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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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It wasn’t anger that fueled Egenir’s response to the pig-like Sestern’s provocation. Egenir had the formidable experience of eight regressions. Responding to the taunt was simply a strategically sound move.
“Will you be using a wooden sword?”
“Of course not. A true aspiring knight should always strive for live-blade sparring, shouldn’t he?”
He held what he considered his prized sword, a gleaming blade that looked as out of place on the pig as a pearl necklace. The stage was set, the audience gathered.
“Fine by me.”
There was a difference of three levels in their swordsmanship. Three might not seem like much, but considering the highest current level for a swordsman was 10, the gap was significant.
However, Egenir hadn’t revealed his own level and had the considerable bluff of Dragon Swordsmanship on his side.
The basis of Sestern’s provocation was simple,
‘You can antagonize the Central Royal Family, but never actually touch them.’
Would Egenir dare lay a hand on Sestern, even if he were stronger? He couldn’t predict the repercussions for the Talfon family.
That fear was fueling the pig’s arrogance.
“I prefer this.”
Egenir picked up a wooden practice sword. No risk of bloodshed, and easier to hold back.
‘A pig needs a good beating.’
In this damned hierarchical society, if Egenir drew blood, he’d be hauled before the academy’s judicial committee for assault, even if it was a sanctioned duel.
He’d learned through trial and error how to handle these pig-like nobles who kept triggering events.
‘Just beat them.’
Even if he bruised them black and blue with a wooden sword, what could they say after being thoroughly defeated?
‘Heh, he’s afraid of my background.’
Sestern, convinced Egenir had chosen the wooden sword out of fear despite knowing Dragon Swordsmanship, smirked. The surrounding students wore similar expressions of disappointment or concern, thinking,
‘That’s what I thought.’
“This is a duel, but as an aspiring knight, I won’t hold back.”
“Then I’ll fight my best, too.”
He’d dug his own grave. If he lost to someone with a wooden sword, he’d have no excuse. His own sense of chivalry had trapped him.
‘Thud!’
Without another word, the pig charged, confidently launching an overhead strike. The level 5 swordsmanship, despite his bulky physique, was swift and powerful.
‘Even if I’m only level 1!’
His eyes were different. His body might not be able to keep up, but he’d been through this eight times.
He knew the optimal movements when his body lagged, footwork, evasion. He’d mastered them long ago. So why couldn’t he avoid the girls’ stabs?
‘How should I know? They pierced my armor, too.’
They’d always used cheat codes, magic, or some alchemically crafted demonic weapon. No matter how well he moved, they’d always found a way to stab him. It was infuriating.
No matter how diligently he mastered Dragon Swordsmanship! The stab-happy girls had never failed to end his run.
“Damn it!”
Frustration surged inside of him.
He sidestepped the overhead strike with a single, short step, not backward, but to the side. He raised his wooden sword and struck Sestern’s neck.
“Oink!”
A truly pig-like squeal escaped Sestern as he stumbled.
“You bastard!”
A madman.
That’s how everyone saw Egenir.
[Successfully countered an attack from a live blade.]
[Swordsmanship level increased by 1.]
He’d struck Sestern’s neck with the wooden sword, then kicked his exposed thigh.
‘Thwack!’
“Squeal!”
“I’ll…”
‘Thwack!’
He dropped the wooden sword and punched Sestern in the face. Blood spurted from his nose as he reeled, but, true to his knightly aspirations, he tried to regain his composure.
Successfully landed punches and kicks against an opponent with a live blade.
Acquired skill: Brawling.
No hesitation.
Would a level 10 veteran, reborn as a level 1, stand idly by while his opponent prepared to attack?
He aimed a heel kick at Sestern’s stomach, aiming to break his stance completely.
‘Is this how it felt?’
Was this how the girls felt when they stabbed him? There was a perverse satisfaction as Sestern doubled over, blood spraying from his mouth.
“Do I look easy to you?!”
He roared, raising his wooden sword.
“Stop!”
Horfin, the damn hot-blooded swordsmanship instructor who should have waited until he was stabbed, finally intervened.
“Should I stop?”
The tip of the wooden sword pointed at Sestern, who trembled in fear. No one had ever attacked him like this.
Because of his background, no one had ever seriously challenged him, let alone engaged in such brutal, dirty fighting. This wasn’t knighthood. This was a rabid dog.
A fighting dog who used fists when his sword failed, kicking and biting with savage abandon. He was a dangerous animal, even if he was weak.
“Aaaaaah!”
Still a child, Sestern screamed.
“Stop! The duel is over!”
“You have to declare the winner.”
The competitive spirit. Looking into Egenir’s intense eyes, Horfin swallowed hard.
‘This is bad.’
Not bad for Horfin, but bad for Egenir. Becoming a major obstacle for the Central Royal Noble faction would paint a target on his back. But…
‘Those eyes…’
Filled with venomous determination, they held no trace of childishness.
‘What kind of hell has he been through…’
The raw, merciless aggression, though unskilled, was precise and effective.
It was only a wooden sword, but if it had been a live blade…Even Horfin felt a chill run down his spine. He exploited his opponent’s underestimation. If Horfin hadn’t seen Egenir’s outburst, if he’d dismissed him as a child and held back… Egenir would have taken advantage and gone for the kill.
A rabid dog ready to tear out his throat.
“Th-The winner…Egenir Talfon.”
No cheers resounded.
The students watched in stunned silence. He’d discarded any pretense of knightly conduct, fighting like a hunting dog.
“Pick your fights carefully.”
Egenir stared down at Sestern, whose face and clothes were covered in blood. He’d collapsed, pissing himself.
‘Huh?’
Ella, who had watched the entire scene, sensed a vague hostility directed at her from Egenir.
‘Why?’
They’d only met yesterday, yet he seemed to radiate a fierce, combative energy.
“Tch.”
Egenir tossed the wooden sword aside, spat on the ground, and walked away. The remaining members of the royal faction, Sestern’s lackeys, helped their leader to his feet.
A complete and utter defeat.
“Are you alright?”
Cecilia finally approached. Mages weren’t required to attend swordsmanship class, yet she’d been there, watching the entire duel.
He’d acted unlike his usual self.
“Yeah, just needed to let off some steam.”
“Revenge…”
“I can always beat him up again.”
“…I see.”
The lower nobles and commoners who had previously flocked to him now kept their distance. But Cecilia, sitting beside him, simply nodded.
“Alright! Class resumes!”
A few more sparring matches commenced, the nobles passing the time. But no one dared to step onto the blood-and-piss-stained area where Sestern had been humiliated.
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“Sestern was completely destroyed, they say.”
“With a wooden sword…and I saw it, he didn’t even use Dragon Swordsmanship.”
“What? So Sestern is weak?”
“No…I’ve never heard of him being weak.”
Sestern, due to his trait, was naturally large. His size, combined with his swordsmanship, generated powerful gusts of wind, a potential that would only grow stronger with training.
He’d received sponsorship offers even before entering the academy, a rising star of the Central Royal Noble faction. And he’d been defeated by Egenir, who fought like a wild animal.
The news spread through the academy like wildfire.
“He fought like a monk.”
“A cleric fighter?”
“Yeah, I’ve never seen movements like that.”
The commoners buzzed with excitement, while the royal faction, usually quick to silence such chatter, remained quiet. Some ground their teeth, directing their anger not at Egenir, but at Sestern for bringing shame upon them.
“He lost to a low-ranking noble? With his fists?”
“And the other guy had a wooden sword?”
“He couldn’t even win with a live blade!”
“These first-years!”
The rumors reached the second and third years. The current student council president, a third-year from the royal faction, listened quietly to the chatter.
“Egenir Talfon, was it?”
“…Yes.”
A skilled swordsman who had already received a preliminary offer to join the Central Royal Knights and the top candidate for early graduation spoke.
“I’ll have to postpone my graduation.”
Silence fell.
Egenir, fueled by the hope of his 8th regression, was blissfully unaware of the consequences of his actions.
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