The morning sun rose dazzlingly. With a sharp whoosh, the curtains were pulled back, and the brilliant morning sunlight poured into the room.
"Uuungh..."
As if he hated the sunlight, Patrick pulled the blanket over his head, wrapping his body tightly.
However...
"Young master. You must attend class."
"Mmm... Why? Aren't I under confinement?"
"Your confinement ended yesterday. You must participate in classes starting today."
"Huh? Really?"
Patrick rubbed his eyes and sat up. Before him stood April, dressed in a neat butler's uniform, holding his school uniform and waiting.
"Ah, I was hoping to rest a little more."
"Please wash up and get ready. I will prepare breakfast."
"Tch, I guess there's no choice."
Regrettably, the sweet confinement was over. During his confinement, he had lazed around in his quarters, and when night came, he would go to the pub run by Red, drink free alcohol, and eat and play well. Is that how confinement is supposed to be done?
Of course not. It was only because it was him. In any case, Patrick washed up, ate the breakfast April had prepared, and went out to attend his class.
As Patrick left, April bowed respectfully behind him and said.
"Please try to cause trouble gently, young master."
"Alright."
Shouldn't she have told him not to cause any? The number of first-year students at the academy had dwindled somewhat. Because of the trouble Patrick had caused, Roist had become a wreck, and about half of those who followed him had yet to return.
Originally, there were about a hundred first-year students. When they lined up in ten neat columns, the formation was perfectly square, but now there were sparse gaps here and there.
And...
"Oh, what's this? Do I have to line up too?"
Someone who showed up late to where everyone else was lined up made a comment. It was none other than Patrick. The professor saw him and spoke.
"Are you Patrick Schneider?"
"Yes. And who are you, professor?"
"I am Grant, a professor in the knights' faculty."
To the professor who was looking at him arrogantly, Patrick replied with an indifferent expression.
"Oh, is that so? How do you dooo."
It was a greeting that seemed to say, 'All the slack in the world, lend me your strength.'
'Is this punk really a knight apprentice?' No matter how you looked at it, he seemed to have taken the wrong path. The professor cleared his throat and continued.
"Ahem.
Go and stand at the back. Class will begin shortly."
"Yeeees."
Patrick moved as instructed with slow steps. Every single one of his actions was grating, but the professor only frowned. "Patrick, you shouldn't get on the professor's bad side."
"Huh? You're..."
As it happened, the place where Patrick lined up was behind someone he knew.
"Matt?" "It's Matthew." "Right, Stew.
Good to see you." Matthew hung his head with a sad expression. At this point, it was clear he had no intention of memorizing his name.
Just then, the professor spoke. "Today, we will have sparring practice with the upperclassmen. The second and third-years will be your opponents."
At the professor's words, the students' faces lit up with excitement. There is much to be learned from sparring with one's superiors. Moreover, it was certain that the second and third-years of the academy were clearly stronger than them.
As the professor finished speaking, a group of people appeared from one side of the training grounds. Those in blue uniforms were second-years, and those in purple were third-years. The first-years in their white uniforms grew tense at the appearance of their seniors.
The knights' faculty was famous for its strict discipline between seniors and juniors.
"But there are fewer third-years than second-years. Is it always like this?"
Everyone except Patrick, that is. At Patrick's nonchalant words, the other first-years looked at him with expressions that said, 'You don't even know that?' But Patrick glared back at them with eyes that said, 'What are you gonna do about it, you bastards?
Not gonna lower your gaze?' Just then, Matthew spoke in a small voice.
"The academy's promotion exams are originally difficult. That's why the number of students decreases as the years go up."
"Ah, is that so?"
Come to think of it, he seemed to have heard something like that. He had heard that only a very small number of academy students actually graduated, and most of them kept failing the promotion exams and eventually dropped out on their own at an appropriate time.
Even if they dropped out midway, they were still treated as sufficiently excellent talents in society, so it wasn't something to be ashamed of. As a result, there were now only fifty second-year students in the academy. And only about thirty third-years.
The fourth and fifth-year students were on separate training journeys outside the academy. Patrick looked at the second and third-years with an indifferent expression, then his eyes twinkled slightly.
"Hey, Stew."
"It's Matthew."
"Anyway, who's that woman standing at the front of the third-years oooph!"
"Hey, hey, hey."
Matthew hurriedly covered Patrick's mouth. Then he spoke in a whisper, almost crawling.
"You can't speak so carelessly. That is Princess Isabella."
"Mmph? Mmph mmph?"
"Yes, the princess. Do you understand what I'm say... Aack!"
Patrick bit down on Matthew's fingers.
"Ptooey, how long were you going to cover my mouth?"
"That hurts..."
"Look at this knight, whining like that. What are you going to do if you get bitten by monsters?"
"It's bleeding."
"So what?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all..."
Matthew hung his head sullenly. It seemed this new friend of his was a bit far from normal. Still, even if he was a strange friend, a friend was a friend.
He couldn't just let him commit something like lèse-majesté out of ignorance, could he? And Patrick looked at the princess and thought. 'If she's a princess, she's royalty, right?
I'm a noble, so... wait, do I have to be loyal to her?
Me?
This Radiant Dragon Grandmaster Jin Cheon?
Loyal?'
He had to. That was the fateful hierarchical relationship between one born into a feudal fief's noble family and one born as royalty. In principle, that was correct.
It was correct, but... '...
Me?'
In truth, Patrick couldn't help but feel a sense of rejection. Patrick was a martial artist in his previous life. There were many things that defined the identity of a martial artist, but among them, the most famous was the unwritten rule that the court and the martial world did not interfere with each other.
A martial artist doesn't go whining to the authorities just because he got stabbed somewhere. And the authorities, as long as commoners weren't caught in the crossfire, or rather, as long as a large number of them weren't caught in the crossfire, would ignore whatever sword fights happened among martial artists.
As a result, to martial artists, officials were people to be treated like one looks at a cow or a chicken. Regarding the emperor or the royal family, they had nothing more than a vague notion that 'such things exist.' But now that he was reborn, what's this?
He's a noble? From birth, his body was one that had to pledge loyalty to the royal family. Until now, he was a humble noble from a rural area, so there was no reason for him to get involved with royalty.
But now, at this very moment, there was a real member of the royal family before his eyes. A person he would naturally have to serve if he intended to live as a noble in this world.
'Serve? Me? Whom?
Royalty? Me?'
In his past life, Patrick had never served anyone. If he had to say, his Master was the closest, but strictly speaking, isn't there a difference between serving and following? Whether it was the sect leaders of the righteous sects or the leader of the Martial Alliance, if they got on his nerves, he would just...
[Come here, you bastards!]
[A problem? A problem? I'll show you personally how I solve most of this world's problems!]
[Die! Die! Die!]
That's how it was. For that Patrick to pledge loyalty to someone? This was a major event that could shake his entire identity to its core.
"Hnng... well, I'll decide after I see."
"Decide what?"
"It's a thing."
Patrick stared fixedly at the woman called princess. As if he were appraising her. Isabella Black Atronia.
Black hair and white skin. Combined with mysterious silver eyes, it created a fantastical atmosphere. Her body was clad in a knight's uniform, not a dress, and she held a sword in her hand, not jewels, but her beauty was not diminished in the slightest.
If anything, she looked even more haughty and beautiful. The expressions of the first-years looking at her were as if they were bewitched, lost in a daze.
"I've heard the rumors, but..."
"The rumors don't do her justice. I never knew she was this beautiful."
"Indeed, it must be why she is renowned as the greatest beauty in the kingdom."
"I heard that even an imperial prince proposed to her?"
Listening to the murmurs of the first-years, Patrick snorted. 'Greatest beauty in the kingdom, my ass.' In the end, this was just like the martial world.
When a rather pretty girl is born into a family with a powerful background, they call her the prettiest in our region. Consequently, it was always the girls from the righteous sects who took turns being called the number one beauty under heaven or what have you.
"Ugh... you filthy righteous sects, did you feel satisfied only after hoarding everything for yourselves?"
"What are you talking about?"
"It's a thing."
"...?"
"Anyway, those things they call righteous sects are just full of greed. Why do those girls from the Emei Sect, who claim to serve Buddha, care so much about their looks? What does being pretty have to do with Buddha? This is all..."
Patrick grumbled on and on without end. Matthew couldn't understand, but right now, Patrick was fuming at the tyranny of those called the righteous sects of the martial world, who couldn't be satisfied unless they had all the good things for themselves. Even though his own wife had been the number one beauty of Sichuan.
As Patrick continued his internal struggle against the absurdities of the martial world and the pettiness of the righteous sects... A third-year approached and spoke.
"Are you Patrick Schneider?"
"You should get lost if you don't want to die."
"......?"
"Ah, my apologies. What did you say?"
The third-year replied with a reluctant expression.
"I am Ruon, from the third year."
"Ah, is that so."
"It's sparring time, and you don't seem to have a partner."
"That's true. Will you be my opponent, senior?"
At Patrick's words, the third-year who had identified himself as Ruon nodded and said.
"Come this way."
"Yeeees. What a pain."
Seeing Patrick making an expression of genuine annoyance, Ruon thought. 'What kind of guy is this?' He had truly never met someone like this before.
It was customary at the knight academy to at least pretend to be dying to do whatever a senior told you to do. But what was with this guy? Ruon frowned, his expression hardening as he spoke.
"Are you unaware that an upperclassman's command is absolute during class?"
"Really?"
"... You really didn't know?"
"How would I know? No one ever taught me."
What would I do with that information anyway? At Patrick's expression, which seemed to convey that very thought, the third-year made a 'hnnng' sound and pressed his own two eyes with his fingers. If the professor wasn't watching, he wanted to just have it out with him right here and now.
But he couldn't do that either.
'Be patient.
For now, be patient.' His job was to take this arrogant and bizarre first-year with him.
"Just follow me."
"Yeeees. I get it."
He took Patrick, whose attitude clearly screamed 'I don't want to go, but I'll go just this once,' to a corner of the training grounds. The other third-years were already sparring with the first-years.
"Too slow. Move your feet. Your feet."
"Yes, sir!"
"Don't take your eyes off the sword! Concentrate."
"Yes. Understood."
The juniors learned from their more skilled seniors, and the seniors reinforced their own techniques and solidified their foundations in the process of teaching. In that sense, guided sparring between students was extremely useful. If its intention was proper, that is.
"Jordic. I brought him."
"Good work. You can step aside now."
Ruon led Patrick before someone and then slipped away. And before Patrick could say anything, the opponent who had been waiting stood up and spoke.
"Are you Patrick Schneider?"
At the sight, Patrick let out a sigh. 'I knew this would happen.'