30 Years after Reincarnation, it turns out to be a Romance Fantasy Novel

Chapter 185

The Swordsmanship Department had been on an unexpected hiatus recently.

This break came shortly after the grand ball when the instructor abruptly decided to take leave.

• "I need to step out for a bit… to take care of some business. Consider this an opportunity for self-training."
• "Pardon?"
• "There’s a training schedule already set. Stick to it, and you’ll do fine. Oh, and don’t bother coming to the academy in my absence. I’ll handle the attendance records."
• "???"
• "See you in eight days."

Though the instructor’s words carried an air of foreboding, the students wisely chose to ignore it. Thinking too much about it would only lead to nightmares.

And so, the Swordsmanship Department found itself on a break. Yet…

Whuum!
Whoooom!

…strangely enough, every single cadet was present.

While the instructor was absent, the cadets had taken it upon themselves to gather in the training hall and train diligently. If one were to ask why they bothered coming to the academy during their break, the answer would be simple: they saw results.

Even just following the assignments given by the instructor led to noticeable growth. The satisfaction and thrill they felt made laziness impossible.

This was a period of rapid growth for them. They were living proof of the instructor’s envious remark: "Ah, youth grows so quickly."

Even the noble ladies, once called "chicks," had progressed significantly. They now knew how to execute basic joint locks and strikes, sparring among themselves and occasionally with stronger knight cadets.

They had also learned simple weapon techniques like throwing and short-staff combat. The instructor had once remarked, "Learn these properly, and you’ll be able to subdue most adult men on your own." Motivated by such praise, the young ladies weren’t deterred by the sweat and effort it required.

Noble ladies typically shied away from physical exertion, but seeing their healthier bodies after six months of training had changed their perspective.

"My family’s knight sparred with me and was amazed. He said my technique was excellent."
"Same here. Although my mother was horrified."
"That’s understandable. But it’s hard to quit, isn’t it?"
"I completely agree."

While their growing health was a bonus, the real driving force was the tangible results of their hard work.

Though they weren’t yet ready to face monsters, these girls had set their sights on eventually defeating at least one.

On the other hand, the "bears"—those focused on physical training—had visibly bulked up. Their arms were thicker, their shoulders broader, and their thighs sturdier than ever.

The instructor had tasked them with mastering Iron Body (??) before graduation, claiming that doing so would ensure their survival anywhere. It had become their mandatory objective.

Of course…

"Is this really necessary…?"
"We don’t have a choice."
"The instructor said this is the fastest way, so deal with it."
"Dammit!"

The training methods were grueling.

Every day, they subjected their bodies to beatings with sticks or soaked towels, sometimes even asking others to strike them mercilessly. Though painful, they couldn’t deny the effectiveness of these brutish methods.

The results were undeniable. Every day, they noticed changes in their bodies. The agony and hardship were worth enduring for the progress they saw.

Step by step, without missing a single day, they followed this regimen, transforming themselves from weaklings once mocked as weeds into formidable individuals.

Growth was an addiction no one could abandon.

In contrast, the "young masters" stood apart. Blessed by birth and trained in aura techniques, their abilities placed them on a different level.

The assignments they received from the instructor were relatively straightforward: improve basic strength and endurance, correct their stances, and engage in more sparring.

Oh, and occasionally serve as the instructor’s punching bags. Their training, though simple, was anything but ordinary in its results.

"I…I sparred with a knight from my family and won…"
"I can’t believe it, but Sir Mordred just received an invitation to join a knightly order…"
"W-What?"

The instructor had said they were lacking in fundamentals and needed refinement. And once those gaps were filled, their potential would multiply.

It turned out to be true.

After following the instructor’s training regimen for over six months, their abilities had grown exponentially—enough to receive invitations from prestigious knightly orders.

For them, it was a dream come true.

As a result, more than sixty percent of the young masters had received offers to join various knightly orders. Since becoming knights had been their primary goal in joining the academy, they technically no longer needed to stay.

However…

"Why did you turn down the offer? Such a waste."
"That’s rich coming from you, Number 12."
"D-Do you really have to call me that even when it’s just us?"

Surprisingly, none of them accepted the invitations.

At first, they had been ecstatic and tempted to join immediately. But as time passed, they realized that joining now would be a misstep.

"We’re still far from ready."

They understood that the invitations were just the beginning—they would likely start as junior knights. Training under a knightly order’s strict methods would mean less autonomy and, potentially, stagnation.

‘They’re interested in our potential, not our present selves.’
‘We won’t have the same freedom to train as we do now.’
‘…We might even regress.’

Joining might feel good in the short term, but it would mean trading their growth for immediate gratification.

What they needed was to join as fully-fledged knights capable of commanding respect.

For example…

"We need to reach the level of the Academy’s Three Champions at least."
"…That seems so far away."

The "Three Champions" of the Swordsmanship Department were renowned, their skills unmatched within the academy. To stand on equal footing with them would ensure respect in any knightly order.

So for now, instead of chasing fleeting luck, they chose to stay and train under the instructor’s guidance.

Though it might take time, they were confident that their efforts would pay off.

With the belief that tomorrow’s self would be better than today’s, the cadets devoted themselves to their training, creating what felt like a "youthful academy drama."

Meanwhile, elsewhere…

"Huh? Why is everyone here?"
"Assistant Instructor Damian?"
"…So diligent. Even on a rare break, you’re still here."

There was one youth living a "bleak tragedy" of his own.

Damian Pollet, with his perpetually hollow eyes and exhaustion-lined face, looked at the cadets with an expression of disbelief.

If he were given an eight-day break, he would have…

"I would’ve slept five hours every day."
"F-Five hours? Not eight?"
"…Eight hours? …Do people even sleep that much?"
"……."
"Two hours a day is a blessing… I mean, there was a time I slept eight hours once. A memory now…"
"……."

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think that man was the most pitiful of all.

At first, Damian Pollet had seemed arrogant and clueless, but now he was handling everything in the instructor's absence. The only reason the instructor could take an eight-day leave was that Damian had been "loaned" to other instructors and professors to cover for him—a cruel fate, indeed.

"…Please don’t look at me with such pity. You get used to it after a while."
"You don’t look the least bit used to it…"
"……."
"If it gets too overwhelming, just wave a carrot or something. I’ll help you out a little…"
"…You’ve got to be kidding me!"

Damian scowled as the students regarded him with sympathy.

He wasn’t someone to be pitied! This was all because…

"That damned beast…!"
"Uh… may I ask who this ‘beast’ is, Assistant Instructor?"
"Who else could it be but that person?!"
"Er… you might want to watch your words, Damian. If someone overhears, it could spell trouble."
"I trust none of you are so depraved as to sell me out to that beast. You wouldn’t betray a fellow comrade, would you?"
"Of course not."
"That’s why I’m saying it! Just thinking about what that monster put me through makes my blood boil!"

Damian seemed ready to spill a litany of complaints, venting all his pent-up frustration.

After all, it was common for people to criticize even kings behind their backs. Pendragon’s people were no exception, and Damian was about to unleash his grievances with all his might…

Until—

Grab!

"…Huh?"

Damian froze, his mind unable to process what had just happened.

Something rough and unyielding had seized his ankle. And judging by the sheer force behind it, if it squeezed just a bit harder, his ankle would pop like a water balloon. Damian’s face stiffened in horror.

Then came the voice.

"—Hey, assistant. Got time to badmouth me? You must be feeling pretty idle lately."

"!!!?"

The blood drained from Damian’s face.

The voice was familiar—too familiar. It wasn’t just familiar; it was the kind of voice that haunted his nightmares.

Damian wanted to deny reality, but—

Whoosh!

A moment later, he was forced to acknowledge it.

His ankle felt like it had become a fish’s tail as he was flipped upside-down, the world spinning until his head slammed against the ground. With his ankle dangling uselessly in the air, he looked up…

…and saw the face of a beast.

"I-Instructor…! Why are you coming out of the ground?!"
"I dug a tunnel from my house to here."
"W-What…? Why would you do that?"
"My body felt stiff, so I decided to stretch a bit."
"…As far as I know, your house is tens of kilometers away from the academy."
"So?"
"…I’m going to lose my mind."

There was no reasoning with him.

Even as blood rushed to his head, Damian was so dumbfounded he couldn’t find the words to respond. Meanwhile, it seemed the instructor, after his eight-day absence, had a lot to say to Damian.

Especially—

"So, assistant. Got anything you’d like to tell me?"
"…Huh?"
"This guy… Why’s he acting so clueless? You got caught talking behind my back, and you’re just standing there like it’s nothing—?"
"Ah…"

The absurdity of the situation had momentarily made Damian forget his blunder.

Suddenly, silence fell over him as countless scenarios flashed through his mind—scenarios where the beastly instructor might actually forgive him.

But…

"…Even if I beg, you won’t let this slide, will you?"
"Nope."
"…Yeah, I figured."

No matter how he calculated it, there was no escape.

With a resigned look, Damian let out a bitter chuckle, adopting the serene expression of a monk who had attained enlightenment.

—Not a bad life, all things considered.

He laughed boldly, as if accepting his fate.

"…This guy plays dead at the slightest provocation."

He wasn’t some possum, for goodness’ sake.

Ihan shook his head, setting the laughing, unconscious Damian down. Better not hold him any longer and risk any misunderstandings.

"He’s… not dead, right?"
"…He’s not dead."

See? Misunderstandings already.

"Instructor, when exactly did you— No, more importantly, how did you even come out of the ground…?"

Thankfully, Damian’s presence quickly faded into obscurity.

After all, in the face of the dramatic impact of someone bursting out of the ground, who cared about an unconscious assistant?

As the students reacted to their instructor’s sudden return, Ihan grinned and spoke.

"Want to go in and have a look?"
"…What?"
"It’s quite spacious inside."
"……."

…Was it just their imagination, or did it sound like he was sweetly suggesting he might "bury them inside"?

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think that man was the most pitiful of all.

At first, Damian Pollet had seemed arrogant and clueless, but now he was handling everything in the instructor's absence. The only reason the instructor could take an eight-day leave was that Damian had been "loaned" to other instructors and professors to cover for him—a cruel fate, indeed.

"…Please don’t look at me with such pity. You get used to it after a while."
"You don’t look the least bit used to it…"
"……."
"If it gets too overwhelming, just wave a carrot or something. I’ll help you out a little…"
"…You’ve got to be kidding me!"

Damian scowled as the students regarded him with sympathy.

He wasn’t someone to be pitied! This was all because…

"That damned beast…!"
"Uh… may I ask who this ‘beast’ is, Assistant Instructor?"
"Who else could it be but that person?!"
"Er… you might want to watch your words, Damian. If someone overhears, it could spell trouble."
"I trust none of you are so depraved as to sell me out to that beast. You wouldn’t betray a fellow comrade, would you?"
"Of course not."
"That’s why I’m saying it! Just thinking about what that monster put me through makes my blood boil!"

Damian seemed ready to spill a litany of complaints, venting all his pent-up frustration.

After all, it was common for people to criticize even kings behind their backs. Pendragon’s people were no exception, and Damian was about to unleash his grievances with all his might…

Until—

Grab!

"…Huh?"

Damian froze, his mind unable to process what had just happened.

Something rough and unyielding had seized his ankle. And judging by the sheer force behind it, if it squeezed just a bit harder, his ankle would pop like a water balloon. Damian’s face stiffened in horror.

Then came the voice.

"—Hey, assistant. Got time to badmouth me? You must be feeling pretty idle lately."

"!!!?"

The blood drained from Damian’s face.

The voice was familiar—too familiar. It wasn’t just familiar; it was the kind of voice that haunted his nightmares.

Damian wanted to deny reality, but—

Whoosh!

A moment later, he was forced to acknowledge it.

His ankle felt like it had become a fish’s tail as he was flipped upside-down, the world spinning until his head slammed against the ground. With his ankle dangling uselessly in the air, he looked up…

…and saw the face of a beast.

"I-Instructor…! Why are you coming out of the ground?!"
"I dug a tunnel from my house to here."
"W-What…? Why would you do that?"
"My body felt stiff, so I decided to stretch a bit."
"…As far as I know, your house is tens of kilometers away from the academy."
"So?"
"…I’m going to lose my mind."

There was no reasoning with him.

Even as blood rushed to his head, Damian was so dumbfounded he couldn’t find the words to respond. Meanwhile, it seemed the instructor, after his eight-day absence, had a lot to say to Damian.

Especially—

"So, assistant. Got anything you’d like to tell me?"
"…Huh?"
"This guy… Why’s he acting so clueless? You got caught talking behind my back, and you’re just standing there like it’s nothing—?"
"Ah…"

The absurdity of the situation had momentarily made Damian forget his blunder.

Suddenly, silence fell over him as countless scenarios flashed through his mind—scenarios where the beastly instructor might actually forgive him.

But…

"…Even if I beg, you won’t let this slide, will you?"
"Nope."
"…Yeah, I figured."

No matter how he calculated it, there was no escape.

With a resigned look, Damian let out a bitter chuckle, adopting the serene expression of a monk who had attained enlightenment.

—Not a bad life, all things considered.

He laughed boldly, as if accepting his fate.

"…This guy plays dead at the slightest provocation."

He wasn’t some possum, for goodness’ sake.

Ihan shook his head, setting the laughing, unconscious Damian down. Better not hold him any longer and risk any misunderstandings.

"He’s… not dead, right?"
"…He’s not dead."

See? Misunderstandings already.

"Instructor, when exactly did you— No, more importantly, how did you even come out of the ground…?"

Thankfully, Damian’s presence quickly faded into obscurity.

After all, in the face of the dramatic impact of someone bursting out of the ground, who cared about an unconscious assistant?

As the students reacted to their instructor’s sudden return, Ihan grinned and spoke.

"Want to go in and have a look?"
"…What?"
"It’s quite spacious inside."
"……."

…Was it just their imagination, or did it sound like he was sweetly suggesting he might "bury them inside"?