One Strike Victory
- Fight!
The duel between Zien and Daven began in an atmosphere as brittle as thin ice.
My Previous Life was the Strongest Sword God
The moment the mechanical whistle shrieked, Daven flooded his legs with mana and exploded forward.
His acceleration was perfect.
Sand erupted from where Daven had been standing a microsecond before, and his body blurred toward Zien like a guided missile.
'First, I’ll take out his legs!'
Daven leaned into his momentum, the wind whistling past his ears. He wasn't nervous; his form was impeccable—not a single wasted movement.
All that was left was to crush Zien with a single strike amplified by his high-speed charge.
But then.
Thwack.
Daven’s world tilted as a wooden sword connected squarely with his temple.
'What the—?'
Splat.
His cheek stung from the impact of the wood. By the time his brain registered the pain, he was already face-first in the arena sand.
"Gah! What—what the hell? Pfft, ptui!"
It had only been a single exchange, but Zien’s slash was terrifyingly refined. This was a sword that had traded blows with Saints, slaughtered high-tier demonic beasts, and pierced the hearts of Demon Kings. It was a blade that had literally saved humanity.
The levels weren't even comparable. The "weight" behind the strike was on a different dimension.
Daven lay there, utterly speechless and humiliated.
The spectators, who had been holding their breath, fell into a stunned silence.
Even students in the middle of their own duels in neighboring arenas stopped, turning as one to stare at Zien’s field as if they had practiced the movement.
The students couldn't possibly understand the subtle complexities of Zien’s movement, but the visual was undeniable: the "dead-last failure" had just floored the 37th-ranked student in one hit. Reality was often more straightforward than fiction.
The silence stretched.
"...Holy shit."
"Did he seriously win in one hit?"
"What the hell just happened?"
The silence shattered into a million whispers.
The murmurs rippling through the stands were no longer mocks; they were gasps of pure admiration.
"Daven is Rank 37, right?"
"Yeah, and his Magic Tool is a sword, too."
"So he just got out-sworded by a nobody?"
"Man, how do you even get dropped that fast?"
The stands were a good distance away, but Daven heard every biting word. Usually, losing a duel didn't elicit this much mockery.
But losing in one hit to the academy's biggest joke?
"Eek. Eeeeek!"
This was more than just a bruised ego. On a larger scale, this was a permanent stain on his family name. Daven clawed at the sand, forcing himself back to his feet.
"You just got lucky with a cheap shot...!"
Whoosh!
"Don't you dare get cocky!"
Daven kicked up a cloud of sand to blind his opponent and charged. His plan was to drive his wooden sword into Zien’s solar plexus while he was distracted.
But.
The sand hit an invisible wall in front of Zien and slid harmlessly to the floor.
'A mana barrier?!'
He had deployed such an advanced application of mana in a split second? Daven’s stance faltered in pure shock.
Zien didn't wait. He spun his body in a pivot so perfect it belonged in a textbook.
'High? No, low.'
Zien’s wooden sword, backed by the torque of his spin, slammed into Daven’s weapon.
The sound of wood snapping echoed through the gym.
Both weapons were made of the same reinforced wood, yet only Daven’s snapped clean in half.
"That’s impossible..."
Karsen, watching from the sidelines, let out a slow exhale.
'He used pure technique to snap a training sword. What the hell is this kid?'
Was this really the flunk-out he’d heard stories about?
The murmurs in the crowd grew into a roar as Daven stared at his broken hilt, trembling.
"No way... this can't be happening..."
"Accept your defeat," Zien said coldly.
"Accept it? From a half-assed punk who doesn't even have a Magic Tool?"
Daven’s face twisted into a vicious grin.
Even though his practice sword was gone, he lunged at Zien bare-handed. As the crowd buzzed in confusion, Daven’s Stigma began to glow.
A sharp blue light radiated from the back of his hand. He was breaking the most basic rule of the lab: he was summoning his Magic Tool.
"Try blocking this with your stupid piece of wood!"
With a roar, Daven gripped a massive, shimmering greatsword with both hands. They were already too close—even Karsen couldn't reach them in time to stop the strike.
'It’s over!'
Daven sneered. Rules didn't matter anymore; his pride was the only thing on the line.
"Die!"
"What makes you think I don't have one?"
Zien’s eyes were like shards of ice.
Just like Daven, Zien’s Stigma flared to life on the back of his hand.
Daven’s expression froze in horror, but he couldn't stop his momentum. In Zien’s hand appeared a jet-black blade—his Magic Tool, Heukhyang.
Claaaang—!
The shriek of steel on steel rang out.
Black blade met blue greatsword.
Sparks showered the arena floor.
"Who said I didn't have a Magic Tool?"
Zien’s voice was a low growl. The insult to Heukhyang seemed to have touched a nerve.
"Eek! How do you—?!"
Daven wasn't the only one in shock. Karsen stood up from his chair, staring at Zien’s weapon in total disbelief.
Magic Tools were forged from mana. Usually, the higher the wielder's level and assimilation rate, the more mana the tool radiated.
'That sword...'
Zien’s blade defied all logic. The mana density it held far exceeded anything a freshman should be capable of producing.
'Something is wrong. Just how high is his assimilation rate?'
Normally, a person's internal mana pool matched their Magic Tool's capacity. For a "failure" like Zien to wield a blade pulsing with that much power was biologically impossible. It was the result of a Stigma inherited from a past life—a secret Karsen couldn't possibly guess.
Clang—!
'And his movements...'
Karsen clicked his tongue in admiration.
Trying to block a greatsword head-on was suicide; the sheer weight would crush you. The standard response was to dodge. But Zien was demonstrating a masterclass in parrying.
'He’s sliding his edge into the "dead zone" of the greatsword’s weight. He’s disrupting Daven's center of gravity and using his own momentum against him.'
Even Karsen wondered if he would have the nerve to try such a maneuver. If you missed the deflection by even a millimeter, the weight difference would be fatal.
Yet, high risk brought high reward. Executed with Zien’s perfect form...
'The distance is gone!'
Screeeeech.
'Now it’s a speed battle. Longsword versus Greatsword. The winner is obvious.'
Just as Karsen predicted, Zien was miles faster. Using the recoil from the parry, Zien pivoted and slammed the flat of his blade into the back of Daven’s head.
"Guhk... guh-guhk."
Daven’s eyes rolled back as he foamed at the mouth and collapsed. Karsen didn't move to stop Zien’s final blow.
'Phew... that felt like finally getting rid of a twenty-year-old headache.'
True to his reputation, Karsen’s office was a disaster zone. He swept a mountain of cluttered paperwork to the edge of his desk to make room.
"Haa, where do I even begin with this?"
Karsen had been forced to end the dueling lab early after the incident.
[Summoning a Magic Tool in a restricted lab? You're suspended, Daven. And Zien—follow me.]
Daven had clearly crossed the line. Zien had technically used his Magic Tool as well, but...
"Yours counts as self-defense. You don't need to worry about the disciplinary committee."
"Thank you, sir."
"I called you here because of the report. The Principal is going to want to know why a Rank 162 just hospitalized a Rank 37."
"That makes sense. If you write down exactly what happened today, he probably won't believe it anyway."
"Good. You're quick on the uptake."
"Just say that my physical improvement came from curing my residual mana issues, and my swordsmanship was refined during the ten days of private training the Principal approved."
"Self-taught in ten days..."
Karsen started to protest, then just sighed and let it go.
'Romina was right about me. I should’ve stayed a Saber in the field. A "real" teacher would be digging for the truth right now. Me? I’m just glad the brat got what was coming to him.'
Karsen lit a cigarette.
"Do you smoke?"
"Getting caught smoking on campus is a major violation, Professor."
"I don't care. If they catch me, tell 'em to fire me. I'll just go back to clearing Gates. That’s what a Saber is meant to do, anyway."
"You're definitely not like the other professors."
"You noticed, huh?"
Karsen chuckled, and Zien couldn't help but grin back.
"Yeah."
"Look, I won't pry into the 'how' of your strength. In this world, there are infinite Gates and infinite opportunities. If you were hiding your talent, I’m sure you had your reasons."
Zien was genuinely surprised.
He had expected a grueling interrogation. He had a dozen lies ready to go, but this man simply didn't care.
'He suspects something, but he knows I won't tell him the truth anyway.'
Karsen stubbed out his cigarette and sat back.
"And honestly? That was satisfying to watch. Those noble-born brats with their elitist complexes? They’re infuriating. I was planning to wait until he fought a Rank 1 to see him humbled, but we don't exactly have many high-ranking commoners here."
"Commoners rarely get the support they need to match their talent," Zien noted, a bitter taste in his mouth.
A century had passed, yet the same social rot remained. But unfairness was the one constant in the world.
"...Yeah. I didn't retire from active duty because I wanted to. This ankle injury ended my career. That’s the only reason I’m an instructor."
Karsen glanced at a photo on his desk. It was a younger version of him and Professor Romina, grinning with their arms around each other.
Based on their gear, it looked like it was taken the day he joined the faculty.
"Anyway, I'm rambling."
Shaking off the nostalgia, Karsen scribbled some notes on a blank sheet.
"I'll file the report exactly how you suggested."
"Thank you, sir."
As Zien bowed, Karsen cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Ahem... look. A sharp blade breaks easily. Daven is suspended, but the Storm family isn't going to just let this go. You understand what I’m saying."
It was the man’s clumsy way of showing concern.
Most people would have just said, "Watch your back," but Karsen was too awkward for such direct advice. Still, Zien didn't mind. In fact, he found it refreshing.
"I'll keep that in mind."
With their talk over, Zien stepped out into the hallway.
The corridor was bustling with students moving between classes, but two figures—a boy and a girl—were leaning against the wall right outside the office.
"Ah! Is the interview finally over?"
"I got here first, so I get to talk first. Back off, Riel."
The girl, Riel, pushed up her glasses and ignored the boy, Harmon, completely. She stepped right into Zien’s personal space.
"Hey! You're way cuter than the rumors said! I'm Riel, a second-year. Don't worry about all that formal 'senior' stuff—just call me Riel-chan."
"Hey! Riel!" Harmon barked, but she didn't even blink.
She kept going with high-speed enthusiasm.
"So, anyway... as the President of the Newspaper Club, I was wondering if I could snag an exclusive interview?"
"And I’m Harmon, also a second-year. Vice President of the Magic Sword Club. And before you ask, that’s the club for students whose Magic Tools are, well, swords."
Riel was bubbly and covered in freckles; Harmon was a mountain of muscle that looked like he’d been carved from a boulder.
Zien blinked, trying to process the sudden chaotic energy.
"Uh...?"
'Who are these people? My schedule is already thirty minutes behind. I have mana training this afternoon, and I need to brew more potions tomorrow... and now the Newspaper Club?'
"Oh, did I catch you off guard? See, we’re doing a special feature called 'The Blue Rookies.' We’re profiling all the big names in your class. We’ve already got the Crimson Witch—the girl with the top mana potential—and that celebrity from YS Management..."
As Riel rambled, Zien cut her off.
"And?"
My Previous Life was the Strongest Sword God
Stunned by his bluntness, Riel faltered for a second. But she quickly recovered, her grin widening.
"To be honest, we had seven spots planned, but one of them fell through. I was going to just pick another boring Rank 1 student, but that’s not a scoop. Then I heard about what you did today. Boom! The headline wrote itself: The Failure’s Awakening! It’s killer, right? Please, just help me out this once!"
Riel bowed deeply, her hands pressed together in a pleading gesture. Other students began to stop and stare.
"Aren't those second-years?"
"Why is she begging a freshman?"
Zien sighed.
"I don't have the time."
"Uwaaaah, please! This feature is everything to me! If it flops... the club budget is basically zero next semester!"
Zien had already decided to do the interview, but for the sake of his long-term goals, he decided to play hard to get. It wasn't about the newspaper club’s budget.
In his past life, his ironclad rule was to repay every humiliation tenfold.
"You need a real scoop, right?"
"Yes! Wait—does that mean you'll do it?"
"I'll do the interview. But on one condition."
Riel nodded so hard it looked like her neck might snap. Zien leaned in and whispered something into her ear.
Her eyes went wide. "...Can you really do that? If it’s too much trouble, you can back out now."
"Trouble? Please. Our club—no, my journalism—fears no pressure. We only fear losing subscribers."
"Good. Contact me when you have a time set."
"For real? No take-backsies?"
Zien shook his head. She was an incredibly high-energy girl.
With her mission accomplished, Riel skipped away. Harmon finally had a chance to speak.
"I'll keep it short. Join our club, Zien."
"Isn't it a bit early in the term for club recruitment?"
"Technically, yeah. But if you wait too long, the best freshmen get snatched up. We have to move fast."
"So what exactly does the Magic Sword Club do?"
Harmon beamed.
"Great question. Magic Tools come in all shapes and sizes—spears, shields, gloves, even body modifications. The variety is endless."
In his past life, Zien had seen people use mana as the tool itself, like a healing light. Harmon’s explanation was redundant to him.
"But! One form is more common than any other."
'Swords.'
"Swords! Our club is where sword-users share data, techniques, and training tips. It’s a lot more useful than those 'party clubs' or the ones that just focus on photo-ops."
"And the Vice President came to recruit me personally?"
"Honestly, I came to scout Daven because his tool is a greatsword. But seeing your technique? It was a lucky break. Join us, Zien Russell."
Harmon's pitch was earnest.
Zien knew he’d have to join a club eventually, but he wasn't ready to commit quite yet.
"I'll think about it."
"Fair enough. Caution is a virtue. Stop by the clubroom if you have any questions."
"I will. Thank you."
Zien bowed politely, and Harmon walked away with heavy, confident steps.
'An interview, huh? This should be interesting.'
The opportunity to repay the insults of the elite had arrived sooner than he’d expected. And Zien was the type of man who always paid his debts—with interest.