By Zephyria 
As with most noble children, I, Michael Ernhardt, had a tutor from the moment I could speak. My young body tired easily, but I was restless, eager to learn something rather than simply lie down and rest.
My tutor, who I received earlier than my peers, focused on teaching me how to read and write. By the time I was finding and reading books with letters as small as my fingernails, he wanted to teach me refinements like etiquette and musical instruments, but he couldn’t achieve his goal.
This was understandable, as at that time, I was consumed with anxiety that my newly acquired family and relatives might suddenly pass away.
I couldn’t bear the thought of living as an illiterate, so I studied diligently to learn to speak and write. However, I firmly declared and refused to waste time on things like strumming musical instruments, dancing wildly, embracing women’s waists without restraint, or exchanging greetings with stylish flair.
Instead, I filled my lesson time by learning how to read documents related to the management of the ducal household, as it might be necessary for managing the family in the future. I also memorized calculations, currency units, the geography of this world, and the harvests of each region.
Thus, while I was familiar with the myths of this land, the kind that appear in fairy tales, I knew nothing beyond that.
Perhaps because of that. When I first looked at the history textbook, I was so bewildered I wondered if it was even human language.
In my previous life, I was so distant from the world, not even understanding the power dynamics within my own family, let alone politics, that I didn’t realize how many agreements were necessary to form a society. And the fact that all the instances of breaking those agreements and mediating disputes were recorded was both impressive and strange.
And I was so shocked by the fact that I had to memorize all these countless treaties in order.
“I understand that the marriage alliance between Yulan and Biban broke seventy years ago, which consequently changed the salt trade routes. But they remarried princes and princesses a hundred and twenty years ago and agreed to trade via the original route, which they have kept to this day. Why do I have to memorize the reason the previous agreement was broken…?”
My mind reeling, my speech sounded older than usual. Although I spoke in a manner unbecoming of a child without realizing it, Shayden, engrossed in his note-taking, paid no mind. Without looking up from his textbook, Shayden replied indifferently.
“History repeats itself, so they make you remember past mistakes so they can scold you, saying, ‘You did wrong back then too, aren’t you going to do it again?'”
“Can’t we just think about that when it happens?”
“I don’t know, just memorize it.”
“…Hmph.”
Professor Briana Casablanca, who was not a knight or a wizard, could not hear the hushed voices from the far end of the large lecture hall. She passionately continued with the lesson.
In between explanations, she wrote on the board in beautiful handwriting, and as she had done before, she had the students read parts of the book together or singled out a few students to stand and read aloud.
Meanwhile, Shayden, who was organizing Casablanca’s notes with colorful inks, also seemed less than human.
Traditionally, writing should be done with dark, black ink on bamboo slips or white silk paper. It was considered great calligraphy to have a straight, uniform script that captured the spirit of a dragon and the bearing of a tiger. Writing with meticulous care, stroke by stroke, was calligraphy; coloring it with blue and red flower dyes was something done only for paintings.
I had lived for over forty years with that mindset.
Therefore, seeing Shayden write some sentences large and red, marking them as important, and others small and blue, calling them trivial, with an uneven script, I found it utterly displeasing.
I felt like a newly hatched, shriveled chick.
Shaking my head, I looked back at my own notes. From beginning to end, they were of uniform size and handsome script. It was thanks to practicing and training until my handwriting became elegant, in order to fulfill my duty as the eldest son of a great family. Yet, for some reason, the more I looked at the notebook filled only with black text, the more uncomfortable I felt.
Still, I couldn’t bother the diligent student, so I bit my lower lip once, then raised my head to look at the professor, whose back was visible, and took down what she dictated. After all, I couldn’t afford to waste time.
Later, Shayden promised to show me his notes, which somewhat eased my mind.
To my great credit, I received a perfect score on the pop quiz in Professor Calypse’s class. It wasn’t easy, but it was thanks to spending the entire weekend, reducing my sword-wielding time, and wrestling with those pieces of paper. Although I seemed to have forgotten the content immediately after finishing the test, the things I studied lingered in my memory when I looked at the papers, making the effort worthwhile.
As the Imperial Genealogy Class drew to a close, I had brief conversations with Shayden’s friends and acquaintances. Some of them had attended my birthday banquet, while others had not.
It was there that I met Danbi, whom I had only heard of. The moment I saw his face, I understood why I called him Danbi. He had a smooth appearance and a round head. His lustrous golden hair clung to his neck, exposing it fully. The boy with the round head had unusually large pupils, making him look gentle. He resembled an otter or a sable.
When I asked if I could call him Danbi, just as I called Demian by his name, he smiled and readily agreed, seeming to have a good personality.
Still, whether his personality was prickly or kind didn’t matter.
If I had continued my life from my previous existence, these would be young children born when I was in my forties. Even if they pouted, they would be pitiable and cute, and if they giggled, I would be purely delighted.
Somehow, the dinner table ended up with over eight of us gathered, and the lively atmosphere wasn’t unpleasant. I made a few mistakes with their names, but no one blamed or minded, so I decided not to worry about it either. We even made a pinky promise to smile warmly at each other even if we didn’t know each other’s names, which made the children very happy, filling me with satisfaction.
❖ ❖ ❖
From then on, in the beginner swordsmanship classes, I became engrossed in practicing the newly learned sword forms. I had only held Namgung’s sword since I first picked one up, so even when I was doing well, I would instinctively embrace the sky, my chest swelling. Despite being corrected several times, I couldn’t fix it.
I pondered for a long time. I suspected the reason was that while my arms and waist were meant to execute the new sword form, my legs and feet were still following Namgung’s footwork, alternating between the Thousand-League Guardian Spirit and the Divine Art of Heavenly Wind. When I discussed this, Maelo Sanson, who had also pondered it for a long time, couldn’t understand and asked, “So, what you’re saying is… the way you breathe, the way you wield your sword, the way you walk, the way you run are all separate, and even the way you sleep is prescribed…?”
“Yes, because each of those was learned separately and trained to be combined into a single rhythm, capable of responding to all possible situations, I believe the discrepancy arises when I learn a different sword form. I was wondering if there are specific ways of walking or breathing that correspond to the newly learned sword arts.”
“No, is that even human?”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t you have a way to blink? Or swallow?”
“Pardon?”
“…No, look. You extend your arm like this and swing the sword from here to here. Assuming there’s an enemy to your left, when the sword path reaches about this point, isn’t it natural for your knee to come out this far? Because your body twists this much, if you move this far forward, the downward cut becomes this motion.”
“At that moment, my breathing doesn’t match the sword form, so I instinctively bend down half a beat too early… making it feel natural to swing upwards in the opposite direction. To return to the original sword form, I need to insert two more beats, but I’m not sure about this part.”
“…Now that I hear it, this seems plausible too. Half a beat faster, starting from here… Right, just do it like that, and those two beats, start them here, and end them like this?”
“…! I’ll try it. Thank you!”
“Uh, yeah.”
Indeed, it was an elegant Eye Technique. Maelo Sanson, like many geniuses who had reached a high realm early, had been annoyed when legs didn’t follow the movement of arms, but he never ignored a problem that arose before him. Whenever something bothered him like a hangnail, he would ponder it with me, devise new solutions and test them on himself, or patiently teach me step by step, pouring his effort into it.
At this point, we often found ourselves debating rather than receiving instruction. Whenever students practicing their sword forms nearby grew curious and peeked, we would demonstrate and even help them practice simpler moves.
Even if I couldn’t perform the Divine Art of Heavenly Wind due to my lack of internal energy, the Limitless Steps, which involved endlessly unfolding footwork by varying the angle of the heel when walking, were something my Swordsmanship Department peers could learn.
When I used Jin-gak (stepping on the ground with internal energy to leave deep imprints or transmit vibrations) to mark the footprints of the Limitless Steps on the grassy area in the corner of the martial arts training ground, they lined up to step on them during breaks, looking just like baby squirrels. When I told Shayden this, he reminded me of my age, but I paid him no mind.
❖ ❖ ❖
When I sat down at the dormitory dining hall, shoulder to shoulder with Shayden or Benjamin, people from their respective groups would approach us, just as they always did at my birthday banquet. Some would eat, finish, and leave first, while others would wait to drink tea together or discuss class material. Shierun Academy did not prevent interaction between boys and girls. While students of different genders were not allowed in each other’s dormitory rooms, they could freely use each other’s dining halls.
Since the menus of the six dining halls often differed, if one day a particular meal was said to be tastier, a crowd would flock there. Those who ate later had to go to dining halls with signs indicating that ingredients were still available.
A few times, I ate with students from other grades. When I practiced sword forms separately with Maelo Sanson, girls I had become acquainted with would greet me warmly and share delicious side dishes. They often enjoyed watching me eat, resting their chins on their hands. I found it odd that watching others eat was entertaining, but since I was in a growth spurt, I accepted whatever they gave me without complaint.
I diligently trained my body, attended classes, and worked hard to complete my assignments. By the third week, I felt at ease during magic class because Edwin wasn’t glaring at me. In World History class, I decided to abandon changing font sizes and instead use red ink to draw circles or underlines. In the Imperial Genealogy class, I made two mistakes this time, unlike last time, but since they were only a few spelling errors, I decided to relax and not worry about it. We also went to the mountain behind the academy to learn camping, gathering in groups to build fires and pretend to stand guard. We practiced selecting flat ground, setting alarm magic or perimeter wards, choosing stones that wouldn’t explode when heated, and cooking outdoors. We all shared the food we prepared. Ivan, who was in the same group, had brought lamb, which allowed us to cook the most delicious stew and receive high praise.
These seemingly insignificant events sparkled in full color and became memories.
And so, at the end of these peaceful times, something strange happened on the third Thursday after entering the academy, during advanced swordsmanship class.