After registering for the Beast Mastery Club with Alicia, I parted ways with her. There were other clubs I needed to join—ones Alicia wasn't particularly interested in.
First on my list? The Sword Club.
Why? Because it wasn't just any club—it was a gathering place for so of the most exceptional sword geniuses in the academy. Joining it would provide with an opportunity to refine my swordsmanship while observing and learning from the best. It also didn't hurt that many of the main characters, including Alex, Cassandra, Althea, and Akira, were mbers.
But there was one person I was particularly curious to et—Leon Katz.
Leon was an eccentric but brilliant swordsman. Rembering his antics from the ga, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as I approached the magnificent building housing the Sword Club.
At the top of the enormous entrance doors, a grand insignia depicted two swords clashing—a fitting emblem for what awaited inside.
Upon entering, I was greeted by the sight of multiple smaller dojos scattered across the vast hall, each with platforms where students practiced under the guidance of senior mbers and instructors. The rhythmic sound of clashing swords and determined grunts filled the air.
Roughly a hundred people were present, a mix of club veterans and first-years eager to make their mark.
I scanned the area for the registration desk and spotted a line of about fifteen students patiently waiting. Quietly, I joined the queue, observing my surroundings as I waited my turn.
My attention was drawn to the intense practice sessions. Students were engaged in drills, their swords cutting through the air with precision. So were sparring, their movents fluid and calculated, while others focused on form, sweat dripping from their brows.
Then, my eyes settled on soone who stood out from the rest.
A boy with golden blonde hair practiced in one of the training areas, his sword slicing through the air with relentless speed and precision. In the span of a minute, he must have swung his sword hundreds of tis, each strike as sharp and deliberate as the last.
A crowd of onlookers gathered near him, their admiration evident as they watched his flawless movents.
"That's Lucas Creg," I murmured to myself, recognizing him instantly.
He was the current president of the Sword Club—a prodigy who had already reached the low-tier Blademaster rank. Few swordsn in the academy could match his level of skill, and even fewer possessed the discipline and precision he exhibited.
'If he weren't deliberately suppressing his level to focus on technique, he could probably split that training ring in two with a single swing,' I mused, an amused smile tugging at my lips.
He was fierce in every sense of the word, but what impressed most was that he hadn't risen to this position through connections or family ties. His accomplishnts were the result of relentless hard work and innate talent.
'He's earned his title.'
Even I found myself srized, my hands itching for the chance to spar with him.
"Next," the voice at the registration desk called out, snapping out of my thoughts.
I stepped forward, providing my na and details to the boy behind the counter. He typed into the computer, his brow furrowing as he read my profile.
Then, without looking up, he asked, "Have you taken any potions to boost your rank?"
My lips twitched, caught sowhere between amusent and irritation.
It took a mont to process the question, but then realization dawned. Of course. A first-year student at the lower Advanced rank was practically unheard of. Naturally, he'd assu I'd taken shortcuts.
"Are you accusing of doping?" I asked, my tone sharp as I fixed him with a cold stare. "Do you even know who I am? Arthur Ludwig, heir to the Ludwig Duchy."
The boy's face paled, panic flashing in his eyes as he stamred, "N-No, sir, I didn't an it like that! I wasn't accusing you! I was just asking—"
Before he could dig himself into a deeper hole, a voice cut through the tension.
"Hey, hey, hey. What's going on here?"
Lucas Creg approached, his casual stride belying the sharpness in his gaze. He looked from to the boy at the counter, clearly sensing the awkward atmosphere.
The boy hurriedly explained the situation, his voice shaky.
Lucas listened intently, then nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, so that's the issue." Turning to , he offered a small, apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry if my friend here offended you," Lucas said, his tone calm and diplomatic. "But you have to admit—it's not every day we see a first-year at the Advanced rank of swordsmanship."
His words were polite, but his eyes held a spark of curiosity.
'So he's intrigued,' I thought, suppressing a grin.
"No offense taken," I said, keeping my tone steady. "I understand the skepticism—it's not every day soone genius like shows up." I said with a light chukle.
Lucas chuckled at my lighthearted comnt, his eyes gleaming with amusent. "Ha~Ha, indeed," he said, playing along. "So, are you still interested in joining the club?"
"Of course," I replied without hesitation.
"Well then," he said, a sly grin forming, "how about we see just how much of a genius you really are?"
I smirked. "I was hoping you'd say that. I could use a little warm-up myself."
"Perfect." Lucas nodded approvingly. "Give a mont to find a suitable opponent. anwhile, feel free to look around."
I nodded and wandered off, letting my eyes roam over the training rings where students were sparring. The clash of blades echoed in the air, and the intense concentration on each participant's face was palpable.
The excitent stirred within as I watched. Every move, every strike, and every defence held lessons for those willing to observe closely. My eyes narrowed, focusing on the fluidity of their footwork and the precision of their attacks.
'There's a lot to learn here,' I thought, the thrill of competition surging through .
"Arthur."
The voice snapped out of my thoughts. Turning around, I saw Lucas approaching with an instructor and a senior student. The student looked older than by a couple of years, his confident deanor and sturdy fra suggesting experience.
Lucas gestured for to join them, and I hurried over.
"Arthur," the instructor began, his tone asured, "you'll be sparring with Sean. We want to see your skills, so give it everything you've got. No holding back."
"Sean is just one minor rank above you, but there's no need to worry. This will be an exchange of sword blows only—no mana allowed. The goal isn't to win but to demonstrate your skills. Understood?" Lucas said
"Yes," I replied, nodding.
Sean, standing opposite , sighed, his expression betraying boredom. His gaze swept over , clearly underestimating what I could do.
I couldn't bla him. If I were in his shoes, sparring against a first-year might feel like a waste of ti too.
Sean and I stepped onto the ring, each picking a practice sword from the stands at the edge.
"Sean, Second Year," he said, bowing slightly.
"Arthur, First Year," I replied, returning the bow.
It was a tradition in the Sword Club—and most other clubs—to bow and introduce yourself before a spar. A sign of mutual respect for your opponent, no matter their rank or skill.
Sean straightened, his bored expression replaced with a faintly more serious one. Yet, his eyes still carried a hint of skepticism as he watched take my stance. He raised his sword, waiting for the signal to begin.
I mirrored his stance, inhaling deeply to clear my mind of distractions. This wasn't just a spar for —it was a chance to show everyone who is the new genius of sword club.
"Start!" the instructor called, signaling the beginning of the match.
Sean wasted no ti. With his body low and his grip firm, he charged at like a raging bull, his heavy practice sword slicing through the air with raw power.
'A brute force fighter,' I noted, watching him close the gap in an instant.
The air grew heavy under the weight of his montum, the sheer force of his approach making the atmosphere tense. To anyone else, he might have seed unstoppable.
But to ?
It felt almost laughably simple. Compared to the life-and-death battles I had endured against demons, this was nothing more than a warm-up.
As Sean's sword bore down on , I tightened my grip, my muscles coiling like springs. My mind calculated the angles and trajectories.
'Let's show him what real swordsmanship looks like.'
Your adventure continues at empire
Arthur effortlessly parried the incoming attack, his movents precise and fluid. Without missing a beat, he launched a swift counterattack.
The second-year student froze for a split second, clearly taken aback by Arthur's speed. His initial confidence wavered, embarrassnt flickering across his face as his opponent ducked and dodged his swings with ease.
'This kid's faster than I thought,' Sean realized, gritting his teeth.
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