Chapter 61
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Lowly Knight and Mage (1)
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2 AM.
The outdoor training ground in front of the Sword Hall lay shrouded only in cool moonlight.
-Swish, shiiik!
The sound slicing through the night air was rhythmic and dry.
Gaius Leonhart.
Bare from the waist up, he moved his sweat-slicked body.
Sweat droplets had pooled at his feet, forming small puddles.
Each swing of the massive greatsword rent the cool night breeze.
His trajectory was impeccably straight, his footwork textbook precise.
Anyone witnessing it would shower him with praise.
As expected of a genius.
Fitting prowess for Elterion Academy's top 4th-year student, an elite whose induction into the Imperial Knight Order was assured upon graduation.
But Gaius knew better.
He had no talent for the sword.
His academy entrance scores had scraped the bottom.
If he possessed any gift at all, it was one.
Enduring tedium.
Repetition to a maddeningly obstinate degree.
While others slept, he alone came to the training ground and swung his blade.
Until his eyes burned bloodshot, blisters burst and soaked his hands in blood, calluses thickened and dulled sensation—he swung in silence.
A year passed, then two.
In his third year, he finally seized the top spot.
And now, with the Imperial Knight Order—the dream of every swordsman—within reach, he still swung out of habit.
-Bwoong!
A flawless sword art mingled with a sigh.
Gaius's expression darkened as he halted abruptly.
'...Light.'
No weight reached the tip. No intent.
Lately, stagnation gnawed at him.
The sense of merely drifting in place clung stubbornly.
"Is this... my limit?"
He swallowed the bitter tang in his mouth and raised his sword once more.
Terror that halting now meant not just stagnation, but regression, drove his back.
He swung in self-flagellation to banish the crashing void.
But while his muscles burned hot, his heart cooled steadily.
"Umm..."
My eyes snapped open.
My mind was crystal clear, sharp as glass.
Nothing could feel more refreshing, more invigorating.
The blanket cradled me in body-warmed comfort, the air chilled just right by the AC.
The perfect cradle of sloth.
"Huaa..."
I ground my face into my beloved pillow, then glanced at the clock.
2 AM. Peak hours for moody vibes.
"Roughly... 17 hours?"
Pecked at brunch, conked out, woke now—yeah, about right.
Day and night fully flipped, but who cares.
Vacation, after all. Sleep enough to flip 'em back.
The issue lay elsewhere.
-Grrrgle.
My gut clock ignored the clock entirely.
"Hungry..."
Sleep lust sated, now hunger ruled.
I wormed across the bed before springing upright.
"What to eat at this hour."
Dining hall? No chance it'd be open.
My schedule wandered free; the chefs' was ironclad.
Begging the night-shift maid? No thanks.
-Lunaris miss, dawn snacks aren't healthy.
-Vacation or not, you need routine.
-Habits stick, miss. Carry this sloth into term and...
Yeah, I could hear it already.
Odette, up at dawn, unleashing a nagging barrage at the perfect moment.
"Just tough it out?"
Tried forcing sleep, but the growls wouldn't quit.
I raked my tousled hair, then peered out the window.
The garden sparkled under moonlight.
Elterion Academy's landscaping was legendary.
...With all those trees.
Bound to be a fruit bearer or two, right?
Forest life pre-academy honed my tree-spotting eye.
Worst case, no fruit—a stroll might tire me into sleep.
I opened the window, not the door. Climbed the sill.
Tiny night maid stood guard outside.
No captured-by-'Where you off to, miss~?' for me.
Compressed the air beneath my feet, then whoosh—expanded it, launching skyward with a boing.
Touchdown: plush grass cushioned my soles.
Night air rushed cool—not quite AC crisp, but decent.
Hands jammed in pockets, I shuffled along.
Damp earth and grass scents mingled sweetly.
"Sword Hall's got a bunch of trees nearby..."
Sword Hall: hub for swordsmanship department kids.
Martial maniacs dashing all day earned extra grounds.
Never ventured there usually, but when else?
-Swish, shik!
Mid-stride, a night air-tearing sound pierced from somewhere.
...What lunatic worked out now?
If at Linea Hall? I'd Magic Missile 'em mercilessly.
Nearer the training ground, it swelled louder.
Rhythmic. Relentless.
Whoever: exhausting diligence. Half-curious, half-irritated, I peeked.
Under moonlight, a shirtless man poured sweat like rain, sword whipping.
His heated muscles swelled taut, near-bursting.
I recognized him instantly.
'Gaius Leonhart.'
4th-year top dog. Poor senior, knight order slave post-grad.
Unlike other 'characters,' tricky stance for him.
Original work? Not even a name-drop.
Protagonist Kyle Lowell enrolled next year.
Gaius, 4th-year now, graduates—gone from tale.
Maybe a face-cross once, as 'academy alum knight.'
Extras hid bosses sometimes.
Rally these, plot events breeze by.
But me legworking? Pass.
Hassle incarnate.
"...Just bail."
Quiet sigh, turned away.
Eye-lock? Pure fatigue.
Mid-turn,
"Who's there?"
Sword sounds cut dead.
"...Crap."
Swordsman's honed senses clocked me.
Gaius turned slowly.
His clear brow framed eyes pinning me in the dark.
"Lunaris, you?"
"..."
Busted flat.
Awkward grin, flapped hand.
"...Hey."
"Where to at this hour?"
Sweat-wiped with dirt-streaked towel dropped on ground, he asked.
"Just insomnia. Strolling."
"Huh."
"You?"
"Loosening up."
Deadpan, fiddled his sword.
"Whoa—diligent. I'm out."
Bowed quick, fled—but,
"Vacation, not heading home?"
"...Too much hassle. Packing's work."
"Haha, so you."
"You?"
"Academy's easiest for training."
Gaius chuckled dryly.
Bitter gaze dropped to the ground.
Mine followed.
Sand soaked with his sweat pools.
"Oh yeah, you graduate next term."
Casual slip.
"Lucky. Free now."
No empty words—real envy.
Sigh, when's my graduation freedom?
But Gaius's face shadowed deeper.
"Dunno..."
Hilt gripped tight, he muttered to himself.
"Truth is, I envy you."
"Me?"
"First-year means tons left to learn. Infinite potential."
"Not really much..."
"Climbing toward archmage, right?"
Senior murmured absently.
"Graduating feels like my growth halts."
Dawn mood soaked him.
"Leaving here... no more advance? Stuck forever..."
I'd bet.
Bedtime recall? Blanket-kick city.
Or morning shame.
Not my tale, swear.
Recent princess coquetry shame? No kicks.
...For real.