This was bad. At this rate, I was going to have to listen to Professor Derek’s heroic tales for dozens of minutes. While I was devising a suitable excuse to escape his 'stories of old' hell, Professor Derek continued even more proudly.
“And above all, if you don’t balance your body and mind, you’re prone to exposing openings. For example, your head finds a way out but your body can’t follow, or you’re unskilled at hiding your intentions, so the signs show plainly on your body……”
“Yes, I understand. Professor Der—no, wait a minute. Unskilled at hiding intentions?”
I was about to give a polite, perfunctory response, but I couldn't help but startle and ask back at Professor Derek’s following words.
Unskilled at hiding intentions. It was a nuance I had heard somewhere before.
Professor Derek seemed pleased that a young person was taking an interest in his words. He began to lay out his experiences with even more excitement.
“Right, you still lack experience in dealing with highly intelligent enemies, don't you? You can't learn this through sparring; there’s an intuition you can only realize in places where life and death hang in the balance… It doesn't matter when you're facing low-level enemies, but when you face high-level ones, you get a feeling. Ah, that guy sees right through my every move……”
“No, is that even possible?”
At my question, which cut through his endless stream of words, Professor Derek fell silent and stared at me blankly.
But for me, it didn't make sense. A feeling? How on earth could one know?
“Doesn't it stand to reason? It’s hard enough just to exchange blows with an opponent, but in the midst of that, you can even sense the signs of what move they’ll make next?”
Finding my question quite interesting, Professor Derek stroked his beard once more and let out a chuckling sound. However, his answer didn't change.
“Yes, it’s possible. Of course, I once thought like you, ‘Isn't that all just bluffing?’ But the world of masters is wide and deep. You’ll find out someday too.”
With that, Professor Derek patted my shoulder a few times with his lid-like hand and turned away. I was lost in thought for a moment, then called out to him before he got any further.
“Professor Derek.”
Glance. His deep blue eyes gazed at me. I quickly threw out my question before his interest cooled.
“……Then, how many of us would have reached that level?”
At that, Professor Derek let out a smirk. As if he had heard a funny question.
“Not you lot! You’d have to be at least the top or second-ranked student, and even then, in the third year or above?”
In other words, it meant even Seria hadn't reached that level yet. The realm of hiding one's moves and sensing signs.
If so, the clue seemed to point in this direction, but one decisive problem remained.
The fact was that I hadn't reached that realm yet either.
The answer was vaguely within my grasp, but I couldn't choose it because I lacked the actual ability.
It was a pathetic situation. I let out a deep sigh and glanced toward where I felt a sharp gaze.
Standing there was Seria Yurdina, with a look in her eyes as stern as a frost-covered autumn sky.
Fine, let's just die.
In my heart, I left my final words to my parents, my brother, my sister, and to Reto and Celine.
I had a feeling today was going to be a very long day.
“U-um, Senior Ian.”
It was toward the end of the lecture. A time when everyone was maintaining their swords, slowly preparing for the next class, or enjoying a brief moment of leisure.
I was chatting with Celine, praying that today would pass peacefully.
However, it seemed the God Arus was quite dissatisfied with my usual religious life, as he ruthlessly crushed my hopes.
Seria Yurdina was standing right in front of me.
Her appearance was beautiful no matter when I saw it. Her gray hair felt elegant rather than dull, and even her perpetually stiff expression, when combined with her features, emphasized a beauty like that of an ice sculpture.
To think that such a beautiful woman felt like nothing more than a grim reaper from the underworld to me right now.
It was a misfortune. Celine, who had been chatting with me, also turned pale at Seria’s sudden appearance.
That was because the reason Seria was looking for me was obvious. I could tell just by looking at how the eyes of every student were focused on us.
Those sparkling, expectant gazes of the onlookers.
“P-please teach me—ugh! I mean, would you mind sparring with me?”
It was revenge.
Perhaps because she was too nervous, she bit her tongue once, but anyway, that seemed to be her goal.
Seria’s face turned bright red. Looking at her with her head bowed, she was actually quite cute. If only she were a bit more sociable, she would have been adored by all her seniors.
However, even that cuteness felt threatening to me now. It made it even harder to refuse her proposal.
A junior braving her embarrassment to ask a senior for guidance, and I’m going to run away?
Besides, before today’s class started, I had a record of saying confident words to Teahn. I think I’ll have a match later, so I want to start warming up?
If I had known the situation was this serious, I wouldn't have uttered such words.
It was Celine who stepped up as my white knight. She fidgeted anxiously, then spoke as if she had suddenly remembered something.
“A-ah! Come to think of it, Ian Oppa has an appointment with me after this……”
“It’s okay.”
But before the lifeline she threw could even reach me, I cut her off in a resigned tone. Celine looked at me with a tearful face.
She had said at first that she wouldn't care whether I died or not, but it seemed those were empty words. Taking comfort in Celine’s reaction, I gave a bitter smile.
“You’re going to want to have a match one way or another anyway, right? If not today, then tomorrow.”
“……Yes.”
Seria nodded quietly, but with firm intent. If that was the case, there was no point in avoiding it now.
It wasn't like a brilliant solution would pop up in a day or two. If anything, I’d just spend that time feeling hunted, my blood drying up from the stress.
If I was going to get hit, it was better to get it over with early. In the end, I had to nod.
“Fine, let’s have a match then.”
As if she were happy that my permission was granted, a flush of color momentarily returned to Seria’s cold face. I could almost see an illusion of an exclamation mark popping up over her head. It was a smile like a single blooming flower.
Regardless, I just clicked my tongue and walked toward the sparring ring located in the center of the training grounds.
Today was a wash. Well, it’s a medical leave, so at least I won’t get points deducted, I thought.
The buzzing noise, Professor Derek’s permission, and then to the opposite ends of the sparring ring with wooden swords in hand.
I stared into those cold eyes that resembled aquamarine, but I couldn't read what was inside. I inwardly cursed Professor Derek for a moment.
Signs, my foot. I can't tell a damn thing.
If so, there was only one answer. I thought so as I took my stance. And with Professor Derek’s thunderous shout announcing the start of the duel.
“Then, begin!”
I had to witness Seria rushing right up to my face in a flash.
The next moment, with a dull thud, my body flew through the air.