episode_0013

There exists an unspoken rule in the long-standing genres of web novels.

—Skip over what everyone already knows.

Among modern genres, “gate” stories were the best example.

—One day, a gate opened.

When this genre first emerged, it was necessary to explain what a “gate” was, why it appeared, and how society changed because of it. But once gate stories became commonplace, that single word was explanation enough.

Because by then, readers had accumulated enough experience to understand it all.

And in my conversation with Violet, I could tell she had devoured web novels to a level similar to mine.

She effortlessly skipped over the parts that could be skipped and instantly grasped the rest.

Conversely, she also omitted any unnecessary explanations in her own storytelling.

“Is there really a need for that?”

So, when her expression twisted slightly, I became certain.

This bitch was subtly trying to use me.

“There is.”

Was there really a need to raise the Sword Saintess?

Objectively speaking, no.

According to the explanation, the Sword Saintess was a character with adequate combat prowess—adequate by the standards of the male leads, that is.

Of course, by ordinary standards, she’d be considered superhuman.

The reason for her “adequacy” was likely that, unlike Prince Ellen, who hovered around Daisy during the academy arc, she was written as someone who stood by her side, facing and overcoming crises together.

So, the moment Prince Ellen stuck to Daisy’s side—unlike in the original—the Sword Saintess’s role became practically nonexistent.

And even if Prince Ellen weren’t around, there was me, who was stronger than the Sword Saintess anyway.

But.

“Why should we bother filling the Sword Saintess’s void?”

It’s one of the classic web novel tropes.

Possessing an extra in a novel and helping the protagonist.

The appeal lies in knowing the future from having read the original, allowing for smooth developments.

But.

“Why should we suffer for it?”

While it might be fun as a third-party observer, being the one dragged into the main story means suffering alongside the protagonist.

“We…?”

Look at her. The moment she understands what I’m saying, her face stiffens.

She knows exactly who “we” refers to—me and her.

“You’re not talking about you, me, and Prince Ellen, right?”

“Actually, yes?”

Though we’re both possessors in the same novel, there’s a big difference between her and me.

She possessed a novel she had strong feelings about, while I thought I’d just possessed a generic fantasy world until the academy enrollment.

“Hey, Prince Ellen was originally on this side.”

“But you said he barely does anything in the academy arc, right?”

Seems she’s not even trying to hide it now.

This girl really was planning to use me for the original story, just like herself.

“This is for the sake of the world, okay?”

I get it.

A novel she’d followed for over 400 chapters had its progression derailed.

Then she ended up inside it and got a chance to change it.

If I were in her shoes, I might’ve done the same.

“Let me say it again: this has nothing to do with us.”

But that’s her problem. I, for one, have zero attachment to the original.

“From what I’ve heard, the Empire is the one causing all the trouble in the original, right? Even if its influence reaches the Leon Kingdom, would it really be a bad thing?”

An empire isn’t just defined by vast territory and military might.

It’s called an empire because it can embrace and manage countless ethnicities and cultures.

So once it starts destabilizing, all sorts of chaos can unfold.

If we play our cards right, the Leon Kingdom might even benefit from it.

“Ha. You’re really going there?”

“Wasn’t it you who tried to gaslight me first by saying the original was ruined because of me?”

And who said anything about abandoning her? I said I’d take responsibility.

Just as I guided Prince Ellen in a better direction, I could do the same for the Sword Saintess.

I even said I’d fill the prince’s void.

Not that I had much choice—anything involving Prince Ellen would inevitably fall to me anyway. But I wasn’t abandoning her.

“If the Sword Saintess grows strong enough to slay the Demon King, that’d be perfect.”

If Prince Ellen goes to kill the Demon King, I’d have to go too.

I’d go if the world was at stake, but if someone else could handle it, I’d rather not.

“Oh? You’re picking a fight with someone who knows the future?”

She’s growling menacingly, but I’ve already gotten most of what I needed.

She probably didn’t tell me everything, but the future is usually something you can’t fully know anyway.

Since I’ve been slightly spoiled, I can at least set a general direction.

Smiling, I raised my middle finger.

“Yep. You don’t know the ending either, right?”

After all, she doesn’t know everything either.

No one knows whether the NTR’d Ellen beheads the Demon King or if the Demon King, enlightened by love, repents and gets a happy ending with Daisy.

“You’ll regret this.”

With Violet flipping me off, the historic first possessors’ meeting came to an end.

Know thy enemy, know thyself.

No phrase could be more fitting for mastering the Sword of Defeat.

You must know your enemy and yourself.

In that sense, my first meeting with Asran, the so-called Sword Saintess, was second-best.

I didn’t know the Sword Saintess’s strength, and I hadn’t even objectively assessed myself yet.

The only reason it wasn’t the worst was because the Sword Saintess lost too quickly.

By nature, people have reputations to uphold.

The Sword Saintess was one of the top ten most famous freshmen in the academy.

Yet, she was effortlessly defeated by a relatively unknown classmate.

Naturally, people would draw three conclusions.

First: the Sword Saintess was overrated.

Worth a shot.

Those who thought so challenged her.

“Winner: Asran.”

Asran accepted 42 challenges and overwhelmingly won them all, proving herself.

The Sword Saintess’s reputation was reaffirmed.

So then, the second conclusion: if the Sword Saintess was that strong, wasn’t the one who beat her even more impressive?

Those who thought so couldn’t help but wonder.

“But that guy’s undefeated too.”

“Still, nothing about him stands out…”

They must be blind.

My techniques are the epitome of textbook fundamentals.

And they don’t even recognize that?

But it wasn’t all bad.

On the surface, the Sword Saintess’s flashy swordsmanship was more eye-catching, so people doubted.

Maybe the Sword Saintess, fresh into the academy, had been too careless.

Thus—

“Winner: Adam Smith.”

Basic Combat Swordsmanship, Lecture 4.

I won again, proving it was no fluke.

Most assume “handling” someone means letting them win.

But the ultimate purpose of defeat is to foster the royal’s growth.

So, you start with a crushing loss to instill pressure, then, once they’ve adapted, give them a victory to instill crisis—the realization that an opponent once on their level has surpassed them.

In that sense, how should I handle the Sword Saintess, who started with an overwhelming defeat?

“Good match.”

“Good match.”

You make the loss agonizingly close, spurring them to push harder.

“Ah, so close!”

“It was just a hair’s breadth!”

The duel ended with me winning by the slimmest margin after a drawn-out battle—close enough that every spectator groaned in frustration.

Of course, it was all part of my script.

But the Sword Saintess had improved significantly since our last fight.

Maybe she’d genuinely been careless back then.

And it seemed she’d doubled down on training after stewing in her defeat.

…Though I wasn’t thrilled to hear she’d been diligently attending the Flower Arrangement Club.

But since that’s part of a romance novel male lead’s duties, I’ll let it slide.

“Good work, Adam. But the Sword Saintess really is strong.”

Prince Ellen greeted me with a bright smile as I returned to my seat, so it seemed my act hadn’t been noticed.

“Our styles just don’t mesh. It felt like I lost every exchange.”

But since top-ranked students often dueled in class, I decided to lay some groundwork early—just in case Prince Ellen grew suspicious after fighting the Sword Saintess himself.

“Your rhythm was off today. But you still won with fundamentals, right?”

“I should’ve won much more easily.”

“A win’s a win, though.”

When I grimaced, Prince Ellen comforted me.

What a strange feeling.

I’d reversed our usual dynamic for this act.

Of course, in terms of technical refinement, I couldn’t hold a candle to even half of Prince Ellen’s skill.

But to others, it would’ve looked like I calmly defended against the Sword Saintess’s flashy attacks, winning through solid fundamentals and precision.

“Next time will be different.”

And it would be.

Next time, I’d have grown a bit more and planned to win again.

Then, I’d deliberately leave an opening, letting the Sword Saintess almost win before losing by a hair’s breadth once more.

I’d keep this up until the end of the first semester.

After today, it was clear she wasn’t the type to break easily, so it was doable.

By the second semester, I could afford to let her win once or twice as a reward for her efforts.

As long as the win-loss ratio stayed similar to mine and Prince Ellen’s, it’d be fine.

“Excuse me, Adam.”

Just then, one of the assistant professors overseeing the class quietly approached and dropped a bombshell.

“Yes?”

“The Head Professor asked to see you in his office after class.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one.”

Why?

I had a pretty good idea, and I didn’t want to go.

“Understood.”

But refusing wasn’t an option, so I nodded.

Knock, knock.

I lightly rapped twice and spoke.

“Adam Smith, first-year Swordsmanship Department.”

“Enter.”

A quiet but piercing voice answered.

Carefully opening the door, I stepped inside to see a lone desk in a vast, empty space.

“……”

It felt barren.

Most desks would at least have decorative books, but the Sword Emperor’s had nothing but a few work-related documents.

“Sit.”

Facing that desk, the Sword Emperor and I locked eyes.

Unbefitting of a Head Professor’s office, the room held only the two of us.

Rumor had it the Magic Department’s Head Professor had over twenty assistants.

Here, there was barely a trace of human presence.

Judging by the two spare desks in the corner and the whetstones or polishing compounds, the two assistant professors seen in class were probably the only staff.

At most, there’d be four.

“……”

He silently studied me. I averted my gaze, glancing around, but a prolonged standoff wouldn’t benefit me.

So, I opted for a direct approach.

“What did you call me here for, Professor?”

“Professor, is it?”

A normal title, but was there an issue?

Though he seemed… pleased?

“Good.”

Guess it was fine after all.

“Most see me as the Sword Emperor, not a professor.”

So that was his gripe.

But it couldn’t be helped.

Most Swordsmanship freshmen enrolled solely for the Sword Emperor.

“You’re still a professor, Professor.”

Still, sucking up to the Sword Emperor couldn’t hurt.

“Which makes me wonder—why did you go easy on my granddaughter?”

Straight to the point. As expected of the Sword Emperor.