30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 27

The moment the name Baltar Grace was mentioned, every cadet’s face lit up with excitement, completely losing any semblance of composure.

The opportunity to receive guidance from the pinnacle of the kingdom's knights.

Even if they didn’t actually get trained by him, merely having a face-to-face encounter would be priceless.

That was the level of Baltar’s reputation.

“...You’re not lying, are you?”

One of the cadets asked, though it was an impertinent question.

Considering the honor of the knight's order that the instructor represented, it was unimaginable that he would make a false claim like that.

“Of course not.”

And the instructor, without a moment's hesitation, nodded firmly.

He wasn’t lying.

With that confirmation, half the swordsmanship cadets swallowed their saliva, suddenly overcome with ambition.

‘Can I really beat an active knight?’

‘It would be impossible to win in a straight fight. But if I could just tire him out a little first, then maybe...!’

‘I need to approach this strategically, very strategically.’

The cadets began formulating plans.

Though to call these ideas “strategies” was generous—they were the kind of thoughts even children might have.

But it wasn’t that the cadets were stupid; they were just inexperienced. How could rookies, with no ability to analyze their opponent’s strategy, come up with a brilliant plan to defeat an active knight?

So, they weren’t really fools—they were simply naive.

And the most naive of them all...

“Kunta, steps forward.”

A man with clumsy speech stepped forward.

A warrior from the jungles, grasslands, and deserts, still unfamiliar with the common language of the continent.

He moved like a sleek black panther, a fierce warrior from the famed and mysterious barbarian race.

“I am Kunta, son of Urba, the great warrior who serves the white-feathered serpent.”

Wuuung.

“I challenge you... to a duel!”

The curved single-edged sword in his hand gleamed coldly as it reflected the sun's light.

It was a kopesh, also known as a sickle-sword—an exceptionally difficult weapon to wield but devastatingly effective once mastered.

As the sword resonated with a faint hum, the cadets realized that this was no ordinary weapon.

It wasn’t a sword spirit, but the trembling resonance just before that, showing how intimately familiar Kunta was with his blade.

It was proof of his considerable skill.

Seeing this, the other cadets realized that this barbarian warrior was far above their level.

No, he was leagues above them.

“Oh, really? You saw that I’m smaller than you and thought you didn’t have to try as hard.”

“...I was told not to bully those smaller and weaker than me.”

“That’s exactly what letting your guard down is, you idiot.”

Thwack!

The instructor lightly flicked Kunta on the forehead, sending his large frame crashing to the ground again.

A simple flick had toppled a man over two meters tall.

“Ugh!”

“Next time, don’t let your guard down. If you keep doing that, one day you’ll die for sure.”

“...I understand, Instructor. But, what was the name of the technique you used on me? I’ve never seen such grappling before.”

“It’s called a shoulder throw.”

“Got it. I’ll remember that.”

Kunta calmly accepted his defeat and trudged back to his place.

It had been a humiliating loss, but he didn’t seem to let it bother him.

And then...

“So, who’s next?”