Squaring my shoulders, I navigated through the throngs of students milling about the expansive grounds, my attention drawn to the collective dormitory that would serve as my home for the next couple of years. The building was a colossal structure, a seamless blend of rustic and modern designs, characteristic of the academy.
Entering the shared living space that connected all our personal rooms, I couldn't help but feel frustrated. I would have preferred being with Eira and Des instead of attending school, but I have no choice but to play along with the main narrative. As it is still early, the rest of the class will probably arrive either tonight or tomorrow. Classes won't start for a couple of days, so I should use the training ground tomorrow.
My room was spacious and well-appointed, containing everything I could need - a large bathroom with a soaking tub and glass shower, a cozy living area with a couch and table, and a bedroom with a large, comfortable bed. I dropped my belongings and immediately sank into a meditative position on the floor, crossing my legs and closing my eyes.
I focused on my aura. Even though I maintain my aura circulation 24/7, I still need to check it thoroughly every day. My growth method is slower compared to others, so despite my constant circulation, it would take a while before I could catch up with the others.
Accelerating the flow of aura, I felt it thrumming through my veins and infusing my bones. Despite my efforts, I sensed that my bones still had a long way to go before they were completely saturated with aura. I then tried to materialize my aura. Normally, one would train for a few years to reach this point, but I didn't have that luxury. All the others could already temporarily materialize theirs. Thankfully, with Zeke's help, I managed to force it.
My aura materialized as a soft, glowing energy that shimmered around me. However, it lasted a mere six minutes before fizzling out. I grimaced in frustration. This damned cursed physique was holding me back. I needed to figure out a way to reduce my energy waste.
"Dammit!" I muttered under my breath, attempting to suppress my frustration. Dwelling on what I couldn't change was pointless. Instead, I needed to work harder, train harder, to overcome the limitations imposed on me by my cursed physique. Fixing it wouldn't be possible anytime soon, so I should focus on other methods to grow stronger.
Exhausted from the exertion, I rose to my feet, my muscles aching with fatigue. A hot bath was exactly what I needed. Walking into the bathroom, I turned the knob, allowing the bathtub to fill with steaming water. I could feel the tension in my muscles beginning to melt away at the prospect of a soothing soak. As I stripped off my clothes and sank into the tub, I let my thoughts drift away, already planning my next steps for the coming year at the academy. The challenges that awaited were daunting, but manageable, as long as I remained inconspicuous.
Wrapped in the comfort of warm water, I released a sigh of satisfaction as the weariness of the day melted away. After spending a considerable amount of time in the bath, I emerged, feeling much refreshed. Draping a towel around myself, I sauntered back to my bedroom, my thoughts drifting towards food. Having expended significant energy during my training, I needed to replenish it, and a hearty meal seemed like the best solution.
Emerging from my room, I headed to the cafeteria designated for our class. Given the early hour, I wasn't surprised to find the place devoid of people. I savored the tranquility—a rare privilege in a bustling academy like ours. I'd always been good at cooking; it was one of the few activities that helped me calm down and gather my thoughts. After constant nagging from Eira, I managed to improve quite a bit.
The kitchen was well-stocked, filled with an assortment of fresh ingredients. I rummaged through the fridge, eventually choosing a succulent chicken breast, ripe tomatoes, crisp lettuce, an assortment of spices, and a crusty loaf of bread. I decided on crafting a chicken sandwich with a twist. I spotted some unfamiliar ingredients, which I made a mental note to research later.
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I began by rubbing the chicken with a blend of spices and herbs, then pan-seared it until it was golden brown. While it cooked, I prepared the bread, lightly toasting it to achieve a satisfying crunch. I then assembled my sandwich, layering the toasted bread with juicy chicken, fresh tomatoes, and lettuce. I drizzled a tangy homemade sauce over everything.
The final product was, if I may say so, a masterpiece—a visually pleasing, mouthwatering chicken sandwich that was a feast for both the eyes and the palate. My stomach grumbled in anticipation as I carried my sandwich to one of the comfortable tables.
As I bit into it, a medley of flavors burst onto my tongue—a symphony of deliciousness that left me wanting more. The chicken was succulent and bursting with flavor, the vegetables added a refreshing crunch, and the tangy sauce perfectly complemented the ensemble. The food was astonishingly good—thanks to magic, ingredients could remain fresh and delicious without the need for pesticides.
However, despite this small victory, I have more pressing concerns. I have no sword technique or martial arts skills. Coupled with my cursed physique, this made me relatively weak. Regardless of my potential, if I don't show significant improvement over the year, I might get reassigned to a different class.
I contemplated my options. I could focus on improving one discipline, pouring all my energy into either sword techniques or martial arts, but that would leave the other vulnerable, unrefined. Alternatively, I could split my efforts and attempt to improve both simultaneously, but progress would be slow, and results might not be as impressive. While it would be easier to choose one, I felt the necessity to pursue both. For swordsmanship, I could attend the classes. As for martial arts... I might have to wake her up.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden opening of the cafeteria doors. A figure entered gracefully, her strides echoing throughout the empty room. Isadora, daughter of the Duke. Her presence was surprising—according to my novel, she wasn't due to arrive for another two days. Could this be the butterfly effect in action?
She headed straight for the kitchen, causing a cacophony of clattering utensils and pots, a stark contrast to her otherwise serene aura. I watched with curiosity. Isadora, cooking? That was a first. I hadn't detailed her dining habits in my novel, but given her noble status, I had always imagined her being served by a retinue of maids and butlers.
Emerging from the kitchen, she held nothing but a plate of dried bread. As she walked to a table a little distance from mine, she glanced my way before sitting down and beginning her humble meal. It was almost comical to see someone of her status eating something as plain as dried bread. Her eyes flitted between her meal and mine a couple of times, her expression unreadable. This spectacle was unexpectedly amusing.
Although a part of me wanted to offer her some of my sandwiches, I knew better. Isadora wasn't one to accept charity, and she would likely ignore me. Moreover, it could draw unnecessary attention. So, I continued eating in silence, respecting her solitude.
However, Isadora's presence complicated matters. Her early arrival could potentially affect the events I had meticulously planned in my novel. I would need to remain cautious and adapt to this new development.
Retreating to the solitude of my room, my mind whirled with the day's complexities. Isadora's early arrival had added an unexpected element, but it was a matter to consider later. The immediate issue occupying my thoughts was my lack of martial arts skills, a deficiency that left me vulnerable.
Picking up my sword from its place against the wall, I felt a sense of comfort from the cool, familiar weight of the hilt. Lying down on my bed, I held the sword above me. As my thoughts wandered, the sword reacted, morphing in tandem with my imagination—a dagger, a broadsword, a staff, a spear—each transformation was seamless and effortless. However, as the sword danced under my control, the issue plaguing my mind refused to recede.
Ilka, a powerful martial artist from an era long past, inhabited this blade. A woman who had fought alongside the hero four millennia ago and whose life was claimed by the very weapon she now inhabited. Her expertise in martial arts was exactly what I needed to fill the gap in my abilities, but the decision to awaken her wasn't straightforward. How would she react if I allowed her to speak, after ignoring her requests for so long?
She was undeniably a valuable asset, with unparalleled martial arts knowledge and skills. However, her strong-willed and stubborn nature, her potential reluctance to cooperate, and her deep-seated resentment for the sword that had ended her life and now served as her prison were significant deterrents.
The thought of dealing with an uncooperative, potentially hostile spirit was daunting. She could make my life difficult, possibly even refuse to help me altogether. Was the potential benefit of her assistance worth the potential cost of constant conflict and annoyance?