As everyone knows, the ones typically anticipated to shine on the last day of the semester evaluation aren’t the first-year students.

It’s the second- and third-years.

These are the seasoned warriors who have honed their fighting techniques and pushed their capabilities to the limit.

It was natural for crowds to gather to witness their performances.

That’s why, during the evaluation time for the first-year students, the number of spectators was generally quite small.

After all, who would want to watch those barely capable of putting on a decent fight?

But now,

A substantial crowd had gathered, and rather than dwindling, their numbers kept growing.

Among them were many ordinary citizens, but the number of nobles wasn’t insignificant either.

What purpose could there be for so many people to gather?

“…He’s coming out.”

“That young man? Wow, he’s even more handsome than the rumors said.”

“Lord Roen!”

“Glory to the valiant lion!”

“[May Lionel live forever! Glory to the brave lion of the kingdom!]”

[Waaaaa!]

Yes, so many had gathered just to see the face of one man.

The name they shouted reverberated through the air.

The Guardian of the North.

The Glorious Black Lion.

The kingdom’s eternal ally and comrade.

With one voice, people cheered for the lion most expected in this era.

Hoping he would deliver a holy duel worthy of his esteemed bloodline.

Expectations, cheers, and fervent longing—

These intangible emotions surged like a force. To anyone facing such a scene, it would be dizzying.

But the black-haired man standing in the center of the coliseum—

Roen looked only at the opponent he was to face.

With eyes as resolute as ice.

“It feels like I’m a clown.”

Roen muttered to himself, revealing a low scoff.

Truthfully, he didn’t find this particularly enjoyable.

Displaying his skills so openly before others wasn’t exactly a wise move.

But.

—If you’re going to do it, give it your best. Don’t treat it like a game.

…Just the other day, his master had gathered all the cadets and offered them words of encouragement, appearing somewhat weary and drained.

If they were to do this, he said, then do it right, and while they’re at it, take care not to get hurt.

It was a strange statement, really.

To say “give it your all” and then “don’t get hurt.”

Perhaps he truly cared about them that much.

However, Roen couldn’t shake the feeling that the warning to avoid injuries was for the other cadets, while the remark about “giving it your all” was directed at him.

As if he saw right through him.

‘I hadn’t planned on participating at all.’

He’d been full of intentions to opt out.

He didn’t see much point in joining in this spectacle.

But here Roen was, standing in this place.

Right, as if a debtor could refuse an order.

‘I may not fully clear my debt from back then with this, but I’ll show you.’

The best I’ve got.

[GRRR-!]

Roen slowly lowered his well-sharpened longsword.

Instead of assuming a defensive stance, his body seemed almost lax, as if he’d gone limp.

To an onlooker, it might appear as if he were being frivolous, but those with a keen eye widened theirs.

Despite his loose posture, there was no opening.

“You should know that even this is a generous fate for you, you detestable beast.”

[GRR?]

The Stone Troll, devoid of rationality, didn’t understand the meaning behind Roen’s words.

All it knew was its instinct to hit and smash its opponent.

The Stone Troll lunged at Roen, who showed no intent to dodge.

Just as it had done when fighting Barry moments before, it charged forward without restraint.

But then.

“Why isn’t he moving?”

“Oh no!?”

The crowd was bewildered.

The beast was closing in, yet he neither defended nor assumed an offensive stance.

And just before they could scream out—

“Sword Aura. That’s what I’ve named it.”

Shing!

For a brief moment, the blade gleamed.

It wasn’t a metaphor; everyone watching saw it.

They saw light flickering from his blade.

And in the next instant—

Crash!

Crack…!

[GR━…R….]

Thud…!

The Stone Troll fell without even managing a proper death cry, its functions ceasing on the spot.

It was an anticlimactic yet dreamlike spectacle.

“What…?!”

The crowd was left wondering what had happened, and after five seconds of stunned silence, they finally noticed.

The Stone Troll’s head, heart, and abdomen were pierced precisely.

Three wounds appeared as if out of nowhere.

Seeing this, silence threatened to fall again, but even more astonishing—

“What the hell is that?”

“…My god.”

“…….”

“W-what was that just now? Was that aura?”

“No way! A genius with aura at that age?”

“N-no, it’s not aura. It’s not, but what the hell was that…?”

The crowd split into three main reactions.

One was mere admiration, without understanding what had happened.

The skilled swordsmen were thrown into confusion, unable to comprehend the power resembling aura they’d just witnessed.

And the last group—

“He mixed sword resonance with a physical manifestation of energy.”

“It wasn’t just two techniques combined. It seemed like he blended quick-sword style, transformative style, and illusion-sword style. And he used energy to cover any deficiencies… I can’t manage anything like that.”

“He’s strong. Seriously strong!”

Only a very few talented swordsmen recognized what he’d done.

Those confident in their skills gradually understood the true nature of Roen’s sword aura.

Using the sword’s resonance with the swordsman to maximize the destructive power of each strike—a phenomenon known as “Sword Resonance,” and the ability to physically manifest energy—a feat only a true master of fighting techniques could achieve.

After activating these two, he released three techniques—quick-sword style, transformative style, and illusion-sword style—simultaneously in one strike.

It might sound simple like this, but it was a technique beyond comprehension.

Sword resonance and physical manifestation of energy both required an incredibly high level of focus.

And to simultaneously use energy as a supplement and execute three techniques in one go…

It was like writing with two different hands while playing the harmonica.

What does that mean?

It simply meant he’d done the impossible.

And this was a realm of pure talent, far beyond mere skill or hard work.

A distinct level of mastery, perhaps best named the Sword Aura Duelist.

A level where one could cut down an opponent with just the aura emitted from their sword.

A fitting name, if any.

“This… this is the genius who redefined fighting techniques…”

“And he’s younger than us?”

“Damn it! Damn it all!”

Watching his display, the second- and third-year students despaired.

They’d heard the rumors but had dismissed them as Northern exaggerations.

They had thought that if it came to a serious duel, they could embarrass him. But that wasn’t the case, was it?

They hadn’t even unlocked sword resonance yet.

They hadn’t even come close to qualifying.

It was like comparing a toddler to an adult.

But their opponent had already mastered resonance and energy manifestation, even combining them.

An insurmountable gap that no amount of dedication could bridge in a lifetime.

As if their lives devoted to swordsmanship were invalidated, leaving them crushed with despair.

“…Ugh.”

Sometimes, those who witness overwhelming talent can’t help but feel broken.

…But.

“Well, it is impressive.”

“But it’s kind of ambiguous?”

“Right…?”

Unlike their seniors who felt despondent, the first-year students who had trained under Ihan had mixed reactions.

“It’s just… fighting techniques doing what fighting techniques do.”

Their evaluation didn’t stem from ignorance of swordsmanship or their low rank.

It’s that—

The sword aura, while impressive, somehow looked “ordinary.”

And, naturally.

“Hundred-Step Divine Fist is even more interesting, though.”

Striking something dozens of steps away.

“I’d actually rate Diamond Body higher. Wouldn’t the instructor be fine even against that sword aura?”

“No, senior. I think he’d dodge with Phantom-Step.”

Or the ability to deflect arrows and sword attacks without breaking the skin, or moving faster than an arrow.

“I don’t know, but Lion’s Roar would probably nullify that, right? I hate to admit it, but it sounds possible.”

They’d simply encountered far too many extraordinary techniques.

Even the noble ladies among the first-year students watched Roen’s skill with a mere appreciation for its aesthetic.

“Our instructor is way more interesting.”

His technique was awe-inspiring, but they had seen far stranger, more inventive, and startling things from their instructor.

Barely three months under his guidance, yet these first-years had become far too discerning.

“…You’re harsh, aren’t you? He put on a whole show, and this is what you say.”

Their lord, Roen, had earned his title as the Northern heir thanks to this very technique, yet so many here seemed unfazed.

Even Sir Maximus had narrowed his eyes while watching the sword aura.

Incredible.

But.

‘The first time I saw it, I was shocked too, but now it’s just… okay.’

Even Jack found himself agreeing with their assessment, despite how baffling that felt.

Perhaps it was because he’d witnessed so many unbelievable sights under their instructor’s training.

One thought struck him suddenly.

‘If our lord is a genius, then that guy is… well.’

……It’s like seeing an elephant or tiger randomly gaining human intellect, reading books, and even earning a PhD.

It sounds absurd, but surely every first-year would agree.

So.

‘Lord, regrettably, compared to an elephant with a PhD, you seem like just an ordinary person.’

Jack looked at his lord, born into the wrong era, with sympathy.

And the so-called “ordinary” genius receiving these pitying glances,

“…What?”

wondered why he felt so strangely dissatisfied with their reactions.

 

Meanwhile, a girl secretly cheering for him—or rather, for the first-years—watched from afar.

“They’re all amazing. If I were standing in front of so many people, I wouldn’t be able to move.”

[Ari, you are sensitive to others’ attention.]

Airin Windler.

Under the effects of a perception-inhibiting spell, she watched the evaluation match in secret at the coliseum.

Of course, she was there to cheer on close friends, but, truthfully…

“I don’t see the instructor….”

[He seemed quite worn out the other day. I hope he’s alright.]

She had hoped to catch sight of him.

But, unfortunately, he was nowhere to be seen today, either.

It had been ten days now.

The girl and her spectral companion worried about the knight.

He had seemed tense ever since their walk together the other night.

Since then, he’d abruptly declared a period of intensive training and disappeared. Even as her next-door neighbor, she hadn’t been able to see him.

And when she’d tried visiting yesterday—

“—Sir Knight? I’m sorry, but he’s been exhausted and sleeping all day. Even when he wakes, he eats briefly and goes right back to sleep. I can’t bring myself to wake him….”

She wondered if he was avoiding her out of discomfort.

She almost wished she could live with him, like his maid….

‘What am I saying?!’

[What? I’m just saying what you’re thinking.]

“You—!”

As her ghostly friend whispered strange things in her ear, Airin flared up.

Living together with him… that felt far too soon….

“Wait, you’re doing it again?!”

[What?]

The ghost shrugged as if innocent.

“You!”

As Airin’s face flushed with embarrassment and she prepared to retort,

Plop.

“…Rain?”

[Whoa, when did the sky get so dark?]

Rumble.

The once-clear sky was now cloaked in black clouds.

The atmosphere was thick with the promise of a downpour, and Airin blinked.

[What’s wrong, Ari?]

“…Those clouds… they’re strange.”

[Hm?]

“…….”

Airin Windler, though often clumsy and a little lazy, was an outstanding mage—peerless among those her age.

Moreover, Airin had affinities with wind and water magic.

She immediately sensed something off about the clouds, thick with moisture.

‘This doesn’t seem natural. What is this…?’

Observing the clouds, trying to understand them, she suddenly gasped.

“H-Huh!?”

[Ari?]

She couldn’t contain her shock.

‘No, no way, I must have seen it wrong…’

She wanted to deny it, but once realized, it was impossible to ignore.

And soon, with a pale face, she had to admit.

The dark clouds…

…were alive, moving on their own.