By Zephyria 
On Friday morning, I received a pile of letters.
I learned from the attendant who delivered them that students’ letters were collected and delivered all at once on the fourth Friday of every month.
The academy’s curriculum felt overwhelming to complete in just three years. Therefore, the rule prohibiting the exchange of letters except for the last day of each month, to avoid wasting study time, made perfect sense.
When I asked what would happen with urgent news, I was told that letters requiring immediate delivery to a student could be sent faster than the scheduled date if the sender informed the deliverer in advance or marked the envelope with a red seal.
I didn’t just receive letters. I also received a complete set of stationery, including high-quality paper and sealing wax, which are commonly used.
The academy provided the tools for replying, as it was my first month, though I would have to purchase them myself from the market next time. I was surprised once more by their thoughtfulness.
I found out during my morning classes that most students, not just me, spent the last Friday of every month and the weekend dealing with letters.
I resigned myself to spending the entire afternoon reading letters and writing replies.
Professor Maelo Sanson was also greatly pleased and agreed with my afternoon plans.
Looking at the names of the senders and the number of letters, I wondered if I was the only one who hadn’t known that Shierun Academy delivered mail only once a month.
My Father and Mother each sent one, while Michael and my youngest, Asdel, sent four each.
It seemed they had written them weekly and gathered them to send all at once.
There were also letters from my paternal and maternal grandparents, and one from my maternal uncle. I recalled a story from Professor Calypse Agrigent’s class where my uncle had immediately designated my father as his sister’s match the moment he saw him. Curious about his news, I opened my uncle’s letter first.
My maternal uncle, Oscar Valencia, was nine years older than my mother, Seiren Ernhardt.
Perhaps because of this, he had doted on his younger sister dearly since childhood. The gossip from past generations I’d heard in class seemed so unfamiliar and wild compared to the uncle I knew now.
The uncle I knew was a respectable head of a household with one son and one daughter. He always neatly slicked back his dark purple hair and his attire was never out of place.
His sharp eyes also gave him an aura that could make anyone shrink back with a single cold word.
Perhaps that was why it was hard to imagine him resorting to violent means.
His letter was also written in his usual neat and strict handwriting.
It stated that he had informed a few merchants in the capital about any necessary items or things I might want, so I should just give the names Valentia or Ernhardt to pick them up. It was a message expressing his affection for his nephew in a stern manner.
After writing a brief reply expressing gratitude for his kindness, concern for my aunt, and inquiries about my cousins’ well-being, I put it aside in an envelope.
The letters from my paternal and maternal grandparents were much the same. They were filled with familiar content like everyday greetings, hints about wanting to send gifts, and curiosity about my new friends.
Since my rebirth, I had been born as the eldest grandson of a family, and out of a sense of duty, I had always treated the elders of the family with utmost respect and formality.
What usually took two hours of polite replies face-to-face in the drawing-room was finished in twenty minutes through letters, which was quite convenient.
My Father and Mother’s letters were no different, but they were filled with more detailed concerns.
In my replies, I wrote the names Shayden and Benjamin, and also Professor Maelo Sanson and Professor Douglas Mustang.
I deliberately included them, knowing they would be delighted to hear that I had made good friends and respected elders whose names I had memorized.
After casually setting aside the letters from my older relatives, I finally opened the letters from my younger brothers, Michael and Asdel.
Michael’s letter began with the sentence, “I miss you, brother.”
His handwriting was larger and simpler than that of the adults, as if he wasn’t yet accustomed to writing. I could feel him pressing down hard to write neatly, and it melted and warmed a corner of my heart.
A smile naturally spread across my lips at his sweet gesture. I heard that he was eager to come to the academy soon, wanting to be admitted early, and was completely engrossed in various teachings.
His parents worried that he might harm his health by looking at books for too long, so he had started training in the martial arts training ground, just as I had.
Yes, it is only natural for a child to run around joyfully, eat heartily, and learn by asking questions.
Feeling pleased, I read each letter for a long time, over and over.
The nephews I had looked after in the Central Plains had already been raised by their mothers and nannies. They were over five years old and just about to learn horseback riding stances; they were children who needed training.
They respected me, feared me, and relied on me, but I was their uncle, not their parents, so I had no memory of receiving such unconditional affection.
Michael, this little one, I had watched grow from when he was just a baby grasping with his tiny hand.
How could I not miss him or find him endearing when he, so small and breathing softly, would often snuggle into my arms and act cute?
The story of the Kiadris family lingered in a corner of my heart. I vowed to myself that I would never do anything to upset this child.
I wrote my reply in large, neat letters, easier for him to read than the others.
It was over five or six pages filled with sweet words like, “I am studying hard at the academy,” “I think of you many times a day,” “I want to study at the academy with you soon,” and “I believe you will do well.”
I wrote this even though I knew full well that Michael and I had too large an age gap for us to attend the academy together. I could vividly picture his joy upon reading the letter.
“…I miss you.”
The words slipped out.
I hadn’t expected to feel this way even when leaving home for my studies, but the more I lived and the more I learned, the more I realized I had grown quite fond of the new family and relatives I had gained here.
I traced the familiar handwriting with trembling fingertips. As if my eyes were about to well up, I lifted my head. The study chair cradled my body softly. It felt as comfortable as sitting on a cloud.
If it were my past self, seeing such a plush chair, I would have found it strange, neither a bed nor a chair, and scoffed at it as some kind of immortal’s indulgence. But now, I was completely accustomed to it and felt no discomfort.
With a long sigh, I set aside my yearning heart and opened my youngest brother Asdel’s letter. A smile immediately bloomed.
It was a sheet of paper covered in smudged handprints, as if an infant’s palm had been dipped in ink and stamped repeatedly.
Yes, he was not yet old enough to write his own words fully. The slightly larger print next to his small handprint must have been Michael’s, who had likely watched his younger brother, just as I had done.
Next to it, in neat handwriting, were the names of our father, mother, myself, Michael, and Asdel.
The letter was adorned with drawings of flowers, stars, and many unidentifiable shapes.
Another letter had my name written all over it, as if he had practiced. Seeing the handwriting, clearly an attempt to copy mine with his clumsy skill, made me feel incredibly proud and pleased by the child’s effort.
In my delight, I continued reading the letters, and Shayden brought my dinner to my room.
For the last weekend of the month, my friends suggested we deliver the letters written the day before to Shierun’s Express Service (a logistics organization in the Martial World, primarily used to deliver goods and letters while avoiding bandits and thieves) and then rest, and I agreed.
By this point, my initial urgency upon entering the academy had significantly subsided.
The thirteen years spent at Young Count Ernhardt’s Residence, though prosperous, had always been a source of worry, as all the knights were at best Second-rate to First-rate, numbering only about fifty.
With so many servants, including attendants, maids, and household staff, I felt it would be difficult to protect everyone with just my own hands.
My solitary anxieties about how to respond if an intruder scaled the walls were all for naught, which brought me peace.
What cannot be seen from the inside can only be understood by stepping back and observing from the outside.
Shayden Rose had once tried to appease me by speaking of the Ernhardt family’s prosperity. Indeed, now that I knew the history and attended classes, his words were true.
The Ernhardts were owners of vast lands with orchards of fruits like grapes.
It was said that the heir to the Count’s title had to learn from childhood how fruits were affected by pests and diseases, the proper and appropriate ways to cultivate them, and what kind of aroma the preserved fruits or wines made from them should have to fetch the highest price.
These were the things Michael had written about learning in his letter, just as I was learning now. I had never learned such things and had no interest in them. I was secretly relieved that Michael was doing it in my stead.
The lands adjacent to theirs were harmoniously bordered by the territories of closely allied families.
Logan’s Count Servel family, whose faces I often saw as childhood friends; Shayden’s Count Rose family, who always stayed by my side; and beyond one territory, my maternal grandfather’s Duke Valentia family, a land of lush greenery and endless plains…
Thinking that I had been so defensive in a place without external threats felt almost embarrassing.
In the Central Plains, personal martial prowess and strength were everything, but it was not so here.
Lawmakers and strategists forged strong bonds through words and written agreements.
While some broke the trust they had built or deceived others, the retribution here was not breaking an opponent’s limbs, crushing their Dantian, or beheading them, but presenting a new contract.
I need to learn more.
I need to learn not just from books, not just in a general sense, but by walking, seeing, observing with my own eyes, and touching with my own hands. I consciously tried to set aside my impatience.
It was a mind at ease, with immediate safety assured.
On this day, Shayden didn’t pick out my clothes for me, but said he would look if I picked them myself, so I did.
He commented that while my sense of style wasn’t bad, he didn’t understand why I always wanted to match colors from head to toe, and advised me to change my cravat, so I agreed.
❖ ❖ ❖
Even on days when the night market wasn’t open, the streets of the capital were bustling.
The stalls lining both sides of the street had disappeared, making the already wide road even wider. This created more space between people than before, which was pleasant.
After first mailing the letters I had cherished, my hands felt light, and I felt ready to do anything.
This time, I brought Shayden and Benjamin with me.
I had been receiving a lot of help from Benjamin Claudian, a martial artist of the same rank, in creating new swordplay techniques recently, so I felt close to him. Moreover, Benjamin was less boisterous and didn’t waste time unnecessarily.
As soon as he suggested coming along, I agreed without hesitation.
However, in secret, I thought that while Shayden was a good companion, if I had gone out with just him, it would have been difficult to hide my annoyance. I had wanted to bring someone along because it was difficult to entertain everything a child said, so I felt it worked out well.
“Since we’re out, let’s buy everything we need at once before we go back.”
“I can have a servant fetch the items.”
“Still, it’s different from seeing and choosing them yourself. Coincidentally, I also broke two swords by mistake this time, so I need to visit the weapon shop.”
I had meant it as a casual remark about consumables, but Benjamin’s reply made me realize my mistake.
We had experimented with applying aura to swords using the method of generating Magic Formulas, and we had already broken two swords. I didn’t have a spare, so I remembered using his.