The Academy’s Weapon Replicator

In an open space somewhere in Constel.

First-year prospect, Pielott von Ribanche, stood still, holding the scabbard at his waist.

He wasn't drawing his sword and swinging it, nor was he resting. He just stood straight and breathed deeply. As if that were training.

'...Senior Frondier said it would take some time for him to return.'

Fortunately or unfortunately for Pielott, while everyone had returned to Constel, Frondier alone was not attending school due to personal reasons.

It seemed like the headmaster already knew about Frondier's situation, so there was nothing to worry about.

Naturally, Pielott's training, where he was beaten up every day, was also temporarily suspended. At first, he was happy to finally get some rest, but after a few days, he ended up walking back to this training ground where he used to get beaten up every day.

It wasn't that he missed getting beaten up, but the growth he could clearly feel during training had come to a halt.

'I couldn't do much during the war.'