The classroom had finally become quiet.
Professor Caelan Windstrider stood before the students with a long spear resting vertically against the floor.
He looked at the weapon for a moment before slowly lifting it into his hand.
"Today..."
His voice carried clearly throughout the amphitheater-style classroom.
"We are going to begin with the most fundamental lesson of spear combat."
He raised the weapon.
"The spear."
He turned toward the board and wrote a single word.
SPEAR
Then he faced the class again.
"Do not think of a spear as simply a long piece of metal attached to a wooden shaft."
"A spear is a weapon built around one fundamental advantage."
He extended the weapon forward.
"Reach."
Caelan held the spear horizontally.
"The spear allows you to attack an opponent before that opponent can reach you with a shorter weapon."
He took one step backward.
"That advantage is what makes the spear one of the most practical weapons ever developed."
He shifted his hands along the shaft.
"But reach alone does not make a good spearman."
"It is how you control that reach that matters."
Caelan lowered the spear.
"First."
"Grip."
He demonstrated the proper position of his hands.
"Do not squeeze the shaft as though you are trying to crush it."
"Your grip must be firm enough to control the weapon..."
"...but relaxed enough to allow movement."
He slightly rotated the spear in his hands.
"A rigid grip makes your movements slow."
"A loose grip makes your weapon unstable."
"Control exists between the two."
He adjusted his rear hand.
"The forward hand guides."
"The rear hand provides control and power."
He demonstrated the motion slowly.
"Both hands work together."
"Neither should fight against the other."
Caelan then placed the spear against his shoulder.
"Next."
"Your stance."
He stepped forward.
His front foot pointed toward the direction of his opponent while his rear foot remained slightly angled.
"Your feet should give you stability without preventing movement."
He shifted his weight forward.
"Never place both feet on the same line."
He shifted backward.
"And never stand so wide that you cannot move quickly."
He moved from one stance to another.
"A spearman must constantly be capable of moving."
"Forward."
"Backward."
"Left."
"Right."
"The spear controls distance."
"But your feet determine whether you can maintain that distance."
He raised the spear again.
"Now."
"The basic thrust."
Caelan slowly pulled the spear backward.
"Do not throw your entire body forward."
He extended the weapon.
"The thrust begins from your stance."
"The rear hand drives."
"The forward hand guides."
"The body follows the movement."
He returned to his original position.
"Do not lean excessively."
"Do not overextend."
"And never allow your balance to disappear simply because you wanted additional reach."
He repeated the thrust.
This time faster.
The spear snapped forward with remarkable precision.
Caelan immediately recovered his stance.
"Recovery."
He looked toward the students.
"Many beginners only think about the attack."
"They thrust..."
"And forget what happens afterward."
He demonstrated again.
"Every attack must have a recovery."
"The moment your spear reaches its target..."
"...you must already be prepared for the next movement."
He thrust.
Recovered.
Thrust again.
Recovered.
"The spear is not a weapon of one attack."
"It is a weapon of continuous control."
Caelan began walking slowly across the front of the classroom.
"Now we discuss distance."
He stopped.
"Every weapon has an effective range."
He extended the spear.
"The spear's greatest strength exists near the edge of that range."
He took another step forward.
"If your opponent gets too close..."
"The advantage of the spear begins to disappear."
He stepped backward.
"If your opponent is too far away..."
"Your attacks cannot reach."
He moved forward again.
"So the spearman must constantly manage distance."
"Too far..."
"Move closer."
"Too close..."
"Create distance."
He pointed the spear forward.
"Do not chase your opponent."
"Control where your opponent can stand."
He slowly moved the spear from one side to another.
"The spear can deny an area."
"A horizontal movement can prevent an opponent from approaching from one direction."
He moved the weapon to the opposite side.
"A vertical movement can protect another."
He lowered the spear.
"This is why footwork and weapon control must work together."
Caelan then demonstrated a simple forward step.
"Step."
"Thrust."
"Recover."
"Step."
"Thrust."
"Recover."
His movements became progressively faster.
"Never allow your feet to cross."
"Never sacrifice balance for speed."
"And never forget that your spear is longer than your body."
He stopped.
"That last point is important."
Caelan held the spear vertically.
"A beginner often becomes so focused on the opponent that they forget about their own weapon."
"Your spear occupies space."
"Your allies occupy space."
"Your opponent occupies space."
"Understanding all three is essential."
He lowered the spear.
"Now."
"Changing direction."
Caelan turned his body slightly.
"If your opponent moves to your left..."
"You must not simply swing the entire weapon wildly."
He demonstrated a controlled movement.
"Guide the spear."
"Turn your body."
"Move your feet."
"Maintain your balance."
He repeated the movement in the opposite direction.
"The spear should move with you."
"Not against you."
He then demonstrated a backward step.
"Retreating does not mean surrender."
He took another step backward.
"A controlled retreat maintains distance."
He thrust while stepping backward.
"Sometimes moving backward is the safest way to create the opening for your next attack."
Caelan returned to the center.
"Now we come to one of the most important principles."
"Do not overextend."
He thrust the spear as far as possible.
His front foot remained planted.
Then he deliberately leaned forward.
"This..."
He paused.
"...is what happens when you sacrifice balance for reach."
He immediately corrected his posture.
"An opponent can exploit that mistake."
He demonstrated a controlled thrust.
"Your maximum reach is not necessarily your safest reach."
"The best distance is the distance from which you can attack..."
"...and recover."
Caelan looked toward the clock.
Nearly thirty minutes had passed.
He lowered the spear.
"For your first lesson..."
"Remember five things."
He raised one finger.
"Grip."
Another.
"Stance."
Another.
"Distance."
Another.
"Thrust."
And finally.
"Recovery."
He placed the spear against his shoulder.
"If you master those fundamentals..."
"Everything else becomes easier to understand."
Caelan returned the spear to its stand.
"The spear is not complicated."
"But simplicity does not mean weakness."
He looked across the classroom.
"A weapon becomes powerful when the person holding it understands it."
He glanced toward the clock.
"Our thirty minutes are over."
He stepped away from the front.
"That concludes the spear lesson."
The classroom door opened.
A different presence entered.
The man carried himself with stern dignity.
His age was evident, but so was the strength of decades spent mastering his craft.
His expression was serious.
His posture was straight.
He walked toward the front of the classroom.
Caelan stepped aside.
"Your next lesson will be swordsmanship."
The man stopped beside him.
"I'll take it from here."
Caelan nodded.
"Professor Roland."
Roland Eisenhart faced the classroom.
His eyes were sharp.
His voice was firm.
"Put away your spear notes."
A brief pause.
"Today..."
"We study the sword."
He walked to the front.
Unlike Caelan, Roland did not begin with an elaborate explanation.
He simply drew a longsword.
The blade came free with a quiet metallic sound.
"Look carefully."
He held the sword in a neutral position.
"This is a sword."
"Not a symbol."
"Not jewelry."
"Not an ornament for a nobleman's waist."
His eyes hardened.
"It is a weapon."
Roland raised the blade.
"And if you intend to use one..."
"You will learn to respect it."
He lowered the sword.
"First."
"Grip."
He demonstrated the proper grip around the hilt.
"Do not choke the weapon."
"Your hand must control the sword without turning your wrist rigid."
He adjusted his fingers.
"The sword should feel like an extension of your arm."
"Not a separate object."
Roland moved into a basic stance.
"Your feet must remain beneath you."
"Your knees must remain flexible."
"Your body must remain balanced."
He shifted forward.
"Never lock your knees."
He shifted backward.
"Never allow your weight to become trapped on one foot."
He raised the sword.
"Now."
"The basic cut."
Roland brought the sword downward.
The movement was clean.
There was no unnecessary flourish.
"Do not swing the sword like an axe."
He repeated the movement.
"A sword cuts through controlled movement."
"The edge must meet the target correctly."
He slowly turned the blade.
"The angle of the blade matters."
"Your wrists matter."
"Your shoulders matter."
"Your hips matter."
"Your feet matter."
"The entire body contributes to the cut."
Roland demonstrated another controlled slash.
"Next."
"The thrust."
He positioned the sword forward.
"The thrust is different from the cut."
"It relies upon alignment."
He extended the sword.
"The blade travels in a direct line."
"Your body follows behind it."
"Your balance remains centered."
He withdrew the sword.
"And then..."
"Recovery."
Roland's expression remained stern.
"Never leave your sword extended without purpose."
He repeated the thrust.
"Attack."
"Recover."
"Guard."
"Attack."
"Recover."
"Guard."
He continued the sequence.
"The sword is not simply an offensive weapon."
"It is also defensive."
Roland raised the blade.
"This is where many inexperienced swordsmen make their greatest mistake."
"They believe defense means standing still."
He shook his head.
"Defense is movement."
He stepped sideways.
"Distance."
He stepped backward.
"Position."
He shifted his sword.
"Timing."
"These are your defenses."
Roland demonstrated a simple parry.
The blade moved only a short distance.
"Do not use excessive force."
"A proper parry redirects an attack."
"It does not require you to overpower the opponent's weapon."
He repeated the movement.
"Small movements."
"Precise movements."
"Controlled movements."
He lowered the sword.
"That is defensive swordsmanship."
Roland began walking across the front of the classroom.
"A swordsman must understand three things."
He raised the sword.
"Where you are."
He moved the blade.
"Where your opponent is."
Then he shifted his stance.
"And where both of you will be."
He stopped.
"That final point is the difference between reacting..."
"...and anticipating."
Roland demonstrated a step forward followed by a controlled cut.
"Do not attack because you are angry."
"Do not attack because your opponent insulted you."
"Do not attack because you want to look impressive."
His eyes became colder.
"Attack because the opening exists."
He lowered the sword.
"Emotion has no place in technique."
"Technique requires discipline."
He demonstrated another sequence.
"Guard."
"Step."
"Cut."
"Recover."
"Guard."
Again.
"Step."
"Thrust."
"Recover."
He stopped.
"Every movement must have a reason."
Roland looked toward the sword in his hand.
"A longsword gives you several options."
"Cutting."
"Thrusting."
"Guarding."
"Counterattacking."
"But having options does not mean using everything at once."
He returned to his stance.
"A disciplined swordsman chooses the simplest action that solves the problem."
Roland then demonstrated a defensive sequence.
An imaginary strike approached.
He shifted his blade.
Redirected.
Stepped.
And immediately returned to guard.
"The counterattack."
He looked at the students.
"Defense creates opportunities."
"Your opponent attacks."
"You defend."
"Their weapon moves away."
"And for a brief moment..."
"There is an opening."
Roland demonstrated.
"That moment is enough."
He recovered.
"Then return to guard."
He sheathed the sword.
"Never admire your own attack."
"Never assume your opponent is defeated."
"Never lower your guard until the fight is finished."
Roland looked toward the clock.
Thirty minutes had passed.
He turned toward the classroom.
"Your first sword lesson is finished."
"The fundamentals are simple."
"Grip."
"Stance."
"Cut."
"Thrust."
"Guard."
"Parry."
"Recover."
He paused.
"But mastery..."
His expression became severe.
"...takes years."
Roland stepped away from the front.
"Remember that."
The classroom door opened again.
A quiet figure entered.
He moved without unnecessary noise.
His eyes immediately swept across the room.
Nothing escaped his attention.
Not the desks.
Not the windows.
Not the students.
Not even the smallest movement.
Aldric Hawkeye walked toward the front.
Roland looked at him.
"Senior Instructor Aldric."
Aldric gave a small nod.
"I'll take the next lesson."
Roland stepped aside.
Aldric stood before the class.
Unlike Caelan's energetic teaching style or Roland's stern delivery, Aldric was quiet.
He carried a longbow.
He held it carefully.
He looked at the weapon.
Then at the class.
"Today..."
His voice was calm.
"...we learn the bow."
He raised the weapon.
"First lesson."
"The bow is not about strength."
Aldric slowly drew the string without an arrow.
"It is about control."
He released it.
The string snapped gently back into place.
"Anyone can pull a bowstring."
"That does not make them an archer."
He examined the bow.
"First."
"Your stance."
Aldric placed his feet carefully.
"Your body must provide stability."
He turned slightly.
"Your shoulders remain relaxed."
"Your back remains straight."
"Your feet remain firmly planted."
He raised the bow.
"An archer cannot afford unnecessary movement."
Aldric demonstrated the position again.
"Next."
"The grip."
He held the bow.
"Do not crush the handle."
"The bow must remain stable..."
"...but your hand must remain relaxed."
He slowly drew the string.
"Excessive tension creates unnecessary movement."
He released.
"Control."
Aldric reached for an arrow.
"This is your ammunition."
He placed the arrow onto the bowstring.
"The arrow must sit correctly."
"The nocking point must be consistent."
"The bow must be held at the same angle."
He raised the weapon.
"Consistency."
He drew the string.
"That is the foundation of archery."
He released.
The arrow flew toward the distant target.
It struck near the center.
Aldric didn't react.
He simply reached for another arrow.
"Do it again."
He nocked another arrow.
"Differences in your stance..."
"Your draw..."
"Your release..."
"Even your breathing..."
"Can change where the arrow lands."
He drew.
Released.
Another arrow struck the target.
Aldric lowered the bow.
"Breathing."
He inhaled slowly.
"Do not hold your breath for too long."
"Do not release while your body is moving."
"Your breathing should become part of your rhythm."
He drew.
"Draw."
"Set."
"Breath."
"Release."
The arrow struck the target.
Aldric turned away from the target.
"Now..."
"Distance."
He walked several steps backward.
"An archer must understand range."
He raised his bow.
"At different distances, the arrow follows a different trajectory."
He pointed toward the target.
"You must understand where the arrow will travel."
"Not where you wish it would travel."
He drew.
"Your eyes must judge."
"Your mind must calculate."
"Your body must execute."
The arrow flew.
It struck the target.
Aldric lowered the bow.
"Now..."
"The wind."
The classroom became quieter.
Aldric turned toward the windows.
He watched the curtains move slightly.
"Wind is invisible."
"But an archer must learn to see its effects."
He looked toward the target.
"Leaves."
"Grass."
"Smoke."
"Clothing."
"Flags."
"Even dust."
He pointed toward the window.
"All of them reveal movement in the air."
Aldric raised his bow.
"Do not fight the wind."
"Predict it."
He drew.
Waited.
Then released.
The arrow flew slightly against the apparent direction of the wind.
It struck the target.
Aldric lowered the bow.
"The stronger the wind..."
"The more difficult the shot."
"But wind is not random."
"It has patterns."
He looked toward the distant target.
"Observe."
"Predict."
"Adjust."
"Release."
He repeated the sequence.
Aldric then took another arrow.
"Now..."
"Moving targets."
He placed the arrow onto the string.
"A stationary target is easy to understand."
"It remains where you expect it to be."
"But a moving target..."
He looked toward a mechanical target being prepared at the far end of the training area.
"...requires prediction."
The target began moving sideways.
Aldric did not immediately draw.
He watched.
The target continued moving.
Aldric's eyes followed it.
Then...
He drew the bow.
His gaze shifted slightly ahead of the target.
He released.
The arrow struck the moving target.
Aldric lowered the bow.
"Do not aim where the target is."
"Aim where it will be."
He raised another arrow.
"That is anticipation."
The target moved again.
Aldric watched.
Waited.
Drew.
Released.
Another perfect hit.
He lowered the bow.
"Speed is not the greatest advantage of an archer."
"Accuracy is."
He paused.
"And accuracy comes from repetition."
Aldric slowly placed the bow against his shoulder.
"Your first goal is not to shoot quickly."
"It is to shoot correctly."
"Again."
"Again."
"And again."
He looked toward the target.
"Until the correct movement becomes natural."
The clock continued moving.
Thirty minutes had passed.
Aldric lowered the bow.
"Your first archery lesson ends here."
He looked across the classroom.
"Remember."
"Stance."
"Grip."
"Draw."
"Breathing."
"Release."
"Distance."
"Wind."
"Prediction."
"Accuracy."
He rested the bow against his side.
"An archer does not simply fire arrows."
He looked toward the distant target.
"An archer observes."
"An archer calculates."
"An archer waits."
"And when the moment arrives..."
Aldric's eyes narrowed slightly.
"...the arrow is already on its way."
He turned toward the clock.
"The lesson is over."
The classroom fell silent.
Three weapons.
Three instructors.
Three different philosophies.
But every lesson had begun with the same principle.
Before anyone could become skilled...
They had to learn.
------
Chapter 59: Learning (Continued)
The next bell rang.
The sound echoed through the enormous classroom, signaling the end of the archery lesson.
The students barely had time to settle before another instructor entered.
A man with dark hair and a quiet, intimidating presence walked toward the front of the room.
His eyes passed over the class without lingering on anyone.
"Kael Draven."
His voice was low.
"Bladed weapons."
He turned toward the training equipment prepared at the side of the classroom.
"Dual blades. Daggers. Fighting when surrounded. Fighting when disarmed."
That was all he said.
He began the lesson.
The students listened.
Kael demonstrated a few basic movements, showing how a fighter could maintain control of two blades without allowing his movements to interfere with one another.
His lesson briefly touched upon positioning, close combat, and surviving when an opponent managed to take away a weapon.
There was little unnecessary explanation.
His movements spoke for him.
Thirty minutes later, another bell rang.
Kael simply stepped away.
The classroom door opened again.
This time, a short but heavily built dwarf entered.
His beard was thick, gray, and braided in several places.
He carried a hammer over one shoulder as though it weighed nothing.
"Borin Ironmantle!"
His voice immediately filled the classroom.
"Some of you might already know me!"
He slammed the head of his hammer against the floor.
The entire room seemed to shake.
"I teach hammers and maces!"
A grin appeared beneath his beard.
"And if you think swinging one of these around makes you strong, I'll personally teach you otherwise!"
A few students nervously laughed.
Borin spent the lesson demonstrating basic hammer and mace handling, emphasizing weight, balance, armor-breaking strikes, and how the weapon should move naturally with the body.
His voice was loud enough that nobody needed to wonder whether they were supposed to pay attention.
But even his lesson eventually ended.
Another thirty minutes passed.
Then came the next professor.
The classroom became unusually quiet when he entered.
He was enormous.
Even among the academy's diverse races, Magnus Aegis stood out.
His muscular frame towered over the students, his dark hair falling neatly around his sharp features.
He looked more like a warrior than a scholar.
Yet the moment he raised one hand, a small sphere of mana appeared above his palm.
It rotated slowly.
Perfectly controlled.
Not a single fluctuation escaped its shape.
"My name is Magnus Aegis."
His voice was calm.
"I teach General Magic."
He glanced across the classroom.
"Mana manipulation. Spell construction. Magical theory. Combat applications."
The sphere vanished.
"Control comes before power."
And that was enough.
The lesson began.
For the next thirty minutes, Magnus explained the fundamental principles of mana and spell construction.
There were no grand explosions.
No spectacular demonstrations.
Only the precise control of magical energy.
Eventually, another bell rang.
The first lessons of the day continued to pass one after another.
For many students, the information was overwhelming.
For others, it was exciting.
But for Bereshith...
His attention kept drifting toward the person sitting beside him.
Kriska.
Or rather...
Kinsley.
She had barely spoken to him since the morning.
Even after their argument in the infirmary, she continued to sit beside him with her arms folded.
Her eyes remained fixed toward the front of the classroom.
Bereshith glanced at her.
"Kriska."
No response.
He waited.
"Kriska."
Still nothing.
Bereshith leaned slightly closer.
"I wanted to ask you something."
Silence.
He sighed.
"I know you are angry."
Nothing.
"But you don't have to ignore me."
Kinsley's eyes remained fixed ahead.
Bereshith scratched his cheek.
"Are you still upset about what Cyte said?"
Nothing.
"Or perhaps you're angry because I agreed with her?"
Still nothing.
Bereshith lowered his voice.
"I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings."
Kinsley's fingers tightened around her sleeve.
She heard him.
She simply refused to acknowledge him.
Bereshith noticed.
He sighed again.
"Alright."
He turned toward the front.
For several seconds, he remained quiet.
Then he looked back at her.
"I suppose I should tell you something."
Kinsley did not move.
"This morning..."
"I went to the infirmary because I was looking for help."
Her eyes shifted slightly.
Bereshith continued.
"I didn't know where to go."
"I didn't know where the classroom was."
"I was already late."
"And then I found you."
Kinsley's expression remained cold.
"I thought perhaps you could help me."
Nothing.
"So I asked."
Bereshith smiled awkwardly.
"But you ignored me."
Kinsley finally glanced toward him.
Only for a moment.
Then she looked away again.
Bereshith quietly laughed.
"I suppose that was my fault for asking the wrong person."
Kinsley frowned.
She wanted to say something.
But she stopped herself.
Bereshith leaned back into his chair.
"I was honestly hoping someone would help me."
His voice was softer now.
"I didn't know anyone else in this classroom."
He looked around.
"There are so many people here."
"Nobles."
"Commoners."
"Elves."
"Dwarves."
"Half-demons."
"People from places I've never even heard of."
He paused.
"I thought someone might at least tell me where I was supposed to go."
Kinsley continued ignoring him.
But she was listening.
Bereshith looked down at his hands.
"I suppose I was lucky."
Kinsley glanced at him again.
"Because eventually..."
"Someone did help me."
A gentle voice came from nearby.
"Are you having trouble finding your way around the academy?"
Bereshith turned.
A young girl was looking at him.
She had an elegant appearance and a calm expression.
Her presence carried the unmistakable air of nobility.
She was Isolde Ravenshade.
A girl from an old noble bloodline.
Unlike some nobles who carried their status like a weapon, Isolde's manner was quiet and composed.
She had apparently noticed Bereshith's confusion earlier.
Her expression softened.
"If you are unfamiliar with the academy, I can help you."
Bereshith blinked.
For a moment, he simply stared at her.
Then his posture changed.
He straightened his back.
His expression became calm.
His voice became noticeably more refined.
"Lady Ravenshade."
He gave her a polite bow.
"I sincerely apologize if my confusion has caused you inconvenience."
Isolde blinked.
She hadn't expected such a formal response.
Bereshith continued.
"Your kindness is greatly appreciated."
His manners were impeccable.
"However, I would not wish to impose upon you unnecessarily."
Isolde smiled gently.
"You aren't imposing."
She gestured toward the hallway.
"I remember being lost during my first week here as well."
Bereshith smiled.
"Then I am grateful to receive assistance from someone with such experience."
He bowed his head slightly.
"Thank you, Lady Isolde."
Isolde's smile grew.
"There is no need to be so formal."
Bereshith shook his head.
"I couldn't possibly."
He looked genuinely serious.
"You have shown me compassion when you had no obligation to do so."
"For that reason alone, you deserve my respect."
Isolde became slightly embarrassed.
"You're very polite."
"I was taught that kindness should always be answered with respect."
Bereshith smiled.
"And I would be terribly rude if I responded to your kindness with anything less."
Isolde looked at him for a moment.
There was something sincere about his words.
He wasn't flattering her because she was noble.
He was thanking her because she had helped him.
That distinction was obvious.
"Then..."
She gave him a small smile.
"You're welcome, Bereshith."
Kinsley's expression changed.
Her eyes slowly shifted toward them.
She had been ignoring Bereshith for several minutes.
Now...
Someone else was talking to him.
And Bereshith was treating her with complete respect.
Kinsley's eyebrow twitched.
She looked away.
Then back.
Isolde continued speaking gently.
"If you ever become lost again, you can ask me."
Bereshith nodded.
"I shall remember that, Lady Ravenshade."
"You really don't have to call me Lady Ravenshade every time."
"I must insist."
Isolde laughed quietly.
"You're stubborn."
"I have been told that before."
Bereshith smiled.
Kinsley's fingers tightened around her sleeve.
She couldn't understand why she suddenly felt irritated.
She had been the one ignoring him.
She had deliberately refused to answer him.
So why...
Why was she annoyed that someone else was giving him attention?
Kinsley glanced toward Isolde.
The half-demon girl was still smiling kindly.
There was no arrogance.
No hidden motive.
No attempt to gain anything.
She had simply noticed that Bereshith needed help...
And helped him.
Kinsley's expression darkened.
Bereshith turned back toward her.
"Kriska."
She immediately looked toward the front.
He sighed.
"You're still ignoring me."
Nothing.
Bereshith shook his head.
"Very well."
He turned back toward Isolde.
"Lady Isolde, may I ask where the next classroom is?"
Isolde nodded.
"Of course."
Kinsley's eye twitched again.
She finally couldn't stand it.
She turned toward them.
"Why are you suddenly talking like that?"
Bereshith looked at her.
"Like what?"
"Like..."
Kinsley hesitated.
"...Like some kind of prince."
Bereshith blinked.
Then he looked at Isolde.
Then back at Kinsley.
"I am speaking respectfully to Lady Isolde."
"Why?"
"Because she helped me."
Kinsley frowned.
"So?"
Bereshith tilted his head.
"So?"
He genuinely didn't understand.
"She treated me with kindness."
He smiled.
"Why wouldn't I treat her with respect?"
Kinsley became silent.
Bereshith continued.
"Besides, she is a noble lady."
"I was raised to respect those who deserve respect."
Kinsley crossed her arms.
"You weren't this formal with me."
Bereshith stared at her.
For a moment...
He said nothing.
Then his lips curved into a mischievous smile.
"That's because you punched me."
Kinsley froze.
Isolde covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
Bereshith continued with a completely serious expression.
"And then attempted to strangle me."
Kinsley's face flushed.
"I did not!"
"You did."
"I wasn't trying to strangle you!"
"You put your hands around my neck."
"I was angry!"
"I noticed."
Kinsley looked away.
Bereshith smiled.
"Therefore, Lady Isolde receives my respect."
He pointed toward Kinsley.
"And you receive..."
He paused.
"...my concern."
Kinsley looked back at him.
"Concern?"
Bereshith nodded.
"Because you seem to have a serious problem with controlling your temper."
Isolde finally laughed softly.
Kinsley stared at Bereshith.
Her cheeks turned red.
"You..."
She clenched her fists.
Bereshith immediately raised both hands.
"Please don't punch me again."
"I wasn't going to!"
"Your fists disagree."
Kinsley looked down.
Her hands were indeed clenched.
She quickly relaxed them.
Isolde smiled.
The tension between them had not disappeared.
But something had changed.
Bereshith was no longer desperately trying to force Kinsley to speak.
Instead...
He had simply begun talking to someone who was willing to listen.
And somehow...
That bothered Kinsley more than she wanted to admit.
-----
Chapter 59: Learning (Continued)
The conversation between Bereshith and Isolde continued quietly while the lessons changed around them.
It was only then that Bereshith suddenly looked down at his desk.
His expression froze.
He slowly checked the inside of his bag.
Then checked it again.
Nothing.
No notebook.
No pencil.
Bereshith closed his eyes.
"...Oh dear."
Isolde noticed.
"Something wrong?"
Bereshith looked at her with an embarrassed smile.
"I appear to have made a rather unfortunate mistake."
"What happened?"
"I forgot to bring my notebooks."
Isolde blinked.
"Your notebooks?"
"And my pencil."
He gave a small, apologetic laugh.
"I prepared so carefully for my first day at the academy, yet somehow managed to forget the two things I actually needed for studying."
Isolde covered her mouth.
A small laugh escaped her.
"I'm sorry."
She tried to compose herself.
"But..."
She looked at his completely serious expression.
"...That's actually a little funny."
Bereshith smiled.
"I am glad my misfortune could provide you with entertainment, Lady Isolde."
Isolde laughed again.
"You really don't have to call me that every time."
"I apologize."
"You just did it again."
Bereshith paused.
"...I did."
Isolde smiled.
"I think you enjoy being formal."
"I wouldn't say that."
"You absolutely do."
Bereshith placed a hand against his chest.
"I merely believe that proper manners should be maintained when speaking with a lady."
"Even if she's sitting right beside you?"
"Especially then."
Isolde laughed softly.
She opened her bag.
"I have an extra notebook."
Bereshith looked surprised.
"You do?"
She placed it on his desk.
"And I have another pencil."
She handed that to him as well.
Bereshith stared at the items for a moment.
Then he looked at her.
"Lady Isolde..."
"Don't say it."
He stopped.
Isolde smiled.
"You're welcome."
Bereshith chuckled.
"Thank you."
He accepted the notebook and pencil carefully.
"I promise I shall return them to you."
"You can keep the notebook."
Bereshith immediately shook his head.
"No, I couldn't."
"It's only a notebook."
"That doesn't matter."
He looked at her sincerely.
"You lent it to me. Therefore, it belongs to you."
Isolde stared at him.
Then smiled.
"You really are strange."
"Is that a compliment?"
"I'm not sure yet."
Bereshith laughed quietly.
He opened the notebook.
"Regardless, I am grateful."
"Then use it properly."
"I shall."
Isolde leaned slightly toward him.
"You're really going to write everything down?"
"Of course."
"Even the boring things?"
"Especially the boring things."
"Why?"
Bereshith looked at her.
"Because I don't yet know which things will become important later."
Isolde's eyes softened.
"That's actually a good way of thinking."
Bereshith began writing.
For the first time since entering the academy, he was able to properly follow the lesson.
Isolde occasionally glanced at his notebook.
His handwriting was neat.
Very neat.
Almost unnaturally neat.
She smiled.
"You write beautifully."
Bereshith looked at the page.
"Thank you."
"Did someone teach you?"
"Several people."
"Your family?"
"Lady Maria and Eva."
He paused.
"They were very strict."
Isolde giggled.
"I can imagine."
Bereshith looked at her.
"You seem to be enjoying yourself."
"I am."
"May I ask why?"
Isolde rested her cheek against her hand.
"Because you're interesting."
Bereshith blinked.
"Interesting?"
"You're polite."
She counted on her fingers.
"You're kind."
Another finger.
"You're strangely serious about everything."
Another.
"And you're very different from the nobles I've met."
Bereshith smiled faintly.
"I don't think I am particularly different."
"You are."
"How?"
Isolde thought for a moment.
"Most people who meet me first notice my family name."
She looked down at her desk.
"They either become nervous, overly polite, or try to impress me."
Bereshith listened.
"You didn't."
"I did."
"No."
She smiled.
"You treated me like a person."
Bereshith's expression softened.
"That is because you are one."
Isolde looked at him.
Bereshith continued writing as though he hadn't said anything unusual.
"You were kind enough to help me when I needed it."
"That is enough reason for me to respect you."
Isolde stared at him for several seconds.
Then she smiled.
A genuine smile.
"I think I'm beginning to understand why people like you."
Bereshith raised an eyebrow.
"People like me?"
"Yes."
She laughed.
"You're completely unaware of it, aren't you?"
"Of what?"
Isolde shook her head.
"Nothing."
Across the classroom, someone was watching them.
Roderick Vane.
Fifteen years old.
A Half-Demon.
A noble.
His family possessed no vast territory.
No enormous fortune.
No royal influence.
They were a minor noble house.
But Roderick carried his family's name with pride.
And right now...
His eyes were fixed on Isolde.
Then on Bereshith.
His expression gradually darkened.
What the fuck is that lowly human thinks he's doing talking to my fiancée?!
His hand tightened around his pencil.
Isolde didn't notice.
She was too busy talking with Bereshith.
"So..."
She looked at his notebook.
"What subject do you like?"
Bereshith considered the question.
"I don't know yet."
"You don't?"
"I have only just begun."
He smiled.
"I suppose I'll discover it eventually."
"You don't have something you already enjoy?"
"Perhaps."
He thought about it.
"I enjoy learning things that can help me understand people."
Isolde tilted her head.
"People?"
"Yes."
Bereshith closed his notebook for a moment.
"Everyone has their own circumstances."
"Some are born into noble families."
"Some are born into common families."
"Some are taught from childhood."
"Others have to teach themselves."
He looked around the classroom.
"And I think understanding those differences is important."
Isolde smiled.
"That's surprisingly mature."
"I don't know if it is."
"It is."
She leaned closer.
"You're definitely different."
Bereshith laughed.
"Perhaps."
The bell eventually rang again.
The classroom shifted from one subject to another.
One professor after another appeared throughout the day.
Lucius Valerian, known as The Golden Benediction, taught Divine Blessings, covering healing, protection, purification, and holy barriers.
Eldarion Sylven, The Azure Elementalist, taught Elemental Arts, introducing the students to fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, and the principles behind combining them.
Seraphiel Lunareth, The Moon Sorceress, taught Sorcery, touching upon advanced spell manipulation, illusions, curses, and mana conversion.
Beatrice Goldleaf, The Alchemical Rose, taught Alchemy, introducing potions, medicinal ingredients, transmutation, and magical materials.
Marielle Hearthwyn, The Hearth Queen, taught Culinary Arts, explaining noble cuisine, practical meals, nutrition, and the proper use of magical ingredients.
Nymira Faelune, The Spirit Caller, taught Summoning Arts, introducing spirits, magical contracts, familiars, and the principles of summoning magical creatures.
Celestia Dawnmere, The Saint of Radiance, taught Advanced Blessings, focusing on powerful barriers, enhancement, purification, and blessings capable of protecting groups of people.
Isadora Ravenswell, The Crimson Historian, taught History and Civilization, taking the students through ancient kingdoms, wars, races, political developments, and forgotten civilizations.
Finally, Evelyne Runehart, The Rune Enchantress, taught Rune Enchantment, introducing magical inscriptions, enchanted weapons, enchanted armor, and the principles of constructing stable runes.
The teachers came and went.
The lessons changed.
The day gradually moved forward.
And through it all...
Bereshith continued borrowing Isolde's notebook.
Every now and then, she leaned over to point something out.
Sometimes Bereshith asked a question.
Sometimes Isolde quietly laughed at one of his overly formal responses.
Their conversation became easier.
Natural.
Almost as though they had known each other for much longer than a single day.
Isolde found herself enjoying his company.
She liked his manners.
She liked his kindness.
Most of all...
She liked that his respect didn't feel forced.
It felt genuine.
Meanwhile, several seats away...
Roderick's irritation continued growing.
He watched them.
He watched Isolde smile.
He watched Bereshith speak to her.
And every time Isolde laughed...
His expression became colder.
Eventually...
The final bell rang.
The sound echoed through the classroom.
Students began packing their belongings.
Chairs moved.
Bags closed.
Conversations filled the room.
Bereshith carefully closed Isolde's notebook.
He handed it back to her.
"Thank you, Lady Isolde."
She smiled.
"You're welcome."
"And I apologize once again for troubling you."
"You didn't trouble me."
She stood.
"In fact..."
She smiled mischievously.
"I had fun."
Bereshith smiled.
"I am glad."
They began walking toward the classroom exit together.
Isolde was still talking.
Bereshith listened politely.
Neither noticed the figure approaching from behind.
Roderick suddenly stepped forward.
He grabbed Isolde by the arm.
"Roderick?"
Isolde was startled.
He pulled her away from Bereshith.
Bereshith immediately stopped.
His expression changed.
Roderick stood between them.
His eyes were fixed coldly upon Bereshith.
The surrounding students gradually became quiet.
Roderick tightened his grip around Isolde's arm.
Then he spoke.
"Who do you think you are talking to my fiancée."