Chapter 7

Chapter 7

When I first came up with this plan, one worry did cross my mind.

No matter how it worked in the game, Angmaier’s swordsmanship could only strike from the left. But this was reality, was it not?

To put it bluntly, if Jefrin simply switched hands and swung from the opposite side, I would be finished. I would lose without even being able to react properly.

I thought long and hard about whether I should really go through with this strategy. Would it actually work?

In the end, I reached a conclusion. I was certain Jefrin would never be able to execute ‘Crescent Slash’ with his opposite hand.

It was the same as asking the god of football, Ho-xdu, to take a free kick with his left foot. Even if he tried a hundred times, he would not score once.

I judged that suddenly reversing his stance was simply too much to ask.

A grin spread across my face.

I was right.

My judgment had been correct. Jefrin hesitated, unable to use Crescent Slash.

He bit down hard on his lip in frustration. His face twisted, and then he lunged straight at me, driving off his front foot. His center of gravity pitched forward.

The instant before his strike came down, I recognized the technique from his posture alone.

This is an overhead attack.

It was a technique called ‘Upper Moon Slash,’ the second-fastest attack in Angmaier’s arsenal after Crescent Slash.

In the game, the orthodox way to deal with it was to keep your sword to the left and guard only the upper line.

I followed that faithfully.

The strike was, as expected, terrifyingly fast, but because I had been waiting for Upper Moon Slash alone, I was able to react in time. I twisted my whole body and slammed my blade into Jefrin’s.

CLANG!

Scarlet sparks burst from where our swords met. The shock made my grip throb.

I tightened my hold on the hilt and sucked in a breath.

It was the first swordfight of my life. My breath came ragged, and my hands trembled violently. For one instant, the impact of the clash nearly knocked the sword from my grasp.

But Jefrin was just as shaken.

The farther from the body a blade was struck, the more vulnerable it was to impact. So I had hit precisely at the outermost tip. For a brief instant, Jefrin’s body swayed. He recovered his stance at once, but he still looked unsteady.

- You said before this even started that it would be over in a minute! It has already gone past a minute, has it not?

-You are right! I really do not know who is going to win anymore! Could Jefrin actually lose?

-Judging by what we have seen so far, it looks possible.

- If that happens, it will be incredible.

Jefrin clenched his teeth.

For him, this had to be an intolerable crisis. After striking every pose imaginable and making such a grand show of himself, he could hardly afford to lose in such a miserable fashion. He would struggle desperately for victory.

Win. Win. I have to win. I must win.

I did not need to look into his head to know that much.

That was the state of his mind.

He would search only for the best move available to him right now, the one that would win immediately. And if so, his field of vision could only narrow.

There was one more thing.

In making my counterattack, I had left my left temple open.

For the first time in this spar, I had given Jefrin an opportunity to use Crescent Slash against me.

From Jefrin’s point of view, in the midst of a crisis, he had seized a chance. That meant he would have no choice but to use Crescent Slash.

Like a fisherman waiting patiently for the fish to bite, I waited for him to take the bait.

“Hup!”

Jefrin inhaled sharply, almost as though he meant to show it to me.

Before he could even swing, I dropped straight down in place as though doing a squat. A white flash sliced through the air above my head.

“Remarkable reflexes. Or is his sensitivity to mana simply that good?”

I ignored Katarina’s nonsense from the sidelines and drew a deep breath.

My chest swelled, my heartbeat crashed like a gong, and my muscles tightened to their limit.

Then, at last, I moved.

After ‘Crescent Slash,’ there was a brief delay. In that instant, Jefrin had only two choices: guard or evade.

Compared to evasion, which required a large movement of the body, guarding looked better. So ordinarily, Jefrin would undoubtedly have chosen to guard.

Ordinarily.

Ordinarily, I would have bet on Jefrin choosing to guard. But this time was different. He was already cornered badly enough in his own mind.

I stepped forward lightly with my right foot, narrowing the angle through which Jefrin could move. Jefrin turned his body to slip away from me. In that instant, his concentration broke, and my sword disappeared from his sight.

‘Disarm.’

A universal skill that anyone could use in Warriors Fighter.

Compared to how easy the input was, it was a technique for crushing weaker opponents that could only be used after completely overwhelming them in a battle of nerves.

I hooked my blade upward from below like a hook and yanked with all my strength.

CLANG!

Sparks flew as our blades scraped against one another.

Jefrin’s wrist bent in the wrong direction, and he lost his grip on the hilt.

Clang.

Jefrin’s sword fell to the ground.

I planted my foot on it, extended my own blade, and pointed it at his throat.

Then I spoke the promised line.

“What is wrong? Did you not say things would be different at the Academy?”

It felt as though my lungs were about to burst.

Breathing hurt.

Even so, I forced myself to endure it and spoke to him.

Perhaps because the defeat had been beyond anything he had imagined, Jefrin did not answer.

With his head bowed, he only breathed heavily in frustration. His bangs had fallen loose and obscured his face, and I found myself curious about his expression.

I bent down and tilted my head, trying to see it.

For a brief moment, Jefrin wore a look of humiliation. Then, before long, he lowered his head.

“I lost.”

Jefrin acknowledged defeat without resistance.

There was still hostility in his eyes when he looked at me, but that was closer to loyalty toward Bishot than anything else. It no longer felt like the deep distrust he had once held.

He hated me for many reasons.

And among those many reasons, it seemed at least one had now diminished.

As we stood there facing one another, Katarina stepped in. She shoved Jefrin and me apart to widen the distance between us. Then she looked at me, her expression oddly complicated. She seemed faintly dissatisfied.

“You won.”

And then Katarina added,

“I owe you an apology. I was mistaken. There are many kinds of genius in this world, yet I underestimated yours. Yes, to borrow your own expression, Jefrin’s swordsmanship was beautiful. I admit that my eyes were dazzled by that beauty.”

My chest was still pounding from defeating Jefrin, and I was debating whether I could finally sit down, when Katarina placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Certainly, the style you use, relying only on the fundamentals, managing the fight defensively, and countering the opponent’s techniques, is dull. On top of that, it is difficult to appreciate your skill properly until one actually crosses blades with you.”

Katarina continued talking as she pleased.

But I had no strength left to argue, so I pretended to accept it and simply replied,

“Ah, is that so?”

“Yes. No matter how confident you were in your own ability, I can understand that it may have been difficult for you to trust me.”

Katarina went on muttering things I could not quite make sense of, but the point was simple.

I was the top entrant.

If Koromang heard that, she would faint dead away from shock.

---

Koromang had been worried about Raphael.

Though she respected Raphael’s decision not to use Special Admission, she could not help worrying that he might fail the entrance examination. She knew he had trained hard in the family’s training ground, but the period had still been short.

Even knowing that the average level of Academy entrants was not all that high, every night before falling asleep, she imagined the worst. Raphael might still make a mistake, might he not?

She had even thought about what words of comfort she should offer if Raphael failed to enter the Academy and returned to the family estate.

At least, she had.

“What? Do not lie to me! How could that bastard possibly!”

Jericho stamped the floor so hard with the sole of his shoe that it boomed. Perhaps because he was so agitated, the weight behind the step drew everyone’s attention. He paid no mind to the looks from the servants around him as he demanded,

“Raphael beat Jefrin?”

Jericho took pride in himself. He had been born with fairly good talent and had worked at it day after day. Among those his age, he believed there was no one who could rival him.

Except for one.

The escort of the young lady Raphael had once trailed after. His name was Jefrin.

That man alone was the exception. Jericho had only happened to see his swordsmanship a few times, but that had been enough.

That man was the real thing. He was the only genius among their age group that Jericho truly acknowledged.

Jericho considered himself gifted as well, but no matter how hard he tried, he felt he could never catch up to Jefrin.

“This makes no sense!”

The idea that Raphael had defeated Jefrin was impossible.

If it was true, then Jericho might have to give up on taking the lordship altogether. In haste, he went to find Evelyn.

---

There was about a week between the entrance examination and the entrance ceremony.

Going all the way back to my territory during that time would have been a nuisance, so I stayed at an inn near the Academy. Most ordinary students were in similar circumstances, so the nearby inns were packed full.

Quite a few students were already busily pursuing social connections before even entering the Academy, but I was an exception. Rather than training conspicuously, I shut myself inside my room at the inn and spent my time quietly practicing Mana Refinement.

And then, at last, the day of the Academy’s entrance ceremony arrived.

The Academy had many departments, and during the ceremony, the top entrant from each department sat in the front. I, as the representative of the Swordsmanship Department, sat in the very first row, which gave me a clear view of the major figures from [Cinderella Rhapsody].

First of all, there was the Headmaster standing there and delivering a speech of congratulations for the new students.

Franz Locus.

Aside from dragons, there was none more famous for magic than he was. Not only among humans, but even among demons and elves.

That extraordinarily great Franz was glaring viciously in this direction, as though he meant to tear someone apart with his eyes alone.

More precisely, he was glaring at the long-haired mage seated beside me.

I had caught a glimpse of him on the day of the entrance examination. He was the one showing off how absurdly much mana he had by blowing up the Mana Stone.

He was the top entrant of the Magic Department.

Ian Roadbreaker.

With weary eyes as though everything in the world bored him, he let out a yawn so wide I worried his mouth might split.

Franz’s brows twitched.

Was it because of the yawn?

I wondered whether Franz was taking issue with Ian’s attitude, but soon waves of mana collided between them, and the aftermath spread outward before dissipating like foam. Franz continued his speech without pause, yet all the while, in a manner too subtle for the audience to notice, he was attacking Ian.

Even seated right beside Ian, I had only barely felt it.

If someone had not properly trained in mana, then even standing closer to the fight than I was, they likely would not have noticed it at all.

Without even shaping their mana into a visible form, the two exchanged attack and defense and tested each other’s strength.

The astonishing part was that Franz never stopped smiling as he spoke, while Ian merely kept nodding off as though he were drowsy.

For a fleeting instant, Franz’s eyes flashed as though he knew Ian’s true identity.

Ian Roadbreaker.

The master of the Magic Tower in the west.

The strongest being in the world when it came to control over mana.

By the time he graduated from the Academy, he was destined to become a great Archmage who would surpass Franz.

He was one of the male leads favored by the world itself.

‘And besides... he was my sister’s favorite.’

What made Ian truly terrifying was not only that he was beloved by the world, but that he was beloved by the author as well.

Ian Roadbreaker.

He was a man whose emotions themselves seemed drained of color.

That was why the story insisted he saw not the heroine’s beauty, but her inner self, and I had scrolled past that bit with open disdain at how childish it was.

The part of his brain that felt emotion was apparently tiny, and though he always wore a smile, he could feel almost neither joy nor sorrow.

He was especially deficient when it came to anger.

No matter what anyone did, he never became angry. Someday, however, he was fated to rage on Bishot’s behalf after coming to sympathize with her miserable life, and from there the two of them would become entangled and eventually fall in love. But for now, that was still in the future.

That one setting alone was childish enough that I could have mocked my sister about it for ages, but Ian also suffered from one additional affliction.

Severe insomnia, regardless of whether it was day or night.

For years, he had not been able to sleep for more than an hour at a time. The debt of lost sleep that built up day after day had accumulated like a usurer’s interest, leaving terrifying fatigue piled up in his body. He had to endure splitting headaches, heavy limbs, and the like.

The only thing in the world that could solve this wretched insomnia was Bishot.

For reasons no one knew, Ian could sleep deeply only when Bishot was nearby.

Why?

Why was that?

What possible principle was at work there?

I did not know.

My sister probably did not know either. She had likely just thrown it in because it felt right. When I had asked out of sheer curiosity, she had snapped at me to stop interrogating her and called it a cliché.

In any case, those settings led to one inevitable conclusion.

To Bishot, Ian was the only person who looked not at her appearance but at her inner self, while to Ian, Bishot was the only sleeping draught that could grant him peaceful rest.

They were one another’s irreplaceable, special person. That was the kind of setup it was.

If the two of them met, they would have no choice but to grow close.

And of course, if that happened, then my life would once again be hanging by a thread.

If I wanted to survive, I had to stop those two.

After Jefrin, Ian was the second character I had to deal with.