It was late at night, and the academy grounds were silent.
I originally planned on writing a letter or finally calling my family through the crystal after finishing my training session.
But this whole situation is just weird.
When I first woke up in this novel's world in my past life, starting to love them as a real family was incredibly easy.
I was an orphan back on Earth and didn't have anyone waiting for me, so having a mother and a father who actually cared was a comfort.
But now?
After watching the world end, and after being unable to save them from the brutal slaughter in the capital, I can't even face them with a straight face.
The guilt is too heavy.
'No more losses,' I thought, my hands gripping the weapon tightly.
'Not this time.'
Standing in the centre of the training hall, panting heavily from my warm-up routines, I held a standard sword in my hands for the first time in this new life.
It felt small.
The academy's training weapons are top-tier; there is no doubt about that.
But I have wielded far more capable, legendary weapons in my past life.
Swords that could literally cut through mountains and sever the heads of supreme demons.
This basic blade felt like a children's toy in comparison.
But a weapon is just a tool.
Like magic techniques and spell casting, true swordplay follows the same internal structure.
Everything strictly depends upon the deep understanding of your particular attacks, or more accurately, your specific Sword Arts.
Sword Arts are the bridge that helps a person's raw internal mana merge seamlessly with the physical steel of his weapon, creating a vastly stronger attack.
If a warrior truly mastered his Arts, he could easily defeat armoured enemies using nothing but a broken, rusted sword or a sturdy wooden stick.
That is exactly how I survived the final years of the war.
I held the hilt with both hands, closed my eyes, and focused my mana core directly into the steel.
The [Dimensional Slash] was my ultimate move back then.
It was a terrifying technique that could cut through space, but executing it safely required my Sword Arts to be at Level 100.
Right now, I am basically starting from scratch.
'Status window,' I commanded mentally.
The glowing blue screen materialised in the dark air right in front of me.
[Status Window]
[Class: Awakened]
[Rank: S]
Skills:
[Mana Manipulation Lv. 10: Ability to wield different affinities based on the understanding of the user.]
[Phantom Touch Lv. 1: Targets who have experienced intense emotional or physical tension with the Host will randomly experience phantom sensations of the Host's touch. The effect grows stronger at night.]
[Sword Arts Lv. 5]
[Spell Arts Lv. 1]
'Level five,' I muttered, dismissing the blue screen with a wave of my hand.
'That is definitely not a bad place to start for a freshman cadet.'
As I kept focusing my intense, concentrated mana into the sword, the steel blade slowly started changing colour.
The polished silver gradually shifted into a pitch-black hue that seemed to absorb the light from the mana lamps above.
A normal sword is basically useless against high-level monsters until it is completely painted and reinforced with the warrior's own core energy.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my footing, and slashed hard at the wooden training dummy standing right in front of me.
I landed a solid, precise attack right across its chest, but I intentionally infused the strike with delayed precision.
It was an advanced technique I spent years learning in my past life.
After my physical blade hits the target, the infused mana doesn't explode immediately.
It acts like a ticking time bomb, only causing the internal damage a few critical seconds later.
It is the perfect way to break an opponent's defensive posture in a duel because they never expect the secondary impact.
CRACK.
Three seconds after my sword left the wood, a dent exploded into the centre of the dummy, sending splinters flying across the padded floor.
I continued this intense training cycle for a full hour.
Slash, delay, explosion.
Over and over until my muscles burned and my shirt was completely soaked in sweat.
Then, without any warning, a sharp dagger flew directly out of the shadows near the entrance, aiming straight for the side of my neck.
I reacted before my brain even processed the threat and casually flicked my black sword up, easily parrying the flying dagger and sending it clattering harmlessly to the stone floor.
I didn't even turn around right away.
I already knew who was standing there.
Zephyr stood leaning against the door frame at the entrance of the hall.
His arms were crossed loosely over his chest, and his handsome face remained indifferent, giving away absolutely nothing.
"Why train so hard in the middle of the night?" Zephyr asked, his voice smooth and cold.
"Why do you care what I do with my free time?" I asked back, standing completely still with my black sword resting over my shoulder.
"You already know what is going to happen tomorrow," Zephyr said, slowly walking inside the hall, his boots echoing loudly in the quiet space.
"Just do exactly as you remember doing in the past. Stay out of the way, and let me handle the real threats."
I finally turned my head to look right at him, a slow, dark smirk spreading across my face.
"So, you really did come back," I said, not even trying to hide my amusement.
My theory from the garden was finally confirmed.
"I figured as much when you started acting so differently. The great, noble hero gets a total reset."
Zephyr stopped walking, his bright yellow eyes locking onto mine with intense hatred.
"What is the grand plan now?" I asked, laughing softly as I turned to fully face him.
"Is it pure vengeance? Oh, poor me, that evil Shane betrayed me and killed my hardworking ass in the final battle, and now I am going to get my dramatic revenge to fix the timeline? Is it some self-righteous shit like that?"
But before I could even finish mocking his hero complex, the air in the room literally cracked.
Zephyr disappeared from his spot.