Namgung Se-ga, the warrior, was reincarnated in Romance

Originally, I had planned to call Edwin for a conversation as soon as the class ended, but today I looked a mess and was hesitant to call him, knowing that he already disliked me.

I noticed that students from the Magic Department were staring at me intermittently throughout the class. It was clear that they had abandoned the “ignore me” strategy, but I couldn’t figure out what their next move might be.

Could it be that since they had tormented me by ignoring me, they now planned to bother me by staring at me?

It wasn’t bothering me at all.

If I were to pinpoint the ways they could bother me, direct physical attacks or locking me in somewhere would be the only things that would truly have an effect. I even thought that if such a trap were set, I could probably counter it, no matter how much magic they used.

I recalled the time at the Wulin League’s Longbong branch when they asked me to wait for a moment. They then summoned mist with four square stones, some branches, and twenty jade stones on the training ground, and a certain Zhuge’s mist skill was impressive. He created an enormous fog in no time, but lost to me because he couldn’t hide his nervous breathing.

Then, I remembered Professor Angela Sting, who summoned fire and water with a calm breath and restored the disrupted flow of energy. Magic attacks…

Today, I had followed instructions, calling upon the ambient mana and needlessly spiraling my energy circulation as I waited for Professor Angela Sting to observe the demonstrations by other students. I was so absorbed in watching that I suddenly became curious about something and nudged the student sitting next to me. He was one of the students who had handed me the crystal orb earlier.

He was startled, almost dropping his belongings, looking at me in confusion.

“Why are you so surprised?”

“Uh? Oh, no, it’s nothing. What’s up?”

“Do you know what circle level Edwin Kiadris is?”

The boy immediately closed his mouth.

I noticed that the number of gazes directed at me had increased. I casually brushed through my messy hair, which had been tangled with dirt and dust, and looked around the room.

Some of the students whose eyes met mine quickly looked away, but some continued to stare.

Of all those gazes, the most fervent came from Marianne Phylodendor, who had clearly revealed Edwin’s dark intentions to me, followed by Edwin Kiadris himself, whom I had made my current focus.

“…Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just curious. Don’t you know?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Really?”

I didn’t want to scare another student who hadn’t done anything to harm me, nor did I want to cause a commotion during class.

The image of Edwin’s amber-colored circle from before still lingered in my mind, but now that I understood that what I saw was not the whole picture, I just assumed that he was likely quite strong.

I was curious about the attack magic he could create.

According to the fairy tale from Siron, attack magic involved throwing fireballs or waterballs, summoning wind, or shaking the earth.

In the Central Plains, those who could do such things were called immortals. Even the head of the Kunlun Sect, known as the greatest Taoist master, couldn’t do such things—what a strange world this was.

They say that a thief can never truly stop stealing. Although I disliked being compared to my older brother and avoided starting swordsmanship because of it, there was a person with extraordinary talent who stubbornly researched magic, even if it was considered wicked.

I wondered if I could block a fireball with my sword if one came flying at me. Even if it wasn’t a fireball, I had seen someone shoot a blade of energy like an arrow across the vast martial world.

The answer is to meet force with force, to break with strength, and to deflect with technique. If magic were woven by manipulating mana, perhaps it could be broken or repelled with mana or internal energy, I thought, as I pondered deeply.

After reviewing the formulas assigned as homework in the last class, Professor Sting stood on the podium.

She tried to steady her voice, which was as pitiful and drawn-out as a young goat’s bleat, and sternly warned us not to practice the formula alone. At that moment, I was lost in thoughts about what kind of dangerous magic existed, so I composed myself and attentively studied the handouts that automatically appeared on my desk.

There were a few things I could recognize.

At the end was the formula for the Alpha, which would conclude the magic, and in the middle were three symbols that were necessary for gathering mana, known as the Convergence Marks.

This one is for dispersion, and this one for amplification… Of the twenty-one spells, I had never seen any except for those four, but I wasn’t discouraged. I was just curious.

“…This is a creation spell… A spell that, through the corrupt and ruined energy of demonic beasts, breathes life into the land… allowing plants and trees to grow,” Professor Sting explained. “You can use it from the second circle onward, but it requires a large amount of mana… If you don’t use potions or auxiliary tools, something very serious could happen.”

“Yes,” we all answered.

“This spell is not usually used alone. It is mainly used to create artifacts… Does anyone know what an artifact is?” she asked.

A sharp-looking boy raised his hand. Professor Sting nodded, and the boy immediately answered clearly:

“The name of the artifact using the creation spell is the Source of Bangsulim. After a special Imperial knight order defeated the demons in the northern mountain range, they spread the corpses of the demons as fertilizer to help the trees grow. This item is small, about the size of a child’s fist, and very light, but it can purify the area within five meters.”

“…Excellent explanation, Gregory,” Professor Sting praised.

After Gregory closed his mouth with a proud expression, Professor Sting took out a round object from her robe pocket. It was about the size of the space between her thumb and index finger, resembling a dull brass color, and if seen from a distance, one might think it was just a clump of dirt or a rock. She continued her explanation.

“This is… the Source of Bangsulim, a small object with twenty-five layers of spells inscribed twenty-five times. It’s used for purification of civilization… Since it’s a consumable that constantly needs replenishing, it could be very helpful if our students ever find themselves in need of money,” she explained.

What could possibly be inside such a small thing? I instinctively glanced back and forth between the handout in front of me and the artifact.

“The first and second magic towers in the capital, as well as the third, fourth, and fifth towers in regional administrative districts, are always welcoming wizards who can inscribe the creation spell… So, if you run out of money while traveling, be sure to visit the magic tower first,” she added.

It was hard to tell whether she was joking or serious.

My attention was drawn to something a little different. I had heard that there were many strong individuals in this peaceful land, and that many organizations revered the martial arts. It seemed that, despite my expectations, monsters and demonic forces were quite dominant.

Even if this artifact was small, I imagined it would be heavy to carry if it had to be scattered over a large area, and I wondered if it would be inconvenient to move around.

Naturally, I began imagining my future in that mountain range.

While I couldn’t imagine the beautiful, strange palace they spoke of, I could clearly picture myself on the dark ground where the bodies of those who had been split in half lay, scattering these round orbs and checking on my comrades.

“Alright, then… let’s start by analyzing the Mon-Ste-O-Os form here… Pay special attention to the two dots above. Without these dots, the spell won’t activate at all…”

I focused diligently on the lesson. It felt like listening to the voices of nannies and maidservants chattering while lying on a high bed that resembled a feeding trough, back when I was a child in Siren.

At that time, I understood when someone was smiling, and I understood when someone was calling me, but I couldn’t make sense of most of their conversations.

It was exactly like this now.

I had a strong body, so I never fell asleep or slacked off during class, but hearing words I couldn’t understand made it inevitable that I felt bored.

I tried to familiarize myself with the important symbols that shouldn’t be missed by alternating between the symbols on the blackboard and the handouts on my desk, focusing intently.

So when class ended and Edwin Kiadris called me over, I was exhausted and only felt puzzled, without having any clear thought of what I should do.

“Michaël Ernhardt. Come here for a moment.”

“Yes, senior.”

I responded immediately, as he was a year above me.

Since my hair was messy from sweating and drying, I didn’t like it covering my forehead, so I pushed it back again. Edwin glared at me for a moment, then turned and started walking ahead.

It was clear he wanted to go somewhere quiet, so I followed behind, wondering what he might say.

The Magic Department building and the Swordsmanship Department building were quite far apart.

The theory classroom for the Swordsmanship Department at the eastern end was about an hour and a half walk from the western Magic Department classrooms for someone who hadn’t trained in martial arts, and for me, it took about fifty minutes.

Even if I used my light-footed skill, it would take less than fifteen minutes to get there, so I almost ended up being late again today, but there was no reason to go further.

I stepped onto the wide lawn behind the Magic Department building, crossing the fence where the Magic Tower could be seen in the distance for the first time.

In the Swordsmanship Department, any open space was landscaped and then paved with dirt or stone to be used as training grounds, but the Magic Department’s space was well-kept. I wondered if it was just a place used for picnics.

Then, I realized something. If I had called Edwin, I would have had to figure out what I wanted to say, but since Edwin called me, I only needed to listen and decide what seemed right or wrong.

I had definitely heard Marianne saying that Edwin was dangerous, but even if he were dangerous, would he strike at my neck or cut off my limbs?

When Edwin stopped, I stopped as well.

He didn’t look at me and turned his back. From the angle where I could see his neatly combed hair, shining with luster, I wondered if he was really acting like a senior, turning his back and adopting such a posture. But I quietly waited for him to speak.

Questions without preamble are usually easy to answer.

“Why are you curious about my circle?”

“Because you seem to be the strongest among the students taking this class.”

“What?”

“All the spells we’re learning right now are just trivial things—purification, protection, creation… But you seem like someone who knows how to fight, so I asked.”

It seemed that this wasn’t the answer he expected, and he turned his body around.

Now that I faced him, I felt like I was actually having a conversation with a person. His eyes still held a faint fighting spirit, but it was hard to gauge the extent of it.

Martial artists can often tell just by sparring whether the opponent’s skill is below theirs, similar, or if they are so much stronger that they can’t even compare.

But mages are different.

They draw mana from nature, circulate it within their bodies, use it freely, and then scatter it back into nature, leaving no trace on their bodies. To understand how weak or strong his mana circle was, I would need to observe the magic he cast.

In the end, I added a comment.

“It seems like you want to fight me.”