“Let’s just wait and see…”
Sheffil reached out and gently pushed Dorothy aside, responding with an awkward excuse.
He had no intention of letting Dorothy get involved in the grudge between him and the imposter Sheffil.
But now that she, in her usual excessive enthusiasm, had caught wind of it, he knew full well there was no way she’d pretend she hadn’t.
“Hehe, got it. Then I’ll see you at your place tonight~” Dorothy beamed with delight.
No one knew better than she did that when Sheffil hesitated, not refusing was as good as agreeing.
“I’m off to class now. Later!”
Tossing out that parting line, Dorothy disappeared around the cafeteria corner as gracefully as she had arrived, drawing a chorus of admiring gazes.
What a restless childhood friend…
Sheffil shrugged helplessly and rose with his tray.
His break was nearly over anyway.
Since he had now agreed to deal with the fake Sheffil tonight, there was no point thinking more about it for now.
He still had class that afternoon, and after that, there was a small meeting of the Dorothy Fan Support Group.
Oddly enough, despite usually leaving the planning to the sub-leaders, this time they’d called in him—the honorary figurehead who’d always been just a decorative presence.
Still, it worked in his favor.
About that fake Sheffil and the so-called “Dorothy Fan Support Group!”—he had just the thing he wanted to ask them about.
But first things first: he had to get to class.
Exiting the cafeteria and passing through the long school corridor, Sheffil finally came to a stop before a grand, white, and imposing structure.
If the Crystal Mage Division’s Magus Institute was the dream sanctuary for all aspiring magicians, then the building before him was the ultimate destination for those who pursued the martial path.
Housing the largest known collection of martial arts techniques in the Ober Empire, with a comprehensive curriculum and resources even surpassing the Royal Academy, this place was where every student aiming to master fourth-tier and above combat techniques had to come.
And today, Sheffil was here to train in the fourth-tier martial skill: Blazing Swordsmanship.
Blazing Swordsmanship was the most widely practiced sword style in the Ober Empire.
From commoners to noble heirs, no one skipped it.
Unlike other legendary sword techniques, Blazing Swordsmanship didn’t rely heavily on innate talent.
Its foundation was rigorous, tier-by-tier training.
Regardless of one’s natural gifts, everyone had to start from the first-tier Blazing Swordsmanship and climb their way up.
With each tier, the difficulty of mastery increased exponentially.
Aside from its mysterious creator, only one person in all history had ever perfected the Blazing Swordsmanship—Logod, the Mad Flame King, former ruler of Ober, who died twenty years ago.
No other warrior had ever touched the ceiling of that style.
But none of that concerned Sheffil.
He wasn’t here to reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship.
He was just trying to earn credits to graduate.
Reaching fourth-tier was mostly thanks to Jianle’s brutal training last year.
Incidentally, Jianle already had a solid foundation.
She’d earned a fourth-tier certificate in Blazing Swordsmanship right after enrollment and was now focusing on other sword styles.
Arriving at his usual practice room, Sheffil pushed open the heavy wooden door.
Since he was early, the spacious training ground was empty—except for one tall figure facing away from the door.
That person was silently swinging a longsword, each slash fierce and deliberate, the lower body rooted in place while the upper body unleashed a storm of strikes.
There was no magic imbued in those swings, yet every cut sent a suffocating pressure surging up from the soles of Sheffil’s feet to his face.
Only Dorothy’s eccentric master had ever given him this kind of overwhelming pressure.
Finishing a set of sword movements, the man finally noticed the door open.
Turning, he saw Sheffil standing there.
“Sheffil? Didn’t I tell you there’s no need to come this early?”
“Had nothing better to do, so I figured why not.”
Sheffil shrugged and grinned at the black-haired man.
“What, not happy to see me, Instructor Fangor?”
“Hmph, as if. With a hardworking student like you, those old fogeys next door are green with envy.”
The middle-aged man with short, rugged black hair let out a smug snort, his lips curling into a satisfied smile.
This was Fangor, a Swordmaster.
Even at Jadecrest Academy—Ober’s top martial arts institution—sixth-tier magic swordsmen like him were a rare breed.
Currently serving as the instructor for first through sixth-tier Blazing Swordsmanship at Jadecrest Academy, he’d been Sheffil’s teacher ever since he enrolled.
Sheffil’s rapid progress from zero to fourth-tier in a single year wasn’t just thanks to his (forced) hard work—Fangor’s instruction had played a major role too.
“From your sword dance just now… did you touch the threshold of the seventh tier?”
“Hmph. There are fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-tier powerhouses crawling all over this land like ants. From the fourth tier onward, each step up requires countless resources, extreme effort, and immense luck.”
“I’ve been stuck at the bottleneck of the sixth tier for years. Hard work alone won’t get me through.”
Despite Sheffil’s flattery, Fangor merely shook his head.
That realm was still far out of reach, he insisted.
“Is that so?”
Sheffil didn’t seem too convinced.
He trusted his own instincts more than others’ words.
Even if Fangor hadn’t officially reached the seventh tier, Sheffil was sure the man already had the strength of someone who had.
But since Fangor had denied it himself, Sheffil didn’t press the topic further and instead changed the subject.
“So, what’s today’s training? Just saying now—if it’s standing in horse stance for another hour and a half, I might actually run for it.”
“Hey, you brat. Do you want to lose those credits?”
Fangor shot him a sharp glare, but then his expression softened again.
“You’re in luck today. You’ve got a special, light assignment.”
“Oh? That’s good?”
Sheffil raised an eyebrow.
“Of course. When have I ever lied to you?”
Fangor smirked, just as a knock sounded at the door.
“Punctual,” he muttered, then raised his voice.
“Come in.”
He turned back to Sheffil, who was already peeking curiously toward the door.
“Your task today is to spar with this student—she just joined our class.”
“She? A new classmate?”
An ominous chill crept down Sheffil’s spine.
No way.
There was no way it was that much of a coincidence, right?
But to his surprise, the person who entered wasn’t what he expected at all.
“Good afternoon, Instructor Fangor, and Sheffil-senpai,” said the polite, golden-haired young man who stood before them.
He reached out to shake Sheffil’s hand, flashing a warm smile.
“My name is Shaya Andipomieu. Just call me Shaya.”
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