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

Shayden Rose treated me as if I were some kind of mother duck.

On Saturday morning, after waking up at dawn, I did my breathing exercises and ran to the practice yard. When I returned, Shayden was standing in front of my door, scolding me for not eating breakfast and asking where I had gone.

After we had breakfast together, we stopped by the academy bookstore. We each bought the textbooks we needed. We looked over maps and checked the academy’s layout, discussing its geography as we ate lunch together.

In the afternoon, feeling a bit stiff, we did some light stretching at the practice yard, and I gave him a practice sparring session. After we showered and had dinner, we agreed to go our separate ways and returned to our rooms.

I was still in a daze from everything, following his instructions without much thought, but when I reflected on it later, I realized that ever since I had been reborn, I hadn’t slept once in a place away from my family.

And I also realized that I was only thirteen now, too young to even make my debut in society by this world’s standards.

Shayden, on the other hand, had been close enough over the past few years to hear about my circumstances through rumors.

It turned out that he had been worried about me, thinking I might be starving or holed up in my room by myself!

How absurd and grateful that was. I spent some time thinking it over, but the conclusion was the same.

Thirteen. In my previous life, I was the age when I’d go out to the market (*a street with many shops) and pick fights with the black gangs. Even though I had the protection of a robe embroidered with the Namgung family crest, once I turned ten, no one ever treated me like a child again.

The Ehrenhardt family took care of me, but that was because I was the eldest grandson, so I could say it was out of duty, but it felt awkward to be looked after like a little kid by someone I barely knew. I couldn’t help but laugh.

So, on Sunday, I went to the practice yard first to run, then washed up, did my breathing exercises, and waited for Shayden to knock on my door.

We had breakfast together with his messy hair roughly brushed and his sleepy eyes, then went for a walk by the academy plaza fountain. By the time we finished walking and digestion set in, I went to the library to borrow the new edition of the noble directory that had been published three years ago.

I did some preview studying, then had lunch, went back to the practice yard for another sparring session, and taught Shayden a bit of the first chapter of the Changcheon Moae Sword Technique. Since the Namgung name no longer existed in this land, I thought it was fine to pass such things on to a close friend.

By the end of the weekend, I had gained a real friend and felt as though I had an army behind me, my heart full and reassured.

It was six in the morning, long before the classes were supposed to begin, and the buildings had yet to be lit. As I ran around the practice yard, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy. The rhythm of my breathing matched a song I had learned as a child, both in this life and in my previous one, and I hummed along.

* * *

In the beginner’s swordsmanship class, twenty students I had seen before, along with three upperclassmen retaking the course, had gathered. Professor Maelo Sanson instructed the students to line up and demonstrate the sword techniques they had practiced.

Doubtful but determined, I began to unfold the first movements of the Changcheon Moae Sword technique. After completing exactly thirty moves, I suddenly heard a sound.

The professor began to inspect each student’s posture, offering corrections.

“When using the Flants family’s sword technique, you turn around your left foot as the pivot. Although you’re extending the sword from the right to the left, you shouldn’t be making a direct strike. Instead, from the upper right to the lower left… Yes, it’s not just a straight thrust. From here like this… Good, twist the wrist. There, practice this movement.”

“Well done. You’ve obviously focused on the fundamentals. But your lower body, especially this part, is unstable. Spread your legs a bit more… Yes, like that. Now, let’s try the fifth through eighth forms again from that position. What? You’ve never practiced the middle ones? Are you planning to strike in all directions when the enemy arrives?”

“What’s this? You’re saying the sword technique is like dancing, but you shouldn’t actually dance. From what I see, it looks like a Siren sword style, is that correct? A sword like waves should focus on ceaselessly crashing forward, not just swaying at the starting point. I’ll show you slowly; let’s start by practicing the transition from the first to the third form again.”

It was incredible. He had taken in and remembered the form of all twenty-three students’ techniques, marking out the points for improvement in each of them. Such remarkable eyesight and memory.

I couldn’t tell if it was because his *hwayoung* (inner energy) had reached the upper dantian (*center of the brain*), or if he was just an extraordinary genius in pedagogy.

When my turn came, Maelo Sanson hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t because he lacked the skill to assess my form, but because my swordsmanship was not of this world.

He lowered his voice, making an effort not to let the other students overhear.

“Michael Ehrenhardt. Did you create this sword technique? The movements are fluid, but the killing intent at the tip of your sword is too intense. This kind of sword wouldn’t be created in such a short time… In the transition from the third to the fourth form, is the twist here supposed to be a technique to extract the sword right before the opponent’s cervical vertebra?”

“…I was told the original doesn’t have it like that.”

“Imperial swordsmanship assumes combat against large monsters, so this height doesn’t fit. This technique is clearly intended for human combat… I know that the Ehrenhardt family hasn’t produced knights in the last three generations, though.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“…It would be best to correct this strange habit. Similarly, there are odd habits in the middle of the eighth form and in the later part of the seventeenth form, so make sure to correct those as well.”

The students who were corrected stood at one side of the practice yard, trying hard to fix the pointed-out issues.

In my past life, I spent over thirty years killing people. The ones I killed were notorious evil-doers—violent criminals who violated Confucian ethics, assassins infiltrating noble families, and leaders of gangs that came in large numbers.

They were the ones who had tried to kill me.

Now, I realize the traces of those battles—both weak and strong—left on my sword.

Unconsciously, I carried the remnants of those sins into this life. The motions I used to erase those marks were long and slow, as if each breath had been multiplied five times. While memories can’t be erased, habits can be corrected. I scattered the killing intent that had seeped into my sword.

This was no longer a sword meant to kill, but a sword meant to preserve life. Instead of the techniques of the Namgung family, I aimed for something like Shaolin’s *hwalgeom*, a technique that subdues rather than kills.

I pushed, swept, and pulled against the imaginary opponent before me. I focused only on the curved path between unclear sword lines. I executed the first form all the way to the thirtieth, then returned in reverse from thirtieth to first. The connection between each form was not smooth, but in the gaps, I caught my breath.

After completing two more rounds, a sharp sound echoed as my palms met with a loud slap.

“Alright, class is over. Everyone, let’s go have lunch.”

I stood there, stunned and not knowing where to go.

In the Central Plains, when one enters a state of enlightenment, they are often left to remain in it for days, or even ten days, until something is fully realized. I couldn’t believe that I was pulled from this state just for a simple meal.

As I blinked and stood there, I felt a heavy hand land on my shoulder. It was once again Professor Sanson.

“Your sword forms and techniques are good. It doesn’t seem like something that can be mastered in a day or two, so let’s take it slow.”

At that moment, I realized once more. Time was still on my side, and when the road ahead is long, there’s no need to rush. If I hurry, I might trip and fall, and if I fall, I might get hurt. A sword is like a sulking child—if you try to force it out too quickly, you’ll lose your way in the wrong direction.

Trying to ease the disappointment from my face, I nodded. I knew that just nodding my head wasn’t something I should do with my new teacher, so I spoke up.

“Yes, Professor. I’ll take it slow and keep my eyes on the long road ahead.”

“Good, your spirit is excellent. Enjoy your lunch.”

I bowed my head and, as I lifted it, I saw the top of Benjamin Claudian’s head, who was standing motionless, just like me.

I was curious about what advice Professor Sanson would give to Claudian, a boy who already had the stature of a grown man, but the professor’s voice, whispering as he patted Claudian’s shoulder, was too soft for me to hear, even with my cultivated inner power.

I walked alongside Shayden Roze, who was waiting for me, toward the cafeteria.

During this walk, I learned that Shayden’s family had received their title of Count three generations ago, thanks to a famous knight. I also learned that the White Rose Knight Order of Count Roze’s family was so well-organized that it was almost like a knight training academy.

It was fascinating that their swordsmanship, which resembled the ever-changing, unpredictable nature of the volcanic plum blossom, was considered more versatile than the straightforward heavy sword techniques of the younger sons.

I was wondering if all swords indeed led to the same principle, as they say, when Shayden smiled and opened up.

“I used to think I was a genius until the winter two years ago. At thirteen, a Sword Expert, I thought I was someone to be proud of, even in the White Rose Knight Order. But watching you, I realized I wasn’t all that great.”

“No, I’m not—”

“But after today, I think I’m still a genius. You’re just on a completely different level. Within this class, I’m good enough to show my family’s crest. If I keep up with intermediate and advanced swordsmanship, I might just catch up to you. So, get ready, Mika.”

Shayden and I were of similar height. I was still just a small 13-year-old, barely 150 cm tall, and Shayden hadn’t fully grown either. His arm around my shoulder wasn’t very heavy either.

He is a genius, that’s for sure. In my previous life, I became a second-rate warrior at seventeen, so he is two years ahead of me. I felt a bit like I was cheating, holding a hand of unfair cards, which made me feel a little deflated.

Shayden didn’t offer any further words of consolation, and I didn’t try to console him either. After all, today was just the first day of class, so there was no need to be disappointed.

The great thing about the dormitories was that each floor had its own cafeteria, so after a quick wash, we could immediately sit down to eat.

Lunch was abundant. A large piece of beef, about the size of a child’s face, was served alongside some cooked vegetables, sweetened beans, and mashed potatoes.

There was a slightly watery stew and white bread with chunks of cheese scattered throughout. As I sat down with this spread, my mouth naturally opened wide, and I eagerly started devouring the food.

I swear, had I known that something would happen during the Monday afternoon class on the “Fundamentals of Magic and Formulae,” I wouldn’t have eaten so recklessly. But, as with everything, you never know what’s going to happen until it does.