By Zephyria Perhaps it was because we had spoken of him last time. When a hearty laugh echoed on the way back after the Basic Class of Magic and Formula Principles ended, my steps involuntarily paused for a moment.
To the east of Shierun Academy were the Swordsmanship Department, and to the west, the Department of Magic, each with over a dozen Martial arts training grounds and buildings. To the north were buildings used by those who had ‘ink in their heads,’ so to speak, such as the Law Department and Business Department. The dormitories and common areas were in the central part, making it convenient to get around.
The laughter rose from the side of the athletic field, one of the common areas.
A sudden curiosity struck me, so instead of taking the usual shortcut, I took a detour along the walking path overlooking the field.
I had often heard the chatter and laughter from the main athletic field or common areas on my way to and from the dormitories, but this was the first time I had actively tried to identify and seek out the source of the laughter.
Today’s game seemed to be chukguk
(An ancient ball game similar to football)
. Boys and girls with their hair tied up tightly ran together, chasing a ball made of good quality leather.
Their long, sturdy limbs made it clear they were from the Swordsmanship Department. Familiar and unfamiliar faces mingled as they played.
Seeing the referee, who was enthusiastically jumping around and shouting the scores, filled me with a sense of contentment.
Even when I was in the Central Plains, I often saw children in the streets chasing balls made from inflated pig bladders.
While some would curse, saying they were ruining stalls or kicking up dust, I found the sight of ten-year-old children chasing a round ball to be as endearing as watching young pups playing amongst themselves.
I walked, taking in the sight of children skillfully kicking the ball with their well-trained arms and legs, instead of wielding swords.
This was one of the good things about coming to the Academy. I felt a warmth spread through me, enjoying the sight of young people laughing, shouting, and playing to their hearts’ content.
They tumbled and fell, pouring from one side to the other, but having learned enough to know nakbeop (acrobatic evasion), they got up quickly without getting hurt and kept running.
It was still difficult for me to distinguish the faces of the children, so I often tried to identify them by their hair color. However, as I began to recognize a few faces up close, I could also start to recognize others.
Lucilla Anti Sierran, the third princess of the Sierran Empire, possessed martial prowess comparable to her twin brothers. She often publicly stated that all beings born into this world simply exist, without any inherent mission.
She repeatedly declared her lack of interest in the throne and enjoyed seeking out novel and enjoyable experiences. She was said to like socializing, flamboyant things, and expensive items, always surrounded by people.
Indeed, her words proved true.
The girl with her brown hair tied up high had a headband that sparkled, making her recognizable from afar.
Her face was lit with a bright smile as she playfully slung an arm around a boy’s neck, laughing loudly, drawing gazes. She looked utterly pure.
Her white trousers were stained with dust, but her knee-high boots gleamed.
“Hey, hey! One more round!”
“Do you know how many hours it’s been? The match ended ages ago!”
“Let’s play two more rounds and then go eat.”
As someone pleaded, Lucilla, as if resigned, grabbed the ball and kicked it high. With that signal, everyone rushed forward with a cheer.
My gaze was captivated by the peaceful scene for a long time, but I finally resumed walking after seeing another boy, grimy with dust, kick the ball into the makeshift goal marked by chalk lines.
It was only natural that I was reminded of his brother, who was always so quiet and frail.
I couldn’t help but smile, thinking how different their temperaments were, born from the same womb.
I suddenly thought that Rubel, who could handle both long and short swords with equal skill, would probably be terrible at chukguk.
His appearance and disposition seemed ill-suited for mingling with people.
The thought of needing to arrange a meal for Rubel and Shayden crossed my mind, but since it wasn’t urgent, I decided not to rush.
It had taken me so long to get used to difficult and uncomfortable things, but comfort and pleasantness had quickly settled into my body and mind.
Laughter was sweeter than screams, and soft, refreshing food was sweeter than coarse fare.
Even the unblemished white hands, occasionally visible, no longer felt unsettling.
I ate with my companions, laughing, and then returned to the Martial arts training ground.
As always, there were people around, but I didn’t mind. I accepted the goodwill in the eyes of passersby as genuine. I adjusted my stance and performed a familiar swordplay.
Now, the Changcheon Muae Sword’s 4th, 8th, and 17th moves, which Maelo had first pointed out, no longer harbored murderous intent. I was glad that the sword, swung without the intent to sever a neck, cut open a belly, or cleave a thigh, carried no meaningless weight.
The many people I had always seen before me, whom I was meant to kill, now had blurred forms.
No, I tried not to see them even if they were visible. When I looked at people, I tried to see their expressions and features, rather than their vital acupoints (acupoints that cause death when struck) or crucial acupoints (important acupoints).
It was only recently that I became accustomed to smiling and shaking hands after exerting my full strength.
In the Central Plains, no one would so readily offer their wrist to just anyone. I had held more hands at the Academy in two months than I had in the Central Plains.
I wondered if I would feel a shock comparable to my first murder if I were to take someone’s life now, or if I would be indifferent. The curiosity remained, but there was no way to satisfy it.
I executed the correct form for thirty seconds.
As before, I executed it once more in reverse, and the sword contained jeong (correctness). A righteous, proper sword. A sword that had been stolen from a life of hardship. A sword that had lost its wholeness in the moment of deciding life or death.
As I swallowed my breath, it was difficult to distinguish whether the gathering energy was aura, mana, or internal energy. A soft, blue sound, like a snake hiding its tail, hissed between my teeth.
Someone cheered and applauded, so I raised my hand in response.
This kind of leisure was also something I learned at Shierun Academy.
The students here really liked it when I raised my hand to shoulder height and waved it gently. Though it felt strange at first, now that I was accustomed to the outpouring of encouragement, I often greeted them this way at the end of training.
Sometimes, when I saw other students perform impressive swordplay, I would return the applause they had received.
These actions, which seemed partly playful and partly admiring, were likely meant to illuminate the bonds of the community that was the Academy. I had come to understand how precious and valuable it was for someone to exist in the same place at the same time.
After finishing my own training, I watched some of the other students’ swordplay.
❖ ❖ ❖
The next day, during the advanced swordsmanship class, the third princess Lucilla took the stage in the sparring arena.
I had observed her swordplay a few times in previous classes. Her swordplay was as free-spirited as her disposition.
Maelo Sanson had told me that it was the next form of the Siren Swordplay used by a friend I had met in the beginner’s class.
It was fascinating to watch the aura she generated flow, connect, and surge like waves.
I felt a gaze on my cheek again and turned my head.
Perhaps because we had grown a little closer, I had become somewhat accustomed to Rubel not focusing on the lesson and looking at me, and I no longer felt like scolding him. I glanced at him, and when our eyes met, he grinned, so I smiled back. With a smile playing on my lips, I turned my gaze back to the sparring arena.
Lucilla Anti Sierran kicked her opponent’s leg, making him stumble. The opponent rolled away, avoiding the sword that was thrust towards him. The spar did not stop. The opponent, who had rolled on the ground several times, pushed himself up with one arm fully on the ground.
Their swords clashed fiercely again, flowing along the blades as if crawling.
In the Central Plains, rolling on the ground to evade (a move name comparing rolling on the ground to avoid to a lazy donkey) was considered shameful. It was believed that rolling on the ground would damage one’s dignity due to the significant difference in skill with the opponent.
However, the martial artists of Sierran said that it was natural for a cocoon to be covered in its shell. They believed that one day, it would bloom into a butterfly. Their attitude of not considering immediate humiliation as shame was indeed worth learning.
Clang!
The sound of clashing swords rang out loudly.
Finally, Lucilla, having successfully disarmed her opponent, caught her breath and smiled brightly. The boy whose sword had been taken accepted the blade pointed at his throat. The boy raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, and Lucilla took his hand to help him up.
Looking closely, it seemed the boy was the same one who had scored the goal in yesterday’s chukguk. The affection between them was palpable.
“That was a great spar, using the 8th and 9th forms of the Siren Sword Pattern. Since the spar ended early, how about you demonstrate in front, Lucilla?”
“Just the 8th and 9th forms?”
“Yes, your skill surpassed that of an advanced Sword Expert, so you should show it off. I liked how the energy mixed with the waves at times, appearing fierce and threatening. It was also good that you held back 40% of your strength.”
“You’re unusually generous with praise today, Professor Maelo Sanson. You’re making me embarrassed.”
“Matt Nico. You stand there and watch too.”
The princess said sharply and stood with her sword upright. The boy who had been her sparring partner stepped back seven paces. He knew precisely the closest distance one could stand without being affected by the Sword Domain.
Instead of Matt Nico, Maelo Sanson took his place in the sparring arena.
Lucilla executed her swordplay at the same speed as the previous spar, but Professor Maelo Sanson leisurely parried her sword while explaining.
Lucilla’s brow furrowed slightly as she struggled to disarm the professor, whose raw strength contained within his firm arms was different.
The professor mimicked Matt Nico’s stance but occasionally twisted his wrist slightly, demonstrating how to release force.
My heart filled with joy at this new insight. The sounds of swords clashing—chang, chaeng, ching—were loud.
“You don’t need to counter every force with force. It’s a principle you already know well, but it’s hard to apply in practice. When swords clash, like this, like this, by practicing using your wrists, you can create a chance to strike or extend your sword one more time, even when the opponent’s force is surprisingly strong.”
The rest was unsaid, but everyone could guess. It would be the ultimate secret technique to save these children’s lives.
A moment later, when their swords stopped, Maelo Sanson offered a handshake, as the children always did after a spar. With a grunt and a heave, Lucilla, who had been sparring with Sanson, clasped his hand, her breath catching in her throat, and growled.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at the amusing sight.
Lucilla released Maelo Sanson’s firm hand and turned her eyes towards me, a flicker of surprise in them, but I didn’t wipe the smile from my lips. I remembered the goodwill shown by most people within the Academy.
I didn’t think that cheerful girl would scold me for something like this. Her clear black eyes, so like Rubel’s, narrowed as she looked at me, then looked away.
I thought she would speak to me after class, just like the other juniors and seniors. I always welcomed the chance to become closer to good martial artists. I was already excited before we even began to talk.