Swish, swish, swish!
More than two hundred students in black leather armor swung their knightly swords in perfect unison.
The gleaming blades caught the morning sun, flashing with such brilliance that from a distance the field was a sea of blinding silver, dazzling to behold.
Sweat poured down their brows, yet not a single youth raised a hand to wipe it away. Even the girls, usually mindful of appearance, now forgot such things. Here, there were no boys, no girls—only aspirants marching upon the road to knighthood.
After the Crimson Lady Sera's stirring words, the lesson had begun in earnest. But the fire she left in their hearts made every student burn with fresh determination. They moved with greater focus, greater vigor, as though boundless energy surged through their veins.
The six instructors were satisfied. This, after all, was why guests were invited—to rouse the will of the students. Today, the goal was achieved.
Among the multitude, Sean too swung his sword with absorbed concentration.
Though the body's former owner had drilled this sword form for years, to Sean—newly arrived in this world—it was his first attempt. Fortunately, the body's memory remained, guiding him well enough to avoid embarrassment. Yet still it was strange. For in all his lives, past and present, never before had he touched a real blade.
From memory he knew: this was the Silverfrost Knight Sword Technique, a style that fused combat with bodily tempering.
Why fused? Because its movements, when paired with the right rhythm of breath, not only struck at an enemy but hammered the body itself into steel. This was the essence of knightly sword arts—the root of their power.
Yet they were not for all. Only those with knightly aptitude could truly grow through such training. Ordinary men, no matter how many years they swung the blade, could at best gain strength of muscle; they could never touch the terrible might of a knight. Hence, every academy tested its novices at entry—to weed out those unworthy.
Sean's problem was clear. He possessed aptitude, yes, but lesser aptitude, too meager to carry him far upon this road. Still, with his gift—the Talent Web—aptitude was no cause for fear. That was why, bandaged and bruised though he was, he had come to train today: to seek a chance to copy a greater gift.
"Not bad."
At the front of the field, Lady Sera watched the students with calm eyes. Seeing their focus, she gave the faintest nod of approval.
The sight stirred memories within her own youth in this very place. A fleeting softness touched her face.
"This is thanks to you, Lady Sera," said the year's director respectfully. "Your words just now filled even me with fire. How much more these children, who now strive to prove themselves before your eyes."
Though far older than Sera, he dared not assume seniority. In rank, she bore the title of countess, while he was but a baron; in strength, she outstripped him utterly, a great knight to his mere knighthood. The gulf was vast.
Even Neo Academy, with its royal patronage, would not risk offense to one such as her. The crown itself courted talents like Sera, knowing what ten years or twenty might make of them.
Lady Sera was accustomed to such deference. Her gaze swept the lines of students again—until a flicker of surprise lit her eyes.
"Oh? Already broken through to apprentice knight? And only third year? Impressive."
"That is Titus Kirk," the director replied at once, a proud smile tugging at his lips. "My student—and the finest of this cohort."
"Ah. The Kirk family's child. No wonder."
Sera nodded, her expression understanding.
For noble scions were not only privileged in wealth, but also in blood. Generations of selection and careful pairing had honed their lineage; knightly aptitude was far more common among them, their talents on average far keener than those of common birth.
"Would Lady Sera care to offer them some guidance?"
"Very well."
Her agreement drew an eager gleam to the director's eye. Straightening, he clapped his hands sharply, his voice regaining the commanding weight the students knew so well.
"Attention! Lady Sera has graciously agreed to instruct you. Lady Sera—please."
With graceful poise, Sera stepped forward.
"I can see your foundations are strong. Your teachers are skilled; even I could not improve upon their work."
"But as one who has stood where you stand, let me tell you this: knightly sword arts are not merely a way to temper the body. They are also a way to fight. Only in battle can their true essence be grasped."
"In short—only through combat will you master them."
Her gaze swept them all.
"Words alone may confuse. I need a partner. Who will face me?"
At once, silence descended.
The Crimson Lady Sera—a great knight, famed across the realm. For any of these students to face her, even in exercise, meant certain humiliation. Not even Titus Kirk stepped forth at once, loath to risk disgrace before so many.
"I will."
A voice rang clear, cutting the silence. Heads turned as one.
A youth with bandaged brow, golden hair shining in the sun, strode forth from the ranks, unhesitant.
Sean.
In truth, he had waited for this chance from the moment he learned a guest would attend. At first, he had set his sights on Titus Kirk. But once he knew the guest was Lady Sera herself, his decision was made.
Titus's gift was bright, yes. But it could never match hers—the Crimson Lady, renowned throughout the kingdom.
"Good!"
Seeing him advance, Sera's lips curved into a faint smile. Whatever else, this boy's courage was unmatched among them all.
"Draw your sword. Attack me with all your strength. Hold nothing back."
"Yes, my lady."
Sean did not hesitate.
The thought that he might harm her was laughable. He knew little of the might of a great knight—but he had seen the power of a formal knight, his own instructor. That alone was enough to make him feel utterly powerless.
No, wounding Sera was not even worth consideration.