"Impressive!"
When Lee Han kicked up a clump of dirt into Deuregyu's face, Professor Ingaldel's first reaction was one of admiration.
— Use any means necessary. There is only life or death.
Noblemen who studied swordsmanship for refinement and grace scoffed at such ungentlemanly tactics. But swordsmen who risked their lives in real combat? They cared about one thing: victory.
And by that standard, Lee Han kicking dirt wasn't disgraceful—it was commendable.
Even more praiseworthy was the fact that he did it while all his fellow students were watching.
They were all in their mid-teens at most—brimming with pride and hormones. Whether noble or knightly, most students wouldn't stoop to using such "cheap" tricks, even if they knew better. Pride got in the way.
But Lee Han? He didn't hesitate for a second. He just went for it.
And that, despite being from one of the most prestigious noble families in the academy.
Only a true swordsman—one who instinctively understood the essence of swordsmanship and was prepared to give everything for it—could've pulled that off.
"Grahhh!"
Deuregyu hadn't seen it coming and let out a curse.
Dirt had gotten into his eyes, nose, and mouth, throwing his senses into chaos.
'Dammit! I fell for a cheap trick like this?!'
He wasn't mad at Lee Han for using the tactic. He was mad at himself—for letting his guard down.
His instructors back home had warned him again and again that situations like this could happen.
But he'd assumed that a noble from such a refined family would fight by the book. He'd let his guard down based on a baseless assumption.
'End this fast!'
Lee Han stepped in, closing the distance quickly on the staggering Deuregyu.
Lee Han had trained hard in swordsmanship—but so had Deuregyu. Maybe even harder. That much was clear just from his posture.
If they clashed head-on, Lee Han wasn't confident he'd win.
So...
He had to create a situation where he could win.
...Of course, this whole dirt-kicking thing hadn't come from his swordsmanship teacher, Alarlong.
Ironically, Alarlong was earning praise from Professor Ingaldel without even knowing it.
'To think he taught something like that—what a ruthless teacher he must be!'
"Damn it!"
"!"
Deuregyu slammed his foot into the ground and spun midair, retreating with a desperate flip.
His form was gone—he'd broken away so hastily that he lost balance and ended up rolling backward across the dirt.
"..."
Even Lee Han hadn't expected him to fling himself back and tumble across the ground.
'Whoa, this guy's really going all in… Well, I guess I did hit him with dirt.'
Coming from a knightly family, he didn't think Deuregyu would actually roll around on the ground like that…
The crowd had gone silent. The cheers had stopped—everyone was stunned.
Only Professor Ingaldel clapped.
"Splendid! Splendid, young warriors!"
"..."
Deuregyu wiped the dirt from his face with his sleeve. His face was cleaner now, but the rest of him was a mess from rolling around.
And yet—his glare was fiercer than ever.
Lee Han clicked his tongue.
'Still, not a total waste.'
His opponent had taken dirt to the face and rolled in it. No way he wasn't pissed.
And anger led to mistakes.
When the match was this evenly matched, you had to play psychological games like this.
"RAAHHHH!"
Deuregyu charged again with a roar.
'He's really good!'
Professor Ingaldel found himself impressed all over again.
Earlier, it had been the students' willingness to fight dirty that impressed him. Now it was the sheer quality of their swordsmanship.
He had expected these two to be among the more talented freshmen, but not this talented.
Deuregyu of the Choi family was now showing off the High Mountain Moon Blade style with flair.
True to its reputation, his strikes were swift and rhythmic—his wooden sword sliced through the air with sharp shwick shwick sounds as it jabbed at Lee Han.
Ordinarily, such stabbing motions would slow down over time, but Deuregyu maintained his speed.
He'd infused his sword with a bit of magical power—that's how.
The attacks would've been hard to block on their own. With magic-enhanced strikes? It was brutal for a freshman.
But Lee Han of the Wardanaz family wasn't falling behind.
Tap.
"!"
Tap.
"!!"
Tap—
"!!!!"
With each successive strike, Deuregyu's expression grew more and more anxious.
He was keeping his movements quick and relentless to avoid counterattacks, and each thrust was launched with explosive power—tensing his whole body to do it.
Without that force, his blade would lose speed.
It made for a fast, flashy offense—but drained stamina like mad. He was already feeling winded.
And yet…
His opponent barely moved, standing like a stone.
When the thrusts came, Lee Han simply nudged them aside with a light tap, deflecting the trajectory.
As if he could see every attack.
'Damn it!'
It felt like stabbing a boulder with a sewing needle.
Even if Lee Han could predict the attacks, how could he be deflecting them so effortlessly?
'Are my strikes not strong enough? Why isn't he getting tired?!'
Deuregyu screamed inwardly.
At the same time, Lee Han was thinking something similar.
'This guy looks like he's about to drop dead. Why isn't he stopping?'
The Wallrock Blade style that Lee Han used was a heavy, strong style focused on powerful strikes.
But Deuregyu was darting around like a maniac, making it hard to land a hit.
Fortunately, Lee Han had the edge in stamina.
Deuregyu was emotionally charged, had just rolled in dirt, was using more intense movements—and most importantly...
Lee Han didn't tire just from infusing his blade with magic.
Ever since he began studying magic, Lee Han had discovered that his mana reserves were... shocking, even to himself.
...Judging by how much Deuregyu had been enhancing his sword, he should be exhausted by now. But he wasn't?
Even so, Lee Han couldn't afford to get complacent.
Deuregyu's attacks were sharp—each one packed serious force. If this were a real sword and not a wooden one, just a graze would have shredded his robes.
To an outsider, it might've looked like Lee Han was calmly deflecting each blow with minimal motion. But the truth? Every deflection required total focus.
"Huff…!"
In the end, it was Deuregyu who broke first.
He held his breath, pushed his muscles to the brink, and endured—but his spirit faltered first.
Lee Han wasn't budging. His face blank, his stance unwavering.
He blocked Deuregyu's best strikes like it was nothing.
And when Deuregyu met his eyes, he felt it—that he was already dancing in the palm of his opponent's hand.
'How pitiful…'
Professor Ingeldel sighed inwardly with a hint of regret.
Though Derregu had fallen first, even Ihan had been cornered quite a bit.
That only proved how fierce Derregu's offense had been.
Had he known just how close he was, Derregu might have pushed himself a bit further.
But instead, he overestimated his opponent—and collapsed under the weight of his own expectations.
It was a mistake born of youth. Understandable, if unfortunate.
Even more so when facing someone like Ihan of House Wardanas—who was already exuding the cold, commanding presence characteristic of high nobility.
A handsome man who didn't look like he'd bleed even if pricked with a needle—someone like that tended to have many advantages in swordsmanship as well.
Whack!
As Derregu collapsed, Wardanas immediately swept his wooden sword, knocking the opponent's blade aside, and halted his own blade right at Derregu's throat.
"That's enough! Wardanas is the victor."
Professor Ingeldel's voice was gentle but firm. It made it clear that no further fighting would be tolerated.
Gasps and groans spread among the students of the White Tiger Tower.
Derregu—their most skilled swordsman—had lost?
"No way!"
"He must've lost because of the dirt...!"
"Derregu was rolling on the ground too, remember?"
"What's your point, you bastard? You saying it's Derregu's fault?"
"N-No... Sorry."
Ingeldel ignored the murmuring students and spoke again.
"Both students displayed truly commendable swordsmanship today. A win today doesn't guarantee a win tomorrow, and a loss today doesn't mean a loss forever. Let the victor be humble, and the defeated strive to improve. Greet each other."
Ihan reached out his hand and looked at his opponent.
To be honest, Ihan fully expected the guy to glare, spit, squeeze his hand too tightly—or throw some kind of tantrum.
Considering how Derregu had picked a fight with him when he first came to class, the guy clearly wasn't known for being calm. And now he'd lost in the thing he was most proud of—swordsmanship.
If he comes at me, I'll go low with a kick, break his stance, and counter right away.
Ihan narrowed his eyes, watching for any sudden moves.
Even with Professor Ingeldel nearby, Ihan had learned the hard way not to blindly trust an authority figure—especially not in this school.
"...It was a good fight. I apologize for underestimating you. You definitely deserve to be in this class."
"!"
But the orc offered a sincere apology.
Still suspicious, Ihan scanned his face, checking for any signs of deceit—but found none.
In that case…
"You were just trying to look out for me before, weren't you? Don't worry about it."
"..."
Clack.
Derregu took Ihan's hand and gave a nod. His eyes held a quiet respect.
Clap, clap, clap—
Moved by the image of mutual respect he'd hoped to see, Professor Ingeldel applauded with a delighted expression.
Of course, the White Tiger Tower students looked far less impressed.
"What are you all doing? Not clapping?"
"..."
Shing—
When Professor Ingeldel suddenly drew his sword with a stern look, the students scrambled to clap in a panic.
Clapclapclapclapclap!
"You're not just gonna let that humiliation slide, right? Crush him."
The cold voice sent nods rippling through the White Tiger Tower students.
But Derregu slowly shook his head, his expression heavy.
"I lost because I wasn't good enough."
"No way! That bastard kicked dirt at you—he cheated!"
"No. Even without the dirt, I would've lost. And if I lost because of that, then I still wasn't good enough. That's on me."
The dormitory stirred at his words.
As the most skilled swordsman among them, Derregu's words carried weight.
Still, the golden-haired student snapped coldly.
"I don't care about your feelings. What matters is that our tower's honor and pride were shattered because of you. Take responsibility, Choi."
"..."
It was Jizelle, heir to the Moradi family—a name that held serious power among the northern knight houses.
Derregu's face turned stiff.
Even he couldn't easily brush her off.
"I lost because I wasn't strong enough. What does taking responsibility mean in that case?"
"It's simple. You lost one-on-one. So now go with backup."
Before she even finished speaking, two students stepped forward to stand by Derregu.
"Don't worry, Derregu. We've got your back."
"Three of us should be more than enough."
"...Doesn't it shame you as knights to gang up on one guy?"
Derregu said it with effort, trying to stop what was coming.
But Jizelle merely smirked.
"If you wanted to say stuff like that, you should've won. You lost, and now you want to preach?"
"..."
The reactions among the White Tiger students were split.
Half—those loyal to the Moradi family—stood with Jizelle.
The other half didn't seem to agree... but none of them stepped forward.
Derregu bit his lip hard and finally said,
"I refuse."
"You'll regret this."
Jizelle turned away as if she was done.
"Cowards can stay behind. The three of you—go teach Wardanas a lesson."
"Got it, Moradi."
"Don't worry."
"..."
Even if Ihan was a good fighter, three-on-one was far too lopsided.
Especially when all three had trained in swordsmanship for years.
Derregu made up his mind.
For honor—he would stand with Ihan.
Smack!
"Wardanas, you bastard!! How dare you—!"
"...The next one can step up if they want to get dropped too."
Ihan's voice was ice cold.
The two remaining students flinched instinctively, backing away.
Derregu arrived just in time to see one of them laid out on the ground, and his eyes widened in shock.
What the hell happened here?