I Became A Thief Who Steals Overpowered Skills - Chapter 103

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 103. Before the Rahelern Academy Admission Examination

Spring.

A season welcoming new beginnings.

When that spring was settling into full bloom.

A man walked the corridor, his arms laden with documents.

He was none other than a vice-professor at Rahelern Academy.

Last year had been tempestuous.

How much turmoil Rahelern Academy had endured in its very first year.

The students vied ceaselessly for their own interests, clashing factions at every turn, while the professors were forced to scramble frantically to prevent the accidents that erupted with increasing frequency.

Rahelern Academy had suffered a full outbreak.

Of course, after weathering such an ordeal, things had begun to settle in recent months.

This was largely because several exceptional students had begun establishing themselves at the centers of power.

Just when stability seemed finally within reach.

This spring, a fresh cohort of freshmen arrives.

‘Damn it.’

The vice-professor pressed his face into his hands.

He could all too clearly imagine what would happen to the academy if another flood of new students poured in just as stability was taking hold.

To be perfectly honest, he wanted to grab the headmaster by the collar and demand no new admissions be accepted.

But with no rank higher than vice-professor, he had no authority to attempt such a thing.

So what was his task today?

Nothing less than reviewing the roster of those who would sit for the academy’s admission examination.

Last year’s entrance ceremony had been chaotic.

So this entrance ceremony, the professors had all vowed, would proceed without a hitch—they would make absolutely certain of the examination numbers beforehand.

Clang!

He kicked open the door to the vice-professors’ office and stepped inside.

Several other vice-professors, their faces shadowed with fatigue, glanced up at him before quickly returning their attention to their documents.

They all found themselves in the same predicament.

‘Why is this damned academy so inundated?’

Rahelern Academy—founded with the singular purpose of raising the world’s greatest heroes.

The Academy had been built by the combined effort of the Empire, the Four Kingdoms, and countless smaller realms.

In theory, it should have been a place of harmony where everyone came together in genuine fellowship.

But that hope collapsed in an instant.

The students, already so thoroughly steeped in their own factional interests, were not heroes defending the world from World Erosion—they were merely self-serving agents of their respective nations.

‘The world is rotten.’

He’d thought these barely-adult children would be different.

But within days of taking up his post, he’d learned just how cunning and vile they could be.

‘Thinking about it again just sets my irritable bowel off.’

Associate Professor Hamel set down the paperwork and took his seat.

All he could do was throw himself into his work.

“Hamel, are you just getting started?”

Just then, from the sunlit corner of the room—

a woman sipping tea offered him an unhurried smile.

She had a distinctive mole perched just below her eye, nestled between locks of jet-black hair; she was Kairan, his fellow Associate Professor.

Why was she in such a relaxed mood?

The reason was simple enough.

She was the most unfortunate person to have been assigned as overseer of this year’s Admission Examination.

The assignment of Admission Examination oversight had been decided purely by lottery.

The professors who’d already made names for themselves before arriving at the Academy naturally refused, insisting that such work was beneath them and something for the Associate Professors to handle.

As a result, the Associate Professors had been forced to draw lots with tears in their eyes.

And Kairan had been the one whose name came up.

So everyone agreed on one thing.

She should take a break from her paperwork.

“……I just wish the opening ceremony would start already.”

Once the opening ceremony began, all the new students would have been selected.

Hamel, watching Kairan with sympathetic eyes as she waited for that day, turned his attention back to the documents.

That was when he flipped to the first page.

“What the hell?”

The curse tumbled out of him unbidden, and suddenly every eye in the room snapped toward him.

It was not something that should have come from the mouth of an Associate Professor reviewing documents.

“Who was that? Who the hell made that noise?”
“Please, let’s just get through the Admission Examination quietly.”

The assistant professors groaned in unison.

Kairan, who oversaw the Admission Examination, flinched at every curse that escaped their lips.

Her future hung in the balance.

Hamel had already buried his face in his hands.

And with good reason—it was the name written on the application form.

‘The Fourth Princess, Sizlri Ephania.’

Fifteen years old this year, and rumored to possess the finest mind
in the entire Empire—a prodigy among prodigies.

In effect, she would inevitably become the focal point of this year’s incoming Imperial faction students.

Already, Hamel felt a headache forming.

A person requiring close attention, and he’d discovered her on the very first page.

And worse—her listed escort was a Sword Saint.

Hamel’s expression darkened at the mention of that notorious reputation.

‘At least she’s entered Literature as her major and Special Studies as her minor.’

Rahelern Academy divided its curriculum into five distinct departments.

Martial Arts, which prioritized combat.

Literature, which prioritized scholarship.

Divine Studies, which prioritized theology.

Magic Studies, which researched magical practice.

And Special Studies—a separate department that taught techniques distinct from the previous four.

Each student chose one department as their major and a second as their minor.

Sizlri came from Literature, at least the quieter of the lot.

Though “quieter” was relative to the other departments.

The problem was that Literature majors engaged in intellectual battles even assistant professors struggled to follow.

Still, on the surface at least, it remained the most orderly department.

‘I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.’

Literature examinations fundamentally worked by having students solve prepared tests and receive numerical scores.

There should be no complications during the Admission Examination itself.

Still, given that she was a person of note, he set her file aside and continued reviewing the rest.

“Damn it.”

And another curse spilled from his lips.

Everyone’s attention turned his way again, but Hamel kept his eyes fixed on the documents.

The name that appeared the moment he turned the page gave him a splitting headache.

‘Mary Diana?’

The madwoman who’d nearly killed the Fourth Princess Sizlri Ephania at the hands of a World Invader.

World Invader or not, she’d come perilously close to committing regicide against imperial blood.

Rumor had it that even the Diana Family had disowned her, and an execution date had been set.

Yet somehow she’d escaped the executioner’s block and submitted an Admission Examination application to the Academy.

‘They’re admitting her to the Academy at the same time as the princess she tried to kill?’

None of it made sense to Hamel.

By any rational standard, it was absurd.

Then he caught sight of something written in the remarks section.

‘……Marked with the Imperial Stigma.’

The Empire’s binding mark—one that would instantly shatter the brain and kill the bearer if they so much as bared a fang toward the imperial family.

Mary Diana bore that mark.

‘And the activation condition for that mark is controlled by none other than Sizlri Ephania?’

Hamel’s eyes widened with realization.

Mary Diana had been raised as a candidate for the Empire’s Spear—which meant she possessed the Celestial Warfare Body.

The Empire had no intention of losing such a valuable card outright; instead, they’d seized this opportunity to collar her as the imperial family’s lapdog.

The problem was that the one holding her leash was Sizlri Ephania herself.

Since Mary Diana had targeted the Fourth Princess, it might be natural enough for her to hold the reins now.

‘But there’s something more to this.’

Perhaps Mary Diana had escaped execution only because Sizlri Ephania had shown her mercy.

Three years as a lapdog to the Magic Tower, and you’d learn to divine intention.

After witnessing countless power struggles at Rahelern Academy, he’d developed a knack for reading the broader shape of things.

A murky, unsettling aura emanated from this situation.

‘Someone else to watch closely.’

Her primary was Martial Arts, her secondary was Special Studies.

He was troubled by the fact that her secondary matched his own, but he forced himself to think no further on it.

Still, mountains of paperwork remained.

Hamel was just reaching for the next document.

“Damn it.”

By now, even his curses ran thin.

He exhaled sharply, wondering how all these troublemakers had managed to congregate in his files alone.

The first name that leaped out was Valheim.

The world’s mightiest family, a den of legends that had produced countless heroes.

The youngest from that house: Krash Valheim.

There it was, written in his paperwork.

His head felt ready to split.

Charlotte Valheim—currently one of the most formidable headaches at Rahelern Academy—came to mind unbidden.

The Sword Saint, Charlotte Valheim.

The title suited her: she was Rahelern Academy’s finest bladesman.

And its greatest problem child as well.

The moment anyone crossed her, she drove them into the ground without a shred of hesitation.

Her special talent: refusing to conceal her temper.

Her hobby: forcing others to look away first.

Charlotte’s eyes held almost no spark of warmth—to Hamel’s eye as a sub-professor, she was terrifying.

And now her younger brother was coming.

‘I think I’ve heard rumors about Valheim’s youngest a few times.’

Hamel rummaged through his memory for a moment.

The youngest of Valheim—some said he was half-witted, though lately word had it he’d changed.

Rumors about Valheim’s youngest multiplied like a chain, one leading into the next.

‘The gossip seems to have died down at some point, though.’

Stories had circulated that Krash’s return to form might be nothing but idle talk.

But regardless—Valheim was Valheim.

He would certainly become another eye of the storm.

Father majoring in Martial Arts, second major in Special Studies.

The son’s second major was also Special Studies.

Hamel sighed and set the document aside in its own stack.

Then he turned his attention back to the documents, flipping through them once more.

‘The caliber this year is formidable—easily as strong as last year’s cohort, if not stronger.’

With each page, he found himself exhaling deeply at the sight of yet another direct heir or prominent child of some great house.

A year ago, several families had simply been watching and waiting. But once word of Rahelern Academy spread, they all rushed to submit applications at once.

‘Ah, and here’s a direct descendant of the Igrit Family.’

Recalling the crimson tower, he thought that the Magic Studies department would be no less competitive this year.

‘But what strikes me is how many applicants are choosing Special Studies over the other tracks—far more than usual.’

Since the direct heir of the Igrit Family had also selected Special Studies, he found himself wearing a puzzled expression.

Then, as he opened the next page, a name caught his eye.

‘Arthur Gramalte.’

Because the name was unremarkable, he placed the application in the general pile without much thought.

But as he continued reviewing, more and more applications from marked individuals kept accumulating.

And each time, Hamel failed to notice how Kairan’s lips trembled faintly from across the room.

* * *

A tree of overwhelming magnitude, its crown reaching the very edge of the sky, piercing through the clouds, holding heaven aloft.

A divine tree.

The World Tree.

Beneath the branches of a tree that changed its hue with each season, scattering pink-tinted petals come spring.

Standing as vast as the tree itself was a single fortress—Rahelern Academy.

Encompassing dormitory grounds large enough to rival a modest city, Rahelern Academy stood protected by the World Tree’s power against World Erosion, having proclaimed itself the world’s premier academy.

And in keeping with that ambition, Rahelern Academy’s first year had been nothing short of a tempest of talent.

Barely had that turbulent first year come to an end.

When yet another storm of arrivals descended upon Rahelern Academy once more.

Clop-clop, clop-clop—

With the rhythm of a carriage echoing through the air, a person with deep blue-green hair opened their eyes slowly inside the coach.

Possessing a build and appearance one might reasonably describe as eighteen years old, they turned their gaze toward the window.

There, petals from the World Tree drifted past outside the pane.

Under any other circumstance, the world would have been entirely washed in pink, something beautiful enough to draw wonder.

Yet they felt nothing at all.

It made sense—he’d witnessed the same scene so many times it had long since lost all novelty.

“So I’ve finally arrived.”

The one who’d muttered this to himself was named Krash Valheim.

He’d come this year to sit the entrance examination for Rahelern Academy, a day he’d awaited with anticipation.

“Excited?”

The voice had come not from his thoughts but from somewhere outside, and Krash turned his head.

Before him sat a raven, methodically grooming its wings.

It was the familiar he kept as his master—an immortal who was a World Invader, and one of the servants of Crimson Garden.

“Excited? Hardly.”

Krash merely swallowed a hollow laugh.

Once, this place had been his refuge.

Rather than live in Valheim watching his back, he’d decided he’d rather stay at Rahelern Academy.

But unfortunately, Rahelern Academy had failed to offer him that refuge either.

The name Valheim had strangled him ceaselessly, even here.

‘But this time will be different.’

Krash raised his hand lightly.

Then he felt the Thunder Aura and Black Flame flowing through his fingers.

He was completely transformed from who he’d been before.

This time at Rahelern Academy would be a moment his past self could never have imagined.

“If you’re so thrilled, then let me offer you one piece of advice.”

But he’d just said he wasn’t excited.

Krash shot Crimson Garden a look of displeasure.

“Don’t use that technique you mastered recently on the entrance examination.”

What was he on about now?

Krash sighed, muttering that the bird spouted nothing but nonsense.

“Do you really think I’d have occasion to use it on an entrance examination?”
“You have a habit of wasting effort on things that don’t matter.”

When Crimson Garden glared at him, Krash averted his eyes.

“Take heed of this warning—controlling your output isn’t difficult, is it? You don’t want to kill someone during the entrance examination, surely?”

There were certainly a few people he wouldn’t mind killing.

Krash nodded absently.

He had no intention of judging people by the Knowledge of Regression, as he had during the Fendal affair.

Of course, if he determined someone was worthless, they would hardly meet with a favorable outcome—but that was another matter.

“Here, take this instead.”

In that instant, Crimson Garden flicked a Brooch toward Krash.

As Krash caught it in his palm, Crimson Garden offered an explanation.

“My voice will reach you through it. If anyone at the Academy catches sight of the raven, they’ll surely recall the Krash of old—won’t they?”
“A prudent judgment.”

During the Empire affair, Mary had seen the raven as well.

So Krash tucked the Brooch carefully into his pocket.

“What about you, Crim?”
“I’ll manage flying about as needed. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Fair enough.

Clank—

The carriage lurched once more and came to a halt.

“Lord Krash, we have arrived.”

At that announcement, Krash heard the voice from outside and opened the door.

He descended the carriage steps slowly, only to find a small-framed woman in a maid’s outfit standing there.

Her deep chestnut hair and ashen eyes bore a striking resemblance to someone he knew well.

She was Aliod’s daughter—Alisha.

Had her frame not remained slight from the Discoloration Disease she’d suffered in childhood, one could have called her a feminine version of Aliod himself.

Aliod was the head steward of Cheong Song Manor.

And now that Krash had come of age, the role of personal attendant had become all but meaningless.

So even if Aliod wished it, he could not follow Krash to the Academy.

Thus, he had sent his daughter Alisha to serve in his stead.

After the Discoloration Disease had fully healed, Aliod had ceaselessly taught Alisha that she owed her very life to Krash—a debt of gratitude she must repay.

He trusted that she would dutifully fulfill her role as Krash’s attendant.

As a result, Krash had originally said he was perfectly fine going alone.

But Aliod had insisted so earnestly that she attend to him even during his rest that Krash had found himself obliged to bring her along.

“Thank you for your trouble, Alisha.”
“Not at all, sir.”

Insisting that Krash needed to rest comfortably, Alisha had refused to enter the carriage, remaining seated on the coachman’s bench throughout the journey.

When Krash thanked her, she bowed her head respectfully.

Watching her, Krash let out a short, bitter laugh.

The sight inevitably brought Aliod to mind.

Her manner of speech was overly formal—excessively so—but it seemed she’d grown accustomed to it already, too habituated to correct now.

Yet there was one difference between her and Aliod.

“Your skirt hem is turned inside out.”

She was still clumsy in her own way.

“Oh—I-I’m terribly sorry.”

The composure she’d been maintaining in imitation of Aliod cracked at once.

Her face flushed crimson, she hurriedly adjusted her skirt, and Krash found himself thinking of Aliod’s wife.

His wife had that exact same quality—it must run in the blood.

“I’ll take the Admission Examination now. Go wait where the servants are standing. I’ll come get you when it’s finished.”
“Yes, I shall gather our belongings and wait there, sir.”

Normally, luggage was brought only after passing the examination.

But neither Krash nor Aliod harbored any doubt that Krash would fail at Rahelern Academy.

How could they, when Aliod had watched Krash’s growth unfold with his own eyes?

As Alisha bowed and took her leave, Krash turned to follow her gaze.

Crimson Garden emerged from the carriage and soared into the sky.

When Krash looked up to follow Crimson Garden’s flight, the buildings of Rahelern Academy spread below the World Tree came into view.

The Martial Arts examination would naturally be held in the Martial Arts Hall.

Wondering how many familiar faces he might encounter, Krash began to walk.

With each step, the crowds grew thicker.

So many had come to take Rahelern Academy’s Admission Examination.

‘There must be over a thousand of them.’

He tried to recall how he’d managed his own examination back then.

He remembered scraping through by the skin of his teeth, barely clinging to a passing score.

The biggest factor had been when he’d gotten spooked for no reason during the test upon hearing the name Valheim—pure dumb luck.

‘Why’d I have to think of that.’

Muttering that the memory had soured his mood, Krash furrowed his brow—

Tap.

Someone came rushing from behind and collided squarely with his shoulder.

Krash could have dodged with his Sixth Sense, but the crowd around him left no space, so the impact was unavoidable.

As Krash dusted off his shoulder and turned his head, he found himself face to face with a man built like a buffalo—massive beyond reason.

The clothes stretched across his frame looked ready to burst; he hardly seemed human at all.

The problem was that Krash recognized him.

Before the regression, this was the man who had gained admission to Rahelern Academy thanks to the Empire’s martial tournament.

When Krash had competed in that tournament before, he’d eliminated this muscle-bound brute in the preliminary round with a single blow.

Who would have thought they’d meet again here, of all places.

It seemed the man hadn’t given up—he was still aiming for admission to Rahelern Academy.

Some coincidences were beyond belief.

In that moment, the muscle-bound brute’s expression twisted into a furious scowl.

“What, you bump into me and then stare? What’s your problem!”

Hearing the response, Krash blinked.

The man clearly didn’t recognize him at all.

‘Come to think of it, I was Krash back then.’

His appearance and build had changed so much since then that it was no wonder the man didn’t recognize him.

So Krash decided to refresh his memory for him.

He was certain those were the words he’d used back then.

“You’re the one I was looking at. You pig.”
“W-what did you just say, pig, pig?!”

With those words, the muscle-bound brute’s eyes transformed in an instant into those of an enraged buffalo.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he charged at Krash despite the crowded surroundings.

Watching him approach, Krash raised his hand.

It felt like déjà vu flickered across his consciousness.

Surely.

Surely.

He felt like this had happened at the tournament before.

The moment doubt bloomed in his mind, Krash moved first, before the thought could even fade.

His fist was already driving straight into the man’s face.

“Ack?!”

A short cry escaped his lips as the muscular man’s body launched skyward with a heavy whoosh.

Inch Force.

In the same instant, the secondary activation of Inch Force sent his body hurtling upward once more.

“Aaaagh!”
“Noooo?!”

Those headed toward the Martial Arts Hall caught sight of the plummeting brute and scattered with shrieks of panic.

In moments, the muscular man lay sprawled on the ground, stars swimming before his eyes.

Caw!

A raven’s cry echoed from above, and as consciousness slipped away, the muscular man found himself remembering an old martial tournament.

The time he’d flown through the sky after throwing a punch at that strange boy with his eyes shut.

“G-gasp, h-huh, th-this is…….”

He muttered something incoherent, his body trembling, before his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness altogether.

Krash watched the scene unfold, then dusted off his hands lightly.

“If you’re going to bump into someone, you ought to apologize first.”

He hoped his manners lesson had taken effect this time.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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