The Sword Star's Daughter Is Insulted
The Combat Department training ground was noisy from the early morning. The sound of swords slicing through the air. The sound of training targets shattering. The sound of students murmuring. All those noises blended together above the wide circular arena.
I stood at the very back of the spectator seats, looking down at the scene. The training ground, built from white stone, resembled a coliseum. In the center, training steel targets stood in neat rows, and around the edges, Combat Department students were packed tightly together.
Normally, this many students wouldn't gather for an early morning practice. But today was different.
“Senior Liah is giving a personal demonstration.”
“The Sword Star’s daughter, right?”
“She’s only a second-year but she already broke the advanced practice class record, didn’t she?”
“As expected of the Belcross family.”
The moment that name reached my ears, I shifted my gaze to the center of the training ground.
Liah Belcross. The Sword Star’s daughter. Second-year in the Swordsmanship Department. The heroine who proves her talent the fastest in the original story’s early stages—and breaks the fastest as well.
She hadn’t appeared yet. But the students’ anticipation alone had already prepared a stage for her in the center of the arena.
I crossed my arms and let out a low sigh.
Of all the damn events, it had to be this one.
In the original story, Kyle Rowen insults Liah right here. A childish genius drunk on the name of the Sword Star’s daughter. A puppet who can only imitate her father. There isn’t a single thing in your sword that belongs to you. Something along those lines.
Naturally, Liah gets furious. The students condemn Kyle. The faculty questions his attitude, and another line is added to the list of reasons for his expulsion.
The scene itself was simple. The villain is jealous of a talented junior. The junior overcomes the humiliation and grows. A cliché direction.
But I, now in this body, knew the real problem hidden behind that scene.
Liah Belcross’s body was already breaking down.
The Belcross family’s swordsmanship is perfect. The problem is that its perfection doesn’t suit Liah.
Sword Star Belcross completed his style based on the skeletal structure and mana circuits of an adult male. A massive lower-body pivot, violent shoulder rotation, and a cutting technique that concentrates mana instantly at the elbow. Liah was copying all of it exactly while still growing.
Her talent made it possible. That was precisely why it was so dangerous. Because she could swing the sword even while ignoring the pain. Because she wouldn’t stop until her mana circuits tore apart.
In the original story, Liah continues training even after this demonstration. She receives praise. She receives expectations. She hears the word genius. And a few months later, during a northern combat mission, the mana circuit in her right arm rips apart. The Sword Star’s daughter drops her sword. Her route collapses from there.
“……What a shitshow.”
I muttered without thinking. The assistant instructor from the Combat Department standing beside me flinched and turned to look at me. The moment he recognized my face, his expression hardened openly.
“Are you here to observe as well, Senior Kyle Rowen?”
It was polite speech, but there was no warmth in it. I looked down at him and twisted the corner of my mouth.
“Why? Is this a place I’m not allowed to come?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then shut up and watch.”
The assistant instructor bit his lip and stepped back. A few students nearby glanced at me. Their eyes weren’t friendly.
Worthless senior. Black assistant instructor. Scheduled for expulsion. Most of them probably thought of me that way. Good. The reputation was necessary for what I had to do today.
“Liah Belcross, entering the arena!”
The instructor’s voice rang across the training ground. The murmuring students fell silent at once. The door on the opposite side opened, and a girl walked out.
Her dark red hair was tied back behind her shoulders. Her back was straight, her steps unwavering. Her face still held a trace of youth, but her eyes were sharp as blades.
Liah Belcross took her place in the center holding a training sword. The moment she raised it, the air in the training ground changed.
She really does have talent.
I had no choice but to acknowledge it. The angle of her wrist. The direction of her toes. The rhythm of her breathing and mana. Everything was precise. It was hard to believe she was only eighteen.
The instructor raised his hand.
“The demonstration will be Belcross Style Basic Form 3. Cutting a steel target.”
The students held their breath. A steel target—one of the mana-alloy masses used for academy practice. An ordinary student would struggle to even scratch it. Even advanced practice students needed multiple attempts to cut one cleanly. But Liah would do it in a single strike. Just like in the original story.
“Begin.”
At the short command, Liah’s foot moved. Thud. A heavy sound that didn’t match her light frame echoed across the floor. Her body lowered, her shoulders twisting open.
I frowned the instant I saw it.
As I thought.
Her right knee was bending too deeply. The lower-body pivot was pushing outward. Her shoulder rotation imitated the Sword Star’s stance, but the mana flow near her scapula couldn’t keep up.
Yet the sword itself looked beautiful. Liah’s blade drew a silver line through the air.
Kaaaaang!
The steel target screamed. The next moment, its upper half slid off cleanly and crashed to the floor.
Kwaaang!
Silence fell. Then cheers erupted.
“Waaaaah!”
“That’s insane!”
“She actually cut it!”
“As expected of the Sword Star’s daughter!”
Liah swallowed a rough breath and lowered her sword as if nothing had happened. But I saw it. The faint tremble in the fingers of her right hand. The half-beat delay when she dropped her shoulders. The slight furrow at the edge of her brow the moment she straightened her knee.
Pain. She was already feeling it. Yet the students cheered. The instructors nodded in approval.
“Excellent. Truly the swordsmanship of the Belcross family.”
“That’s not the level of a second-year.”
“At that rate, she could join the advanced combat class next year.”
Praise poured down on her. Those words pushed Liah forward. Do more. Prove more. Become more perfect.
I clicked my tongue.
That’s how you kill someone.
Nothing is more vicious than everyone, with the best of intentions, shoving one person toward the edge of a cliff.
The instructor spoke again.
“Very well. Liah Belcross. Can you do it once more?”
Liah lifted her head.
“I can.”
She couldn’t. At least not today. Three times. According to the original story, Liah repeated the same cutting technique three times here. After the third demonstration, the first crack appears in the mana circuit of her right elbow. It was a tiny crack. No one noticed it at the time. But a few months later, it becomes the fatal blow that breaks her sword.
I had to stop it.
I stepped down from the railing of the spectator seats. Every time I descended a step, the students’ eyes followed me.
“What the…?”
“Isn’t that Senior Kyle Rowen?”
“Why is he coming down?”
“Is he going to cause trouble again?”
Good. Keep talking. That way this scene would look exactly like the original.
I walked to the edge of the training ground and stopped. The instructor looked at me with clear displeasure.
“Assistant Instructor Kyle Rowen. We are in the middle of a demonstration.”
“I can see that.”
“Then step back and stop interfering.”
“Interfering?”
I turned my gaze toward Liah. She was looking at me too. Her red eyes were filled with clear wariness and displeasure. Of course they were. Kyle Rowen had never been a good senior to his juniors. He was especially famous for being jealous of and tearing down talented students. I needed to use that reputation today.
I smiled.
“This was supposed to be a demonstration?”
The training ground fell silent. The instructor’s eyebrows twitched.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I thought it was the Sword Star’s daughter putting on a little show by imitating her father.”
The air froze. Several students gasped. Liah’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. I didn’t stop.
“It’s not a sword. It’s a puppet show. Sword Star Belcross is holding the strings, and you’re just the doll copying his movements.”
“……What did you just say?”
Liah’s voice dropped. It was laced with anger. I deliberately looked her straight in the eyes.
“Didn’t you hear? I said there isn’t a single thing in your sword that belongs to you.”
“Take that back.”
“Don’t want to.”
The students stirred.
“Is he crazy?”
“He just insulted the Belcross family?”
“That senior is really finished.”
“Liah, don’t hold back!”
Liah’s cheeks flushed. It was both from shame and rage. I waited for her to get angry. She had to be angry to demand a spar. I needed the spar so I could check her physical condition up close.
Liah took one step forward.
“Senior Kyle Rowen.”
“What?”
“If my sword is truly a puppet show, then see for yourself.”
Got her. I swallowed a sigh inwardly and sneered outwardly.
“Are you challenging me to a spar?”
“Yes.”
“The Sword Star’s daughter is going to salvage her pride against a worthless senior like me?”
“You insulted my sword first.”
Liah raised her sword. The moment I saw her stance, I became certain again. Her right shoulder was at its limit. Her anger was making her ignore the pain. It wasn’t good. But it wasn’t too late yet.
The instructor tried to intervene.
“Liah, there’s no need to entertain him.”
“No. I will have this confirmed.”
Liah glared at me.
“Whether my sword is truly a puppet show or not.”
I didn’t draw my sword. The students began murmuring again.
“Why isn’t he drawing his sword?”
“Is he scared?”
“All talk.”
I crooked a finger at Liah.
“Come.”
“……You will regret this.”
Liah moved. She was fast. Even in her enraged state, her footwork remained steady. As expected of the Sword Star’s daughter, the pressure of her straight-line charge far exceeded that of an ordinary student.
But what I saw first was something else.
Her right knee. Her left pelvis. The mana concentration at her elbow. Before the sword could come down, her body would collapse first.
Liah raised her sword. At that moment, I stepped forward.
“Too slow.”
I grabbed her wrist—not the hand holding the sword, but the precise point below the elbow where the mana flow momentarily severed.
Tap.
With a light sound, Liah’s sword slipped from her grasp. The training blade clattered across the floor. The training ground fell silent. Liah’s eyes shook.
“Huh……?”
I didn’t release her wrist.
“Here.”
I pressed my thumb into the inside of her elbow. Liah’s face twisted instantly.
“Ugh……!”
“Your elbow circuit is being strained. Every time you use Belcross Form 3, mana flows backward through this spot.”
I moved my hand and pressed near her shoulder.
“This area is even worse.”
Liah gritted her teeth.
“Let…… go.”
“The mana circulation in your right shoulder is half a beat late. Your body can’t keep up with the Sword Star’s rotation angle. That’s why every time you swing, you’re bracing with your joints instead of your shoulder.”
I finally looked down at her knee.
“And your right knee.”
“……!”
“The lower-body pivot is drifting outward. Do that three more times and your mana circuit will tear.”
Liah’s eyes widened. The anger paused for a moment. In its place came bewilderment. Looking into those eyes, I was certain.
I was right. She already knew. Or rather, she had already felt it. That something inside her body was wrong. But she wouldn’t have said anything. Because she was the Sword Star’s daughter. Because she was a genius. Because everyone expected so much from her. Because admitting it hurt would have made her feel inadequate.
I released her hand. Liah reflexively stepped back. The students were now completely silent.
I didn’t let the silence linger.
“How disappointing.”
I put the villain’s face back on. Liah’s expression hardened.
“What did you say?”
“Calling yourself the Sword Star’s daughter when you can’t even take care of your own body. The Belcross family must be embarrassed by the name.”
“Kyle Rowen!”
The instructor finally shouted.
“That is clearly an insult!”
“Insult?”
I nudged Liah’s fallen sword with the tip of my foot.
“It’s not an insult. It’s a diagnosis.”
“What right do you have—”
“The right of an assistant instructor.”
I turned to the instructor.
“Special assistant instructors in the Combat Department have the authority to point out injury risks to students during practice. Regulation 17, Paragraph 3. If an assistant instructor notices an injury the instructor missed, they may immediately request training be halted.”
The instructor’s mouth closed. It was knowledge this body remembered. Unfortunately, this bastard knew the regulations extremely well. He’d probably memorized them to abuse them, but right now they were useful.
I took out a piece of paper I had folded in advance. It was a training regimen I’d written in a hurry last night. Honestly, the handwriting was terrible. This body had been drunk and my hand had been shaking. But the content was accurate.
I tossed the paper at Liah’s feet.
It fluttered open on the ground.
“Read it or tear it up. Your choice.”
Liah didn’t move. I spoke coldly.
“Belcross Style Basic Form 3 is forbidden. Minimum two weeks.”
“……”
“Realign your lower-body pivot. Center your weight on your left pelvis instead of your right knee.”
“……”
“Limit cutting technique repetitions. No more than five times per day. Stop immediately if you feel pain.”
“……”
“Your shoulder mana circulation needs to be retrained separately. If you keep swinging like that, your arm will break before the sword does.”
Liah stared down at the paper. The students barely dared to breathe. I turned my back.
I couldn’t stay any longer. If I explained kindly here, my sincerity would show. It would look like I was worried. That couldn’t happen.
Before I left, I spoke one last time.
“If you don’t want to be devoured by the name of the Sword Star’s daughter, at least listen when your own body is screaming.”
And I deliberately sneered.
“Though I’m not sure your pride will allow that.”
“……”
Liah didn’t answer. I walked out of the training ground. Behind me, the students’ whispers erupted again.
“He’s seriously the worst.”
“Was he pointing out an injury risk or insulting her?”
“But how did he know about Liah’s pain?”
“What’s on that paper?”
“He completely ruined the mood.”
I had to ruin it. That way it would resemble the original story. That way even the mastermind watching from the shadows wouldn’t find it strange.
I entered the corridor and let out a breath. The tips of my fingers were cold.
I blocked the first one, at least.
At least today Liah wouldn’t repeat it three times. That alone would delay the crack. I hadn’t completely saved her yet. If she tore up the paper and trained like before, it would be meaningless.
But Liah Belcross wasn’t a fool. Her pride was strong, but when it came to the sword, she was more serious than anyone. She wouldn’t be able to ignore a training regimen that had pinpointed her exact weaknesses.
Probably.
I decided to believe that.
That was when I heard a small sound from inside the training ground. The sound of paper being crumpled. I didn’t stop walking. Had she torn it? It was possible. Given Liah’s personality, it wouldn’t be surprising. She had just been publicly humiliated. It would be stranger if she listened to me.
But the sound that followed was different. It wasn’t the sound of her picking up the sword again. It wasn’t the instructor ordering training to resume.
It was Liah’s low, suppressed voice.
“……Today’s training ends here.”
The training ground stirred once more. I forced myself not to stop at the corner of the corridor. I pressed down the smile that tried to rise at the corners of my mouth.
It worked.
The first death route. It was only a small part, but it had changed.
I kept walking. For my own survival. Not because I wanted to save her. Absolutely not.
I repeated that self-justification over and over as I headed for the end of the corridor.
Meanwhile, in the center of the training ground, Liah Belcross was staring at the training regimen that had fallen to the floor. Her hands were still trembling. The inside of her elbow. Her right shoulder. Her knee. The areas Kyle Rowen had pointed out throbbed.
Every single one was correct. They were pains she had never told anyone about. Not her father. Not the instructors. Not her friends. They were weaknesses she hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge herself, afraid they would tarnish the name of the Sword Star’s daughter.
Yet Kyle Rowen had seen them. With only a single demonstration. No—as if he had known from before.
Liah picked up the paper. She tried to crumple it. But her fingers wouldn’t move in the end. One sentence written on the paper caught her eye.
Pain is not proof of weakness.
It is a warning right before collapse.
Liah bit her lip. She was angry. She had been humiliated. Her pride had been trampled. Even the name of the Sword Star’s daughter had been mocked.
Yet strangely, the training regimen written on the paper hurt more than his words. Because it was too accurate.
Liah slowly folded the paper. Then she slipped it into her uniform where no one could see.
Her heart was beating strangely. She didn’t know if it was from anger, shame, or something else.
She looked toward the corridor where Kyle had disappeared.
“He……”
Her voice was quiet. But it was trembling.
“Why does he know my weaknesses so precisely?”