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

In the Central Plains, lying or lying flat on the ground was considered a lowly act, something only beggars gathered in their shelters would do.

Even when there was no place to sit, one was expected to sit with a straight back in a formal position, considering that the proper way to sit was to maintain good posture.

Namgung’s martial arts were not based on brute force but were specialized in swordsmanship. Naturally, Namgung’s unique style of martial arts was graceful, like walking on clouds.

Instead of extending his strikes far to hit an opponent, he focused on narrowing his stance to swiftly dodge or leap high into the air. There was no real need for flexibility.

The idea that stretching and extending one’s body on the bare ground could help with martial arts wasn’t entirely foreign.

I thought for a moment and realized it wasn’t so unfamiliar after all. When I first learned the art of barehanded combat (*using fists and legs), I remembered that a monk from the Shaolin Temple boasted about how he used to sleep with his feet propped up against a wall to stretch his legs.

It was all part of the days when I was young and filled with enthusiasm for martial arts.

Anyway, if it helps with my martial arts, I decided not to avoid it. Without hesitation, I entrusted my body to Lucilla’s hands, though I immediately regretted it.

I thought I was quite adept at managing my body, but it was a mistake.

“Ugh. Senior…! This is too much.”

“You’re still a novice in society, so why are you so stiff?”

“Lucilla, stop. Please, let’s remain human…”

“What have I done? Ernhardt Young Master, to reach this level, you have to endure this much.”

The other students watched and laughed, with only Ruber making an effort to stop Lucilla.

I wondered if Ruber, with his pure and well-mannered nature, disapproved of what I was doing. I raised my head, but when I met the eyes of Sanson, who was smiling and shaking his head, I quickly lowered my gaze again.

I thought that Siron’s martial arts, being different from those of the Central Plains, might actually be beneficial for me, so I felt a bit intrigued.

Although the action of spreading my legs wide and bending forward looked unappealing and unsightly, I calculated that since I was still young, I could overlook such an embarrassing sight.

After rolling around on the floor for quite a while, with dust clinging to my clothes, I heard Maelro Sanson laughing from a distance. It was time for training, and he was stopping Lucilla.

Even though I was resting, it didn’t feel like rest. My whole body was sore, and my hands gripped the sword so tightly that my fingers went numb as I swung it.

After class, I asked Maelro Sanson if Lucilla’s method was really effective.

He said that increasing the range of joint movement could eventually help, so I should continue training. When I asked if Sanson himself was capable of such feats, he didn’t answer.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

During lunch, it came up that I was taking the practical combat magic class on my own.

Ruber explained that it was the same reason he had taken the class alone last semester.

There were around thirty students who wanted to take the practical combat magic class every semester, but only ten students could be accepted. The competition for a spot was fierce.

I also learned that the class with Professor Wilton Roberts was held only on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons in both last year’s and this year’s first semester.

“Is Professor Roberts a part-time lecturer, like Professor Bivan Otif?”

“Bivan Otif? Who is that…? I don’t think I’ve taken a class from that professor. Well, I’m not sure, but Professor Roberts doesn’t talk much about himself.”

“He’s the one who teaches the art of horsemanship.”

“Oh, I see. I didn’t take horsemanship classes, so I wouldn’t know. But actually, even full-time professors don’t necessarily spend a lot of time at the academy. It’s just their nature. Some professors, who don’t use the faculty housing, commute from their homes and adjust their teaching schedules accordingly.”

As always, Ruber kindly explained things in detail to me. I noticed Lucilla was shaking her head in disbelief, but I paid it no mind.

Watching the siblings tease each other so freely and happily was enjoyable.

I also heard there was a valid reason why Professor Wilton Roberts only took ten students per class.

Combat magic is a class where posture and throwing power are crucial, so the professor needs to pay close attention to each student. As a result, the class was more focused on practice than theory.

Therefore, if the class took in too many students, each student might only have the chance to throw the magical projectile once.

I nodded in agreement when they explained that it wouldn’t be worth attending a class where you only threw once a week.

I realized that, with my personality, I probably wouldn’t have been able to ask the instructor directly, so I was glad I had Ruber to help.

Unlike me, the others seemed downcast.

Benjamin was upset that he couldn’t attend the combat magic class, while Lucilla and Matt both didn’t want to go to the Thursday afternoon class, which was difficult but necessary.

I understood the reason behind it, but Ruber’s gloom seemed uncharacteristic.

When I asked him what was wrong on our way out of the dining hall, he stayed silent for a while before admitting that he was sad he no longer had to practice combat magic with me.

I was surprised that such a small thing had made him so downcast. Feeling sorry for him, I reached out and ruffled his hair. He didn’t pull away, instead sitting still, which made him all the more endearing.

After a while, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Ruber being so cute.

—

Since I had visited frequently last semester, the combat magic classroom was easy to find.

As I passed the training ground where Ruber was always waiting, I thought again of the boy’s face.

Despite the disappointment clearly visible on his pale face, he kept saying that he was fine, not wanting to burden me. I thought I should make time to spend with him sometime soon.

I waited with the others, who arrived around the same time as I did, for Professor Wilton Roberts.

Since it was a class on swordsmanship, all the students in the class were from the fencing club. Among the ten of us, I was the only first-year student, two were second-years, and seven were third-years.

When I asked why there were more third-years than first-years, Oliver Combine, who had introduced himself as a third-year, replied in a gentle voice.

“Well, I guess it’s easier to earn points this way.”

“Easier?”

“Unless it’s a major course, it’s natural to take elective courses to fill up credits. For the fencing club members, there aren’t many classes where they can solve problems using their bodies instead of their brains. The combat magic class isn’t too difficult or exhausting, so it’s a perfect fit for them.”

“Then, the senior who was complaining during the lottery last time…?”

“Philip? He’s just not good with his body. Even if he retakes it, it’ll be the same.”

I was about to ask what kind of person that was, but another student chimed in and explained, so I just nodded.

The students, who greeted me with “Let’s get along,” were enthusiastically talking about tips for academy life. They shared stories about hidden spots behind buildings that were good for naps, and tales of local superstitions.

After a while, as the clock struck the hour, the professor entered.

It was the first time I saw someone completely wrapped in black clothing like this in Siron. It was a common sight in the Central Plains.

Such attire was typically worn by people who worked in the night. I had not been unfamiliar with hosting nighttime visitors myself.

The difference between the assassins I had seen in the Central Plains and this person was merely that he wasn’t wearing a mask, but seeing his pale face made me wonder if he only didn’t wear a mask during class and perhaps covered his face when outside.

However, it seemed that I was the only one interested in his appearance.

The others quickly straightened their postures, so I followed suit and maintained a composed expression.

Professor Roberts silently observed the students for a while, then casually hopped onto a nearby table. His relaxed demeanor suited the space well.

“This semester is full with ten students,” he said, in a voice that sounded a bit wistful but also proud.

No one answered his remark, though a few of the students shrugged.

After a brief silence, the professor spoke again.

“Good to see you all. My name is Wilton Roberts. I’ve been teaching dagger throwing here at Siron Academy for eight years, and I’m also part of the Imperial Nobility Inspection Team. I hope we won’t meet outside of class.”

He said it jokingly, but not knowing whether it was okay to laugh, everyone just nodded quietly.

Professor Roberts then handed out bundles he had brought with him. The bundles were pieces of cloth folded and rolled in one direction, tied with a string. When unwrapped, they revealed ten daggers of appropriate size.

Nine of the daggers were the same size, but the one on the far right stood out as a longsword, about the length of a forearm.

“The daggers I just handed out will only be used for this semester’s classes and must be returned at the end. If you have personal items, feel free to bring them, but keep in mind that the daggers will be handled during class. We will be practicing dagger handling, throwing daggers at stationary targets, throwing at moving targets, and learning a few crisis response techniques. Please take your seats.”

There were no designated seats in the practice room. The tables between the targets were there to hold the dagger bundles.

While I hesitated, everyone else quickly sat down on the floor, so I followed and sat down with my back straight.

Professor Roberts casually pointed to a storage cabinet near where Ruber had previously retrieved his own dagger bundle and spoke in a leisurely tone.

“The storage over there is free to use, but since there’s no lock, be careful not to leave anything valuable other than the daggers I’ve just given you. During midterms, you’ll aim at stationary targets, and for finals, you’ll throw at moving targets, with your scores reflecting your results. There will be no written exam.”

“…”

“What do you think is the difference between a dagger and a longsword?”

Professor Roberts’ tone had been so firm that no one readily responded. He waited silently, not pointing at anyone in particular. I hesitated for a moment, then raised my hand to ask for permission to speak. When the professor nodded, I began.

“A dagger is specialized for stealthily taking a person’s life, more so than a longsword.”

I saw a flash of light in the professor’s eyes. He gave a small smile, and his pale face seemed to gain a strange flush, sending a shiver down my spine.