Chapter 5: The Young Noble

"Excuse me, might I bother you for a moment?"

Just as Lorist was about to turn and leave, someone approached from the side and spoke politely.

Lorist turned to look. It was one of several people still lingering in the small plaza. This one was clearly a young nobleman, dressed in a finely tailored white silk shirt, a white leather fitted vest embroidered with gold thread patterns, a crisp white wool short coat, white canvas baggy trousers with gold stripes, and black knee-high leather boots studded with glittering diamonds. The shirt's collar was open with two gold buttons undone, and a black strap held a pure black, exquisitely made linen surcoat draped diagonally across his body, giving him an air of elegant nonchalance.

This guy's smile was so fake. Lorist suddenly felt like punching that noble-smile-covered face, though the handsome fellow looked somewhat familiar — he just couldn't recall where he'd seen him before. And the way this fellow looked at people: arrogant with a touch of disdain, seemingly on equal footing yet clearly looking down from above. It was thoroughly unpleasant.

"What can I do for you?" Fatty Shrade said straight-faced.

"Hello, Instructor Shrade. I've just come to pay my respects to Instructor Lorist — it's been so long, and I've missed him dearly..." The young nobleman nodded toward Fatty, then turned to Lorist.

"Dear Instructor Lorist, your former student pays his respects. Years ago, thanks to your meticulous guidance, your student has always been grateful and kept it in mind day and night. Hearing that Instructor's Combat Force has stagnated is truly regrettable. Now your student has advanced to the third rank of Silver and has returned to the academy solely to repay the instructor's teachings. I had worried that the gap in our Combat Force ranks would cause the instructor to refuse to guide me, but it turns out the instructor is ambitious indeed, wishing to challenge Silver with only Black Iron strength — truly gratifying. Pity your student received the news too late and registered too far back in the queue. Now I can only hope that the instructor will have smooth sailing, cutting through each opponent until you reach your student, so I can fulfill my long-held wish of receiving your guidance once more. I truly hope the instructor will stand before your student — so please do try your best."

After delivering this speech, the young nobleman lowered his head, placed a hand over his chest in a half-bow, took a few steps back, then turned and walked away.

What the hell was that? The words sounded sincere, but something felt off. What was this guy's deal? Lorist turned to Fatty. "Who is that guy, acting all important, coming over to spout a whole heap of strange nonsense like we're old friends or something?"

Fatty was stunned. "No way — you don't know him?"

"Hmm, he looks a bit familiar, but I can't place him. Though judging by his appearance, he's not of low status, and quite wealthy," Lorist replied honestly.

Fatty slapped his own forehead. "I give up. Have you forgotten what happened three years ago?"

"Three years ago? Nothing happened three years ago." Lorist still couldn't remember.

"Sigh, of course you wouldn't feel anything about it, but it was seared into someone else's memory. Three years ago, you'd just become the academy's official swordsmanship instructor. Have you forgotten the time you were mobbed by students the first time you took over the Double-Excellence class? That guy just now was the ringleader of that class — the one you beat up the worst. Covered in cuts, with several broken ribs, wrapped up like a large mummy." Fatty had a pained look, as though dredging up不堪回首 memories.

Oh, that kid. Lorist finally remembered.

Dawn Academy had a tradition: every three years, students who excelled in both Combat Force and swordsmanship were gathered for special training. This class was called the Double-Excellence class, and was universally recognized as the hardest to teach. Those who entered it were students with talent in both areas, including noble heirs who practiced family heirloom Combat Force and swordsmanship — each one with their nose in the air, not easily won over. An instructor who taught the Double-Excellence class needed real skill and unique techniques to keep order.

Three years ago, when Lorist was formally hired as the academy's swordsmanship instructor, he was assigned to take over the Double-Excellence class. Those students looked down on him, but he subdued them one by one with his swordsmanship. What was that kid's name again? His swordsmanship had been among the top in the class, hadn't it? He was also the class's Instructor Assistant. After being defeated by Lorist in just two or three exchanges, he nursed a grudge and instigated a group of students to mob Lorist during a swordsmanship lesson, while he himself launched a sneak attack — vicious and ruthless, clearly trying to kill him.

Lorist, furious at his viciousness, fought back hard in the melee and beat him so badly he couldn't take care of himself, requiring at least half a year's bed rest.

"Huh, wasn't he supposed to have gone home to recover? He even withdrew from the academy. Logically, he should want to draw his sword and stab me the moment he sees me — so how does he have the mood to come over and greet me?" Lorist scratched his chin, puzzled.

"Heh..." Fatty laughed. "That's noble etiquette. Even mortal enemies who grit their teeth and are about to duel to the death still shake hands and pay respects beforehand. That's called being dignified."

"Why does this guy get to come over acting all smug, putting on a fake act, giving a whole speech hoping I'll fight my way to him — telling me not to disappoint him? What's that supposed to mean? Silver three-star isn't anything special. I've got plenty of defeated opponents..." Lorist was getting annoyed.

"Ha, you really should watch out for this kid. Do you know his family background?"

"Forgot. I can't even remember his name..."

"You — sigh, fine, I'll tell you. This kid is Sandos Yelta, second son of Sandos Liam III, the Regent Grand Duke of the Kelia Kingdom. You know the Kelia Kingdom?"

"I do. It's separated from our Forde Commercial Alliance by two duchies, located to the southeast, I think." Lorist thought for a moment and replied.

"Sitting between the Roman Empire to the north and the Havistan Khanate to the south, yet without any worry of war. Do you know why?" Fatty's expression turned serious.

"No." Lorist honestly shook his head.

"Because the Kelia Kingdom has a Sword Saint protecting the nation. The Roman Empire and the Havistan Khanate wouldn't dare touch them. This Kelian Sword Saint is called the Storm Sword Saint. It's said that when he was still a Great Swordmaster, he once performed a public demonstration during a downpour — dancing with his sword in the rain, he could precisely pierce every single raindrop. After the torrential rain passed, the area within a zhang of where he'd danced was completely dry. That's how his reputation spread far and wide."

"That Sandos Yelta you beat up — after recovering, he became a disciple under the Storm Sword Saint. Think about it: three years ago he was only Silver first-star, and now he's Silver third-star. You can imagine how hard he's trained over these three years. He's come back to the academy this time specifically to settle the score from three years ago. Word is he's been dueling privately, and against opponents of the same Silver third-star rank, he only needs two or three strikes to win. He seems very confident he can take that golden swordsmanship instructor's emblem from you. Lorist, you need to be careful — he's a real opponent. Let me see, where did he rank..."

Fatty Shrade pulled out several sheets of parchment, squinted at them for a while. "Here he is. For a duel with you, he's ranked two hundred and eighty-fourth. He must have registered yesterday afternoon."

"What?" Lorist was alarmed. "When did registration start, you damn fat man?"

"The day before yesterday..." Fatty grinned. "There are already over three hundred and fifty, and when I came over, the Enforcement Department still had thirty or forty people lining up. I believe it'll exceed four hundred today..."

Lorist flipped Fatty off. "I'm going to find that old bastard. He's trying to work me to death! Is there no justice in this world?"

Fatty laughed like a fox that had stolen a chicken. "This morning, that old bastard chewed me out, saying my vision was too small — that I only thought about the academy and the academy district. Why wasn't I looking further, toward Morant City? And beyond that, the entire Mana Hill Plains? If there's time, the news should spread to all places through traveling merchants from the south and north. He wants this duel challenge to become sensational news — the more challengers who come, the more registration fees are collected, the greater the academy's fame, the wider its influence... I already had students post duel announcements around the city at noon, especially at taverns and the Mercenary Guild — put up plenty there..."

Lorist nearly stumbled and fell.

Fatty delivered another stab: "That old bastard said he hopes thirty-six hundred people will register this year. At ten matches a day for you, it should be quite manageable..."

Plop — Lorist collapsed right onto the ground. He crawled up furiously, gave Fatty two middle fingers, and stalked off.

Fatty was still shouting behind him: "Lorist, be careful with that Yelta — don't get careless and lose to him..."

To hell with that Yelta-something. Just a Silver third-star — Lorist wasn't worried in the slightest. Four months of training in the Ruins Archipelago had given him full confidence in his own abilities. That Sharp Sword mercenary corps — wasn't their captain a Gold second-star? He still got chased sky-high and earth-low by an obsidian rhinoceros. Yet Lorist had killed the thing with a single casual strike.

If he were to fight Instructor Kruder now, even at the peak of Gold third-star, Lorist believed it would take over a thousand moves to determine a winner — and he might even win. This wasn't arrogance or bragging. Although his Combat Force was only Black Iron third-star, his practice of the Gold Water Art — the family-heirloom internal cultivation technique from his previous life — had yielded tremendous results.

A thumbnail-sized pebble dropped into his palm. He closed his hand into a fist and applied force. The pebble turned to dust. This must be inch force. In his previous life, he'd practiced the Gold Water Art for over thirty years and hadn't even reached the peak of obvious force, let alone the realms of hidden force and transforming force. Unexpectedly, in this life, using the Gold Water Art's technique to circulate Combat Force, after only three or four years he had so easily stepped into the realm of hidden force. Perhaps this world was simply more suited to internal energy cultivation.

The manifestation of Silver Combat Force was to channel Combat Force into a sword to form a blade glow. Only weapons similarly infused with Combat Force could withstand it, and against weapons or shields without it, it was devastatingly overwhelming — unstoppable. Only divine weapons forged by grand master smiths could compete. Though Lorist couldn't form a blade glow, he could still channel Combat Force — or what could be called internal energy — into his sword, allowing it to cut through metal and stone with extraordinary sharpness, even surpassing swords that formed blade glow. The only difference was that his sword's edge was hidden within, drawing no attention.

Now, using the Gold Water Art to circulate Combat Force smoothly and effortlessly, his movement technique and swordsmanship had merged into one. Every gesture, every step, every pause — his breathing was in perfect harmony. He landed swiftly and silently, yet each step was rooted and unshakably stable. His dantian held a deep and enduring qi flow, where the previous force hadn't yet faded before the next was already generated. These were precisely the manifestations of hidden force described in the Gold Water Art's general principles from his previous life.

The only difference was that the principles stated that upon entering the realm of hidden force, the temples on both sides would noticeably bulge. Lorist touched his temples — still flat, no difference at all. He figured it might be because of the difference between circulating the technique with Combat Force rather than internal energy. Not feeling any ill effects, he didn't worry about it. The current problem was that the headmaster — that old bastard — had turned him into a money cat. How many duels he fought didn't matter; he was used to dueling anyway. And with the realm of hidden force plus this body's special gift of dynamic vision, Lorist didn't take Silver-rank opponents seriously at all.

If the other party were a swordsman he had to fight for a hundred rounds without either gaining the upper hand, that opponent definitely wouldn't be wielding Silver Combat Force — at minimum, Gold second-star or above. But then again, a swordsman with Gold-rank Combat Force challenging a Black Iron third-star to a duel — wouldn't they find that embarrassing?

Still, wanting to duel and having to duel — both were duels, but they felt entirely different. One was voluntary, the other was forced upon him. That old bastard was using him to rake in duel registration fees — truly a money-grubber to the bone. As he walked, Lorist silently cursed that the old bastard would one day be crushed to death by gold coins.