I stood back and watched as Annes guided Copelan's hands on the practice sword's hilt. A week had passed since my victory over Lyman, yet the other C-rank students treated me no differently. If anything, they seemed more at ease around me now.

"No, no. Your grip is too tight." Annes adjusted Copelan's fingers. "You're strangling the poor thing. Be much looser. Loose enough to move, yet firm enough to control."

"But my father always said-"

"Your father isn't here." Annes stepped back, demonstrating the proper stance. "Watch how I hold it. See how the pommel rests against my palm? That's where the control comes from."

Across the training yard, Yulios swung his axe at a wooden dummy. The massive youth had complained earlier about Langdon's sword requirements, but Annes had dismissed our absent instructor's rules with a casual "fuck Langdon."

"Fuck Langdon!" Patter and Sven echoed, their spear and daggers finding their marks with renewed enthusiasm.

"Were you really part of the Six Blades?" Copelan asked, his perpetual scowl softening with curiosity.

"Yeah." Annes's usual brash demeanor dimmed. "Famous enough that even a noble like you heard of us, huh?"

"Why'd you leave?"

"Wanted to join the Academy." She shrugged, but I detected the lie in her casual tone. "Stupid decision, looking back."

Annes of Roland

Level 15 Swordsman

Sapien (Human)

Female

Age: 19

My Analyze ability confirmed what I already suspected and that there was more to her story than she let on. But it wasn't my place to pry. We all had our secrets.

I focused on my own practice dummy, all the while observing Annes's instruction. Though I had no need for basic sword training, watching her teach revealed interesting insights into human combat techniques.

What style are you teaching us? I asked Annes as she corrected Yulios's grip on his practice axe.

Her grin flashed bright in the morning sun. "Adventurer Style."

"Never heard of it," said Copelan.

"That's because it's not really a style." She walked over, examining my stance. "Just tricks and tips passed down between adventurers. The beauty is that it works with any weapon: sword, spear, axe, daggers. Whatever you've got on hand."

"The system doesn't recognize it," Copelan added, his noble accent crisp despite his breathlessness. "I checked. No attribute listing."

"Course not." Annes snorted. "System only likes fancy shit. Too focused on making everything neat and tidy. Real combat isn't like that."

I paused mid-swing. That seems limiting.

"It is." Copelan lowered his practice sword. "I've noticed most system abilities are highly specialized. They box people in, force them down specific paths."

His observation sparked something in my fragmented memories. Was that why Isparan Battlefield Fencing didn't appear in my attributes? The style incorporated both sword and spear techniques, designed for the chaos of war rather than structured duels.

But no. That explanation felt incomplete. There was another reason the system didn't recognize my combat knowledge, something deeper that tugged at the edges of my shattered past.

"Hey!" Annes's shout broke through my thoughts. "Less thinking, more swinging. You're here to train, not philosophize."

"Takes me back," Patter said, spinning her practice spear with ease. "Reminds me of my early days, training with the other rookies."

Annes's face lit up. "Knew I spotted a fellow adventurer in you. Could tell by how you move."

"I wasn't as famous as the Six Blades." Patter returned her grin. "But I made a decent name for myself back in Calmton."

I watched Yulios swing his axe in wide, powerful arcs. His movements were raw but effective. Were you an adventurer too?

The large teen shook his head. "Nah. Me and my big brother just traveled around the kingdom, doing odd jobs for folks who needed help."

What's your brother doing now?

"Don't know." Yulios paused mid-swing. "Last I saw him, you'd stabbed him. Twice."

My mechanical body went still. What?

"During the entrance ceremony." He gestured with his axe. "You fought him. Beat him pretty good too."

The memory clicked into place, and I recalled the level 13 Axeman I'd faced during the duels. Now that Yulios mentioned it, I could see the family resemblance in their builds and features.

I'm sorry about hurting your brother.

Yulios just shrugged, resuming his practice swings. "Don't be. Brother's strong, but you were stronger. That's just how things work."

His simple acceptance caught me off guard. After Lyman's violent reaction to his brother's death, I'd expected more hostility. But Yulios approached combat with the same straightforward attitude he seemed to apply to everything else.

"Speaking of styles," Annes wiped sweat from her brow, "what's yours? Been watching you since the entrance ceremony. Even during Shawe's assessment. Never seen anything like it."

I lowered my practice sword. What do you mean?

"Well, there's bits of Court Style in there. The way you shift your weight, some of the basic forms." She demonstrated a typical Court Style stance. "But everything else is different. More... fluid. Practical."

It's called Isparan Battlefield Fencing. The name flowed naturally from my memories. Similar to Court Style, yes, but designed for fighting multiple opponents across open battlefields.

Stolen story; please report.

"Never heard of it." Copelan's scowl deepened with interest. "And I've studied most noble fighting techniques."

The system doesn't recognize it either.

"Now that's strange." He tapped his practice sword against his leg. "It's clearly a refined style, not just random techniques cobbled together like Adventurer Style-"

Annes's foot shot out, catching him in the shin. "Watch it, noble boy."

To my surprise, Copelan laughed. "You know what I mean. No offense intended."

I watched their interaction, considering. These C-rank students had welcomed me despite my bizarre nature. Annes had even taught me Blade Skill, a valuable combat technique.

Would you like to learn it? The words emerged before I fully processed the thought. But once spoken, the idea felt right.

"Learn what?" Annes asked.

Isparan Battlefield Fencing. Something stirred in my fragmented memories; was it pride, perhaps? A desire to preserve this ancient combat style? I could teach you all.

"Really?" Yulios lowered his axe. "You'd teach us?"

Yes. I nodded. The style was mainly designed with swords and spears in mind, but it can be modified to work with any weapon. It might help you advance beyond C-rank.

"And you're sure it's not in the system?" Copelan asked.

Positive.

"Then how do you know it?"

I paused, considering my answer carefully. I learned it... before. Before coming to the Academy.

It wasn't exactly a lie. The memories of the style had indeed come from before, though exactly how far before, I couldn't say.

"Well," Annes grinned, "I taught you Blade Skill. Seems fair to trade one skill for another."

I lined up my fellow C-rank students, memories flickering through my mind like half-burned pages. Soldiers in neat rows, their armor gleaming in the morning sun. Gruff voices barking commands, correcting stances, adjusting grips on weapons.

Stand straight, I commanded through Mind Speech. Feet shoulder-width apart. This is the foundation stance.

The fragments grew clearer as I moved between them, adjusting Yulios's axe grip, nudging Patter's foot into proper position. Each correction sparked another memory, of drill sergeants doing the same on dusty practice fields, preparing troops for war.

"This feels familiar," Copelan said, his practice sword held at the ready. "Like watching my father's soldiers train in our courtyard back home. Same discipline, same attention to detail."

The style was developed for military use. I shifted Sven's daggers into a more defensive position. Every movement has purpose. No wasted energy.

More memories surfaced. Rows of spearmen learning to work as one unit, swordsmen practicing flanking maneuvers. The techniques were designed not just for individual combat, but for coordinated battlefield action.

Patter, Copelan. Your weapons have reach. You'll form the front line. I positioned them ahead of the others. Annes, Yulios. You're the second rank. Your heavier weapons provide stopping power when enemies break through.

"What about me?" Sven asked, twirling his practice daggers.

You're mobile support. Your role is to exploit openings created by the others.

The formation clicked into place, and another memory crystallized: hundreds of soldiers arranged in similar patterns, their weapons a forest of steel ready for battle.

"Just like home," Copelan nodded, his usual scowl replaced with understanding. "Father's master-at-arms drills the household guard the same way. Different style, but same principles."

I watched them move through basic forms, each student adapting the techniques to their preferred weapons. The memories kept flowing, each a bit clearer now, more coherent. I saw vast armies training under open skies, preparing to face threats that could shake the world itself.

These were my memories, weren't they? The visions had to belong to me; I was there, experiencing each moment firsthand. Or were they someone else's recollections? Those of a person who had led vast forces and shaped soldiers into fighting men.

I was again reminded of Ludwig, the old priest of Weath. He told me that I was just a delusional monster with fake memories of being human. Was that what all these were? Delusions?

"Hey," Annes's voice pulled me back to the present. "You alright? You went quiet there for a minute."

Just remembering, I replied, focusing on adjusting her sword stance. Now, let's work on coordinated movement. The key to Isparan Fencing is fluid transition between individual and group combat.

I pushed the questions aside. The memories' origin mattered less than their usefulness in this moment, teaching these outcasts a fighting style that might help them survive.

I watched my fellow C-rank students practice the forms I'd taught them, noting their quick progress. Each movement flowed smoother than the last, their coordination improving with every drill. Part of me wondered if this rapid improvement came from natural talent or some hidden system ability I couldn't see.

After two hours, I called for a break. Copelan and Sven immediately dropped where they stood, sweat dripping from their faces. Annes tried to maintain her composure, but her heavy breathing betrayed her exhaustion. Only Yulios and Patter seemed to have energy left, though they both made straight for the water barrel.

"By the gods," Copelan gasped between breaths. "You're one vicious taskmaster, Widow."

It's for your own good, I replied through Mind Speech. Don't you want to leave C-rank at the next assessment?

Sven propped himself up on his elbows, looking at me with hopeful eyes. "You really think we could?"

Yes. I nodded firmly. From what I've seen, none of you belong in remedial combat courses. Your skills far exceed that level.

My words seemed to energize them. Even exhausted as they were, smiles spread across their faces. The prospect of advancement clearly meant a great deal to them.

"Maybe we'll pass," Annes said, wiping sweat from her brow. "But what about you? Do you honestly think Shawe will let you advance?"

I shrugged. Anything could happen.

But I didn't believe my own words. Shawe's hatred of monsters ran too deep. Still, it mattered little to me. Unlike my fellow C-rank students, I had the Hellzone for real combat practice. Their advancement meant more than mine right now.

"What I really want is to gain levels," Patter said, brushing dust off her training leathers.

I watched their faces brighten at the mention of levels. Even covered in sweat and dirt from training, they leaned forward with interest.

Sven sat up straighter. "Three of our classmates in the upper ranks already got them."

"That's impossible." Copelan's face twisted with disbelief. "No one gains levels that fast."

"Widow gained five," Annes pointed out.

Copelan waved his hand dismissively. "Widow's a freak, even for a monster."

I let out a gentle, chime-like laugh through my throat. The sound echoed oddly in the training yard.

"It's possible since they're allowed in the Hellzone," Patter said.

"Does fighting down there really make such a difference?" Copelan's eyes narrowed.

"It does." Annes' face darkened. "I've been to a Hellzone before. The experience you get from killing monsters is unreal."

Copelan released a heavy sigh. "Well, C-ranks don't get Hellzone access until third year. I've got a long wait ahead."

You don't think you'll advance before then? I projected into their minds.

A sad smile crossed his handsome features as he shook his head. "I know my limitations. Been awful at fighting my whole life. To tell you the truth, I didn't even want to be a combat class. My father forced me to be a Swordsman."

I focused my Analyze ability on him. The status screen confirmed his words: Level 11 Swordsman.

"Man up!" Annes smacked his arm. "Sure, you're shit now, but with me and Widow kicking your ass every day, you'll improve in no time."

Worry lines creased Copelan's face at her words.

I tilted my porcelain mask toward the sun hanging above the training yard. The light glinted off my mechanical joints as I calculated the time.

One hour remains, I projected to my fellow students. And I'm done being gentle.

Annes burst out laughing at my declaration while the others let out collective groans. But they picked themselves up from the ground without complaint, dusting off their training clothes and retrieving their dropped weapons.

"Should've known the break wouldn't last," Sven muttered, though his eyes sparkled with newfound determination as he gripped his practice daggers.

Copelan's usual scowl had transformed into an expression of focus as he settled into the front rank position I'd assigned him. Despite his earlier self-deprecation, his form was impeccable, evidence that his noble upbringing had at least drilled proper stance into him.

Patter took her place beside him, her towering frame providing perfect coverage for the second rank. She twirled her training spear with practiced ease, her movements fluid despite her exhaustion.

Yulios and Annes fell into position behind them, completing our formation. Where before they had been hesitant and uncertain in their roles, now they moved with purpose. Just a few hours of proper instruction had awakened something in them, a small glimpse of their true potential.

I observed their eager faces, so different from the dejected expressions they'd worn in Langdon's classes. Here were students who genuinely wanted to learn, to improve, to rise above the C-rank label that had been forced upon them. The System might restrict their growth, but it couldn't dampen their spirits.

Ready yourselves, I projected, drawing my practice sword. This time we'll work on coordinated attacks. Remember: you're not five individual fighters. You're one unit, moving and striking as one.

Their eyes shone with genuine interest and determination, the first real spark I'd seen since entering the Academy. They had found a path forward, and I felt a strange satisfaction in helping guide them toward it.

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