After successfully completing my first party class, I received something I had never gotten in my previous life—bonus points.
Two points, to be exact.
"A three-eye demonic beast is worth 1 point, and a four-eye one is worth 3."
"Then why did I get 2 points?"
"Because you broke the restraining magic tool."
"But I didn't break it."
"Don't you know that the party shares collective responsibility?"
Damn it.
"If we're talking about responsibility, doesn't the professor share some of it too?"
"Why would I be responsible?"
"You never said we couldn't kill it."
"Do you not understand the meaning of 'capture'? Do you know how much it costs to raise even one of these training demonic beasts? Of course, you shouldn't kill it."
"I don't have a comeback for that, which makes me even more annoyed."
Grr.
I swallowed my frustration and slumped back in the professor's office chair.
"By the way..."
Professor Lucas fixed his gaze on me.
"Why do you keep coming here like it's your own home during every free period?"
"Well, there are all these rumors going around lately. If I'm outside, I draw too much attention."
In that sense, Professor Lucas's office was the perfect place to avoid the prying eyes of the cadets.
"Hah, listen to this arrogant brat. Do you think I'm your friend? Huh? Am I your buddy?"
Professor Lucas was about to start a lecture on how his sacred office shouldn't be used as my personal hideout when—
"During last year's fall festival."
"Huh? What about the festival?"
"There was a poetry contest under the pretense that even heroes need a minimum of literary and artistic knowledge."
"...So?"
"It wasn't very popular, so it didn't gain much attention, but the contest winner was an anonymous cadet who submitted a poignant love poem."
"..."
"It was a beautiful poem that captured deep and lingering feelings for a woman he secretly loved."
"Re-really? I'm not much of a poetry person, so I didn't even know there was such a contest."
"Is that so? That's strange..."
I slowly rose from the chair and pulled out a book titled Advanced Combat Training from the bookshelf.
Specifically, the white sheet of paper hidden between the thick pages.
"How does someone who didn't know about the contest have the winning poem from last year?"
"Y-You! How did you...!"
"Hmm. Aren't you curious? About the identity of the cadet who suddenly appeared, anonymously submitted a poem, and won?"
"Ugh!"
"Professor Lucas."
I smiled brightly as I unfolded the white paper.
A heartfelt love poem written in Professor Lucas's handwriting was revealed on the white sheet.
"You're quite the poet, aren't you?"
I recited the beautiful words written on the open sheet.
"My dearest whom I loved so much—"
"Stop!"
"I can never forget you for the rest of my life—"
"Stop it!"
"Even though I knew it was a love that would never be mine—"
"Stop it, you brat!"
"I shall continue to think of you alone—"
"Aaaargh!"
Boom!
Professor Lucas lunged at me with a roar like a wild beast.
Despite being close to 2 meters tall, he moved at an astonishing speed.
Instantly, he reached out for the white paper in my hand.
"Oops."
I spun my body to avoid his grasp, but—
"Where do you think you're going!"
Professor Lucas quickly changed direction and snatched the white paper from my hand as if he had anticipated my dodge.
'Fast.'
I hadn't been trying my hardest to evade, but I didn't expect him to take it so easily.
It made sense why Professor Lucas was considered one of the top talents among the school faculty.
"Huff, huff! You brat... How did you even find this?"
"I found it while cleaning your office during the last winter break."
Technically, it wasn't last winter break, but nine months since the winter break in my third year. Still, I had found it while cleaning, so it wasn't a lie.
"Cleaning? Why were you cleaning my office... Ah."
Professor Lucas furrowed his brow but then let out a quiet sigh.
During the breaks, most cadets returned to their hometowns or vacationed. But orphans like me, attending on a national scholarship, stayed behind to earn money through odd jobs.
"...Grr."
With no more grounds for interrogation, Professor Lucas crumpled the white paper and tossed it in the trash.
"Hmph. No one will believe you without proof..."
"Oh, you're holding a copy. I have the original stored elsewhere."
"Ugh."
"So... can I ask for one more favor?"
"You ungrateful punk...!"
"Can you spar with me?"
"...What?"
Professor Lucas blinked.
"Spar? Right now?"
"Yes."
"If it's without magic..."
"No. I want you to go all out."
"...."
He looked me over. "Has this guy lost his mind?"
'Understandable,' I thought. A cadet challenging a professor to a no-holds-barred duel?
But I had my reasons.
It had been 9 days since my return.
And I still didn't know—
'Just how strong am I now?'
For thousands of years in a dead world, I trained alone, clinging to the techniques and memories of my fallen comrades.
I needed to know if any of that meant something.
"Fine," he said eventually. "I was curious too."
On the training ground, Professor Lucas stood with one axe in hand.
"You have five minutes. Force me out of this circle."
"Didn't we say full power?"
"Prove you're worth it."
Fair enough.
I nodded.
I activated the stigma.
A halo of light radiated across my body.
For the first time since I returned...
I would go all out.
My mana and body weren't at their peak yet.
But I had honed what my comrades gave me for thousands of years.
"Hoo."
I exhaled.
Bang!
Sun Sword. Form Two, Crescent Moon.
Kaaaang!
Metal shrieked.
Professor Lucas blocked with his axe—barely.
But he was pushed out of the circle.
He looked at me, stunned.
"How is it?"
I grinned.
"Am I worth going all out against now?"
Later that night.
In a quiet room.
Iris sat alone, staring down at her clasped hands.
Why did he cry in front of me?
Why… did it feel so familiar?
Fragments rose.
That scolding voice.
That childish pout.
That warm hand reaching for hers in the dark.
It didn't make sense.
And yet...
"Even if it was only one day… I was happy."
She whispered.
Then, her eyes widened.
A flicker. A flash.
A ruined chapel.
Dale's bloodied hand in hers. His lips moving—a word unspoken. Fire consuming everything.
Snap.
She jolted upright.
That wasn't a dream.
That was real.
Another memory. Dale, surrounded by flame. Her voice—screaming his name.
"...Dale Han..."
Her breath caught.
"...Who are you really?"
After embracing the Primordial Flame and returning through time—
I had never truly exerted my full strength before.
To be precise, I'd never been allowed to.
"Well… there were a few incidents," I muttered under my breath.
But most had been petty disputes—clumsy brawls with other cadets who had no idea what real battle was.
This, though—this sparring match with Professor Lucas—was different.
Even if it was labelled a "spar," he was the first opponent worthy of me going all out.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Steel rang against steel in a blur too fast for most eyes to follow.
"Hmph!"
Professor Lucas grunted and crossed the two axes in his hands, forming an X.
He swung—not with reckless power, but with the casual ease of someone holding toys. And yet, the force—
Wooooong!
A radiant halo exploded from his stigmata, running wild along his axe blades.
The mere wind pressure cracked the reinforced oak floor beneath us as if it had been torn by the claws of a beast.
Devastating. A truly overwhelming destructive force.
'I can't block that directly.'
His nearly two-meter frame already gave him terrifying presence, but it was the difference in magic that made him a mountain. His stigmata—the Earth God's Blessing—imbued him with massive, crushing power. The magic of stone and weight and destruction.
A direct clash would mean the end of my sword—and probably my body.
'Then I won't block it.'
Lowering my stance, I angled my blade and condensed every drop of mana into its edge—precise and sharp.
Clang!
The impact came. But rather than resist the blow head-on, I redirected it. The condensed magic exploded outward at the moment of contact, and the axe glanced off, sliding harmlessly down my blade.
The Sky Flip. A subtle redirection technique Berald had once shown me in a distant future. I'd adapted it, layered it into my swordplay.
A spark of ingenuity to bridge the chasm between our power levels.
"You're using tricks now, are you?!" Lucas barked, swinging again—this time horizontally, toward my shoulder.
I ducked beneath it, letting the blade whistle past with mere inches to spare.
"Keep using tricks long enough," I replied, straightening, "and they become skill."
And I struck.
The Sun Sword.
A technique forged 500 years ago by one of the Great Five Heroes—Reynald Helios—and perfected by his descendant, Yuren Helios, one of the Final Five.
And now… wielded by me.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
"Gah—! Where the hell did you learn this swordsmanship?!"
"I taught myself."
I wasn't lying.
I had started with the Sun Sword, but what I now wielded was something entirely different. In my past life, I trained long after the Demon God destroyed everything. After the Five Heroes fell. After Yuren died.
I kept going.
'I'm not Yuren.'
My sword didn't blaze brilliantly like his.
It didn't shine nobly.
It was fragile. But persistent.
Feeble. Yet sharp.
A sword that bent and broke—but never disappeared.
This… was the sword of Dale Han.
'Use magic only in that fleeting moment when blades collide.'
I didn't need to overwhelm or out speed.
I only needed to strike with precision—to read the rhythm of the fight, slip through the cracks, and hit where it hurt.
That was enough.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Each metallic crash rang in my skull like a bell.
Every breath felt like it scraped my throat raw.
And still, I swung.
Slashing. Thrusting. Parrying. Twisting.
I could feel it:
'It wasn't in vain.'
Those endless days of silent training…
In the snow-covered fields.
Alone in the white.
Swinging. Bleeding. Failing. Surviving.
'It wasn't in vain.'
It wasn't for glory.
Nor revenge.
I just—didn't want to forget.
Didn't want to waste what my fallen comrades left behind.
And so I laughed.
A low, breathless laugh, barely audible.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Exhilaration.
But along with the joy, something else stirred—
'It's not enough.'
A gnawing thirst.
A hunger to reach higher, further—beyond the horizon.
To grasp the edge of the "ultimate" Yuren always spoke of.
But my body couldn't follow where my mind had already gone.
So I kept swinging.
Lucas struggled to keep up.
'What the hell…?'
The attacks weren't fast.
They weren't powerful.
He could see every movement.
And yet—
'Why can't I counter?!'
Each strike forced him back—pressured him—like drowning slowly in quicksand. His breath caught in his throat.
His body, which could swing an axe for five hours without pause, was now drenched in sweat after mere minutes.
'If this continues… I'll die.'
Not just lose.
Die.
He forgot this was a spar.
In that moment, the boy before him became an enemy.
And his instincts responded.
Wooooong!
His stigmata flared again—but this time, the aura changed.
Blood-red light engulfed him.
The Blessing of the Blood Warrior—a rare gift among heroes. It forced blood to course through the body with brutal speed, triggering near-feral strength.
His muscles bulged. His eyes turned crimson. His body radiated killing intent.
He looked less like a man, and more like a beast of war.
"GRRAAAAH!"
He roared and swung.
KWAAAAAANG!
The shockwave shattered the air. The sound echoed like a thunderclap.
I flew.
My body slammed into the training hall wall with bone-crunching force, debris exploding around me.
* * *
"Dale! Dale Han!"
Lucas rushed over, panic scrawled across his face.
The wall had collapsed.
He cursed under his breath. Even in desperation, using his blessing on a student was forbidden.
"Damn it—! I'll call the school. Just hold on!"
His hand flew to his Hero Watch—
"I'm fine."
I stood.
Slowly. Calmly.
"…What?"
Lucas blinked. I dusted myself off, uninjured.
"Are… are you really okay?"
"I said I'm fine."
Lucas stared at me like he'd seen a ghost. No broken bones. No blood. No visible wounds.
"…It's my loss."
"Huh?"
"The sparring match. I lost."
Only then did Lucas remember what this was supposed to be.
I gave a faint smile.
"At least now I know I've reached a level where I can draw out your true power, Professor."
"Ahem. Sorry, I… I didn't mean to use my blessing."
"If you hadn't, I might've been disappointed."
I sheathed my sword.
"Thank you for the match. I have another class—I'll be off."
"…Ah. Yes. If anything feels off later, come find me."
I gave a short nod and left the ruined hall without a backward glance.
Lucas stood alone amid splinters and silence.
"…What the hell just happened?"
He let out a long sigh.
He had initially thought Dale was delusional to request a spar.
The lowest-ranked cadet in the academy—often mocked as the worst in its history—had just pushed him to the edge of death.
"A kid like that… actually made me use my blessing…"
He chuckled, then frowned.
"…Did that kid come back from the future or something?"
The thought was absurd. And yet...
Then it hit him.
Something hadn't changed.
Dale's swordsmanship, his timing, even his technique—none of it matched his recorded level.
But…
"His mana…"
It hadn't increased.
Still pathetically low—barely a tenth of what the average cadet possessed.
Compared to Lucas? A twentyfold difference.
And yet Dale had fought him to a standstill with that tiny reservoir.
'It's like getting pushed to the brink by an eight-year-old child.'
But what if…
What if Dale increased that mana?
What if this was just the beginning?
"…Ha."
A chill ran down his spine.
"I'm not teaching a hero candidate," he muttered.
"I'm teaching a baby monster."