episode_0007

Rewinding time a bit—back to my academy enrollment days.

Up until my admission, I lived as the prince’s punching bag while striving not to tarnish the kingdom’s reputation.

I was passed around like a rag among the kingdom’s renowned swordsmanship instructors, training to the point where 24 hours a day felt insufficient. I even pushed my body to its absolute limit with doping.

Thanks to that, I managed to pull off the miracle of defeating the prince once every thirty matches.

In other words, despite all that suffering—once in thirty attempts.

And even that was only when luck was on my side.

How should I put it?

It was like the wall I felt in my past life when I, a casual player, accidentally matched against a pro in the famous RTS game Stellar War.

I’d dominate the early game with a 9-to-1 advantage in build order, only to snap back to reality and realize I’d been utterly destroyed.

I’d clearly won the mind games, so why was I the one getting wrecked?

It wasn’t a matter of weight class. Hell, with doping, I was even stronger!

But every time our swords clashed, I was the one who ended up losing.

The difference lay in skill—and instinct.

Even if I gained an early advantage, I’d falter by mid-to-late game.

Even if I held out until then, I’d inevitably lose in a war of attrition against Prince Ellen.

What could I say?

I had a greater total mana pool, but his efficiency was just on another level.

Mana wasn’t something easily quantified, but if I used 100 units, Prince Ellen would block it with just 30 to 40.

It was insane.

It sounded simple in theory, but if his mana control had been even slightly off, he’d have been crushed instantly.

A high-wire act for the sake of victory.

And Prince Ellen walked that tightrope every single time—successfully.

A 1-in-30 failure rate.

The terrifying part? The more we sparred, the lower that failure rate became.

Geniuses are truly terrifying creatures.

The more I learned about swordsmanship, the more I realized the gap talent created.

And that realization peaked during the academy’s entrance ceremony.

“Arenio, Head Professor of Swordsmanship.”

With those words, the silent auditorium erupted in cheers.

Just moments ago, the applause had been obligatory, but now, some were even moved to tears.

Arenio.

A man more famous for his title, Sword Emperor, than his name.

Born a commoner, he rose to the pinnacle through sheer skill with a blade.

A man who could have claimed nobility but chose to remain a simple swordsman—earning even greater respect for it.

To young knights who still clung to the chivalric ideals of legend, he was a figure of worship surpassing even goddesses.

Someone as indifferent as me was probably a rarity in that hall.

But that very indifference allowed me to see something others couldn’t.

This man, hailed as the strongest swordsman, wasn’t just a hero with admirable achievements and character.

As a fellow swordsman, I could coldly evaluate the Sword Emperor for what he truly was.

“……”

A monster.

Even the strongest knight I knew—our order’s captain—was no match for the Sword Emperor.

They were both Swordmasters, but the gap between them was staggering.

Then again, remembering the difference between Prince Ellen and me—who appeared evenly matched—made it all make sense.

So this was why they said Swordmaster was just the beginning of the sword’s path.

Our captain still had a long way to go.

As I pondered this, by sheer coincidence, the Sword Emperor’s gaze met mine.

“Adam. The Sword Emperor is looking this way.”

Prince Ellen, blushing like a teenage girl, whispered beside me.

Normally, seeing a guy act like that would be disgusting, but his looks made even that behavior seem charming.

Damn the power of a pretty face.

“Probably just glancing around.”

“Do you think we’ll really get to learn from him?”

“He’s the head professor, so it’s likely.”

As head professor, he’d be assigned at least two mandatory courses.

And given Prince Ellen’s status as the crown prince of Leon, there was no way he’d be denied access.

No—even without his title, Ellen’s talent alone would’ve secured him a spot.

“We did it!”

After a week-long orientation period, Prince Ellen and I naturally secured seats in the Sword Emperor’s classes.

Fundamentals of Combat (5 credits). Practical Swordsmanship Basics (5 credits).

Two full 5-credit courses.

The titles alone—Fundamentals—would’ve been enough to deter most students at the Imperial Academy, a gathering of the continent’s finest talents.

But since the instructor was the Sword Emperor himself, students took it as a profound lesson: Start from the basics again.

“A solid foundation is everything!”

Prince Ellen was no exception.

Honestly, I didn’t get what more he expected to learn, but if he was happy, who was I to argue?

And so, with equal parts excitement and apprehension, the first day of Practical Swordsmanship Basics arrived.

“First, it’s important to know where you stand.”

The moment the Sword Emperor entered the lecture hall, he dropped a bombshell: Start trying to kill each other.

“Randomly selected duels will commence via lottery.”

The rules were detailed, but the gist was: Adjust to your opponent’s level.

The format? Unlimited 1v1 duels.

Lose, and you’re out. Winners immediately face other winners.

My first opponent fell in a single strike. The second lasted just as long.

By the third, we exchanged a few blows, but the fourth was weaker than the third, so it ended quicker than expected.

With my victories secured early, I had the luxury of watching others struggle—until:

“Adam Smith, correct?”

A familiar face approached.

The Little Sword Emperor, Asran.

Officially recognized by the royal family as Prince Ellen’s rival candidate.

He looked at me with a friendly—yet fiercely competitive—gaze.

“That’s me.”

“Your next opponent is Asran.”

“Already?”

“They’re speeding things up since the matches are taking longer than expected.”

Makes sense. The weaklings had been weeded out, and the remaining fighters were all decent.

Facing each other, they’d naturally take more time.

“Sounds good.”

Luck was on my side.

I’d get to gauge Asran’s strength firsthand sooner than expected—and avoid another guaranteed loss against Prince Ellen.

Even I’d lose confidence if I kept losing.

The gap was so vast that even the Gigachad inside me would’ve told me to give up if Ellen was my opponent.

“Hahaha, indeed.”

Asran seemed pleased at the prospect of a fight, laughing cheerfully as he nodded.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have mistaken him for a rabid dog rather than the Little Sword Emperor.

But as the Sword Emperor’s grandson—a man known for his integrity—he came off as just highly competitive.

Such was the power of reputation.

Just as Prince Ellen’s looks made even mediocrity seem charming, Asran’s lineage made everything about him appear admirable.

So what did someone like me—with neither looks nor lineage—have to show?

Pure skill.

“Asran vs. Adam Smith. Fifth match begins.”

At the teaching assistant’s announcement, the surrounding gazes focused on us.

The eliminated students’ eyes were fixed—mostly on Asran, but I was part of the spectacle too.

I had to etch it into their minds.

The name of a swordsman who wouldn’t fall easily, even to the Little Sword Emperor.

I channeled mana lightly, releasing sword aura.

The weak might not notice, but against Asran, this much was necessary.

“Hah.”

A satisfied smile curled on Asran’s lips.

It was the moment a restrained beast finally bared its fangs.

And in the next instant—our swords clashed.

Then—

“T-the winner… Adam Smith.”

“……”

This was the result.

Thirty-four exchanges.

And the victor was me.

I’d started cautiously, testing his limits.

But that was all it took.

“As expected of Adam!”

Aside from Prince Ellen’s familiar voice cheering from behind, no one else spoke.

Understandable.

Asran, the continent’s celebrated prodigy—the Little Sword Emperor—had just been crushed.

Even as a bystander, I’d have been stunned.

What the hell just happened?

“What the—”

What the hell is this?

Being the one who did it was even more surreal.

But since I’d won, I had to figure out why.

Hypothesis 1: The continent’s gossipers had exaggerated Asran’s reputation.

A common occurrence.

Some even took money to inflate achievements.

But the problem was—this was Asran.

His title, Little Sword Emperor, was derived from his grandfather’s.

Unlike others, Asran had even renounced his father’s noble title to follow his grandfather’s path.

He wasn’t the type to let false praise stand.

If people called him Little Sword Emperor despite his skills not matching the title, he’d have refused it.

According to Leon’s intelligence, that was the kind of man he was.

Hypothesis 2: Asran was off his game.

Possible.

I’d have bet on myself if Prince Ellen had the flu.

But Asran hadn’t seemed unwell before the match.

Did he suddenly need the bathroom?

Didn’t seem like it.

—Well, I’d also thought I was weak before enrolling.

Then I remembered Lucia’s words from months ago.

“I thought I was trash because Princess Hestia kept beating me, but turns out I was the academy’s undisputed champion.”

Hypothesis 3: Maybe I was just that strong.

I had leveled up like crazy before enrolling.

It wouldn’t be strange if I’d become one of the academy’s top fighters.

Which led to the real question.

If I’d just effortlessly crushed Asran, the continent’s so-called greatest prodigy—

“Winner—Ellen Leon!”

—then what the hell was the prince, who always beat me, made of?

I’d thought the world was vast and masters were plentiful.

But the strongest was right beside me all along.

“And that’s how it went.”

—So that’s how it was.

I’d given the captain a brief report of the day’s events.

Through the communication crystal, his expression looked about 70% dumbfounded.

—Even the Little Sword Emperor’s no match, huh.

Short, but impactful.

The captain had trained directly under the Sword Emperor, so he’d truly believed Asran—the heir to that name—could be a worthy rival to Prince Ellen.

Ellen’s most formidable rival.

Those were the captain’s exact words.

—W-well, he’s still a student. He might grow.

Even as he said it, the captain probably knew.

If Asran grew, Prince Ellen would grow even more.

He’d watched Ellen’s progress from closer than anyone—except me.

“I hope so.”

—…I’ll expect your next report as scheduled.

With a sigh and a look of zero expectations, the captain cut the connection.

I turned to gaze out the window at the sunset.

“Time for dinner.”

Gotta eat to live.

With that, I left the dorm and headed for the academy’s dining hall.

Naturally, eyes followed me.

Whispers grew louder.

In just a day, I’d become infamous—but all I felt was irritation.

That bastard Asran… betraying our expectations like that.

Maybe it was the sting of betrayal, but I suddenly craved something spicy.

Too bad it’s sold out.

Fantasy worlds are great, but finding decent spicy food is a pain.

Just as I was about to enter the dining hall—

“Adam!”

A familiar voice called out, and someone yanked my arm.

Resistance was impossible against that bizarre grip. I was dragged to a secluded spot behind the building.

“What is it, Your Highness?”

“D-don’t call me that! No, that’s not the point right now!”

Turning, I saw the culprit—Prince Ellen, his face oddly flushed.

…What’s with that expression?

If this takes a BL turn, I’m punching him, prince or not.

“I—I’ve met someone I like.”

Fuck. If it’s me, I’m throwing hands.

“Today was the first time!”

Thankfully, no BL in sight.

But still—what the hell?

“Explain. In detail.”

This prince was already causing trouble on day one.