Editor 90

Final Exam (4)

One hundred and forty years ago, Albion’s King Absalom I was deposed by his maternal cousin Thomas Saphir, who was backed by the noble faction, and suffered the humiliation of exile across the Pintos Mountains.

Thomas Saphir, having ascended to the throne with the support of the nobles under Regent Saville, approved the founding of the House of Lords as a condition.

This was the beginning of Albion’s king sharing power with the House of Lords.

Thomas’s nickname, “the Compromise King,” was a mocking name for a king manipulated under the hand of Regent Saville.

Until the coronation of Absalom II, grandson of Absalom I, the House of Lords, led by Regent Saville, wielded power exceeding that of the king.

Only Isaiah Sergeyev, the 21st Marquis of Rodion, whose ancestor was granted a title by Leonid I, and Meliodas Tristan, the 18th Duke of Armorique, opposed Regent Saville, closing off their families and retreating into seclusion.

Absalom II, born in Brünnen and rallying the royalists, conquered western Brünnen and marched in a string of victories to Lundain. He declared himself the true heir of Leonid I and the legitimate scion of the Leogunan royal family, reclaiming the crown.

This was the Restoration.

The knights of common birth and lords of Albion’s border regions who supported Absalom II at that time were newly granted titles, and they were called “new nobles,” loyal to the king.

Unlike the old nobles, who had separate title names, the “new nobles” used their family names as their titles in the Brünnen style. Now, even the old nobles often attach the title to the surname rather than using the full formal title in daily life.

The once all-powerful Regent Saville died without children, and his title was revoked. However, Absalom II also died young, so royal authority could not be restored as firmly as before. Over a century later, Albion had settled into a tripartite system, including a House of Commons.

While Cleio recalled what she had learned in this world’s history classes to grasp the dynamics among the spectators, Dione continued her explanation.

“Oh, there on the left, fourth row. Speaker Benjamin Bitton of the House of Commons is here too!”

Cleio also recognized the gentleman with a cane, whom she had encountered before at the Royal Advisory Council.

“Speaker Bitton is a supporter of Melchior. I wonder what brings him here.”

In the original manuscript, Benjamin Bitton only sided with Arthur after “that incident.” It was curious to see him acting already.

“There are plenty of reasons—perhaps he’s here to scout future talent, or maybe to observe the youngest prince who’s just emerged as a new competitor. Oh, oh, ah…!”

Dione abruptly stopped speaking, leaning forward as if to see something better. The buzz in the audience was palpable even from a distance.

Cleio followed Dione’s gaze, intensifying her .

The one who made all the spectators stand and pay respects was a tall, black-haired young man.

That dignified gait, upturned chin, cold white skin, and icy, composed face were all familiar to Cleio.

Aslan Leogunan.

Arriving late, accompanied by Capital Defense Corps Commander Pierce Klagen, the Second Prince exuded a different kind of intimidation than Melchior.

Cleio’s shoulders unconsciously tensed. It was closer to vigilance than fear.

‘Since Melchior has become a monster, it’s highly likely Aslan has also become twisted in a different way from the previous manuscript.’

Aslan’s known ether level was 7.

That was the same as in the previous manuscript. There, he achieved level 8 during the civil war to come.

‘But the previous manuscript wasn’t a comprehensive report of events. Looking back now, it was more like history narrated from Arthur’s perspective…’

In the previous manuscript, the process by which Aslan reached level 8 was only glossed over as “a dark, tainted method,” with no details.

‘If he were just a blind villain meant to lose to the protagonist, that would suffice, but was there ever a one-dimensional character like that in the ?’

Assassins, red-eyed killers, hydra poison, inhuman human experiments.

Though only circumstantial, thinking of these elements together made Aslan someone who could never be taken lightly.

‘And of all people, the blood relative who comes to see Arthur the most is Aslan… This isn’t even black comedy, seriously.’

A step behind Cleio, Dione recognized the last observer’s face and chattered in an even higher voice.

“So it was Prince Aslan! Today’s audience is truly spectacular. I’ve come to the Capital Defense School’s finals every year, but I’ve never seen such a glamorous group of observers.”

“Well, it’s not every day the third prince shows off his swordsmanship.”

Pierce Klagen, with a shameless face, took the seat of honor at the judges’ table.

His thick eyebrows, styled mustache, and uniform heavy with medals seemed to overshadow his good physique.

“It’s not just rare. Look—even that opportunist Sir Pierce, who usually sends a proxy, has come. Royalty don’t usually attend school. Arthur is the first direct royal ever to enroll in a school open to commoners.”

“…Is that so?”

“Oh, what’s the use of reading all those newspapers if you’re still so out of touch. There was an uproar right after that prince passed the entrance exam. Over whether to follow the school’s rule of omitting honorifics for enrolled students, even for him.”

“I spent a long time shut away in my room, that’s why.”

Though she had studied this world diligently, there were still many things Cleio couldn’t keep up with.

‘At least the original owner of this body was a people-averse shut-in, so that serves as an excuse.’

At that moment.

A tremendous roar erupted, rattling the closed window frames.

WAAAAAAH!

Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!

While Cleio was distracted by Aslan and Pierce, the swordsmanship semifinals had begun and suddenly ended.

The second-year representative was staring, dumbfounded, at his sword which had flown outside the testing ground.

“First-year representative Arthur Leogunan, winner!”

A first-year beating a second-year was a huge upset.

The actual winner just awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

Having spent a long time with Arthur, Cleio could read the subtle awkwardness in his otherwise normal expression.

‘That… probably lost control because he was startled by Aslan’s sudden appearance?’

The swordsmanship final would be between the fourth-year representative and the first-year Arthur.

It was the much-anticipated highlight match of the day. The atmosphere was electric.

“Finals for the swordsmanship division. Lars Abelman, Arthur Leogunan, please prepare.”

Dione turned her opera glasses back to the testing ground.

If the match between Isiel and Arthur was a contest of pure sword skill, this bout seemed likely to be a brutal duel showcasing every skill they had.

Fourth-year representative Lars Abelman, as soon as the match started, unleashed his maximum sword energy and struck first.

floated his level above his head, fueling his competitiveness.

The fully grown young man’s physique overwhelmed Arthur’s. For swordsmen, a one-level difference could be overcome by physique or skill.

Seventeen-year-old Arthur was well-built for his age, but compared to a fourth-year, he still looked like an underdeveloped boy.

If he hesitated, his practice sword would be sliced apart, so Arthur had no choice but to extend his own sword energy.

Several exchanges happened in an instant.

Residual light remained where their swords tangled and untangled.

Dione clicked her tongue.

“I learned swordsmanship quite seriously, but I can’t follow the flow of this match at all. I can’t tell what’s happening!”

Cleio, too, could only barely follow the movements using the power of , so she understood Dione’s sentiment.

“They’re evenly matched, trading attacks and holding a tight standoff.”

“Both their sword auras are so intense it’s like they’re using magic.”

“Indeed…”

Even Cleio, who didn’t know much about swordsmanship, could tell Arthur was putting on a display of overwhelming skill. Every time their sword auras clashed explosively, cheers erupted from all sides.

But something was off.

Arthur was usually a swordsman who fought with extremely efficient, economical movements.

‘But why is he putting in so many unnecessary moves today…?’

The answer was clear.

It was probably because of the Second Prince, sitting in the front row with sharp black eyes.

Only around the Second Prince did the mood feel cold and subdued, unlike the rest of the excited crowd.

Arthur was no fool—he wouldn’t show his full strength in front of a brother watching him like a hawk.

‘After breaking the world’s set path and saving even the soprano singer, he can’t lose to some ordinary students… If anything, he’d only attract suspicion for hiding his skills.’

So, he was making grand, flashy but somewhat sloppy movements in his exchanges with the fourth-year representative.

Even his sword aura was barely half as bright and long as usual.

Cleio, who knew how powerful and brilliant Arthur’s ether could become when he fought seriously, could only admire his acting as he put on such a show while maintaining a serious expression.

Arthur feinted an attack at Lars’s head with his right foot, then quickly switched to his left foot, swinging his sword the other way.

Lars’s shoulder was lightly cut, and blood stained his practice uniform.

“Ughhh!!!”

It was a shallow move, almost a trick. But Lars, now excited, extended his sword aura even longer and launched a ferocious flurry of attacks.

It was an excessive level of aggression for an exam.

With ether , differences in strength could be overcome, but the difference in build, and the power of a real two-handed sword, pushed Arthur’s body backward.

Reflexively, Arthur’s sword aura flashed longer, swinging Lars’s sword up from below.

KAKANG!

Their sword auras collided explosively.

For a moment, the testing ground seemed to go stark white.

The next moment, the one rolling on the ground was Lars.

Arthur wore a dismayed expression.

The boy had apparently been aiming to lose gracefully, but acting only works if the timing matches.

WAAAAAAH!

A tremendous cheer seemed to shake the school.

Even the servant boys gathered on the stone steps shouted in excitement at the sight of the relatively slender boy toppling the huge upperclassman.

“Capital Defense School Fall 1890 Final Exam Swordsmanship Division, final winner: Arthur Leogunan. This concludes all evaluations.”

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As he gathered the grading sheets, upperclassman swordsmanship professor George Naor spoke to Rosa with considerable admiration and a touch of jealousy.

“This year’s winner being level 5 at that age is impressive, but his mastery is on a level ordinary level-5 knights can’t compare with. I suppose it’s thanks to your teaching, Professor Rosa.”

“No, Arthur was always an outstanding student. He just couldn’t focus on his studies for a while after enrolling.”

Their warm exchange was abruptly interrupted by Pierce.

“Hmph, maybe because his basics are weak, he has a habit of showy but insubstantial moves.”

Professor George shot back with a biting reply.

“Ha, when did you ever watch him use a sword? He’s so precise he could have been learning from Professor Rosa since age three.”

“Then why can’t I see that precision? If he’s as talented as you say, shouldn’t we guide him even more strictly?”

Capital Defense Corps Commander Pierce Klagen kept glancing at Aslan in the audience as he cut Arthur down.

He hadn’t seen the earlier matches, so he judged Arthur only by the final.

It seemed he was worried Arthur’s outstanding performance in this exam might have offended Aslan.

Watching this made George’s balding forehead flush red.

‘To think the so-called best knight in the country could behave so pettily. To have to call such a man “Sir” is enough to rot my tongue.’

“So, does Lord Pierce intend to resign as commander and take up teaching?”

George Naor himself was not a man of ambition. A hard worker from the Tristan Knight Order, he only reached level 7 in his early forties.

He retired after injuring his leg in the line of duty, and took a position at the Capital Defense School on the recommendation of the Prince of Tristan.

Having lived upright, he could hardly look kindly on Pierce Klagen, who, despite his level-8 skill, changed his stance with the winds of power.

Besides, wasn’t Pierce the scoundrel who killed King Edward, to whom he had sworn as a knight?

‘Professor Rosa is a saint, a saint. To remain so calm even next to her former subordinate who once stabbed her in the eye.’

Pierce openly sneered in front of George’s glare, ostentatiously stroking his styled mustache.

“I’m not so feeble as to lay down my sword yet, but I’d gladly spare the time to instruct that boy once. What do you think?”

“It hardly seems fit for a noble lord such as yourself, so leave the teaching to us faculty.”

“The Capital Defense School is the foundation of the Capital Defense Corps, so I can’t say I have no responsibility.”

George and Rosa exchanged troubled looks. Pierce was clearly not going to back down.

At that moment, a cold voice cut between them.

“Accept the Marquis Pierce’s offer.”

The one who ended the dispute was Aslan, who had approached the judges’ table unnoticed.

Though he was also level 7, George hadn’t even sensed his approach and was startled.

“Y-your Highness…!”

“To receive instruction from the commander of the Capital Defense Corps would be an honor for the boy. Wouldn’t it improve his unruly conduct?”

“In that case, it would be better to set a formal date for a lecture. Today’s events are finished…”

“Marquis Pierce holds an important post defending the capital. He’s hardly so idle as to spare time for students repeatedly.”

Professor Rosa looked at Aslan and Pierce with a complicated expression.

This was not a spontaneous move by Pierce.

The Second Prince and the commander had plotted together from the start to visit the school.

As a nominal noble who had lost her lands, now just a mere teacher, Rosa, backed by the Queen’s faction, could not block the Second Prince.

Aslan wanted Pierce and Arthur to face each other, no matter what.