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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: FusionX
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“Isn’t this fate?”
Harfon was…smiling. Smiling far too much.
“Ah…”
Egenir was speechless. He’d seemed so adamant about not taking on any disciples, and now he had a growing number of them, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“So.”
Harfon addressed Egenir, who was trying to calm down.
“How would you train them?”
“Them?”
Egenir pointed at the five, who were now pleading with Ella for swordsmanship lessons.
‘Trying to suck up to the Gainz family, too.’
Abandoned by Horse, they were desperate for a new patron. Train them? He’d rather train rabid dogs. They weren’t just idiots, but future backstabbers, loyal to the Royal Family.
“They barely have any basic skills, no talent, no backing…What’s the point?”
“Aren’t those…perfect conditions?”
“What?”
“A solid foundation means they just need to develop their application skills.”
“Application skills require talent. You know that.”
Harfon didn’t disagree. But he looked at Egenir intently.
“You know how to transcend the limitations of talent, don’t you?”
Egenir felt a chill run down his spine. Harfon seemed to see right through him.
‘This guy…’
Egenir hadn’t always been a skilled swordsman. He’d had no talent. There was one way to transcend the limitations of talent:
‘Life-or-death situations.’
Facing death honed one’s instincts, forcing them to break free from the rigid constraints of basic training and adapt. Swordsmanship was a strange art. Mastering the fundamentals was just the first step.
The next was to break them down, to adapt and improvise, to forge one’s own style. There were supposedly further stages, but Egenir, a jack-of-all-trades, hadn’t reached them.
‘Is he suggesting I put them in life-or-death situations?’
Harfon seemed eager to train those idiots.
“Why are you taking them in?”
“A knight needs followers.”
“Is that some kind of knightly wisdom? They’ll betray you eventually.”
“Then that’s their fate.”
The word “fate” sounded strange coming from Harfon, the champion of hard work and determination. He probably meant it was inevitable, beyond his control.
“…So? You want me to train them?”
“You’ve already mastered the fundamentals and the application. Your only remaining task is to forge your own path. Your physical limitations are your only obstacle.”
“…”
Harfon had been observing him closely. His usual jovial expression was serious.
“Observing different sword styles, experiencing life-or-death situations…those are all paths to finding your own style. But is there only one way?”
He’d adopted the demeanor of a wise mentor.
“Are you saying…training them will help me find my own path?”
“Perhaps not. A good teacher is important, but I don’t recommend following my path.”
Harfon seemed like a man burdened by his own swordsmanship, which was why he’d become a teacher, refusing to take on students until now. He taught with passion, but he didn’t want his students to follow in his footsteps.
He saw something special in Egenir’s swordsmanship.
“Teaching might be more beneficial than being taught.”
“And you’re calling this…training?”
Harfon grinned.
“You know me too well.”
Egenir, annoyed, spat on the ground.
“Hey, you brats!”
“Yes!”
“You called, Hyungnim!”
The five rushed over, their faces eager to please. They were well-built, but their noble upbringing had softened them, their preference for comfort evident in their plump figures.
These guys, putting in effort? Bullshit.
“I’m supposed to take you in?”
“We’ll work hard! We swear!”
“We’ll follow you to the death!”
“You said the same thing to Horse.”
They fell silent.
“I don’t care if you’re trying to suck up to someone. I’m going to teach you swordsmanship.”
“Thank you!”
“We’ll do our best!”
“Hold your gratitude. I have one condition.”
He raised his wooden sword, the one they’d mocked.
“If you want to be my students…you,” he pointed at the first one who’d attacked him, the one who’d tripped and been knocked unconscious. “You’re number 1.”
Then the second one who’d charged.
“You’re number 2.”
The one who’d stood his ground in the center.
“You’re number 3.”
“You’re 4, and you’re 5.”
Number 4 had been on the left, 5 on the right.
“I’m not going to remember your names, so keep track yourselves. I’m going to teach you how to break through your limits.”
“B-Break through our limits?”
“Yes. You won’t understand even if I explain, but swordsmanship has stages.”
The five stared at him. Some were larger than him, older than him, but they seemed intimidated.
“First, build your body. Judging by your…physique, this is your top priority.”
“Second, hone your swordsmanship. You need to know how to swing a sword before I send you to the battlefield.”
Now for the important part.
“Third, break your swordsmanship. At your current level, even that will be difficult. If you can master your technique to the point where it’s unbreakable, then fine…”
He looked at the five.
“But I guarantee you, that’s far more difficult than breaking it. Even I can’t do that. That’s for monsters.”
He glanced at Ella.
‘That’s why I lost.’
He’d tried to break his swordsmanship, to adapt and improvise, to find his own style. But Ella had simply perfected the Gainz family style, honing it to an almost unbreakable level.
‘…A damn cheat.’
Her swordsmanship was flawless, seamless. These pigs couldn’t hope to achieve that.
“This third stage requires talent. And judging by yours…”
He looked at them with disdain.
“You wouldn’t reach that level even if you died and came back to life. You’re barely qualified to be mercenaries in some backwater village.”
“…”
A harsh assessment, but they couldn’t argue. They’d seen his swordsmanship. But there was always one question in a group of five.
“Then what should we do?”
A disgruntled question.
“What to do…How to transcend the limitations of talent? It’s simple.”
He raised his wooden sword.
“Die a hundred times, then get back up, die again, get back up again, until you forget everything you’ve learned, then remember it, then forget it again.”
“What?”
“Training starts now. What are you waiting for?”
‘Thwack!’
He cracked one of them on the head.
“Cecilia, ask Teacher Spenny for some recovery potions.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t have time to send them to the infirmary.”
They looked terrified.
“If you want to stay conscious for more than a few minutes, try blocking this.”
Newbies with barely any basic skills. Egenir, like a wild boar, rampaged among them.
“Fight me like you want to live!”
“Aaaaaah!”
He wouldn’t be hit by their clumsy attacks. They tried to defend themselves, but they were quickly subdued.
[Harfon’s affinity increased by 3.]
He left them lying on the ground and returned to the bench.
“…”
“What? Why?”
Ella, who’d been practicing Wind Swordsmanship, approached him.
“I also…”
“Huh?”
“Teach me swordsmanship.”
Egenir thought,
‘This monster, this sword-devouring beast, wants to steal my techniques, too.’
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“This is…”
Horse held a document.
“They haven’t held this in spring for a while. Perhaps because the student council presidents usually graduate early?”
“…That’s one reason, but it’s also because the first-years aren’t ready yet.”
“Is that so? Hmm…I think they held it two years ago…”
Horse recalled his first year at the academy.
“That’s because…you were here, Your Highness.”
“I see.”
He’d been forced to participate in an event designed to weed out the first-years, a power play by the Royal faction. He’d emerged victorious, becoming the student council president.
He smiled, remembering his triumph.
[Swordsmanship Tournament.]
Spring, the season of blooming flowers. An unscheduled event was announced.
‘Will he take the bait?’
Horse waited, anticipating Egenir’s reaction.
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