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Spring had passed, and summer was slowly approaching. When seasons change, the wind is the first to change, and this wind of change also blew through the Academy.

Wooden railings were installed along the cliff-side stairs for safety, and students were now accommodated in groups of 20 in each room within the inner castle.

It had been seventy years since the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild Academy was established, and finally, the students were freed from the henhouse.

All thanks to a single student.

Not only that, but the Court Count of Kelbron and Emperor’s Champion, Hellauman, sent a stonemasons’ guild who installed a pulley at the well, repaired the buildings, and even discovered an ancient underground reservoir, installing water pipes as well.

Just by looking at the appearance and structure of the Academy building, they immediately knew what style and structure it was, even if they didn’t know the exact date of construction.

And just as they had predicted, they found the underground reservoir that collected rainwater.

For seventy years, no one had known of its existence, but now it could finally be used.

In fact, water pipes were a luxury facility that only a few districts in renowned cities had, but since it was a stonemasons’ guild employed by someone of Court Count’s status, they used expensive copper to install the pipes.

This kind of construction was so costly that even the guild would have found it hard to cover the expenses. Ricardt and the other students had no clue just how much the construction cost.

Indirectly, they could feel just how powerful the Court Count was, and beyond that, how immense the power of the Emperor was.

The development in the Beringen Academy was so significant that it felt like the changing of seasons didn’t even matter anymore.

For a while, the students found it hard to adjust. After all, they weren’t sure if they deserved such luxury.

And as Hellauman had promised, a professor who taught ancient scripts came to the academy.

“It’s thanks to the wizards that we’ve been able to maintain the lineage of ancient scripts. They say that the ancient script itself is a magical language. Wizards use it when writing magical descriptions or drawing certain diagrams.”

The man speaking looked as though he’d never been in a fight his entire life. He appeared to be in his late twenties and had studied at the prestigious Hantz University. His name was Elrich, and he was a nobleman.

But there were only two students attending his class. They were Ricardt and Boribori.

In a class with only two students, one of them had his arms crossed, his head tilted back, snoring loudly. That was Ricardt. Even after bragging so much about taking an ancient script class.

“So, if I learn the ancient script, does that mean I can use magic?”

Boribori asked.

“Hahaha, no, that’s not the case. Do I look like a wizard to you?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Exactly. A script is just a script. Perhaps magic has such a long history that they still use the old script, but that’s just a guess.”

Professor Elrich took a thin booklet out of his bag.

“This is a textbook I’ve written myself. If you follow along with this, you’ll be able to learn a lot in a short time.”

“A book? But I don’t know how to read.”

“…Oh dear.”

It was hard to understand why someone who couldn’t read would take a class on ancient scripts, but Professor Elrich was a very understanding person.

“Well then, it would be best to slowly learn how to read while also studying the ancient script.”

Elrich came down from the podium with the textbook, some blank paper, a pen, and ink, walking over to where Boribori was sitting.

Even though Ricardt was still asleep next to him, Elrich didn’t seem to mind and opened the book in front of Boribori.

“Ancient scripts are ideograms, meaning each character has its own meaning. The script we use is phonetic. This here is an ancient character, and below it is the script we currently use.”

The booklet had the ancient script written in large characters, with their meanings written in small letters underneath in the current language.

“Boribori, is there something you like?”

“Flowers and grass.”

“Good. Then let’s find something that means ‘flower.’”

Elrich turned the pages. Coincidentally, he found the ancient script for ‘violet’ flower. For now, he didn’t explain the ancient script itself, only focusing on the small letters written underneath.

“This is the word for ‘violet’. Let’s start by learning the letters.”

At the mention of ‘violet’, Boribori’s interest piqued. He widened his eyes and carefully examined the squiggly black lines.

The professor explained each letter one by one, starting with the current language.

“Vio, let…”

“How about we try writing the letters of the ancient script and the current ones together?”

Elrich handed him a blank sheet of paper, a pen, and ink as he spoke. It was Boribori’s first time holding a pen, so writing felt awkward, but since he was good at drawing, he managed to get the shapes down.

“You’re writing quite well.”

“Yes, I like drawing.”

After painstakingly writing both the ancient script and the current letters, the professor said,

“Shall we move on to the next flower?”

“Yes!”

Elrich turned the pages again. The lesson continued in this manner.

Though it could have been frustratingly slow, neither of them felt that way. The professor had a lot of patience and understanding, and the student was full of curiosity.

In a way, this might have been the first proper professor the academy had ever had.

The so-called ‘professors’ before were just adventurers, sent by the guild on assignments, and they didn’t care whether the students learned well, got hurt, or even died.

They themselves had learned that way, and they assumed that was the proper method of teaching, passing it down like an unspoken tradition.

The guild didn’t feel the need to properly manage the students, nor did they have the capacity to do so. They simply sifted through the students like a sieve, raising only the useful ones to become adventurers.

It was borderline abusive neglect, but it was a sad reality that no one found it strange in that era. After all, these were kids abandoned by their own families.

In any case, Professor Elrich’s teachings progressed slowly but steadily. Time passed, and the class finally ended.

“I’ll give this textbook to you, Boribori. I hope you study well. I’ll see you in the next class.”

Despite being a nobleman, he was a gentle and polite person, one who didn’t seem to fit into this harsh and brutal world.

“Thank you, professor. This is the third gift I’ve ever received in my life. I’ll treasure it.”

I’m more grateful that you say that. Well then, I’ll be going now. I think it’s time to wake up Ricardt young lord.”

“…Huh? Ricar… what? Did you just say ‘lord’?”

“Ah, nevermind. It was a joke. Haha.”

Perhaps because he was someone sent by the Court Count, he seemed to know a bit about Ricardt.

“Ah… Ricky does seem a bit noble-like, huh? To me, he’s the greatest hero in the Empire. Hehehe.”

Elrich gave an awkward smile and left the auditorium. Finally, Boribori shook Ricardt awake.

“Ricky. Ricky.”

“…Huh? What? Ah, class is over? You should’ve woken me up. What’s this?”

“This? It’s a textbook. The professor gave it to me as a gift.”

Ricardt flipped through the textbook, quickly scanning it. With his sharp mind, he memorized several things almost instantly.

“Lend it to me later.”

“Okay.”

“Aah…! That was a good nap. But my neck feels stiff.”

“That’s because you slept with your head back.”

“Yeah, I probably should’ve laid my head down. Let’s go.”

Ricardt shoved his hands into his pockets as he stood up. His golden, broccoli-like hair, which had been shaved, had now grown out a bit.

Ricardt and Boribori descended the narrow spiral staircase of the defense tower attached to the inner castle. The first floor was where the students’ dormitories were located.

The building, which had been constructed as barracks for soldiers in ancient times, was now perfectly suited for people to live in. The students were playing, running around with cleaning tools in the hallway.

When Ricardt appeared, they paused for a moment, but then quickly went back to chasing each other, paying him no further attention.

As Ricardt walked past the rooms where the students lived, he casually glanced inside. Everyone seemed to be doing well.

Then, he noticed the students who had bullied Boribori. Since Boribori hadn’t mentioned them, Ricardt didn’t know exactly who they were.

However, the moment those students saw Boribori, they were immediately terrified and scurried away like frightened rats, quickly hiding out of sight.

Boribori didn’t pay any attention to them. They weren’t even worth the effort.

As they stepped outside the inner castle, the warm sunlight embraced the two boys. It felt like a gentle giant softly cradling them with its entire body.

Castles were typically cool and gloomy inside, so the air and temperature outside were noticeably different.

Staying inside the castle for too long wasn’t good for one’s health, which is why nobles frequently took walks and sunbathed.

Ricardt and Boribori headed toward the area opposite the old henhouse, near the girls’ dormitories.

There was a newly cleared space where a forest had been partially cut back. Eight students, who had previously joined them on the mission, along with a few others, were gathered there.

Volka, Molty, and Falen were shirtless, sweating, and taking a break, while Ice, Jerome, and Melson stood nearby, chatting about something.

After experiencing life-and-death situations in real combat, everyone was training diligently. Even Lara and Delphi, now regarded as princesses, were instructing the so-called ladies, telling them not to do things that way, to get their act together.

When they noticed Ricardt and Boribori, they raised their hands in greeting.

“How’s training going?”

“Well… it feels like it’s coming along, but also not quite. Maybe I’ve improved a bit.”

Volka said. Although he spoke like that, after experiencing real combat, his skills were now on a completely different level.

Volka might seem a bit simple-minded, but he was quick to grasp things, just like when he had been hit by Ricardt before.

Boribori fidgeted nervously, trying to hide behind Ricardt, even though hiding wasn’t really an option.

Seeing Boribori acting that way, Ice spoke up.

“Have you been practicing?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah…”

“Show me.”

Reluctantly, as if he didn’t want to or was simply embarrassed, Boribori awkwardly grabbed one of the practice swords the students used.

Naturally, the attention of all the students in the area focused on him. Boribori gripped the sword, concentrated, and then started trembling all over as if he was trying too hard.

It was odd enough to make people wonder why he was acting that way, but none of the students laughed. That was because the clumsy trajectory of his sword left a trace of black mana, like a trail of ink.

Though his sword swings were unsteady, and he couldn’t fully control his strength, causing his body to shake, the unmistakable bloom of mana had appeared.

After just one swing, Boribori was completely exhausted, drenched in sweat, and panting heavily. He glanced nervously at Ice for approval.

“You did well. Keep practicing. If you don’t, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Mana, if not properly controlled, could cause muscles or blood vessels to rupture, eyes to burst, or, in severe cases, damage internal organs. If vital organs like the brain or heart were injured, it could result in instant death.

All the students present knew that Boribori possessed tremendous mana talent. Because he had beaten a student to death with his bare hands.

Thus, if he couldn’t control that power, it could be extremely dangerous. And the one teaching him how to control his mana, through something called Mana Drive, was Ice. Boribori had initially disliked him for being an outsider, a heretic.

Perhaps feeling guilty about that, Boribori fidgeted, unsure of what to do with himself.

“Normally, people accumulate mana gradually and can safely use it in their bodies. But for you, doing the opposite might be safer.”

Boribori was an unusual case. Despite his poor swordsmanship and combat skills, he was training at the “Blooming Sword Stage” from the start because he was born with an immense amount of mana and a large vessel to contain it.

“Uh… thanks…”

Boribori said. His words of gratitude were so quiet that even an ant would struggle to hear them.

But Ice wasn’t teaching for the sake of hearing thanks. His expression remained indifferent, as it always did.

Then, Ice turned his gaze to Ricardt.

“Please.”

Ricardt, who had been standing idly, walked over to Boribori and took the practice sword from him. Then he stepped into the center of the clearing.

Ice also grabbed a practice sword and slowly walked to the center. As the two prepared to face off, the atmosphere around the observing students shifted. Watching a duel between skilled fighters was rarer than gold—something they could only witness at the academy, nowhere else.

Ricardt casually flipped the sword in his hand a few times, as if he were just examining it. Then he lifted his head and looked at Ice. His eyes were calm, almost emotionless.

But when Ice met those calm eyes, he felt as though his entire body had been bound by some invisible force. A chill swept over him, raising the hairs on his skin.

This wasn’t the first time. Every time he sparred with Ricardt, he felt this. When he locked eyes with Ricardt, an inexplicable shiver ran down his spine, and his body seemed to freeze.

Those eyes. Those eyes were the biggest problem. Ricardt’s gaze didn’t just look at his opponent; it seemed to see beyond, as if peering through thoughts, even into the depths of their heart.

Ice had to force himself to turn his neck and move his limbs, checking to make sure his body was functioning properly. Yet, despite that, his chest still felt tight under Ricardt’s gaze.

Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he finally settled into his stance.

“You go first.”

The reason Ice asked Ricardt to strike first was simple: every time Ice attacked first, he had never been able to withstand even a single move.

Without hesitation, Ricardt swiftly shifted to the left and immediately dodged to the right, swinging his sword toward Ice’s waist.

The movement was clean but not particularly special. It was the best speed a boy of that age could manage after training. To skilled fighters, it wasn’t especially fast, something easily countered.

So, Ice moved toward the direction of the attack, evading it and positioning himself in Ricardt’s blind spot. So far, everything seemed fine.

Ricardt quickly turned his body to face Ice again, raising his sword high above his head. At that moment, Ice’s sword aimed for Ricardt’s side. But the blade Ricardt had lifted was already angling downward.

Clang!

Their swords clashed for the first time. Ice thought he should retreat. A series of movements and strategies played out in his mind, as if unfolding like a script.

But Ricardt moved in a way that wasn’t in any of those scripts, as if he had already read Ice’s mind and countered it in advance.

Startled, Ice locked eyes with Ricardt again. Those eyes… What exactly were they seeing? What could they possibly see in me?

Pat pat pat.

Ricardt quickly pursued the retreating Ice, his steps rapid and precise. Ice, gritting his teeth, swung his sword in retaliation. He couldn’t afford to just defend and lose. He had to do something.

Whoosh! Thud!

“Ugh!”

The two swords grazed past each other. One sliced through empty air, while the other struck Ice squarely on the neck.

Hit in the neck by the blunt blade, Ice staggered for a brief moment but instinctively prepared to fight again. However, had they been using real swords, the match would have already been decided, so he stopped.

Ricardt had already widened the distance between them and was now standing still, watching Ice quietly.

“You’re still overthinking. How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t let your thoughts control your sword. You should just swing it based on what you see. Trying to over-strategize is a bad habit.”

To be honest, in Ricardt’s eyes, Ice showed no real progress. In that sense, Boribori and Ice seemed no different. From a higher vantage point, everything below can appear the same.

In truth, battles between those who had reached a certain level of skill were almost always mental games. But Ricardt was talking about something beyond that—a state of no-mind.

Ice had hit a wall here. How could someone fight without thinking?

Ice was undoubtedly a genius. At his age, it was hard to find anyone who could match him. He could instantly think of the best attacks and defenses and then choose the best option from them to execute.

But to abandon thought? How could anyone do that…?

“…Thanks.”

Ice spoke as he rubbed his neck, wincing slightly from the pain. The spot where he had been hit still stung.

Molty, who had been watching, said indifferently,

“That’s ten losses in ten matches.”

“No matter how many times I watch their duels, I don’t get it.”

Volka replied. To the spectators, the duel didn’t seem all that special. It was always like that between Ricardt and Ice.

Not just Volka, but the other students too saw Ice as a genius. Anyone who sparred with him could tell. They would lose in a way that made it feel like they were being toyed with.

Yet, whenever Ice fought Ricardt, he lost so easily that it was hard to understand even when watching it firsthand.

“It’s like a tower-building game.”

Ricardt said, spinning his practice sword playfully as he spoke to Ice.

“You build the tower up carefully, but then it comes crashing down all at once. And when it collapses, you see something new. When you realize that the tower you cherished and put so much effort into was actually nothing, you no longer need to think. I guess you’re not ready to bring your tower down yet.”

It was a hard concept to understand. But giving Ice advice about how to position his legs or how to hold his stance would have been meaningless, so this was all Ricardt could say.

And Ricardt believed he was explaining it accurately. There wasn’t any other way he could put it.

In his previous life as Ricky, survival was the top priority. Whether he wanted to or not, he was always in situations where he had to bring down the tower he had built. Recognizable patterns would lead to death.

Creative attacks and defenses, and beyond that, seemingly ordinary attacks and defenses—understanding the force of actions, paths, lines, points, the state of no-mind, the heart, and the experiences of his past life. The further he advanced, the harder it became to put these things into words.

“U-uh…”

As Ice and Ricardt made their way back to where the other students were, unexpectedly, Boribori approached Ice. Curious, Ricardt glanced over and saw Boribori offering Ice a small bundle of paper.

“This is for your neck… I made it by chewing thoroughly…”

Without a word, Ice took the bundle from Boribori. When he opened it, he found a paste of mashed herbs.

“It won’t leave a scar, and it’ll heal fast…”

Boribori spoke without ever meeting Ice’s eyes. Seeing this, Volka burst out laughing.

“Hey, you’ve never made something like that for me, even if I was dying.”

“Th-that’s because you’re tough, Volka.”

“What are you talking about? Ice is tough too.”

“Well… but Ice is handsome. It’d be a waste if he got scars.”

“What?! Ha! Haha! Hah!”

Volka let out a series of incredulous laughs, unable to believe what he was hearing. The other students who overheard also burst into laughter.

And so, the students of Beringen Academy continued to support and encourage each other, engaging in friendly competition and steadily improving.

What they didn’t know, not even in their wildest dreams, was that the teachings they were receiving so casually came from someone who had first broken through the limits of humanity and opened up a new horizon in swordsmanship.

Nor did they realize the full extent of their own potential abilities.