The Swordmaster's Eye

I was, without a shadow of a doubt, completely screwed.

That was the solemn conclusion I reached after long and painstaking deliberation.

Granted, I wasn't an astronaut stranded alone on Mars. Then again, as a transmigrator left without a single friend in an elite academy, maybe we shared more common ground than I cared to admit. Just another unwanted outsider cast adrift in an unwelcoming world.

"Huuuh..."

With a heavy sigh, I brushed aside my wandering thoughts and slowly opened my eyes. It was the morning after the academy's entrance ceremony—the exact hour when anyone else would be greeting the dawn with bright eyes, buzzing with anticipation for a brand-new school year.

"...I must have lost my damn mind."

While normal students were supposed to be burning with youthful passion and thirst for knowledge, I lay staring blankly at the ceiling, letting out one despondent breath after another.

"Two days from now... Monday ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠morning at seven, was it?"

That was the time Yelena had set for our duel. Because the academy's official sparring rings weren't open during the weekend following orientation, her challenge essentially meant settling our business during the class placement exam two days later.

Sorting through yesterday's events in my head, I splashed cold water onto my face to shake off the lingering drowsiness. The fog clouding my mind gradually cleared, dragging me back toward harsh reality.

Beyond the bathroom mirror, an innocent-looking girl with jet-black hair and amethyst eyes stared blankly back at me.

Even though five full years had passed since I ended up in this body, there were still moments when I caught myself doing a double take, wondering if this was truly me. She matched my personal aesthetic tastes a little too perfectly. Still, the complete absence of any carnal desire toward my own reflection was enough to convince me that, like it or not, this girl was indeed who I was now.

Wiping the droplets from her skin, the tired-faced girl in the mirror muttered quietly.

"Guess it's time to start the day."

After drying off with a towel and finishing my preparations to head out, my first destination was the training grounds. Finding it was second nature; after all, it was a place I had walked into countless times while playing Arcana Academy.

"...Completely empty."

The 1st-Year Training Grounds during orientation week were quiet to the point of being desolate. Everything had been replaced with brand-new equipment over the winter break, boasting pristine interiors carved from high-grade marble and expansive facilities capable of hosting over a hundred students at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once. Yet with not a single pupil in sight, all that architectural splendor only served to highlight how lonely the hall really was.

In the first week of March, with winter's chill still clinging stubbornly to the air, the cold seeped right through my skin-tight workout attire.

"Huuu..."

Taking in the crisp dawn air that signaled the birth of a new day, I let out a soft sigh.

The vast dueling hall belonged to me alone. The chill was just right, meaning I wouldn't have to worry too much about breaking a foul sweat. Perhaps because the entrance quest that had haunted me for five solid years was finally gone, my body felt surprisingly light despite the gloom weighing on my mind. It was the absolute perfect atmosphere for swinging a blade.

Savoring the mood, I drew the sword that had kept me company through the past five years.

Shhhring—

With a cool, metallic whisper, the greatest hidden piece I had ever claimed revealed itself to the world. Drinking in the faint light of the rising sun, the dark blade gleamed with an obsidian luster.

It was a fixture in almost every player's top five broken items list in Arcana Academy—an indispensable hidden piece for anyone building a serious swordsman character. The passive Stigma Support, which eliminated the brutal mana and stamina drain of wielding a Stigma, was incredible in its own right, but nothing compared to the absurd utility of Recreation of the Battlefield. Being able to spar against formidable foes with zero risk made it an absolute must-have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for early progression.

After ensuring no one was in the vicinity, I channeled mana into the dark blade and murmured under my breath.

"Activate Recreation of the Battlefield. Opponent... the Baron-rank demon from the other day."

The moment I shut my eyes, a demonic creature twice my height materialized before me. Even if it occupied the lowest rung of the aristocracy, it was still high-born enough to wield a sword—an unusual trait for a demon.

Fixing my gaze upon the towering beast, I cleared away every stray thought and sank into a defensive stance.

"Phew..."

Wiping the drenched nape of my neck with a towel, I sheathed the blade.

The clock on the wall already pointed to eight. It felt like I had barely swung my sword, yet hours had slipped by like water. Muttering under my breath, I spoke toward the presence lingering behind me.

"Um, I was just about to pack up and leave... Would you like to come out, Instructor?"

"My, my. You caught me?"

"I'm reasonably good at sensing presence, you see."

"Is that so? It shouldn't have been easy for a student to pinpoint where I was hiding, though."

"Well... thank you?"

Fastening the scabbard to my waist and draping the towel over my shoulders, I turned around. A figure emerged from the shadowed corner of the grand hall.

She possessed long, fiery reddish-brown hair and eyes like polished rubies. Her open collar revealed a flame-shaped Stigma etched into her collarbone, radiating a subtly scandalous allure. Even though my height of 160 centimeters put me squarely around the female average, she stood nearly a head taller than me, effortlessly making me feel like a little kid.

She was a Swordmaster, an instructor for the 1st-Year Swordsmanship Department, and the second daughter of the Agnes Ducal Family—one of the Four Great Ducal Families that commanded elemental fire. Elin Agnes.

"Pfft... Aren't you an entertaining one? You seem to know who I am already, but allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Elin Agnes, and I will be in charge of the first-year Swordsmanship Department this year."

"Temporary Class A, Student Number 13. Sian."

"Oh, you're that girl..."

"Ahaha... I suppose I've become a bit notorious lately."

I offered a faint smile, doing my best to play off her remark casually. Showing up at the training grounds the very morning after the entrance ceremony to practice was one of the minor hidden piece triggers in the game. Leaving a favorable impression on her here would smooth out the road ahead in more ways than one.

And so, despite the anxiety eating away at my gut since dawn, I pushed myself to keep the conversation flowing. Between getting marked by Yelena on my very first day and everything else, my nerves had been stretched to their absolute limits lately.

"You're quite the cutie, aren't you, Sian?"

"...Huh?"

Maybe my guard had dropped. Before I could stop myself, an embarrassingly girlish squeak slipped out at Elin's sudden compliment.

Letting out a soft chuckle at my dumbfounded expression, Elin continued smoothly.

"Bold as brass, too. Well, I suppose you could call it confidence backed by real skill."

Elin folded her arms, her ruby eyes slowly tracing the lines of my frame from head to toe.

"More importantly, are you out here practicing because of your duel with Yelena?"

"Umm... I suppose you could put it that way."

Two days of training wasn't going to cause a miraculous leap in ability. Even so, the reason I had dragged myself out at dawn to swing a blade was simply to keep my instincts sharp. Ever since the system stopped spamming me with warnings that I would drop dead if I failed to enter the academy, I had felt myself growing soft around the edges. Besides, swinging a sword was the one thing that brought me genuine peace. It was as if all the trivial anxieties of this life melted away, if only for a brief moment.

"Practicing for two days won't change the outcome, but if I just slack off, I'll get completely dull."

"I like that mindset in more ways than one. Tell me, how would you like to become my personal disciple? I'll teach you my swordsmanship."

"...Pardon?"

The offer came so out of nowhere that I nearly choked on the water I was sipping, barely managing to swallow down the cough through sheer willpower.

In the original storyline of Arcana Academy, Elin Agnes never threw out an invitation like that during her first encounter with the protagonist. This was likely the result of the five years I had spent grinding as an adventurer. Having snatched up all sorts of hidden pieces and tempered myself through actual life-or-death combat, I had enrolled at a power level far surpassing the canon protagonist.

"To be frank, I don't see you winning against Yelena as you are now. But if you become my disciple, I can train you well enough to at least fight her on equal footing."

Elin's proposition was undeniably enticing. Becoming the apprentice of an active Swordmaster would make a great deal of bureaucratic headaches vanish into thin air. Furthermore, an objective appraisal told me that current-me stood very little chance against Yelena.

I might land a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠surprise blow if she let her guard down, but once Yelena activated her Stigma, she was already playing in a league far beyond ordinary students.

"Ah... I'm incredibly flattered by the offer, truly. But I'll have to decline. I don't really feel like tying myself down to any faction just yet..."

Even so, I turned her down. The weight carried by the title of a Swordmaster's personal disciple was far heavier than most people realized, and it simply didn't mesh with someone whose nature leaned toward wandering the wilds as an adventurer.

Besides, it wasn't as if I had zero avenues for victory against Yelena. Yelena still had no idea what my Stigma was. A Stigma built for ambush was the kind of trump card that punished anyone who didn't see it coming. If I was going to gamble on my chances, that was where I had to stake my chips.

"I see. I half-expected as much, but it's still a pity. If you ever change your mind, come find me anytime, alright?"

"Thank you very much for the offer, Instructor."

Having politely dodged the burden of Elin's proposal, I mentally rehearsed the duel awaiting me two days from now.

Time flew by in a blur.

Perhaps because I spent the entire weekend buried in training, the days vanished like an arrow, ushering in Monday morning before I knew it.

The 1st-Year Training Grounds were packed to the brim with students. An official duel breaking out at the very start of the semester was a spectacle nobody wanted to miss.

"What on earth did she do to piss her off...?"

"I'm definitely staying far away from that girl."

"She'll probably get flattened in seconds."

Dozens upon dozens of eyes bored into me as I stood waiting at the foot of the sparring ring, wooden practice sword in hand. If stares held physical mass, my body would have been riddled with holes by now. Excessive attention was nothing short of poison to someone like me, who preferred keeping their social circle as narrow as humanly possible.

Feeling a bitter sting at how mercilessly the audience judged me without knowing a single thing, I channeled that irritation into fighting spirit and shifted my gaze toward my opponent.

Standing there with a practice sword just like mine was a girl with flowing silver hair and crystalline eyes. Yelena Frost's frigid gaze locked onto mine.

Then, her eyes darted away with a sharp turn of her head. Catching the faint trace of pink dusting Yelena's pale cheeks, a slight tremble crept into my voice unbidden.

"I, um... look forward to a good match."

"As do I."

Exchanging our formal greetings, we stepped together onto the stairs leading up to the dueling platform.