Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Original Disruptor Appears (2)
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Magic Department teaches magic.
Craft Department handles practical alchemy and such, Arts Department covers bards and fine arts, Theology Department deals with theology.
So what does Swordsmanship Department do?
"Blocking like that leaves your neck wide open. Cadet Kyle. Do you even know what the crossguard is for?"
"Sorry, sir!"
What's the point of saying it? Obviously, it teaches swordsmanship.
Back in the academy's founding days, when six knights banded together to establish the Swordsmanship Department, they traditionally referred to students as 'cadets.' Nowadays, it carries a vibe similar to an officer training program, so it fits.
"They've got a ton of scarecrows out."
"That's why some of us get breaks."
Charlotte and I sat blankly in the corner of the training grounds, watching the other students swing their swords with fervor.
Everyone was going at it hard. Sweat poured off them as they swung with full passion in their form.
A physical clash you feel with your body.
While the Magic Department bookworms bury their noses in tomes until their eyes pop out, the Swordsmanship Department burns with this fiery zeal.
"Charlotte. You gonna practice more?"
"Gonna rest a bit. Yeah……."
"Hang on, you haven't swung your sword even once."
Charlotte ignored me, curling up and slowly closing her eyes.
The frustrating part was, even acting like this, she'd gotten into the top ranks…….
'Of course she's way better than me.'
Leonard had enrolled with solid enough scores to land in A-Class at the start, but that was only compared to all the freshmen. Narrow it down to just A-Class, and he wasn't some prodigy.
Just scraping by in the middling ranks, hovering awkwardly between mid-tier and upper-mid.
Embarrassing to even compare to Charlotte, who'd openly broken into the top of A-Class.
'How could a sparrow understand a heron's ambitions…….'
A mortal like me still had a long way to go to grasp Charlotte's true intentions.
A very long way.
"Next! Rotate!"
No sooner had Professor William of Basic Swordsmanship barked the order than the students around me grabbed their swords and surged to their feet.
I gripped mine and stood as well.
Amelia Hill approached, wiping sweat from her brow with a fierce glare.
But the moment our eyes met, she scowled deeply.
"Tch."
Then she clicked her tongue loudly and veered sharply away.
'That kid's got some attitude…….'
I was the same age as her, sure, but I had the mileage from my past life.
Still, I couldn't snap back at her attitude.
One wrong move, and it'd be 'Season 2: Leonard Gets Dust-Kicked Out of Him.'
No, it definitely would be.
I stepped silently forward to a training scarecrow, sword in hand. Amelia shook her head as if displeased and returned to her spot.
Then she fixed a laser-like stare on my back, which did nothing for my digestion.
'Feels like breakfast's coming back up.'
I took deliberate deep breaths, deliberately tuning out the stares around me.
Slowly closing my eyes and steadying my breath, my mind cleared, the faint lingering agitation fading away.
When I opened them again, my hand had already drifted to the sword at my waist.
Shing—
I gripped and drew. The blade slid from its sheath with a cool, heavy rasp.
A training sword. Edge dulled, but balanced like a real one for authenticity.
Perfect for practice.
I steadied my breath and adjusted my grip.
Fuzzy memories seeped into my muscles, tensing them just right.
'Leonard Percival Blackmere. When you grip your sword, first watch your opponent's blade tip. Second, your own.'
Lionel Hugh Blackmere.
Head of the swordsmanship noble house Blackmere Family, Court Earl Blackmere, and Leonard's own father.
'The essence of Blackmere swordsmanship is the changing blade. Don't telegraph your intent. Never tip your attack to the enemy. The eyes are the clearest window to the mind.'
His cold counsel, laced with blood and sweat from Leonard's childhood, etched clearly into my mind.
Like parched soil slowly soaking in rain.
'Always consider every scenario. If you attack, think beyond it. Every motion must flow like water, each leading fluidly to the next, adapting to the situation.'
My body ached faintly.
With the icy advice came visions of a father's merciless strikes on his young son.
'Is this really my dad?'
Blackmere Family, is this powder-keg household okay as is?
But before stray thoughts could linger, my body fully synced with those countless thrashings from the past.
I faced the scarecrow, sword ready, treating it as my foe.
If you're chasing the top, always aim for the best.
And right here, now and in the future, the one always running at the pinnacle—the protagonist.
I recalled Amelia Hill's swordplay from moments ago.
When I opened my eyes again, the scarecrow before me was no longer just a stiff practice dummy.
Amelia Hill, glaring murderously, adjusting her grip on her sword.
Her image projected vividly onto reality. I let out an involuntary chuckle.
The talent to unleash a purely personal style amid ultimate focus.
'Leonard, you bastard…….'
You had this gift and never honed it?
That's a crime.
As Amelia Hill rotated out with the next group and returned to her seat.
"Blackmere's stepping up?"
"Yeah. Hasn't gone once till now."
"What'd he say? 'I hate the smell of sweat' or something?"
"Guy's a joke. If you hate sweating, why join Swordsmanship Department?"
The students resting behind her buzzed.
Small wonder—Blackmere's wastrel had shattered expectations by stepping calmly into the training grounds.
Amelia Hill, who'd been eyeing him intently, narrowed her gaze.
'What's this?'
Had he done this in past regressions?
In her previous life, he'd holed up in Wisteria Dormitory right after enrollment, so no clear answer there.
Leonard stood before the training scarecrow, quietly closing his eyes.
His hand had already settled on his sword hilt at his waist.
"What the?"
"Just showboating."
"First time seeing him join class."
The students around Amelia laughed at him.
But she couldn't just laugh it off.
'That…….'
During her third regression, in the burning palace—the Court Gatekeeper she'd faced.
Even as the capital blazed, he'd cut down Dark Crusade heretics, but his mind corrupted, he eventually turned his blade on Amelia too: the kingdom's Court Earl.
Master of Blackmere-style swordsmanship, Lionel Hugh Blackmere.
Why did that wastrel's shadow flicker behind him now?
Same A-Class, but that subtle difference in realm created a tiny gap.
And that gap led to the finer details only the knowing eye catches.
Amelia and a few other A-Class students turned their gazes to Leonard.
Eyes filled with doubt, suspicion, and a touch of curiosity.
Amid the pouring stares, amid the sweating students swinging nearby.
Leonard just kept his hand on his sword, eyes closed, focusing solely on the scarecrow before him.
'……Just imitating, after all.'
Amelia watched him intently. When he didn't budge, she gave a faint bitter smile.
A look tinged with 'as expected,' laced with heightened wariness.
Then, cutting through the shouts and dull thuds from all sides, came a chilling, spine-tingling rasp.
Shing—
A sound that sent shivers down her spine. One she'd heard ad nauseam across countless regressions—the prelude to death.
Amelia Hill froze. Her eyes turned icy in an instant.
Her gaze locked back on Leonard as he slowly drew his sword.
The sleek blade emerging from its sheath. Custom-made by his house, no doubt—gaudily ornate to the point of tackiness.
The moment it fully cleared, baring its keen edge, Amelia's eyes widened like saucers.
'How…….'
Just a dulled training blade. Where did that edge come from?
Leonard, gripping it, finally lifted his eyelids.
His aura shifted completely.
He stepped into stance, raising the sword overhead, glaring coldly at the scarecrow.
That arrogant yet disciplined gaze made Amelia swallow dryly without thinking.
Baseless confidence is mere arrogance. Leonard had no real proof of skill yet.
But that form—it was unmistakably the Blackmere Family head's, the swordsmanship noble house she'd seen before.
A barrage of unpredictable, variable techniques that had left even Amelia, walker of the hegemony path, off-balance.
All those subtleties crammed awkwardly into that seemingly simple stance.
The scarecrow no longer looked like one. An opponent with a sword stood before Leonard.
That's what Amelia saw.
'That's…… me?'
Obviously just a practice dummy in front of Leonard, but Amelia instantly knew who he was envisioning.
The Amelia Hill who'd just stepped off after swinging.
Amelia drew her sword, glaring at Leonard.
Leonard met her gaze steadily, tightening his grip.
It looked clumsy and crude, a poor imitation, but even there, Blackmere-style variability peeked through relentlessly.
Even a worthless Blackmere cub was still a tiger, huh.
The moment that fool who'd always seemed so pathetic bared his fangs, Amelia unconsciously pictured herself in the scarecrow opposite him.
Shweee—!
Leonard swung. One foot back, lunging forward on his right as pivot.
A straightforward overhead chop. Amelia blocked it.
Kashing!
Leon'sard sword didn't bounce off.
Fluid as water, his pivoting right foot slid, shifting weight to the left.
His spinning body slashed upward from below.
Clang!
Amelia barely parried in haste.
She'd blocked with ample speed and force, yet sweat trickled coldly down her neck.
Leonard swiftly swapped lead and rear foot, stepping back half a pace.
But simultaneously flicked her blade tip aside, his midguard smoothly thrusting forward.
Slash to thrust, thrust to counter, counter to evade and heavy strike.
Those fluid, variable motions overlaid amateurishly onto Leonard's path.
Not a fixed form.
Shuffle the order, turn a slash to thrust or thrust to pommel bash—the flow would still run smooth as water.
It had to. That's Blackmere-style swordsmanship.
Amelia gripped her clothes tightly without realizing.
Her sweat-soaked hands clutched an imaginary sword.
Amelia Hill before Leonard. She nullified every attack, finally stepping forward.
Thud!
A heavy, hegemonic stride echoing.
Relentless combos from blazing eyes beyond, no breath given, no retreat.
That hegemony would shatter Leonard's variability, her sharp blade about to cleave his throat—
"Next! Rotate!"
Professor William's shout dispersed the visions like mist.
Amelia snapped to, glancing around wildly.
Half the students blinking dazedly like her.
Exhaling held breath, she wiped her sweaty palms.
Her gaze shifted to Leonard.
Now drenched in sweat, sheathing his sword and heading back.
'As expected…….'
Strong wariness hardened in Amelia Hill's eyes.
'Leonard Percival Blackmere, you're dangerous.'
And, a flicker of curiosity.
Sprouting unwittingly.