A Returner’s Magic Should Be Special - Chapter 15

Episode 15. The Returnee’s Promotion Match (Part 1)

But nothing happened.
Gehan felt no sensation in his hand at all. It was as if he’d sliced through empty air.
He stared at Pram with a look of confusion.
Not a single hair on him was damaged.
Thunk.
Just then, something lodged itself in the wooden board—a blade, wickedly sharp and curved like a crescent.
Something had gone wrong.
Gehan hurriedly examined the flat blade in his grip. Or rather, what remained of it. There was nothing left above the hilt.
Pram’s skill with the Three-Sword Technique was incomparable to what it had been before. Now his ability had reached Knight Rank.
“Care for another round?”
Pram flicked the Three-Sword Technique with a casual gesture.
Gehan abandoned the hilt and rushed forward with his bare fists. In a heartbeat, his knuckles were already streaking toward Pram’s face.
Pram slipped the weighty punch as if sliding past it, then launched himself upward with acrobatic grace.
He landed perfectly behind Gehan’s back with a sense of balance that drew admiration, and swung his blade.
Gehan tried to block the strike with the Gauntlet he was wearing, but Pram’s sword suddenly shifted course mid-strike, aiming directly for his solar plexus.
Gehan tried to retreat in panic, but Pram was faster.
Pram pivoted his body halfway around and drove the hilt of his sword straight into Gehan’s solar plexus with perfect force.
No matter how hardened the body, vital points had their limits. Gehan’s form wavered once, then he collapsed to his knees.
Dezir’s eyes widened slightly.
“Looks like it’s over.”
“Don’t be so sure. That iron door is made of Kihuelsan steel. You kids won’t be able to open it.”
Kihuelsan iron was famous for its extraordinary hardness. And with weight proportional to its strength, a door of that size would require four grown men to budge.
Wujuken smiled grimly.
“Which means you two will be staying here until my guards arrive.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Slice.
The Blaengsum Sword danced and flowed, and the hinges of the Kihuelsan Iron Door supporting the gate were severed as cleanly as tofu.
Then, with a tremendous crash, the Kihuelsan Iron Door toppled backward. No matter how legendary its hardness, Kihuelsan steel was no match for the Blaengsum.
Dezir turned to Wujuken, whose jaw had gone slack.
“Now, shall we say it’s definitely finished?”

* * *

Dezir was breathing hard, chest heaving. They’d barely been running for minutes, and yet here he was.
“I really need to get in better shape. My stamina’s gotten pathetic.”
Dezir grumbled to himself.
“You brought the sword, didn’t you?”
A nod.
Pram’s hand instinctively moved to the Three-Sword Technique hanging at his hip.
The whitish glow of the blade resembled starlight sometimes, moonlight other times.
When he drew it, the weight was scarcely noticeable. It was a truly remarkable sensation.
“So that’s why you decided to use the Three-Sword Technique?”
Dezir spoke, remembering how Pram had fought with the Three-Sword Technique minutes earlier.
Pram had wielded the Three-Sword Technique and overwhelmingly subdued Gehan of Esteban. The fact that he had taken up this blade struck Dezir as particularly significant.
“The situation was too urgent then, so I had no choice. But from now on…”
Still, Pram hesitated. After a long silence, he finally let out a sigh and asked.
“Why did your father hide something like this in such a worn-out old Kemubin?”
That was ultimately what had caused this foolish situation to unfold.
Had the Kemubin been made recognizable from the start, there would have been no reason for Pram to resent his father.
“Your father was being wise, Pram.”
Pram lifted his head at Dezir’s words.
“The Blaengsum Sword is a truly extraordinary thing. If word had gotten out that you possessed it, over a hundred people like Wujuken would have come hunting you down.”
“But I might never have realized it was there at all.”
“He left it there trusting you’d eventually discover it.”
He must have believed that the man would continue to carry that sword, and that someday he would learn its truth.
“How can you be certain of that?”
Dezir Armang grasped the sword and pointed to the hilt.
At his gesture, Pram leaned in to examine it.
On the hilt of the Kemubin, which had worn the appearance of an old iron blade, letters were inscribed—though they could not be read.
The reason those characters could not be deciphered was because they were incomplete.
But now, with the Blaengsum Sword blade revealed and restored to its true form, the letters engraved on the hilt had taken on a perfect shape.
It seemed that the Kemubin had some sort of mechanism not only in the blade itself, but in the hilt as well.
Pram read the characters that had appeared on the hilt slowly and carefully.

May my little bird never lose its way.

Chapter 4. The Returnee’s Promotion Match

The Alpha Class Exclusive Dining Hall was situated on a high floor of Hebrion Academy with a commanding view of the campus.
A cool wind blew through the open window, raising goosebumps on her neck. Beyond the glass, the monochromatic lights of night unfurled like a tapestry. Deep shadows held the stars hostage, and they glimmered with a melancholy luminescence.
Perhaps from the chill, Romantica shivered slightly.
“Your order has arrived.”
The lighting gleamed with a brilliant golden hue.
Waiters moved between the tables like birds darting in and out of a nest, attending to diners with practiced efficiency.
The menu featured seafood.
Salted grilled fish and crab gratin were placed before Romantica, and she greeted the waiter with a smile.
“The food in Alpha Class is far superior, isn’t it?”
Doneta, who sat across from her, remarked.
She had not noticed when he arrived.
Romantica guessed he must have come while she was gazing out the window.
There was nothing unusual about Doneta sitting across from her at this table.
If anything, Romantica was the unusual one here. Had the man before her not exerted his influence, she would never have set foot in this place.
“I’ve wanted to see you for a while now. I’m glad we finally have the chance.”
“Yes.”
Romantica waited for Doneta’s food to arrive.
Moments later, as his meal was set down, they both lifted their forks at once.
The grilled fish had a clean flavor, and though the gratin was slightly rich, it carried a wonderfully sweet undertone.
For a time, they ate in silence, savoring the meal before them.
“So, what did you want to see me about?”
There was no reason to hesitate.
Romantica placed a Wooden Dagger on the table—an ornate piece decorated with elaborate relief carvings.
“I came to return this.”
Doneta adjusted his glasses.
He stared at the Kemubin on the table as though he had never laid eyes on it before.
Romantica slid the Kemubin toward him.
Doneta did not react for a moment. He showed neither anger nor irritation.
He steadied his breathing and considered the reason for her refusal.
He reminded himself that displaying emotions openly was something only third-rate nobility would do.
“I don’t think there’s any reason to refuse it…….”
“That may be what you think.”
Romantica’s crimson eyes gazed into his, and for an instant, Doneta’s heart began to race.
“If you’re uncomfortable dating me because of this, you don’t need to worry about that.”
“Of course, at first I did hesitate because of that. But it’s not because of that.”
“You mean a different reason has come up?”
Romantica nodded.
“I’ve joined the Unnamed Party in Beta Class.”
“Beta Class…….”
Doneta’s expression was one of disbelief. He muttered to himself several times over, as if trying to grasp the true nature of what he had just heard.
“Beta Class, you say…….”
“Yes. The party of commoners—those you consider trash.”
Clang.
Doneta set down the fork he had been holding with a heavy thud.
Everything lay cold. The wind from the window, the soup on the table, the air that hung suspended—all of it.
“I don’t understand. Were you threatened into this?”
“Maybe…….”
After a moment, Romantica shook her head.
“No. This is my choice.”
“Then it’s hardly a rational decision.”
Doneta opened the Kemubin.
The Gold Necklace slipped like a serpent, coiling in his palm.
“I hold no regret toward you.”
“Don’t be rash. There’s still time.”
“My decision won’t be reversed.”
Doneta wore a smile, though he was not smiling.
Neither was Romantica.
“Honestly, I think I chose well. I didn’t like joining this party at first, but my mind changed over time. This party is enjoyable. The captain trains us diligently. Because of that, my skills are improving rapidly.”
“You could develop your skills in our party too.”
“Of course that’s not the main reason. Do you remember when you called us a worthless rabble of commoners to the Beta Class students?”
“……I don’t see why that matters now.”
“Well, here’s why.”
Romantica drew air deep into her lungs.
The serpent’s eyes, gleaming red, studied her.
As she exhaled, she drove the stake home.
“Because I am a commoner.”
Clang.
A sharp, cutting sound lashed against Doneta’s eardrums. The deliberation drained from his eyes in an instant.
In his gaze fixed on Romantica, affection could no longer be found.
“Hmm.”
He caught himself and quickly returned to his poker face, but it was already too late.
His contempt for commoners was almost physiological—something he could not control in that moment.
There is no reason to dislike a cockroach, just as there is no reason required to despise a commoner.
He grasped at straws.
“That’s a lie.”
“What makes you think so?”
“If you were truly a commoner, you would have kept silent and joined our party. That would be the only path for a commoner like you to advance to Alpha Class.”
“You’re right about that.”
Romantica acknowledged his words readily.
She too knew it well. To advance to Alpha Class, keeping silent and following Doneta’s proposal would be the safest course.
“But I couldn’t do that.”
The reasons for it are endless.
Yet the greatest reason.
It was this:
“When they learned I was a commoner, they didn’t look at me the way you do.”
Dezir had even asked her to join his party precisely because she was a commoner.
It was not a party where commoners faced discrimination. In that party, there would be no need to live in constant dread of her identity being exposed, no need for pretense.
“I see.”
Doneta opened his mouth.
“Of course—being the same trash, he can afford such things.”
His tone was cutting.
“Trash, you say. Well spoken.”
Romantica’s voice matched his edge.
“Nobles always despise commoners. You scorn us, you hate us—as if we were biological enemies. But I know why you nobles hate and despise us.”
She continued.
“The reason Hebrion Academy divides Beta and Alpha by blood instead of ability—it’s because you nobles fear the emergence of a new Republican Faction.”
Republican Faction.
Without thinking, Doneta glanced around him.
“……Watch your tongue.”
“Times have changed. The Shadow World has upset the world’s balance. Now anyone with strength can possess a Magic Stone. You are inhabitants of a crumbling sandcastle—residents who fear collapse in a fortress that could crumble at any moment.”

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