Namgung Se-ga, the warrior, was reincarnated in Romance

As soon as the imperial genealogy class ended, I headed to the practical stealth technique training ground.

I had been late for the first class, so I wanted to prove my enthusiasm for the subject. I focused throughout the entire class, answered diligently to all questions, and made sure to avoid any distractions.

Unlike the imperial genealogy class, there was no following class after the practical stealth technique class, making it a good opportunity to ask various questions.

Since Wilton Roberts only came to the academy for Wednesday and Thursday classes, Louver had advised me that it would be best to ask questions after class, and I had no hesitation in doing so.

Perhaps that’s why, when I briefly caught Professor Roberts after class, he turned around quickly, as if he had been waiting for someone.

“Professor.”

His gaze lingered on me silently, and I felt a chill from it. I calmly spoke my piece.

“I would like to learn something other than stealth techniques.”

“What is it?”

“I’m curious about the methods you use to breathe, walk, and conceal your body.”

Wilton Roberts only taught one subject: practical stealth techniques. This had been the case last semester and the semester before that.

It was greedy of me to ask for something he wouldn’t assign to the students, but despite knowing that, I still longed for his teachings.

Roberts didn’t smile. I could tell he was scrutinizing me. He didn’t move. I wondered if the dark energy he radiated had anything to do with his martial arts skills.

“Do you want to become an assassin?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want to learn something like that?”

I answered immediately, without hesitation.

“Because I don’t want to live with regrets.”

My past life had been filled with regrets.

Everything I now did in this life was something I hadn’t been able to do in the Central Plains. What had stopped me were my birth, my nature, my character, and my sense of pride.

If I had been more diligent and focused on training since my youth, perhaps I could have reached a higher level. Maybe I could have saved more of my relatives.

If I had known proper manners earlier and treated my parents and elders with respect, I would have had fewer regrets after they passed away.

If I hadn’t avoided stealth techniques and hiding out of pride, they would have been of great help in critical moments.

I couldn’t count how many times I regretted not teaching my nephews how to hide under corpses, instead of rushing headlong into battle with the enemy.

I had been the one to teach them, so I once felt as if every death was my fault.

In this life, I trained diligently and treated my elders with respect. I longed to learn all the techniques I had missed.

The regret I had felt at the moment of my death, the things I wanted to do and the things I wished I could have done, left deep marks on my heart.

Wilton Roberts didn’t answer right away. I tensed and clenched my fists. I straightened my back.

I knew that no warrior would easily teach their techniques to someone they didn’t know.

But still, I had a strong desire to learn, even if I had to kneel and beg at his feet.

If this academy was like a sect, and I was his disciple, maybe if I begged and pleaded, he would agree.

Wilton Roberts, who had been silently watching me, tilted his head slightly. I felt as if his gaze was like that of a snake. I held my breath and waited. Roberts parted his thin lips and gave his answer.

“I can’t spare much time.”

“…Then!”

“After class, like now… I’ll spare about an hour.”

“Thank you!”

I saw the corners of his mouth lift slightly, just a little more than usual.

I beamed with joy, bowing politely. I placed my right hand over my left chest and bent my waist slightly—a gesture of the highest respect I had learned since coming to Sieron.

When I lifted my head and met his gaze, he spoke clearly.

“No need for thanks.”

A deep sense of fulfillment filled my chest. I was glad I spoke up. My whole body felt electrified.

After checking the time, Wilton Roberts immediately led me to the training ground, saying we would start. As we headed to the darkened training hall, he made a trivial joke.

“If you want to kill someone, wear white clothes.”

“Why is that?”

“If you want to kill someone, wear white clothes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the bloodstains won’t tarnish your innocence.”

I didn’t laugh. I nodded seriously.

Louver had once hinted that Wilton Roberts, when making jokes, preferred others to believe in his words rather than laughing along. Indeed, when I accepted his words earnestly, he chuckled in satisfaction.

Even when talking about his black clothes, I thought he was surprisingly attentive to his wardrobe. As someone who could move like a shadow, always avoiding being seen, perhaps he paid such attention to his appearance for practical reasons.

I even had a fleeting thought that it would be nice if I could learn his skill in body contraction (a martial art that narrows the space between bones to make one appear smaller).

We arrived at the training ground.

It was a sparsely populated area within the already quiet training grounds, with weeds growing in the middle of the training space.

I hadn’t known this place existed, but I decided to remember the way. When Wilton saw me looking around, he smiled once more.

The first thing he taught me was breathing.

I had been breathing according to the principles of the Changong Daeyun Shin Gong (a traditional breathing technique). But Wilton told me that my breathing method, which followed a certain formality, wasn’t suited for quiet and stealthy movements.

At Sieron, there wasn’t an internal energy cultivation method. Instead, he taught me how to breathe shallowly and hold my breath for long periods.

“Breathing is desire. When you forget the fact that you need to breathe and let go of your desires, you will reach the level you seek.”

“Is this something that can be achieved through meditation?”

“If you can’t sit still and hold your breath, then you’re not a warrior. You should be able to run without breathing.”

After a moment of thought, I told him about my techniques in lightness and movement.

I demonstrated not only the Infinite Step and Shadowless Step but also the way I moved while walking. I ended up going far beyond the scheduled one-hour session, and even after the moon had risen high in the sky, I was still unable to return to the dorm.

Wilton Roberts picked a few techniques and demonstrated them a few more times. He promised to teach me more after the next class.

I was so excited that my heart raced.

The next day, during advanced swordsmanship class, I praised Louver greatly for helping me with Wilton, saying, “It went well because of you!”

Seeing my happiness, Louver smiled brightly and gave me a bow. I couldn’t help but gently pat his head, feeling that this child had grown so affectionate.

In fact, it was a gradual change, like water slowly soaking in. I wondered what point in time had caused this shift, but instead of dwelling on it, I pinched his lovely cheek again.

That day, it was my turn to spar with Lucilla.

I believe Lucilla primarily used the Seiren Sword Technique. It was a flowing, ever-moving sword style, resembling the flow of a river or the rhythm of waves. She was a completely different type of fighter from Louver. Both straight-line techniques and graceful, curving styles had their strengths, so it was difficult to say which was superior.

Here and there, the aura sparkled like embers, flying and disappearing.

Without even needing to calculate, I could tell that Lucilla’s skills, just like mine, had greatly improved. It was impressive that she showed no signs of weakness, even when sparring among younger fighters.

Maelo Sanson, as though reading my thoughts, praised both of us for making significant progress compared to last semester. I didn’t hide my joy.

Last week, Meiji Boulder had tested his breathing and Qi techniques, and this week, it was Douglas Mustang’s turn.

Douglas’s approach to martial arts was distinctly different from Boulder’s. From his seated posture alone, his form was impeccably precise, like it had been measured with a ruler. Although I had corrected him a few times, it was clear he had been practicing steadily on his own. If one looked at him, they might even mistake him for a statue of the Buddha.

The gaze of Douglas, sitting upright and looking at me, was clear and bright.

“In my opinion, internal energy can be interpreted as the process of purifying mana from the immaterial realm and accumulating it in the body.”

Before beginning his breathing exercises, he explained in a calm, measured voice, much like he did during class.

“Regarding the part about receiving something light as if it were heavy… I understood it as drawing mana from the surrounding atmosphere, refining it, and accumulating the purified essence in the body. I will draw it using mana, but I will control the flow with aura.”

“…I see.”

“The goal is to shape the refined mana into some form after the breathing exercise. Well then, I look forward to your guidance.”

Interpreting it in the Sieron style, his words weren’t wrong.

I hoped that what he was envisioning would turn out to be correct. With him seated in front of me, I moved two personal sofas and placed them so that Boulder and I could sit separately.

Under our watchful eyes, Douglas closed his eyes and began to regulate his breathing.

And then the mana gathered.

It wasn’t internal energy. The raw, unrefined energy responded to Douglas’s call, swirling like a storm.

Douglas was already a strong individual who could freely manipulate the aura and mana of this world. The forces of this world obeyed him. Mana from far away rushed toward him, gathering in a torrent.

Like traveling through a crystal ball, the refined mana, now shaped into a thread-like form, followed his breathing, slowly and steadily flowing into his body.

I gripped the armrest of the sofa tightly, feeling anxious.

I widened my eyes, trying my best to focus and observe closely.

Douglas’s qi and blood were strong, but he wasn’t used to the flow of aura. He always directed the aura outward, rather than allowing it to circulate within his body. Every time the unrefined mana touched an acupoint, his fingertips twitched slightly.

Whenever his shoulders or fingertips jerked painfully, I couldn’t help but feel desperate to stop him immediately.

I forced myself to endure, holding back my impulses.

Finally, after a full rotation, his refined mana succeeded in passing through all the acupoints he had aimed for. But the flow did not slow down. I narrowed my brows.

The mana began rushing forward like a stone rolling down a high mountain, showing no sign of stopping. Boulder, noticing the unrelenting flow, quickly started chanting a spell.

Suddenly, a spray of blood erupted from Douglas’s tightly closed mouth.