Chapter 193 : Chapter 193
Chapter 193
"Why on earth did you choose me?"
Chamson asked Cassian.
He stood ramrod straight with his back stiff, as though standing before the Duke, maintaining an at-attention posture.
Though the content sounded somewhat confrontational, Chamson's actual expression was exceedingly cautious.
"I do not have that kind of caliber."
"Are you so sure?"
At Cassian's counter-question, Chamson nodded.
It was a gesture of conviction, without a moment's hesitation.
"I am a novice who has only just learned Aura. My sword experience is short, and my personality is not great either. I am reckless and quick to grow conceited."
Chamson slowly confessed his sins.
It looked rather like a devotee confessing before a religious icon.
Chamson's serious expression only deepened that atmosphere.
"......I will clearly be a liability to your plan, Teacher. Please remove me."
"You are not afraid of a fight, I presume."
"A soldier does not fight when he wishes to fight. He fights when he is told to fight."
What he feared was not the fight with the students, nor his own defeat — it was being a burden to Cassian.
Hearing those words, Cassian smiled gently.
What a kind young man.
And he had always been weak to kind people like this.
"Draw your sword."
The instant Cassian finished speaking, Chamson immediately drew his sword.
It was a speed of compliance that would have shocked anyone watching.
'Good.'
Cassian examined his stance carefully.
Only a few days had passed since he had corrected Chamson's grip on the sword.
And yet his stance was remarkably stable, as though he had swung for decades.
Proof that he had devoted himself to sword practice after returning.
"Are you getting a feel for Sword Intent?"
"I am not sure, but I am trying to do something based on what you taught me that time."
"That is where it begins. Set your intent."
At Cassian's words, Chamson's eyes sank a shade deeper.
The tip of his sword grew a touch more precise, and his limbs tensed and contracted as though ready to fire at any moment.
Watching that, Cassian recalled the conversation he had had with Chamson a few days prior.
'All I want is to tear apart the outlanders who killed my parents.'
Cassian did not judge whether that wish was ethically right or wrong.
It was not his role.
He merely refined it so that the will could emerge as Sword Intent.
"Sharper. What you will be facing is humans."
On the border, you fought monsters as often as barbarians.
Narrowing the somewhat blurred role of his swordsmanship — honed through repeated real combat — into a single focus.
Because that was his will.
"Because your opponents are human, you must be able to withstand the defenses that only humans can employ."
Unlike fighting with no regard for one's own life, this shaped him to dominate a battlefield alone.
"If your opponents are barbarians, using fear is also effective."
Sculpting the atmosphere his movements would create.
"Widen your feet a little more. Forward. Good. From there, drop your arms a bit more, at an angle."
When he drew the path the swordsmanship should follow, Chamson followed.
And in this way, his form came to resemble the future that Cassian had "seen."
"That is enough."
At Cassian's signal, Chamson released his stance.
In that short time, just moving his sword according to Cassian's instructions had left his whole body drenched in sweat.
He had simply repeated movements close to a sword dance until they became second nature, yet even his breathing was ragged.
"That is sufficient. The reason I chose you is because you are more than capable. Probably...... you can win about two rounds."
"And after winning two? Do I lose then?"
Cassian laughed.
"By then, you will be stronger than you are now. Come find me like this every day."
Chamson finished his training and returned to his quarters.
Cassian watched his retreating figure in silence.
Before his eyes, two versions of Chamson flickered.
One was the Chamson of the present.
And the other was a Chamson who had grown a bit sturdier.
He looked more like a warrior than a knight.
A body of solid, built muscle.
He held his sword at a slant and assumed a stance.
From that stance alone came a peculiar, oppressive aura.
The kind of menace that only someone who had killed many people could exude.
'So that is what his future looks like.'
Since collapsing and regaining consciousness in the Empire, Cassian's abilities had risen dramatically.
His swordsmanship had advanced, he had reached the stage of Master, and his Mana Roads had grown thick and sturdy.
But what had evolved most distinctly of all was his eyes.
In the past, when his eyes looked at an opponent's swordsmanship, they traced the past — why and with what intent it had been created.
He would identify weaknesses and figure out how to patch them.
Those eyes, which had once felt like vague intuition, were now beginning to dimly show him the future.
If Chamson completed his current swordsmanship, he would look like that.
His eyes were showing him the advanced swordsmanship Chamson would wield.
'I cannot see everyone's.'
People who had reached a certain level — Pan, Rozalin, Hati — appeared blurry and unclear.
For old men like the Spear God, even more so.
Probably because their "future form" would most likely be lying in a coffin, buried in the ground.
'But this alone is enough.'
The reason he had chosen Chamson over any other knight was that Chamson had shown him a more upright and vivid future than any of the others.
The other knights could also grow stronger with repeated training, but that was only if they trained repeatedly.
Chamson was receiving one-on-one instruction from him.
The knights would not find it easy to close that gap.
They did not know that.
Which was why.
"Chamson. Get over here."
They could display this sort of bravado.
***
The moment Chamson returned to the quarters, the air drew taut.
Perhaps it was thanks to having awakened mana, or perhaps thanks to Cassian's training.
This kind of atmosphere in the air was now clearly felt, racing across his skin.
"Let us have a bout."
Soon four knights stepped forward and surrounded him.
Three of them were knights with at least five — some as many as ten — years more experience than he.
All could use Aura, and all displayed stable skill.
And the fourth was Julian.
The genius knight Crownhardt was proud of.
Apparently a single defeat had not been enough to satisfy him — he stood beside another knight, glaring at Chamson with piercing eyes.
"The midterm evaluation is supposed to be conducted together with ten students."
"I do not plan on playing along with a kiddie game called a midterm evaluation. Two of us will be plenty for you."
Goldeus, the chief knight of the Crownhardt Ducal House, spat on the ground.
A knight with fifteen years of experience, he was within the top five in Aura proficiency within the Crownhardt House.
Beside him, the other knights nodded in agreement.
"Demons? If something like that appeared in our territory, it would have been slaughtered in no time."
"Cassian or whoever, that teacher looks down on us because we have never properly shown what we can do."
"Time to clip his pride."
"Chamson, he made you a midterm boss? Then all we have to do is crush you and prove it."
"If you want, we can go one-on-one. What will it be?"
Chamson looked carefully at the people blocking his path.
Why was it?
'Why am I not afraid?'
Was it because just a few days of guidance from Teacher Cassian had made him bold?
Perhaps he had grown arrogant from having beheld swordsmanship beyond reason.
Still, just this once, he wanted to go for it.
"All of you, come at once."
"What?"
"Not one — all four of you here. If you need to, bring ten and come at me."
Chamson still did not believe in himself.
But none other than Teacher Cassian himself had said so.
That the reason he had been chosen was because Cassian was certain he could win.
'He said only two times, but.'
This was the first — so I will win, no matter what.
"I will go ahead and wait."
Chamson turned his back on the knights and walked steadily toward the training ground.
At his nonchalant gait, the faces of the knights left behind — and of the knights and soldiers who had witnessed the scene — twisted in disbelief.
"I swear this school will never grow on me! From the moment we get here, nothing but absurd bullshit at every turn!"
The students were insolent, the teacher was insane, they were given bizarre assignments, the final exam was fighting demons......
And now the newest knight had been summoned once by Duke Crownhardt and suddenly had the gall to commit insubordination.
"Son of a bitch......"
One knight who could not hold back let a curse slip.
Gritting his teeth, the knight strode after Chamson.
Behind him, more knights followed in a rush.
By the time Chamson arrived, the number of people who had swarmed up after him was ten.
Ten knights of the Crownhardt Ducal House was a fighting force capable of wiping out an Orc Settlement.
At their center, the most senior knight, Goldeus, bared his canines and snarled.
"There — ten came up, just like you said. You must be confident to have run your mouth like that."
Chamson drew his sword.
In that instant, astonishingly, the senior knights and the people around him no longer entered his eyes.
All that remained were the trajectories Cassian had shown him.
'Ahh.'
The lines that filled his black world were like a painting gently drawn by the god of swords descending upon the world.
Each line was so beautiful that following them was almost too much to bear.
He moved his feet carefully and swung his sword.
'Straight.'
He thrust his sword forward and pulled it back.
As he pulled back, he rotated the blade to maximize the wound.
Then he drew the recovered sword upward from the lower left.
A smooth arc connected line to line, forming a vast plane.
In the space between, the clatter of clashing swords scattered.
'Reverse.'
With his body turned backward, he rotated his sword in a circle.
He deflected the opponent's attack and let it flow past.
It was a swordsmanship he had never once used, yet it fit his hand as if he had wielded it for decades.
When he moved his sword along the trajectories, his body followed the sword.
Dodge, swing, dodge again, swing, block.
He was about to continue for a long while when lightning struck.
CLANG!
His sword stopped for the first time.
The world that had been dyed black regained its color.
"Ah......"
The scene around him was shocking.
Ten knights who had come up to face him were sprawled on the ground, groaning.
From those with torn palms to those with gashes on their arms and legs.
"M-Medic!"
Whether soldiers had called for one, a resident cleric was running over in a frenzy from the distance.
Then what on earth had stopped his sword?
Chamson looked up.
There, a woman with long, pale blue hair was looking down at him with a mischievous expression.
"Well now. There was a wild beast hiding in the Crownhardt Ducal House."
It was Rozalin.
"Junior. Looks like the Crownhardt house does not love you much. Any interest in the security team?"
"The security team......"
"We report directly to Teacher Cassian."
Chamson looked at Rozalin's sword.
His swordsmanship, which had been in a trance.
Rozalin's blade was planted at the exact point that perfectly severed the flow.
There was nothing to think about.
"I will do it."
"Excellent. Sordian will be thrilled."
Sordian — after a year and a half, finally free of being the security team's bottom-ranker!