Sharon's Regret
Sharon's Regret
The private training ground provided by the Knight Department.
A square perimeter, three meters on each side, marked the training area, with training dummies placed at each corner.
And in the very center.
A woman with hair of an endlessly cool hue stood with her eyes closed, concentrating.
Her eyelids traced long, blue-tinged arcs like frost-covered crescent moons.
Sharon Pierce's training routine began like this—by cutting down the dummies placed in all four directions in a single stroke.
When Sharon activated her circle, a halo of light shone around her.
A phenomenon caused by frost mana crystals flowing from her body, reflecting the surrounding light.
"Hoooh."
With a light, deep breath.
— Ssshhhiiing!
The sword traced a beautiful arc, slicing through the dummies one after another.
No. It was supposed to slice through them.
— Grrriiiind!
A chilling sound of metal fracturing rang out, and then—
— Clang!
The sword shattered.
Shards of the blade burst outward, scattering.
Sharon spun away, dodging.
But a long line of blood carved its way onto her pale arm.
Crimson blood oozed down.
— Thud.
Sharon looked down at the floor.
The sword was shattered like broken glass.
It had been the best sword she could obtain at the moment.
But as expected, it could not withstand her magical power.
The elemental type of mana is fixed, but how it manifests varies with the person who absorbs and wields it. Even the same element develops unique traits, deepening with the user's talent and individuality.
Sharon's frost mana was infinitely cold and sharp.
That was why an ordinary sword could not contain it.
"......."
Shaking off the visible droplets of blood,
Sharon surveyed the training dummies.
One had been completely cut down and lay on the ground.
The one beside it had been roughly severed and toppled over.
The third dummy was only half-cut, standing at an angle.
The last one bore not a single scratch.
"......"
Under normal circumstances, all four dummies should have been cleanly cut down.
This was merely the beginning of her training routine, a warm-up.
She'd felt it was lacking, so she'd added more training dummies.
... Yet now, why was this half-cut dummy leering crookedly down at her?
"Ugh."
A small groan escaped Sharon's lips.
Her palm throbbed.
Sharon lowered her head.
Without realizing it, she had been clenching her fist.
Slowly, she opened it.
A shard of the shattered blade was embedded in her palm.
The blood trickled down, dripping from her hand—drip, drip.
"... Impossible."
Sharon muttered without thinking.
With a sword like this, it was absolutely impossible.
It could never contain her infinitely sharp frost mana.
Even if she brought dozens or hundreds of such swords, the result would be the same.
But this was the best sword she could procure right now.
"Ah..."
Sharon's expression, which had been utterly impassive until now,
was cracked for the first time.
She bit her lower lip.
Out of regret.
"Why the hell did I do something so stupid...?"
Why.
Why did I bet my sword on Ian Blackangus's failure in that moment?
Why couldn't I keep my composure?
If Ian's words were a lie, he would have collapsed on his own.
But I couldn't stand his overconfident expression.
This was Ian, who had pretended to be kind on the surface while secretly casting a growth-curse spell on me.
I wanted to crush him, one way or another.
"It was a stupid thought."
A foolish thought.
I was stupid, pathetic.
I had been certain Ian was hiding his power.
I shouldn't have wagered my only sword.
There was nothing to gain.
— Grind.
Ian Blackangus was always like that.
Just seeing him shattered my composure.
My cold reason, now fractured.
Through the cracks seeped fear.
Fear of what would happen if I couldn't get a sword like this.
Fear of what would happen if I ruined the rank measurement like this.
Fear of my siblings' mockery when word reached the family.
Fear of the family head's endless disappointment.
And...
The fear of having my growth stunted, being abandoned by everyone, and sinking once more into that deep darkness.
— Quiver.
Her lips quivered faintly.
Sharon clenched her teeth, barely suppressing the trembling.
A thick trickle of blood ran down her lower lip.
"Should I ask for... help."
Should I ask for help?
But to whom?
Naturally, the first name that came to mind was—
Ian Blackangus.
The first person in her life who had helped her with sincerity.
And the man who had shown her that within such heart-melting kindness, there was an ulterior motive.
— Splatter.
Sharon's wounded fist clenched again, and blood dripped down.
Other than that, she had never received help.
She didn't even know how to ask for help like this.
One day.
One day remained until the final rank measurement.
She had to find a way before then.
Without a sword, she couldn't properly manifest her mana.
"Should I ask... the family."
Should I request their help?
She had never done so before, but now, she had no other choice.
The family head had never once shown her consideration, not even when her mother died.
But this one time, surely, they would forgive her.
With that vain hope, Sharon picked up a quill.
From her trembling hand, blood kept dripping, endlessly soaking the paper.
◆
The final day of rank measurement.
The measurement item, as Ian had predicted, was mobility.
The location was a wide clearing on the outskirts of the academy.
The method involved comprehensive assessment of distance covered, acceleration, speed, landing, and application.
"Student Ian, we will begin the measurement."
Ian had prepared perfectly.
However, one thing was a little different from before.
"Hey, hey! There's Ian!"
"We gotta see this!"
The anticipation from the students had changed.
Here and there, grumbling opinions like 'What's so great about him doing it?' were mixed in, but people generally prefer fun over complaints.
Ian immediately clenched his fist.
The rings on his fingers vanished.
At the same time, he infused the floor with magnetic energy.
"He's lifting off!"
Cheers erupted before his body had fully lifted off.
'... What is this, a circus act?'
Letting out a light sigh, Ian—fixed in midair—this time pulled a battery from his pocket.
— When you run an electric current through a thin film of floatstone, its levitation force momentarily increases several hundredfold. In other words... it's like a cannon.
'In the end, it's a cannon after all.'
Ian had been reluctant to be shot like a projectile, but...
In the end, it came back around to a cannon.
At least the consolation was that the likelihood of his arms, legs, and head arriving separately was significantly lower.
"Life."
A murmur that wouldn't be heard, buried in the cheers.
Ian placed the battery against the thin film and sent a current through it.
For a moment, a tingling sensation spread through his body.
— Fwoooom!
In an instant, the surrounding scenery flashed by.
Before he could even feel the speed, it was time to prepare for landing.
'Extract, transform!'
He reached out his fingers and generated a magnetic field at the destination.
In other words, a kind of magnetic net.
As soon as his hurtling body reached it—
— WHOOOM!
His body locked in place instantly.
"Charge distance: 100 meters! Speed... under one second!"
"... WHOOAAAHH!"
"You crazy bastard Ian, crazy bastard!"
The instructor's shout was followed by an outpouring of cheers.
It sounded like cursing and amazement, but he couldn't focus on it.
"...Urgh!"
Ian dry-heaved.
His insides felt like they'd been yanked, leaving him disoriented.
He'd reduced the speed as much as he could, but...
This was no joke.
'I need to figure out a smoother way to stop.'
While he was calming his stomach and pondering how to put Christina to work,
— Claaang!
"Kyaaaaah!"
"Miss Sharon, are you okay?!"
Far away.
The sound of a sword shattering rang out.
'Looks like the sword broke, unable to handle her mana.'
Sharon Pierce had been treated as a top-tier endgame character in the game, but there was a prerequisite: custom gear. In other words, her performance scaled with the money invested in her.
That reality seemed unchanged here.
On one side, cheers.
On the other, screams.
The scenery had flipped through the measurement ceremony.
◆
After the measurement ceremony ended,
he could have enjoyed a moment of leisure, but unfortunately, there was no time for that.
—「Disciplinary Committee Convocation Notice 」—
You are required to attend the disciplinary committee hearing.
- Disciplinary Subject: Ian von Pong Eastan Blackangus
- Reason: Coercion and sexual harassment of a fellow student, among other acts.
.......
——
The disciplinary committee was scheduled for two days later.
— Let's meet in my quarters.
Somehow, Sylvia had found out and immediately contacted him, suggesting they hold a strategy meeting.
Ian had prepared countermeasures to some extent, but advice from someone of Sylvia's caliber would undoubtedly help.
"Um..."
Sylvia hesitated, uncharacteristically.
She pursed her lips, then cautiously spoke.
"There's someone who I think could really be a big help."
Sylvia's voice was cautious, as if she were about to broach a very difficult subject.
That only amplified Ian's curiosity.
Who on earth could it be?
"...Of course, you might feel uneasy, but I think it's best to use whatever you can. Her proposal wasn't bad."
By this point, Ian had a rough idea.
There was a cautious presence behind him.
Following Sylvia's gaze, Ian turned his head.
"I-Ian."
Green eyes that seemed to hold the leaves of the forest.
A black handkerchief wrapped around her white neck like a choker.
And red hair.
"H-Hi...?"
Rina Rosewell stood there, raising her hand awkwardly.