Chapter 27
Chapter 27
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: Unforgettable Training Camp (2)
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In terms of slashing, it was only natural that Ban had already reached a profound level.
He had Cho Swordsmanship, after all.
Cho Swordsmanship wasn't the absolute pinnacle among all slashing techniques in the world.
But at least in terms of concentrating power to maximize cutting force and speed, no swordsmanship was more efficient.
For the same reason, swordsmen of the Cho Clan always stood out more than anyone else in slashing classes.
But precisely because of that, the Cho Clan couldn't shine in thrusting.
It was unavoidable, given that Cho Swordsmanship didn't place much emphasis on thrusting itself.
Even so, Ban's thrust was different.
He knew what a thrust truly was.
That as long as his mind didn't break, that sword could pierce anything in the world.
The thrusting professor, the one-armed Raku known by that moniker, thought as he watched Ban.
'……He's too good to remain just a swordsman of the Cho Clan.'
A slash stronger than a thrust.
It was the philosophy of Cho Swordsmanship that Raku couldn't approve of.
At least according to his belief, the pinnacle of the sword lay within the thrust.
Of course, Albid, the slashing professor, wouldn't agree with that.
'It's been ages since a real genius showed up.'
In slashing, thrusting, blocking, parrying, and deflection—the five professors all agreed on that point without exception.
In blocking and parrying, Ban didn't display the same overwhelming prowess as in slashing or thrusting.
His sword was quite solid, thanks to the memory of glimpsing Lucas's talent, but compared to Cho Swordsmanship, which staked everything on slashing itself, or Obun's sword, which had devoted a lifetime to thrusting…… it was bound to fall short.
Even so, Ban's rate of growth was still ferocious.
Each time he faced his classmates' blades, or occasionally blocked a professor's strike, Ban came to understand them little by little.
If he could gauge when, from what stance, at what speed, and with how much power they would swing their sword…… blocking or parrying would naturally become relatively easier.
And then deflection.
"This training method was developed by your senior knight, 'Yuri'."
The professor demonstrated it just once.
It was the same method Ban had trained in before.
The difference was that instead of three or four archers aiming arrows at him, there were now dozens.
And he drew his sword just once.
It was Yuri's sword, the one Ban had once glimpsed.
One swing.
Considering arrows raining down from all directions, it was ultimately impossible to deflect them all.
And qi was the power that turned the impossible into possible.
The wind blew.
The trajectory of his drawn sword seemed to flutter like wings, soon enveloping him.
The arrows didn't collide.
They slid away, flowed off, and before long, all had fallen powerlessly to the ground.
'That's the real deflection.'
His whole body itched.
It might be a bit ridiculous for a student to feel jealousy toward a professor, but Ban couldn't help envying him.
That beautiful trajectory.
That elegant lightness, like fending off a boulder with feathers.
Deflection training was the least popular class among the students.
And for good reason—make even a slight mistake, and an arrow would pierce your body.
Even if you could be perfectly healed without a scar right away, who would welcome that?
But Ban didn't hate it.
One wrong move, and pain would come crashing in.
And if luck was truly against you, that pain might drag you all the way to death.
Wasn't it just like their own lives?
Each time an arrow lodged in his body, Ban recalled what Yuri must have felt.
And each time……
"……So bloodline blessings aren't everything, huh."
A noble-born student muttered in a sigh.
Offspring of middling families generally felt both blessing and curse in their very lives.
Their blessings made them superior to most commoners, and yet that very fact made them feel small before those with even greater blessings.
But look at that man now.
The man whose breath reeked of blood, whose skin tore open, yet whose eyes burned brighter, truly feeling alive.
"That guy's a real man."
Macdead, who had been cleanly defeated by Ban in the tournament, thumped his chest and declared it.
Back then, he had bluffed against Ban only to suffer humiliation, yet now he strutted about as if they were comrades who had fought a war together.
"Pain's nothing big. He gets better than anyone that battle is what sets a man's heart ablaze. If he can get stronger, he'd gladly take a hundred more of those puny arrows."
Of course, Macdead himself wailed and called for the healer the instant an arrow grazed him.
In any other class, maybe not, but in swordsmanship class, Ban definitely drew more eyes than anyone.
If judging purely by strength, people like Yeoryeong or Jeo were stronger…… but those who knew how to see understood.
Right here, in this place, the one who grasped the essence of each sword technique most deeply was Ban.
As a result, Ban naturally gained more friends.
Even without the Cho Clan backing him, Ban had more than enough appeal on his own.
Especially for those set on the path of the swordsman.
"It's a strange thing."
At a gathering of swordsmanship professors, Dalton, the deflection professor, remarked.
"In a place where birth alone determines everything, a guy with nothing stands at the center."
"……There have been those kinds from time to time. 'Yuri' was like that, and……"
"God's blessings don't just flow through blood."
It was a phrase that lingered even for those five.
They too had risen to professor at the academy without noble birth.
The one-armed Raku muttered.
"Thanks to him, even the lazy noble kids seem pretty stimulated."
"Not a bad thing. The more first-years who survive, the better for the kingdom."
"……It's been about a month now, right?"
"Yeah. Time to start that class."
"A lot will drop out. They'll cry and quit. They'll realize their limits."
The Citadel Academy's knight department admitted around two hundred students each year.
But unlike admissions, the number of graduates barely reached a hundred.
Many ended up dropping out after repeated failures, and those showing no progress were expelled in numbers too many to count on one hand.
Raku muttered.
"If they can't surpass their limits, they don't deserve to stay at the academy."
§
'Is this…… a memory from the border?'
Lately, Ban had been sleeping with Yuri's sword in his arms.
If Yuri saw it, she'd probably be horrified, but fortunately, she wasn't here.
No, she wasn't in this world anymore.
—Knight Yuri guarded the North's final stand.
Dalton had said that.
When Ban heard it, he lost his appetite for the whole day.
It felt like a longtime friend had departed.
That's why he had no choice but to sleep clutching her sword.
His teacher and friend, whom he'd never even seen face-to-face, lived vividly at least in his dreams.
Ban looked at her sword.
He saw her opponents.
Sometimes light spars, sometimes fierce battles.
She slashed bandits, slashed wraiths, slashed monsters.
From the days when her sword was yet immature, to when it blossomed brilliantly.
Ban slowly, carefully observed her sword's growth.
A swordsman confronting their own wall.
For Ban, walls he had leaped over so easily, she overcame one by one, throwing everything she had against them—that noble, pitiable sight.
How could he feel nothing watching her as a swordsman?
It began with pity.
Then empathy.
Next, thirst.
Only then did Ban realize his sword craved more than spars with friends.
An opponent with power greater than his own, with the will and reason to kill him.
One so formidable he wondered if throwing everything he had would even suffice.
He wanted to feel that moment when blood sprayed, shouts faded, and anger or sorrow drowned in pure exhilaration.
'Focus, Ban.'
Each time, he whipped himself.
Even a swordsman as strong as Yuri couldn't ultimately protect her own life.
He still lacked the qualification to venture into real combat.
That thirst, that hunger, nurtured him.
His swordsmanship in deflecting arrows and blades grew ever smoother, until he could even lay his sword flat to block a mace.
Around the time his thrust could scatter even the passing breeze, quite a few people had gathered by his side, swinging swords or their own weapons alongside him.
Yeoryeong.
Jeo.
Warriors of the Cho Clan.
Those bearing their family names,
or those bearing none.
The freshmen fervor scorched Citadel's spring like summer.
And in that summer-like spring, the academy tossed them fuel for their fire.
—All knight trainees enrolled at the academy, prepare to head to the border.
The class had no special name.
The students half-jokingly called it the 'training camp.'
"……Already?"
"Ugh, I still need some mental prep……"
"Those wraiths show up, right? Among them, that…… ahem…… virgin ghost or whatever?"
"You lunatic. Is that what you're curious about now?"
"We won't die, right? Us?"
"……No way we'd die."
Tension. Anticipation. Fear.
The whirl of young emotions spilled out as idle chatter.
But when the training camp was announced, Ban drew his sword instead of words.
'Finally.'
Closing his eyes, he could clearly see the monsters Yuri had faced.
Monsters that once seemed impossible to oppose, but at some point became laughable…… Ban could glimpse that feeling too.
And now, it was time to feel it himself.
If he listed his shortcomings, there were many.
He lacked the Cho Clan's power, the Iseo Clan's foresight, and even Yuri's skill.
But hands that had spent a lifetime gathering herbs had become hands suited to the sword.
The face of a mere boy, once so young,
had now become that of a swordsman.
That was enough.