By Zephyria 
Maelo Sanson asked if I had ever held a Demon Sword, and Douglas Mustang asked if I was a Dragon.
As soon as I heard my respected Master speak of Demon Swords, I scoured the Academy library and confirmed various traditions, knowing that neither Demon Swords nor Dragons existed in the current Sierren. It was so absurd that I found it difficult to maintain my composure.
My new parents in this life told me that I was the first child they had ever properly seen up close. My Father, William, was an only child, and my Mother, Seiren, only had an older brother.
Due to a societal trend that kept children under the age of five from going outside, they knew little about children before I was born.
For this reason, when I cried a little less than other children, spoke a little earlier, or, as soon as I could speak, lectured my Father to treat his wife well, they simply went along with it, thinking, “Ah,” without considering these actions strange.
Only after the birth of my second brother, Michael, and my third brother, Asdel, did they quietly whisper amongst themselves that perhaps their first child had been a bit extraordinary.
In any case, for that reason, when the Young Master Ernhardt and his wife saw me, who had been consistently claiming I wanted to become a Knight after seeing those who wore swords at their waists, they filled their study with dozens of fairy tale books about Knights, like a squirrel hoarding acorns.
I, who was curious about how the martial artists of Sierren carried themselves and lived, also accepted their kindness and greedily read the books.
The fairy tales were all similar, with the basic structure being that the great heroes of Sierren became Sword Masters, hunted Dragons or demons, and married princesses. These stories defined Dragons as intelligent monsters.
Unlike the Dragons I knew, the Dragons in the fairy tales were plump-bellied, had strong hind legs, and no horns. Dragons were as different from true Dragons as the sky is from the earth.
“Yes?”
“A Dragon Heart might be able to do something like that…”
“No.”
Yes, the Dragons of the Central Plains were better. The Dragons of the Central Plains, with the horns of a deer, a serpentine body, and sharp hawk talons, had magnificent manes and were majestic in form. However, the Dragons I saw in books were all plump and looked like they could roll around, like baby pigs, which I didn’t like.
When I denied it with a serious expression, Mustang awkwardly waved his hand.
“Hmm, it was a joke. Actually, it’s unlikely to be a Dragon Heart, as Young Master Ernhardt’s energy is weak. The Ernhardt family also has no connection to Dragons whatsoever. Where did you learn this, and how did you master it?”
I was momentarily speechless, pondering how to answer, and then replied,
“…Well, I just assumed everyone did it this way…”
“No, why was that obvious?”
Why? Because everyone did it that way in the Central Plains.
Any person posing as a martial artist in the Jianghu possessed a Dantian. Great sects and noble families formed groups by sharing their secret Mind methods amongst themselves. For example, disciples of Shaolin learned the Mahayana Prajna Meditation Art and the Bodhidharma Muscle Change Classic, while disciples of the Mount Hua sect learned the Heaven and Earth Divine Art and the Great Luo Divine Art. The martial artists of the Namgung Family used the Great expansive divine skill of azure sky.
They could even compare the Energy Waves of each other’s internal energy and discern which sect they belonged to by observing the structure and color of their energy. It was an indispensable practice to cripple the martial arts of expelled disciples or to break the Dantian of dangerous martial artists to turn them into Mortals without killing them.
Without a Dantian, one could not use martial arts. This was a common sense of the Jianghu, shared by everyone from third-rate to first-rate martial artists, yet being treated as a monster and then as an insensible human made me feel a little sorrowful.
Seeing my expression, Mustang was startled and began to act as if he were comforting a child, which I found ridiculous.
“No, no. I’m not blaming you. I’m just curious. There’s so much I want to ask, I don’t know where to begin.”
“Ah, yes…”
“Do you remember when you started doing this?”
“…Perhaps, since I was born… I think.”
I saw the look in his eyes that wanted to say “Dragon” again and closed my mouth. The Professor, his playful demeanor gone, once again let out a “Huh, huh,” and fell into thought before saying,
“This is something I can’t answer immediately either. I need to look into it more, organize the materials… and then, when I find something out, we can discuss it together. This isn’t a good place for this kind of conversation, given the location, so I’ll call you to my office later when I’m ready.”
“Thank you.”
Feeling a bit drained, I bowed and turned to leave. I had known that Sierren’s martial arts were different from mine, but I had assumed it was because each Knight had their own unique swordplay and because the land was vast. I never imagined that everyone in this land wouldn’t use Dantians at all.
The desire to impart my Internal energy cultivation methods to others arose again, but given the current situation where the languages and language structures were completely different, making it impossible to transmit the incantations of the Mind method verbatim, I still lacked the confidence to teach the method of Circulating Qi with explanations of each Acupoint’s meaning and the interpretation of the incantations. It still felt like indigestion whenever I thought of the family guard who had asked what ‘Shanhang Shenhinsouien’ meant when I hummed a verse from the Diamond Sutra.
The thought that the Academy’s professors might be like reclusive hermits outside the world, and that they might be able to observe me circulating energy and somehow decipher it, flickered and then died down. If one could interpret a family’s secret Mind method just by looking at it, even with exceptional Eye Techniques, then anyone could have learned the Bodhidharma Muscle Change Classic or the Purple Haze Divine Art. This was especially true since Douglas Mustang, clearly an aura expert, acted as if he couldn’t even imagine the existence of a Dantian until I explained and generated energy.
In any case, I had worked up a sweat, so I headed towards the dormitory to wash. Benjamin Claudian, who had been standing silently beside me, listening to our conversation, suddenly spoke.
“I do not believe Young Master Ernhardt is a Dragon.”
“Yes?”
“Because there are no pink Dragons.”
What nonsense was this now? I carefully chose my words to respond but missed the opportunity and decided not to answer. Looking up again, Benjamin had his usual stoic expression, making me wonder if I had misheard and I brushed my ear.
Later, even in bed, the sound of “pink Dragon” would occasionally surface, leaving me dumbfounded.
❖ ❖ ❖
Perhaps because of that. Last night, I had a strange dream about a pink monster.
This morning, I stared into the mirror for a long time while washing, also because of the dream. Like most people I had encountered on the Sierren continent, my face, with its large eyes, high nose, and full lips, was reflected in the mirror—the face of a child still retaining their baby fat, like soft rice cake. I had never developed the habit of scrutinizing my own face, as I had been engrossed in manliness while wandering the Jianghu, believing that mirrors were only for courtesans.
Come to think of it, Shayden had also said something about my hair color before. When I first fell to this land, not knowing the names of colors, I thought my Mother Seiren’s hair was violet, but it is a light pink, just like mine. However, everyone I met had hair that shimmered like a rainbow—blue, golden, white, or green—so I simply assumed everyone in this land was like that, thinking it was natural. Now, I felt hesitant, wondering if that wasn’t the case.
These light, watery eyes were also inherited from my maternal grandfather. My second brother, Michael, inherited his father’s black hair and his mother’s watery eyes, while my youngest brother, Asdel, who is now five, has pink hair and red eyes like a white rabbit. I felt a sense of injustice, thinking that if pink hair was something special, then my mother’s name should have been famous in the Imperial capital.
After brushing my wet hair with my fingers, I looked at the mirror from near and far, but all I saw was a face with eyes, nose, and mouth properly attached, making me think, “A person is a person.” It was the only thing I could conclude. It was somewhat pleasing that the symmetry around my brow and nose was well-balanced, without any crookedness, as I had consistently trained my body as a martial artist since childhood and practiced the Great expansive divine skill of azure sky. Now that I am thirteen and have grown this much, I can expect to grow to a degree similar to my previous life by the time I turn twenty. Still, in my previous life, around this age, my heart would flutter, and I would feel embarrassed by red skirts, keeping my distance from girls my age and perhaps washing my face unnecessarily. It’s amusing that now, as I’ve aged, things like bodily balance, limb length, and health are considered more important.
Sighing as if my time had been wasted, I put on my clothes and left the room. “Did it take a long time to get ready this morning?” I asked Shayden, who was walking with me towards the training ground, and replied, “Nothing special,” shrugging my shoulders. As we chatted, Shayden suddenly showed a surprised expression.
“So, today’s morning class is swordsmanship, and you’ll be in the training ground all afternoon as well?”
“Because Professor Sanson said he’d let us use the training ground until it closes…?”
“No, you shouldn’t take that at face value. Friday evening is connected to the weekend, a day off.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s a matter of common courtesy… Hmm, Professor might like that…”
❖ ❖ ❖
“So, you want to practice the new sword technique until eight this evening…”
“Yes!”
“Mmm, alright. When learning a new sword art, you need someone to watch, so it’s natural…”
“Yes, thank you!”
“Uh-huh. Be grateful.”
By then, I had also noticed Sanson’s reluctant expression, but I covered it with a bright smile.