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

“…And so, to refuse the proposal of King Felix, the Duke of Valentia arranged a marriage contract with William Ernhardt, and three days before King Felix’s arrival in the Sieron Empire, they held a grand wedding, rivaling that of royalty.”

The Duke of Valentia was my maternal grandfather. I had never heard the story that my mother had almost married King Felix. Professor Calyps continued in his usual calm tone.

“In the end, King Felix married Kenia McFlorian of the McFlorian family instead of Valentia, and the Kingdom of Felix now serves as one of Sieron’s important allies.”

The stares piercing my face were uncomfortable. But what did it matter to me, things that happened before I was even born? How much could I know, and how much had I heard about the events surrounding the marriages of previous generations? I had never imagined that I would learn such personal family history before I even reached adulthood.

It wasn’t something I should be hearing in front of other students, and if I were still an innocent young boy, I might have felt embarrassed. However, I remembered the effort I had put into warming up my distant father and mother in my early life, and my curiosity was piqued.

Professor Agrigent finished the lesson, adding that the young heir of the Duke of Grimsvein was hiding due to a succession dispute with a branch of the family, though his whereabouts remained unclear, so the future course of events was uncertain.

As always, sitting in the chair at the far right of the blackboard, I watched as he furrowed his brows, and out of politeness, I picked up my notebook and pen and approached him.

“I have a question about the lesson just now.”

Although students are allowed to ask questions freely during the class, I lowered my voice more than usual, not wanting to spread family history to the whole class. Professor Calyps Agrigent gave a nod and, with his cracked voice, told me to ask my question.

“When the marriage contract between the Valentia family and the Ernhardt family was arranged, was there no mutual agreement between the parties?”

“I didn’t think you would ask about that, but yes, there was no agreement between them. William Ernhardt had been in the capital for less than a week at that time. He had lived most of his life in the provinces, due to his family’s affairs.”

Professor Agrigent nodded coldly, then continued.

“At the first ball that William Ernhardt attended, he immediately caught the eye of the young Duke of Valentia, and within three days, they were betrothed and entered the bridal chamber, causing a stir in the capital for a while. William and Seirn Ernhardt saw each other’s faces for the first time on the wedding day.”

“…Hmm.”

“The schedule was so tight before the wedding that they didn’t even have time to greet each other.”

“Ernhardt is from a count’s family, so why didn’t the Duke of Valentia choose someone from another noble family?”

“Because there were no suitable men left. Among the eligible young men in the Duke families at that time, there were those who were handsome, those who had good personalities, and those who were capable, but there was no one who met all three criteria. The good ones had already made engagements, either through betrothals or early marriages.”

“I see.”

“At that time, the Valentia family was notoriously protective of the young Duchess Valentia. The refusal of the marriage proposal from King Felix wasn’t just due to political alliances and power struggles; there’s a more convincing theory that they refused because they couldn’t bear to send Seirn Valentia to another country.”

“…”

“Do you have more questions?”

“No, thank you.”

In the Central Plains, there were countless couples who only saw each other’s faces after entering the bridal chamber. This was mainly because most marriages were arranged by matchmakers. Unless a young man and woman from a village found mutual affection and decided to marry, this was the usual way of things.

Especially for daughters from noble families, unless they were martial artists, it was rare for them to show their faces to men from outside the family.

I recalled the many women I had seen on my travels, all wearing various types of veils, and then, thinking of my overly anxious and timid father, I nodded, imagining how bewildered he must have been.

…But wasn’t I born the year after their wedding?

Though my thoughts were tangled, it was my own situation. As I thanked him, Professor Agrigent gave me an indifferent look and turned his attention back to the documents in his hand.

I noticed a distinct bruise on the back of his neck, a vivid shade of purple. Concerned, I stopped in my tracks.

“Are you injured?”

Instead of answering, the professor looked up at me, as if questioning why I was asking. I raised my own hand to show him the bruise on my neck.

The bruises, some dark red and others tinged with a bluish hue, seemed like marks from being pinched or struck, but the neck wasn’t an area typically targeted in a fight, especially not with such precise force.

Besides, someone as meticulous as him wouldn’t have simply endured such an attack. I wondered if his groaning and exhaustion today were related to it.

After a brief pause, Professor Agrigent clicked his tongue, as if he had realized something.

“It’s the mark of a bug bite. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s a relief.”

Finally at ease, I returned to my seat. I saw Professor Agrigent rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He seemed to have remembered the irritation when I pointed it out, and I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

I recalled how my classmates, including Sheiden, had been so insistent on using bug repellent during our camping lessons. It seemed that the academy had a notable bug problem, so I made a mental note to be more cautious.

When I asked my friends at dinner what kind of bugs were common around the academy, I was scolded for mentioning it during the meal and told not to spoil the appetite.

Even though no bugs had actually crawled out of the food, just talking about it seemed to make some of the boys turn pale. I was a little confused by their reactions. I almost clicked my tongue at their pampered attitudes, but then I realized that if the bugs were particularly dangerous, causing the skin to melt or the bones to decay, I could understand their fear.

When I asked the boys who were particularly afraid for more details, some of them explained the appearance of the bugs. I was surprised to hear that none of them were larger than a finger or particularly venomous.

So then, I wondered, why were they so afraid? Their answer was simply that the bugs’ appearance was repulsive and unsettling. I couldn’t help but smile at how silly it sounded.

Back when I was in the Central Plains, it was hard to find beggars on the street who didn’t have fleas or lice in their hair, and after sleeping on the fields, it was common for centipedes as thick as my forearm to fall from my clothes.

When stung by venomous insects, unless one was skilled in venomous arts, the area would swell up, and we’d often have to cut it open to drain the poison.

The worst part was when a woman in our group was injured. If she was stung, the whole group would be in trouble, and we’d all be embarrassed.

I suddenly remembered a time when we went to hunt wild boars in the mountains, with about five or six of us, including Mo Yonghwa, who was the younger sister of Mo Yongam, a noble.

When Mo Yonghwa was bitten by a venomous snake on her calf, even though it was a chaotic situation, there was someone in our group, a man named Je Galyang, who always dressed in white and was extremely neat. He immediately knelt down and applied his mouth to her wound to suck out the venom, saving her. In the end, they even married.

At the wedding, the bride remained perfectly fine, but I couldn’t quite remember if Je Galyang, who had been crying and saying he would do his best, had passed away after seeing his grandchild, or if he had died before that.

Mo Yonghwa had been upset for a long time about the scar left on her leg from the snake bite, but Je Galyang had constantly told her that it was a beautiful mark, a sign of their marriage. I vividly remembered the scene where, during a gathering of old friends, she pretended to vomit in disgust and made a scene when they tried to drink more.

Since I had been reborn, I reassured myself that they were all living their lives again in a good place.

* * *

On Wednesday, during beginner’s swordsmanship class, Maelo Sanson began the lesson by placing a clock the size of a child’s head on the podium, claiming that he had gotten it from Professor Cedric.

The previous class had run excessively long, making the students rush to the next class without time for lunch, and a few of them had been late, earning a scolding from the academy’s principal.

He laughed, saying that while there were always students who didn’t want to attend class, it was the first time he had seen students so desperate to avoid eating and so restless. His mood seemed quite good, and I was satisfied as well.

I had been diligently building my internal energy through morning and evening practices, but after giving up on teaching the internal arts to the people of Syron, I was now focused on abandoning the sword techniques of Namgung that I had learned in the past.

After all, once I reached a certain level, I would have to discard the old techniques. To forget the attachment, I had started creating my own sword style.

Creating a new style of swordsmanship was said to be a difficult task, reserved only for great masters (*the kind of rare individuals who appear once in a generation in martial arts sects), so I hadn’t thought about trying it back in the Central Plains. But now, with my teacher Hwagyeong by my side and working together with dozens of others, I felt there was nothing I couldn’t achieve.

If I were to create a new sword school, I would discard the name of Namgung, leave behind the relationships I had in faraway lands, and only keep my name. I wanted to call it “Jeonggeom,” the sword of “staying” or “remaining.”

It was a childish dream. It felt too embarrassing to speak out loud, so I kept it to myself, but everyone around me, noticing how absorbed I was in developing my own sword style, tried to lend a hand in their own way.

Their efforts were endearing and lovely.

Unexpectedly, Benjamin Claudian, my big bear-like friend with black hair and golden eyes, who usually accompanied me like a shadow, was quite helpful in this endeavor.

He had already reached the peak of his martial arts skills by the age of adulthood and was familiar with many of Syron’s sword styles, both through physical practice and study.

Though I had assumed he focused heavily on external techniques given his well-built limbs, I was surprised to realize how much he had learned and retained in his mind as well.

As we drew lines in the practice hall’s dirt floor, categorizing various sword techniques, Professor Maelo Sanson, observing us, suggested we move to the lecture hall next for a more formal class, with writing materials at hand. We agreed.

During alchemy class, Marianne grabbed me by the collar.

“You resolved it through conversation, you say? What kind of conversation was that? A physical conversation?!”

“No, wait, Marianne. What’s wrong? Sorry, Mikael! She often goes a little crazy!”

“Ah, let go of me, Jenny! Is Mikael seriously trying to get himself killed?!”

“Let go of my hand! Marianne!”

The members of our group from both alchemy and camping class struggled to pull Marianne away. Jenny was hugging her waist from behind, pulling her, while Damien was trying to release Marianne’s grip on my collar.

But no matter how hard they tried, their strength was nothing compared to mine, and it was clear they wouldn’t be able to make me budge. I stood still, watching Marianne, who was frantically jumping around, not moving a muscle.

I didn’t ask why, because I already knew the reason.

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“Well then, what’s a big deal?!”

“During class, the baroness with purple bobbed hair grabs the young count’s collar and shakes him?”

“Eeek…!”

“What’s not allowed is not allowed, so let go.”

Even an excited beast will calm down when the other party remains composed. I quietly waited without avoiding her or raising my voice, and eventually, Marianne let go of my collar.

Damien, flustered, tried to adjust my collar, but I pushed his hand away with the back of my hand.

It was quite amusing to see Ivan, who had been standing there watching, touch his forehead as if he had a headache.