Chapter 22

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Translator: ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠MadScientist

Chapter: 22

Chapter Title: Let's Get Along Well

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Dawn, before the sun had risen.

Ivela slipped out of the dormitory in secret.

Part of it was waking up earlier than expected, but she also felt an inexplicable stifling sensation.

Whether it was good luck or bad, her would-be roommate had been hospitalized due to deteriorating health.

As a result, Ivela could use the room alone for the time being and leave the dormitory without anyone noticing.

Whoosh! Swoosh!

The sound of wind whistling through the sparsely peopled forest.

It was the noise of a wooden sword slicing through empty air.

Whenever anger or frustration welled up, she always swung her sword. It had a way of settling her mood.

"Huuu."

But not today, it seemed.

No matter how much she swung, the stuffy feeling refused to lift. And truthfully, this wasn't just a one-day issue.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

Ivela, who swung her sword every morning, had suddenly started feeling like she'd slammed into a wall.

How to put it?

Like a massive boulder crashing down on a path she'd traversed smoothly until now? Blocking her way forward completely.

'I want to climb over it somehow......'

But it was far from easy.

The wall was tall, the boulder enormous.

Putting down her sword would only make the frustration worse, so she had no choice but to keep swinging.

And right then.

Boom! Rumble!

The ground trembled not far off.

A presence soon followed. Someone was approaching. Moments later, the hazy silhouette came into view—grotesque, to say the least.

The body was just a touch larger than a human's, but the arms were absurdly long. Like whole logs.

'What is that?'

Surely not a magic beast?

The thought flashed through her mind, but she shook it off. No way a magic beast would appear in the academy—let alone near the dorms.

But the world had a way of defying expectations.

Ivela gripped her wooden sword tight, just in case. And in that instant, someone burst through the underbrush.

"......Huh?"

To cut a long story short, it wasn't a magic beast.

Just a young man, shirtless from the waist up, hefting massive logs on his shoulders.

The moment their eyes met.

Ivela realized who he was.

"Ah! You're......"

The barbarian warrior from the Grand Melee exam.

The top-ranked entrant who'd aced the entrance trial.

Ullan.

2.

After leaping from his dormitory window.

Ullan had figured he'd just take a casual stroll and head back. But walking turned into running, and running made his body itch for more.

'Just some strength work, then home.'

No sooner had he resolved than.

He yanked up two suitably thick trees, trimmed them into logs, slung one over each shoulder, and took off running.

That was when he crossed paths with Ivela.

They stared at each other wordlessly for a beat.

Ullan broke the silence first.

"You alright?"

"......Uh, yeah?"

"Blood from your nose."

Ivela jumped at his words.

Not from the nosebleed itself. She'd just realized she'd been staring at his body, entranced, without realizing it.

Sweat-slicked, rippling muscles.

A rock-solid chest, forearms thicker than her waist, and flawless, chiseled abs to boot.

Parading around with a physique like that on display.

Way too stimulating.

Ivela whipped her gaze away in a hurry.

Once the nosebleed finally stopped, Ullan spoke up again.

"Dedication to the sword is fine, but take care of your health."

"Y-Yeah."

Good. He hadn't noticed her staring.

She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Um, but......"

Ivela sneaked a glance at Ullan.

His muscles were impressive, sure—but what really piqued her curiosity were the logs on his shoulders.

"What're you doing right now?"

"Strength training."

A deadpan reply.

It did look effective for building power. For him, anyway. Any normal person trying that would just get crushed flat.

Her lingering glances finally got to him, though.

Ullan narrowed his eyes, on guard.

"Not giving these up."

"Huh?"

"Make your own if you need 'em."

"No, it's fine. Don't need any."

He must've thought she was angling for the logs.

She shook her head, and Ullan visibly relaxed before turning away.

"Then I'll be off."

"Ah, sure."

"Finish your sword practice."

With that, Ullan turned on his heel.

In that moment, a thought struck her.

Someone far stronger than her like Ullan—maybe he'd know how to smash through this suffocating wall?

Ivela called out in a panic, grasping at straws.

"Um, wait......!"

"......?"

"Did you, uh, happen to see it?"

"See what?"

"My swordsmanship."

Of course he'd seen.

Ullan had sharp eyes.

"Saw it."

"How was it?"

"Like a dance."

The instant Ullan replied.

Ivela's face lit up in shock.

'How'd he know?'

Exactly as he'd said—it was the sword dance handed down through the Deorg Count family for generations. A performance to liven up banquets and balls.

The only sword style she'd ever learned from her family.

'They probably meant for me to skip the sword nonsense and just dance at parties......'

But Ivela hadn't settled for mere sword dancing.

Born into it or not, she'd poured years of time and effort into refining it.

And her hard work had reborn it as a practical, potent combat art.

'To spot it at a glance......'

He must be pretty versed in swordsmanship himself.

She hesitated a moment, then steeled herself and met his eyes. But Ullan beat her to it.

"Something you wanna say?"

"Ah, yeah. It's just......"

He'd read her face.

Caught off guard, Ivela quickly composed herself. Then, with utmost seriousness:

"If it's not too rude, could you tell me what's wrong with my swordsmanship? What I need to fix?"

"I don't know swords."

The words were out of her mouth.

Ullan shut her down cold.

It might've sounded harsh, but facts were facts. Ullan was a total novice when it came to swordplay.

A natural-born warrior, Ullan.

He'd known how to fight from the cradle, but teaching others? Not his forte.

Swords, bows, spears, hand-to-hand—skills everyone else had to learn from masters came to him as naturally as breathing.

So he couldn't spot flaws in her technique, much less suggest fixes.

His blunt refusal darkened her expression. Seeing it, Ullan twitched his firmly shut lips.

"But......"

There was one bit of advice he could offer.

Advice only possible because they'd once been comrades.

"If a short tip's enough, I can give one."

"Yes! That's perfect."

Her face brightened in an instant.

As if the gloom had never been there, Ivela beamed. Ullan dredged up a memory from his past life.

When was it again?

A night when sleep wouldn't come, probably. He remembered sitting around a campfire with Ivela and Dilia, chatting idly.

About nothing important.

Then the topic had turned to this:

'If you could talk to your younger self for just one minute, what would you say?'

Ullan had vowed not to let his brother die.

Dilia said she'd stop her sister from ever learning magic.

'And Ivela......'

She'd talked about her sword.

"Honestly, our family's swordsmanship wasn't good enough to contain my talent. So if that chance came, I'd tell my younger self to ditch the family style first thing."

Recalling her exact words.

Ullan repeated them verbatim.

"Ditch your family swordsmanship first."

"......Pardon?"

"You've got sword talent. But your family's style isn't good enough to hold it back."

Ditch the family swordsmanship?

Ivela wore a strange look.

Hard not to. Telling a noble—prizing honor and prestige above all—to abandon their house's sword art was borderline insulting.

If Himmel were here, he'd demand a duel on the spot. Ivela felt no love for her family, so it didn't faze her much—but it was still a touchy subject.

'Saying it without a second thought......'

The bluntness shocked her—in a refreshing way.

Meanwhile, shock or no, Ullan pressed on with the memory.

"Next, I'd say the power in your strikes is lacking. Too many wasted movements in your sword path, and fix those overly long breaths."

"And your power's lacking too."

"P-P-Power?"

"Put more force into your blade. Cut the fluff. Shorten your breaths."

Practical stuff.

Ivela committed every syllable to memory.

"Finally, find a sword style that's purely yours—not your family's. You'll reach the master's realm much sooner."

"M-Master's realm?!"

Her teal eyes went wide as saucers.

It was her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠secret dream as a swordswoman, sure—but she'd never figured it for realistic.

There were only five knights at master level in the entire empire.

'And all from great noble houses.'

Elites who'd devoted their lives to the blade, backed by vast family resources.

Ivela? A lowborn bastard.

No backing, no ladder to climb.

So for a moment, she wondered:

'Is he messing with me?'

Her fine brows furrowed.

But no—his eyes were dead serious.

"You can do it."

"......"

"You'll reach master for sure. The only uncertainty on your path is when."

Ivela fell silent.

Those eyes, brimming with unshakable conviction, left her speechless. He believed in her mastery without a shred of doubt.

Overwhelmed by that faith, she bowed her head.

The first time she'd ever seen such a look.

Not from her mother in childhood. Not when she first entered the count's house. No one had ever looked at her that way.

So she kept her mouth shut and her head down.

She had no idea how to respond. Thankfully, Ullan didn't mind.

"That's the end of my advice."

Ullan shut his mouth and turned away.

He hoisted the logs back onto his shoulders and strolled off toward the men's dorms.

How much time passed?

Only after his presence faded completely did Ivela slowly lift her head.

Cheeks faintly flushed. Expression dazed.

Moments later, she began swinging her sword as if entranced. A sword dance infused with Ullan's advice—different from before.

More power loaded into each strike.

She boldly pruned any sluggish or unnecessary motions.

Shorter breaths with every one.

A good while later.

Her blade pierced the air.

Flash!

A sword stroke shooting forth like lightning.

Gazing at the unerringly straight thrust, Ivela exhaled the breath she'd been holding.

"Huu, huu!"

Her breathing had grown ragged before she knew it.

Sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her jaw.

Exhaustion like she might collapse any second—but her spirits were sky-high. The wall that had frustrated her for so long felt shattered.

"......Amazing."

Just a few tweaks.

And it broke through this easily.

"He really knows his swordsmanship."

No way someone clueless could offer advice like that. Calling himself ignorant was humility taken too far.

"Not top rank for nothing."

She voiced her honest awe.

Her cheeks warmed again as his words echoed in her mind.

"You can do it."

You'll reach master for sure.

Hearing it again, her chest swelled with emotion. Acknowledgment of her talent from someone so overwhelmingly strong.

"Hehe."

Ivela's lips parted in a small smile.

A soft giggle. Her usual stiff demeanor gave way to a bright, age-appropriate grin.

Then it hit her, belatedly.

"Ah, right. We never properly introduced ourselves."

She knew his name, but he didn't know hers.

No big deal, though. As classmates, they'd cross paths again someday. That's what she figured.

"And I should drop the formal talk."

His eyes had such a seasoned depth; she'd slipped into honorifics without thinking. But no need—Arsen Academy only accepted entrants under twenty. Nineteen, tops.

"Hope we meet again."

Next time, proper hellos. Thank-yous. Tell him it helped wash away the frustration and vault the wall.

As she grinned broadly once more.

Ullan, called out of the blue.

But Ivela paid more mind to the name called alongside his.

'Dilia Arpen.'

The runner-up who'd placed second to Ullan.

One of the most talked-about freshmen this year, from what she'd heard.

'Calling the top and second-place students.'

Handing out some award?

The idle musing crossed her mind as she turned away.

Whatever the reason, it had nothing to do with her—the 99th-place admit.

'Still......'

Honestly, a twinge of envy.

Second place felt like a ticket to stand proudly at Ullan's side. She secretly coveted it.

But the envy was fleeting.

She snapped back to reality quick.

Clap, clap!

A slap to her cheeks sharpened her focus.

"I'll give it my all too."

Her murmur laced with resolve.

Ivela set off walking.

Teal eyes burning straight and true. The gaze of someone with a fresh goal in sight.