A Chance Encounter
I watched.
The blade came at me with murderous force, and I tracked it with calm, steady eyes. I had to read the sword's path. That was the only way to pull off the technique commonly known as a parry.
The trajectory twisted strangely, the edge screaming in toward my side.
Yeah. I knew it'd be this pattern.
I took a single long stride into his range and knocked the incoming blade aside. Timing and contact point locked together in a perfect parry.
CLANG!
Steel shrieked against steel, loud enough to ring in my ears. At the same instant, the Skeleton Knight that had swung at me staggered, its balance gone. I stepped in once more and swept my sword in a short horizontal cut.
Shhk.
A clean note of severance, and its skull popped off and rolled across the floor.
Beeeep—!
A mechanical tone announced that the combat simulation I'd set up was over.
"Okay."
This was pretty satisfying.
"Kyaaaaah! Player! How can you parry every single attack like that?! You're insane, for real!"
Angel spun circles around me, gushing with praise.
"Heh... well, I'd say this much is just basic competency for a Swordsman?"
I grinned at her.
"Player, if you say that to other users after the Warrior class drops, they're gonna beat you to death, you know?"
She cackled, waving it off as a joke. Well, parrying was pretty hard. Still, one of the Swordsman's clear advantages was that parrying came easier than it did for Shooters or Ability users. Difficult or not, I figured if you were a Swordsman, parrying was mandatory.
"Nngh. I really went hard today."
I'd already run the simulation ten times. Winding myself tight with tension and then releasing it, over and over, had left me completely drained. Beads of sweat — proof I'd actually worked — dripped from my chin.
"Player, stay still!"
Angel grunted as she hoisted a wet towel as big as her own body and pressed it to my face. True to her thoughtful nature, it was ice-cold.
"Ahh. That's nice."
While she fussed over me, I slowly replayed the fight. Five Skeleton Knights, no abilities, nothing but raw stats.
Not bad.
It wasn't quite the physicality of my prime, but this was respectable enough. My current numbers were pretty lopsided. Strength 15, Agility 25, Stamina 5. Mana 60. A Swordsman who had dumped everything into mana. These were my stats before equipping Levatein.
The old me — the one who'd cleared Hard Mode with a single sword — would have been horrified by these numbers. But I hadn't had a choice. If I hadn't poured those leftover thirty points into mana when I got sucked into the other world last time, I never would have cleared it. And even going all-in on mana, I didn't consider it a loss. The first taste of skills had been so sweet that calling it a waste would have been absurd.
A distance that took six frantic footsteps to cover was a single stride with Spirit Step. Back then I'd had to scramble up walls like a madman and drop from the sky just to kill a wyvern. Now I fired a Spirit Slash into the air, the wings came off, and the thing fell right in front of me.
I'd already fallen. Unlike the days when I cleared everything with pure control, I'd tasted the practical, efficient flavor of skills. Or maybe I'd just realized what I was supposed to have had from the start.
"Player. Is even this still not enough?"
Angel wrung the towel out in cold water with practiced ease as she asked.
"Of course. Look up my YouTube channel later and you'll see."
What I was doing now was a kind of rehab. Pushing myself to the limit with nothing but focus and physical ability, without using a single skill. I'd been leaning too hard on convenient abilities lately and gotten a bit rusty, so I was working to get that edge back.
"Hey, Angel. About this Gigan skill, though. This thing's actually pretty good, huh?"
I said it to Angel, who was wringing the towel with gusto. The description had said something about a keen sense being honed even sharper. I didn't know exactly how far this concept of "sense" extended, but when I'd been reading the sword path just now, I'd felt something — it had made the parry a little easier.
Angel smiled, a meaningful little curve of her lips.
"It's still in a growth-capable state, you know. It'll get really good later."
"Ohh!"
So that was why she'd given it to me so early. I was already looking forward to it.
"Ah, but I'm pretty wiped today."
Maybe because I'd been training too hard these past few days since meeting Mubaek. My body felt especially heavy.
"Don't push yourself too hard. This scenario is pretty easy anyway, right?"
She laid the cold towel against my cheek as she said it. She wasn't wrong. This third scenario was the Inter-class Tournament — a heavily event-oriented chapter, a power-up stretch before moving on to the fourth. It was a pretty leisurely scenario, but...
"Ah, whatever. Let's just grab a drink, Angel."
"Sounds good! Let's have one!"
Overthinking wasn't healthy. The brain needed sugar. I walked over to the vending machine by the stairs and bought a soda.
Click!
I popped the lid, about to pour the cold fizz down my throat, when—
"Ah, you son of a bitch!"
A husky voice exploded through the hallway, and I jolted hard enough to spill the can.
"Spirit Energy."
Just before the soda hit the floor, I wrapped it in Water Spirit Energy and scooped it back up.
"Whoa. That was actually sick."
"That's our Player!"
To reflexively wrap Spirit Energy around it in that split second. Yeah. That was just the kind of guy I was.
"Fuck!"
The husky voice rang out again.
"What the hell is that?"
"Huh?! I think it's a girl?"
Angel's eyes sparkled as she told me. The voice that had just spat that curse sounded more androgynous than feminine — how did she even know?
Still, my interest was piqued. I sucked the floating soda into my mouth and headed toward the source of the sound.
"Come on... work... already!"
The frustrated, straining voice was coming from another simulation room a short distance from where I'd been training. As I got closer, I could see a woman standing beyond the transparent wall. Jet-black bobbed hair, sharp irritable eyes — a beauty with a distinctly boyish kind of charm.
"Oh!"
"See? My instincts are never wrong!"
Angel puffed out her chest with a smug little ahem.
"This is really...!"
The boyish beauty stretched her right arm straight out, gripping her right wrist with her left hand.
Crack.
Pitch-black electricity surged from her shoulder, then instantly slid down toward the tip of her arm.
"Yes... that's it!"
She furrowed those fierce eyes, concentrating. The black current seemed to be flowing smoothly — and then—
ZZZT—!
The black electricity suddenly sparked at her right wrist, then BOOM — exploded, sending her flying.
"Yikes. What even was that."
Pathetic ability control. She couldn't even handle it properly and ended up hurting herself.
"Aaaargh!"
Sprawled on the floor, she screamed with raw frustration.
"Why won't it work?!"
The scream frayed into a sob. They say men are weak to a beauty's tears. For a moment I couldn't help but feel her sorrow. Sob.
"Huh?"
Pounding the floor, she happened to lock eyes with me. As she stared, I casually raised a hand and waved. Just staring back would've been kind of awkward, right?
"You... you!"
Her cheeks flushed as she jabbed a finger at me.
"Get over here!"
On the hand she thrust toward me was a pitch-black tattoo, formed into some kind of mark. Hmm. She seemed to have a pretty nasty temper — maybe the delinquent type?
"I said get over hereee!"
Well, she was pretty, so whatever. I opened the door and walked over to the girl pointing at me.
"You... you! Huh?"
The girl who'd been venting her rage suddenly shifted her gaze to my right arm. Following her eyes, I realized she was staring at the black armband slung there.
"You're the class president?"
"Yes. And?"
I tapped the armband as I spoke, and she went ugh, her momentum dropping a notch.
"What's the class president doing here?!"
Watching her bark at me, I roughly pieced it together. She was a first-year too. In this academy, first-year class presidents wore black armbands, second-years red, third-years gold. The fact that she'd backed down after seeing mine meant she was definitely a first-year. This place was pretty strict with underclassmen, after all.
"What else? I came to train."
Same year, so I dropped the formal speech and answered her casually.
"You're supposed to be in practicals — what are you doing here?! Wasting that precious time."
Was she worried about me? The voice was angry, but the content was oddly kind. I tapped the iron sword hanging at my waist.
"I'm a Swordsman, so there's nobody I can learn from."
"Ah! You're that..."
She startled, something clicking into place. Looks like rumors about me had spread among the first-years to some degree. Well, I was the only Swordsman on campus and I was class president — it'd be weirder if they hadn't.
"I'd rather ask you. What are you doing here?"
"Eep!"
She flinched at the question.
"From what I just saw, your ability control looked pretty messed up. Aren't you the one who actually needs class?"
"Ugh!"
She shrank even further under the brutal facts.
"You!"
She suddenly straightened up and jabbed a finger at me.
"Hurry up and say you're sorry!"
"Why?"
A little mean, maybe, but it was the truth. In this world of insane difficulty, with that level of skill she was definitely going to die or get badly hurt.
"Uh... uhh!"
Her lips trembled as if she wanted to say something.
"Is there some kind of reason?"
"Yes! There is, so apologize!"
She shouted at me, eyes blazing.
"What is it?"
I was used to this kind of emotion. I deftly deflected her feelings and asked again.
"I... I can't take class!"
"So why?"
"I can't control it, so I can't take class!"
Huh? What did that mean? If you couldn't control it, that was exactly why you needed class.
"Because of this goddamn control I keep blasting people, so I can't take class!"
She shouted at me, her eyes welling up. The anger had curdled into bitter frustration.
"I want to take class too! But I can't!"
"Ah..."
So that blast that had sent her flying earlier must have hit the people around her too.
"Today I hurt the instructor, so I got kicked out and sent hereee!"
Tears had gathered in the eyes of the girl shouting at me.
"So apologize!"
They say men are weak to a beauty's tears. I dropped to my knees without a second thought.
"I'm sorry!"
I even planted a full formal bow, forehead nearly to the floor. I was trash. How could I insult a kid who was so motivated and trying so hard.
"Uuuugh!"
She sniffled, staring at me in silence. I knew that pain better than anyone — wanting to work hard and being unable to. That was why I wanted to help her.
"As an apology, I'll help you."
"How are you gonna help?!"
She looked at my sword, unconvinced. Ah. She thought I couldn't help because I was a Swordsman?
"I may not look it, but I'm pretty well-versed in the natural elements."
I sprang to my feet, struck the same pose she'd been using, then wrapped lightning around my right shoulder, let it flow down my arm, and discharged it.
BANG!
The current shot forward in a clean, perfect surge.
"Wh... wha?"
She stared at me, dumbfounded.
"I'm the class president, remember? You know I'm good. So trust me and give it a shot."
Tap tap. I patted the armband on my right arm and spoke to her with all the reliable confidence I could muster.