Chapter 6. Swordsmanship Class
Fulan stood at the entrance of the swordsmanship classroom. Even now, she still could not understand why a place that taught magic would offer a course like this.
Yet the original owner of this body had signed up for it.
The vague mories she inherited did not explain why the original owner had made such a decision.
Aside from this class, only two unfinished courses remained.
One was arithtic, which covered nothing more than elentary school mathematics and so basic statistical thods.
Fulan was confident she could dominate it even without the help of the panel.
The other was a ridiculous course called Art Appreciation. The original owner had left a reason for this one in her mories: Those paintings and sculptures look really beautiful. I want to see more.
Art Appreciation had no examinations—it was purely for appreciation.
The other two courses, however, had assessnts that could award points.
Fulan now valued points imnsely.
Points could be sold for money, improving her financial situation, and they could also be exchanged for rare knowledge. She had already tasted the benefits of having points.
Without them, she could not even afford to learn a single spell.
Fulan entered the classroom, picked up a wooden training sword, and began practicing according to the movents she rembered.
It had to be said that after her constitution improved, the experience felt completely different. In the past, according to the original owner’s mory, even holding the sword required effort.
Now she could easily assu the proper stance.
After completing the basic movents taught in class, she casually set the wooden sword down, her brows tightly furrowed.
The panel had produced no notification whatsoever.
She felt sowhat disappointed. She had hoped sothing like 【Basic Swordsmanship】 would appear so she could grind its level rapidly.
She knew combat techniques existed, but their prices were discouraging.
Even the cheapest ones cost nearly thirty silver coins, which would completely drain her savings. For now, she could only try other thods.
A loud ‘bang bang’ sound echoed through the room.
Turning toward the source, she saw John, the instructor of this swordsmanship class. The sound had been produced by him clapping his hands together, and the sheer volu revealed his considerable strength.
Once the apprentices gathered together, he announced the content of the class.
“Everyone will spar according to the list I call out. Landing a hit on your opponent’s body or knocking their weapon away counts as a victory. Stepping out of bounds counts as a loss…”
So apprentices in the crowd imdiately beca excited.
This was the mont they had been waiting for. They had signed up for this course precisely to demonstrate their real combat ability.
The reason this course existed was because there was a major school called the Sword Chant School.
Its mbers wielded both swordsmanship and magic, making them extrely powerful in battle.
To join the school, one had to possess strong swordsmanship ability and also receive a recomndation from soone within the school.
Yes—half of the schools recruited through recomndation systems. They did not publicly accept applicants. Without connections, joining them was impossible.
The apprentices who were most excited were mostly the children of territorial nobles.
So of them could not inherit their family titles, while others lacked exceptional magical talent. However, their sword training since childhood had given them a significant advantage.
They hoped to follow this path.
They glanced at the other equally excited apprentices around them. Each of them knew these were their competitors.
John would not recomnd everyone who qualified. Only a few would receive his recomndation.
“The first match: Mars versus Mason.”
So apprentices had co specifically to seek recomndations. Others simply found the class interesting.
Then there were people like Fulan, who did not even know why they were here.
For John, recomnding apprentices was not his highest priority. He genuinely wanted to teach these students properly.
Mars had co specifically seeking a recomndation. His family possessed a secret Body-Tempering Technique, giving him physical strength far superior to most others.
Mason, on the other hand, was very talented. He had only begun wielding a sword after enrolling in this class, yet he frequently received praise from John.
However, the difference in their physical strength was significant.
Each of Mars’s strikes was heavy and forceful. Mason’s arms soon went numb from blocking them, and his movents began to tremble.
Although he attempted several counterattacks, his hands had already been shaken numb early in the fight.
His efforts produced little result, and in the end, Mars knocked the weapon from his hand with a powerful slash.
Mars looked triumphant.
He had always disliked this boy who constantly received John’s praise. In his opinion, Mason’s ability was nothing special. Why should he be the one praised?
“Mason, your experience is insufficient. When you fall into a disadvantageous position, you should stabilize yourself instead of attacking recklessly—especially when your opponent is physically stronger…”
John clearly held Mason in high regard and pointed out several flaws in his fighting approach.
When it ca to Mars, however, he simply said,
“Mars, your attack style suits you well. Just keep it up.”
With only a few brief words, his evaluation ended.
John genuinely believed Mars’s combat style already suited him well and required little adjustnt.
However, when those words reached Mars’s ears, they sounded like favoritism toward Mason. Mason received a lengthy critique, while he himself received only a few sentences.
A sense of imbalance imdiately ford in Mars’s heart. The proud smile that had appeared after his victory quickly vanished.
But as the son of a noble family, he knew he could not show his displeasure. He suppressed his frustration and returned to the group.
After that, various apprentices sparred in different pairings.
John carefully balanced the strength of both sides. Even those who won had to put in so effort to secure victory.
Watching these battles greatly broadened Fulan’s perspective.
In the mories she inherited, everyone had only practiced basic movents. She had never imagined that each person would develop such unique fighting styles.
Among them, one apprentice nad Bella was the strongest of all.
Even Mars, who possessed superior physical strength, could not gain an advantage in direct clashes with her.
After being pressured by her refined swordsmanship several tis, he quickly lost the match.
By the ti it was Fulan’s turn, nearly everyone had already fought once.
John could easily tell who took the class seriously and who did not. Fulan’s performance in previous classes had been extrely poor.
Naturally, he had no intention of wasting ti on apprentices with such low standards.
Her opponent was another male apprentice who had never taken the course seriously.
When he saw that his opponent was Fulan, he imdiately laughed, clearly confident of his victory.
When John called for the match to begin, Fulan showed him no rcy.
She imdiately rushed forward.
The male apprentice had not even assud a defensive stance before her wooden sword ca swinging toward his body.
Just as she closed the distance and was about to strike him—
A voice suddenly interrupted.
“Stop.”
Only then did the male apprentice realize that the wooden sword had already reached his chest. He had not even had ti to react.
“Fulan, is it?”
“Yes.”
“You will fight Mars.”
The male apprentice quickly stepped down, while Mars walked up with a clearly unwilling expression.
He had barely watched the previous match. Watching weak fighters peck at each other held no interest for him.
When he saw that his opponent was Fulan, his dissatisfaction toward John grew even stronger.
Was this not the idiot who once swung a sword so badly that she flung it out of her own hand during a turning slash?
Fighting soone like that felt like an insult.
Filled with contempt, he did not even bother to assu a proper stance when the match began.
Instead, he simply held his sword casually, waiting for Fulan to attack. Once her strike landed, he expected her to lose control of the weapon due to the recoil.
But reality was completely different from what he imagined.
A sharp pain shot through his wrist.
The wooden sword fell from his hand.
The spectators around them erupted into cheers.
For the first ti, a match had ended within re seconds of beginning.
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