This was the first time the young man had attended swordsmanship class. The lesson took place in the arena’s open-air section, and his classmates were utterly shocked by Sang’s arrival. They hadn’t expected this guy to actually show up.
Even Professor Ogier was caught off guard.
The professor still remembered the dean’s extremely high praise for this human, calling him perhaps a genius who could surpass Lance at the same stage. Ogier wasn’t entirely convinced. He’d even wondered once or twice if the tales of the Heroes of the North and defeating the Montgomery Family were just fabricated stories. This was a rare chance, so he wanted to verify it for himself.
Ogier had originally planned to teach a few moves from orthodox swordsmanship this lesson. But the moment Sang arrived, a sly idea crossed his mind. “Free training for this class,” he announced. “Pair up however you like.”
To prevent unnecessary conflicts, private fights were forbidden among students within the academy—even formal knight duels were off-limits.
But there was one exception in the vast Knight Academy.
This place right here.
This was the arena! If you couldn’t compete here, what was the point of calling it an arena!?
Ogier was no fool. He didn’t need to orchestrate anything. A simple declaration of free training would bring about the scene he wanted to see.
And sure enough…
It didn’t take long before Kafka sought out Sang. As the second seat of the lower years and the strongest in Year 1 Class A, he’d never liked this human who had popped up out of nowhere. If not for the strict academy rules, he would’ve taught this mysterious newcomer a lesson long ago.
Before, the guy hadn’t even shown up for practical combat class, leaving Kafka with no opportunity. But now, he’d walked right into the arena like an idiot. No holding back.
“Shuade Buyaobuyaude!” Kafka declared. “I challenge you—to a knight duel!”
As he spoke, Kafka drew the knight’s sword from his waist and pointed it straight at the masked youth before him. His expression was grave, his gaze sharp.
Though it was just meant as a show of force, Kafka displayed impeccable knightly conduct. In the original world, he’d have been the model student—top grades and perfect behavior.
The words sent a ripple of excitement through the onlookers.
After all, the class was full of blood race students, with only one human.
“Nice one, Kafka! Show that human the might of the blood race!”
“So cool, Kafka! Worthy of the second seat!”
Iyefut Cape stood not far away and naturally witnessed the whole thing. On the surface, she remained as steady as a rock, but inside, she was fuming.
I’d finally gotten him to come to class, and now… you all… you’re bullying him!?
It was infuriating.
That was her Mad Rogue.
She’d brought him here to motivate him, not so you could pick on him!
…Well, this self-absorbed girl still thought Sang had come to class because of her. In reality, he’d just wanted to chat with Professor Ogier.
Nearby, one of Iyefut Cape’s fangirl classmates chimed in. “Well done! Kafka… you need to knock that human down a peg. That’s why you called him over, right, Lady Iyefut?”
“Worthwhile of the bearer of the Red Lycoris! You truly have a sense of duty. For the honor of the blood race, we must humble that human’s arrogance!”
Hearing this, Iyefut Cape nodded elegantly. “Mm.”
Inner thought: Mm, my foot!
Just then, a more cautious blood race student spoke up. “Don’t get cocky, though. That human made it into Class A despite being just a human. He might be hiding some real power.”
The atmosphere grew tense in an instant. Even Kafka shared the sentiment, adopting a battle-ready stance as if facing a formidable foe.
As an outstanding knight, he wouldn’t underestimate his opponent!
The human in front of him was repulsive, but he’d entered Class A out of the blue, so there had to be something special about him.
Professor Ogier watched from afar, his eyes fixed on the scene. He eagerly anticipated Sang’s response—time to see how much truth there was to the rumors.
Iyefut Cape suddenly recalled that this human was actually pretty formidable—the strongest she’d ever seen. He could spar evenly with gold-tier knights on a normal day, and with his bizarre powers, he could even leapfrog and slay platinum-tiers.
As these thoughts swirled, Iyefut Cape remembered the time she’d drunk this human’s blood. Her cheeks flushed pink.
“Lady Iyefut, are you alright? Your face is so flushed. Are you actually this excited to see Kafka beat that human senseless? Your flower-like beauty is practically climaxing!”
Iyefut blinked, stunned. “Uh…”
Inner thought: You can out-fantasize even me…
…
Meanwhile, Adolf and his roommate Besart had just emerged from the bathhouse. The arena had its own bathing facilities, and Class B’s previous lesson had been practical combat. Adolf had finished class and taken a quick shower.
“Adolf, check it out… Something fun’s going down in Class A. Second seat Kafka’s about to throw down with that transfer student.”
Adolf, who was toweling off his damp hair, glanced over indifferently. One moment he was nonchalant; the next, he froze.
“Heh… Shuade Buyaobuyaude, the guy who turned down the Mutual Aid Society invite… owns blood race maids… a blood race lapdog…” Adolf had no kind words for the human.
Besart nodded. “There’ve been rumors lately~ They say that Class A transfer might even be stronger than you.”
“Heh… stronger than me?”
Adolf plastered on a scornful smile, but his gaze stayed locked on the distance. Don’t let his demeanor fool you—Adolf held himself to high standards and burned with a fierce competitive spirit.
He was curious, too… Just how strong was that masked youth…?
…
“Shuade Buyaobuyaude, I challenge you to a knight duel!”
The tension was thick as everyone braced for the fight to erupt. But in response to Kafka’s knight duel request, Sang lightly adjusted his mask—like fixing a pair of glasses—and exuded an aura of profound mystery.
Kafka instinctively took half a step back and swallowed hard, steeling himself.
The others didn’t dare underestimate him either, retreating a few paces. This guy’s no pushover!
Then…
The next moment, Sang waved it off with dead seriousness. “But I refuse!”
“Huh…?”
For a moment, not just Kafka but everyone else reacted the same way—totally dumbfounded. No one had seen that coming.
“How can you refuse my challenge!?” Kafka demanded, outraged.
Sang rolled his eyes like a dead fish. “Why can’t I?”
Kafka: “…”
Damn, he’s got a point. I can’t even argue back.
Sang had zero interest in brawling. Sure, there weren’t downsides, but no upsides either…
Amid a chorus of displeased murmurs, he waved again and headed toward Professor Ogier. He still needed to ask about sword qi.
It had to be said—these nobles’ “trash talk” was pathetically tame. Sang felt nothing.
Professor Ogier was left awkward. I’d been hyped for this, pants practically off, and you give me this? Irritated for no reason, he ignored the youth’s question and stormed off with a flick of his sleeve.
Unfortunately, Professor Ogier never told Sang who in the academy had already mastered sword qi.
Staring at the professor’s retreating back, Sang stood rooted, his face full of bewilderment. He muttered, “What did I do to offend him? Sheesh… Why are all these blood race folks so damn moody?”
From nearby, Adolf had watched the entire exchange and sneered.
“A guy who won’t even accept a knight duel… stronger than me? Heh, what a coward—fleeing without a fight.”
With that, Adolf turned smartly on his heel and strode away with steady steps. Besart trailed behind.
