By Zephyria 
Shayden Rose acted as if I were a mother duck.
Saturday morning, I woke up before dawn, did my Circulating Qi, ran laps around the training ground, and returned to find Shayden Rose standing in front of my door, scolding me for not eating breakfast and asking where I’d been. After we ate together, we stopped by the academy bookstore. We each bought the textbooks we needed. We looked over the academy’s landscaping and geography while comparing maps and routes, and then had lunch together. He also said he felt stiff, so in the afternoon, we stretched together at the training ground, and I sparred with him using maps for practice. Only after we had both washed up in our rooms and had dinner together did I let him go to his room, suggesting we spend our time separately.
Dumbfounded, after doing as I was told and thinking it over, I realized that since my reincarnation, I had never slept anywhere other than away from my family. I also realized that I was only thirteen by current standards, too young to even make my social debut. And Shayden was someone close enough to have heard about my situation through rumors over the past few years. Shayden had been worried I would starve myself and stay holed up in my room, all on his own initiative! How amusing and how grateful I felt. I wracked my brain for a while, just in case, but the conclusion remained the same. Thirteen. In my past life, I was already challenging groups of Black Road thugs in the market (*market, shopping street) at this age. Although I was protected by the hem of my robe embroidered with the Namgung family crest, there was no one who treated me like a child from the moment I passed ten years old. Even if the Ernhardt family’s doting protection was due to my being born the eldest grandson, being fussed over at every meal by someone I barely knew felt embarrassingly awkward, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. So, on Sunday, I went to the training ground first to run, then washed up, did my Circulating Qi, and waited for Shayden to knock on my door. After a quick comb through my messy hair, I had breakfast with him, still sleepy-eyed. We took a walk around the academy plaza fountain, and once our digestion was mostly settled, we went to the library to borrow the latest edition of the noble registry, published three years ago. After some preliminary studying, we had lunch again, went to the training ground for sparring practice, and I taught Shayden a bit of the swordplay for the first move of the Azure Sky Unfettered Sword Art. Since there was no trace of the Namgung name left in this land, I figured I could yield this much to a close friend. As the weekend passed, I felt as if I had gained an army of thousands and tens of thousands, with a true friend by my side.
It was six in the morning, long before classes began and even before the buildings were lit up. As I ran laps around the training ground, I hummed a tune I had learned in my childhood, even before I became proficient in Geomancy in my past life, matching the rhythm to my breaths, feeling a sense of joy.
❖ ❖ ❖
In the beginner swordsmanship class, there were the twenty students I had seen before, plus three upperclassmen who were retaking the course. Professor Maelo Sanson lined the students up and instructed each to demonstrate the swordsmanship they had learned. With a mix of doubt and anticipation, I began to execute the moves of the Azure Sky Unfettered Sword Art. As I completed exactly thirty moves, I heard a sound. Then, he began to correct each student’s posture.
“When using the sword art of the Planta family, pivot on your left foot. You say you extend the sword from right to left, but it’s not a straight downward slash; it’s from upper right to lower left… Yes, not straight out. From here, like this… That’s it, twist your wrist. Up to here. Practice this movement.”
“You’ve trained well. It seems you’ve focused solely on basic swordplay. However, your lower body, especially this part, is unstable. Spread your legs wider… That’s right. In that stance, perform moves five through eight again. What? You’ve never done it from the middle? Are you planning to stab the enemy in random directions if they come at you?”
“What is this? You’re told it’s a sword art that flows like a dance, so you shouldn’t actually dance. From what I can see, it looks like Siren Sword Pattern, am I right? A wave-like sword should focus on relentless onslaught, not just swaying from the starting point. I’ll demonstrate slowly, so practice the introduction connecting move one to move three again.”
He had taken in every sword art demonstrated simultaneously by twenty-three students, move by move, and remembered what needed correction. It was an incredible Eye Technique, and incredible memory. Whether this was due to his Upper Dantian (*Dantian centered around the brain) being awakened upon reaching Hwagyeong, or if he was simply a genius in pedagogy, I had no way of knowing.
When it was my turn, Maelo Sanson hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t due to a lack of Eye Technique, but because my sword art was not of this world. He lowered his voice. His effort to keep it from the surrounding children was commendable.
“Michael Ernhardt. Did you create this sword art? The execution is fluid, but the murderous intent at the tip of your sword is too strong. Swords like this aren’t made in a short time… Connecting move three to four, at this position, you bend it once, is that a move to draw the sword right before the opponent’s neck bone?”
“…I was told the original is not like that.”
“Imperial swordsmanship is designed for fighting monsters, so this height is incorrect. This is clearly a sword art designed for man-to-man combat… As far as I know, the Ernhardt family hasn’t produced any knights for the past three generations.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“…It would be good to fix these strange habits. Similarly, there are odd habits in the middle of move eight and the latter half of move seventeen, so you need to thoroughly correct them.”
The students who were pointed out moved to a corner of the training ground, widening their distance, and strove to correct the parts that were criticized. In my previous life, I had killed people for over thirty years. My opponents included notorious villains (wicked enemies who harm Confucian ethics), assassins who infiltrated my family, and hordes of demon lords (wicked leaders who are high in status or old). They were the ones who tried to kill me. I finally realized the traces that had become habits from the countless strong and weak beings who clashed against my sword. The movements to erase the traces of sin I had unconsciously brought into this life, the present, were long and slow, requiring five times the breath. Memories cannot be erased, but habits can be corrected. I dispersed the murderous intent that had permeated my sword. A sword not for killing, but for saving. Not Namgung’s, but aiming for a sword art that subdued without killing, resembling Shaolin’s. I pushed, flowed, and pulled the imaginary enemy before me. I pursued only the arcs between the indistinct Sword Paths. I executed moves one through thirty, then returned from the thirtieth to the first in reverse. The connection between moves was not smooth, but I could catch my breath in the gaps. After two more rounds like that, a loud clapping sound was heard.
“Alright, class is over. Let’s all go eat.”
I stood there, dumbfounded, not knowing where to go. In the Central Plains, when someone was lost in enlightenment, they were left alone for three days or ten days until they achieved their realization. Was I being pulled out of my trance just to be told it was time for lunch? I couldn’t believe it. As I stood there blinking, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. This was Sanson again.
“Your sword patterns and the sword art itself are good. This doesn’t seem like something that can be done in a day or two, so let’s take it slower.”
Ah. At that moment, I realized it once more. Time was still on my side, and when there was a long road ahead, one shouldn’t be impatient. Rushing could lead to stumbling, and stumbling could lead to injury. A sword is like a sulky child; if you try to force it, it will get lost in unexpected places. Trying to smooth out my disappointed expression, I nodded. I knew that just nodding wasn’t enough for my newfound mentor, so I opened my mouth.
“Yes, Professor. I will look far ahead, slowly.”
“Righhht. Your spirit is excellent. Enjoy your lunch.”
I bowed deeply, then lifted my head and saw the crown of Benjamin Claudian’s head, standing there looking just as bewildered as I was. I was curious about what advice Sanson was giving the boy who already had the bearing of a grown man, but Sanson’s voice, as he patted Claudian’s shoulder and whispered, was too low for me to hear even if I amplified my internal energy. Walking alongside Shayden Rose, who was waiting for me, we headed towards the dormitory cafeteria.
During our walk, I learned that Shayden Rose’s family had received their Count title three generations ago for the deeds of a great knight, and that the Rose Count’s White Rose Royal Guard was so well-structured it was practically a knight training academy. I found it fascinating that their sword art resembled the ever-changing sword of Mount Hua, like the plum blossoms, rather than the heavy swords of Jongnam. As I nodded, wondering if all swords truly led to the same destination, as the saying goes, Shayden laughed and opened up.
“Until last winter, I thought I was a genius. Being a Sword Expert at thirteen, even at the beginner level, was something to boast about in the White Rose Royal Guard. But seeing you, I realized it’s not quite like that.”
“No, I…”
“But today, I see I really am a genius. You’re just on a different level. Within this class, I can still show my status card. If I can keep up with intermediate and advanced swordsmanship, maybe I’ll catch up to you then. Be nervous, Mika.”
Shayden and I were about the same height. I was still a thirteen-year-old of about 150 cm (*short stature), and Shayden hadn’t fully grown either. The arm that wrapped around my shoulder didn’t feel particularly heavy. He was indeed a genius. In my past life, I had become a Second-rate Warrior at seventeen, so he was two years faster than me. I felt a bit disheartened, as if I were holding a hand of cards that were a cheat. Shayden didn’t try to comfort me further, and I didn’t comfort him either. After all, it was only the first day of class, so there was no reason to be disappointed.
The fact that each dormitory had a cafeteria on the first floor was a great advantage, allowing us to eat immediately after washing up cleanly. The lunch menu was abundant. A large chunk of beef, as wide as a child’s face, was served, along with a generous portion of vegetables, sweetened beans, and mashed potatoes. With a slightly watery stew and white bread dotted with cheese before me, my mouth naturally opened wide, and I began to devour the food. I swear, if I had known what was going to happen in my Monday afternoon class, “Introduction to Magic and Spell Formula Principles,” I wouldn’t have eaten so ravenously. But as with all things, one cannot know until it happens.