By Zephyria 
In my past life, after reaching a certain realm, I was always thirsty for knowledge. The teachings and insights shared by masters of my time or from previous eras were mere fragments exchanged amongst themselves. Those of high realm were as aloof as their status, rarely descending to the mortal world. There was no path for me to approach them. I don’t know how kindly they treated the successors of their own sect. However, even the teachings of the previous head of the Namgung Family were not abundant enough to reach me, let alone his sons and grandsons.
Thus, facing a martial artist of Hwagyeong who observed my every gesture with meticulous care, as if tending to neighborhood children, I clung to him desperately. I pleaded that while it might be an imposition for the first few days, my accumulated years and experience, given just a little catalyst, could bloom on their own.
We came out to the Martial Arts Training Ground, Maelo Sanson and I. The surroundings were not silent. There were students doing personal training during their free time, and others sitting with companions in a suitable shade, chatting amiably. Seeing some familiar faces and some not, it seemed students from various grades were mixed. A student crossing the training ground diagonally, perhaps on their way to a certain building, surprised me a little. It was a very free-spirited behavior.
Occupying one corner of the training ground, Sanson demonstrated first, and I followed him. He showed five sword forms. He explained each one with a gentle voice, detailing its origin, characteristics, and the core principle of the swordplay, instructing me to keep that in mind as I moved. After I familiarized my eyes with the form of the sword and tried to replicate it, he repeatedly corrected my posture, speed, and where to focus my gaze. It took a full hour to teach all five. It was a method I could only follow because I was a martial artist who had wielded a sword for a long time, but Sanson seemed to think I was keeping up well.
“Alright, that’s it for now. Thirty-minute break!”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been moving for two hours without even drinking water. You won’t grow if you overexert yourself.”
I was puzzled, as a martial artist of Hwagyeong shouldn’t be exhausted by just an hour of swordplay demonstration, but realizing the issue was on my end, I readily agreed and accepted the water bottle he handed me. Maelo Sanson walked casually towards the students who had been watching us, made a space for himself to sit, and patted the spot next to him, calling me over.
Even though I hadn’t consumed much internal energy, only learning sword forms and patterns, I sat down obediently instead of starting my Breathing and Regulating Energy. I also wanted to chat with Sanson when I had the energy. The two children sitting next to Maelo Sanson were unfamiliar faces. Thinking they might be students from a grade above, I simply nodded to greet them. They returned the greeting with smiles and giggles.
As I waited quietly, perhaps for them to say something, one of the girls sitting there tugged on Sanson’s collar.
“This is that friend, right? Little Kiadris.”
“Uh-huh, that’s right. It’s Friday, and they’ve been at it since one in the afternoon without a break.”
“Until when are you going to do this?”
“Eight in the evening.”
“Wow!”
Listening, I became curious and leaned forward, hugging my knees and curling up. Since I was sitting with Maelo Sanson between us, this was the only way to see their faces and converse while avoiding the Professor’s large frame. Seeing me like that, the girls giggled again and showed their favor.
“What do you mean, Little Kiadris?”
“Exactly 16 years ago, Sir Wesley Kiadris entered this Academy. He was famous for being a practice fanatic. They say he lived in the training ground from five in the morning until midnight!”
“Yeah, the current training ground usage hours were set because of that kid. He gave us teachers a hard time in his early years. He used to follow me around just like you, with his eyes shining.”
“Still, you liked him. You always bragged about him.”
“Of course, I liked it when my disciple said they wanted to be like me and worked hard.”
“They say Sir Wesley ate very aggressively too. He finished three trays of food in one meal. Make sure you eat plenty so you don’t wear yourself out. Eat well, become a Sword Master quickly, and then a Grand Sword Master.”
Hearing them speak informally, I knew they were seniors, so I simply replied, “Yes,” and nodded. When I first sat next to Sanson, I had intended to ask about the sword forms I learned today, but I suddenly felt it wasn’t an appropriate topic with our new companions. After some thought, I voiced the question I had formulated.
“Do you seniors wish for me to reach a higher realm?”
“Uh… if possible?”
“Why?”
“Huh?”
The senior girl seemed to ponder for a moment, then winked playfully and shrugged her shoulders. Her nonchalant attitude held no trace of jealousy. Rather, she seemed thoroughly amused.
“There’s no particular reason… I’m just cheering you on because you’re working hard. When I see someone living diligently, it makes me think, ‘Ah, maybe I should live diligently too.’ You have a face that promises a bright future, so I’d like to see you wear the Imperial Knight Order uniform, perhaps…?”
“…Hmm.”
“It’s also because we’re seniors and juniors from the same Academy. Who knows, if you do well, you might become a good connection for me someday. After graduation, you’ll surely stick with fellow Academy alumni, won’t you?”
“Uh… why is that?”
“This place is top-tier in many ways, so geniuses are common. Wouldn’t you naturally want to hang out with friends you connect well with?”
Here was the answer to why everyone here, including Maelo Sanson, was willing to show their sword forms and help each other advance. It was amusing to think that I had lived my life believing swordsmanship was an External Art Deficiency, something not easily taught to others, and had been anxious about missing immediate opportunities, fearing I would lose the chance to learn. Now I understood. This Academy itself was like a sect, so the exchange among its members was more natural. I, too, would have carved out time from my busy schedule to help a junior from Namgung if they had asked me to review the Changcheon Muae Sword Form.
Seeing me nod in understanding, the seniors and Sanson resumed their own conversation, laughing and chatting. They seemed quite close. While they chatted, I nodded or offered a few words in response to their questions, spending a peaceful time. Only after this entire period passed and I had finished a whole bottle of water did Professor Sanson suggest we continue with the next lesson, and I followed him.
❖ ❖ ❖
On the weekend, after my morning training, I decided to catch up on my studies. Shayden Rose’s misunderstanding had been quite frustrating. Ever since he got the impression that I cried my eyes out over not being able to remember names, he’d often tease me, asking if I needed a lullaby. Shayden, still acting like a nanny, had plans with his new friends. At breakfast, he repeatedly urged me to make sure I ate lunch and dinner even if he wasn’t around. I sighed, wondering when he would understand that I wasn’t that young.
I chose the library as my study spot, not my personal study. My room’s study was cluttered with swords, martial arts uniforms, and leg guards, making me feel like a military official rather than a scholar, even when sitting still, urging me to run to the training ground. Like other buildings at Shierun Academy, the library was a vast, tall space, neatly divided into sections. Bookshelves towering over human height lined the walls, with several large tables in front of them. Farther away, small meeting rooms and large conference rooms were attached, separated by partitions.
I gathered my notebook for practice, handouts, and a pencil with a graphite lead, then found a seat at a library table. While using a brush pen with pre-inked ink wasn’t bad, today’s task was simple memorization, so I saw no need to go through the trouble of bringing ink. I liked the sound of graphite scratching across paper.
How much time had passed? It was hard to tell without a clock, as the library had no ticking second hands to disturb concentration. The sun was high outside the window. As I stretched my stiff body, which wasn’t concentrating well, someone pulled up a chair and sat in the seat in front of me. When our eyes met, the other person silently nodded in greeting. It was a familiar face.
“Hello, Senior.”
“Yes, hello.”
I greeted him as I had learned, and the boy returned the greeting in a soft whisper. Only then did I remember that one must be quiet in the library and closed my mouth. Black hair and black eyes. It was that boy. Rubel Anti Searon, the Second Prince of the Sierran Empire, whom I took advanced swordsmanship classes with.
Now that I was aware of his presence, I wondered if I could make the scratching sound again, so I slowed my hand, which had been filling a blank sheet like a child practicing writing. Every time I glanced up, our eyes met. At first, I tried to ignore it, but seeing him looking at me instead of his book bothered me, so I finally put down my pencil.
“Why?”
“…No, I was just a little surprised. Do you know my name?”
“Yes.”
“Ah… I see.”
What a trivial question. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to write even the first character of Rubel’s name if Shayden hadn’t told me beforehand, but I felt confident at that moment. Seeing me write others’ names, he must have wanted to show off his own, so I nodded appropriately and returned my gaze to the handouts. The boy remained there until lunchtime, and when I returned after eating, he was gone.