My Second Chance in Life in Another World

Chapter 78: THE SWORD THAT WASN’T THERE

The crowd went wild after that.

Seeing me land not one, but two clean hits on Alad sent shockwaves through the training ground. Murmurs spread like wildfire, voices overlapping in disbelief and excitement. No one had expected it—not from a first-year, and certainly not against someone like Alad.

"That guy’s done for," a blue-haired boy muttered, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. His tone wasn’t mocking—it was almost sympathetic.

"Is he even thinking straight?" a dark-haired boy beside him said, his voice tense. "Now he’s practically asking to be sent to the battlefield, just like what happened to those students caught on the fighting grounds."

The mention of the battlefield caused several students to fall silent. Everyone in this academy knew what that meant. It wasn’t just punishment—it was exile disguised as duty.

"But you know..." a bald student said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as he watched the scene unfold. "I can’t help but feel he’s doing the right thing."

That comment sparked a few quiet nods.

"That’s right! Will, you can do it!" Nyrinn suddenly shouted, her voice ringing loud and clear across the grounds.

Every head snapped in her direction. Realizing she’d drawn attention to herself, her face flushed bright red—but she didn’t back down. Instead, she clenched her fists and stood her ground.

Her voice pierced through the noise, steadying something inside me.

While the crowd’s opinions buzzed around me—some supportive, some fearful, some outright condemning—my eyes remained locked onto only one person.

Alad.

Slowly, he got up from the ground, brushing dust from his uniform with deliberate motions. His expression was no longer smug, no longer playful. It was tight, controlled, and simmering with irritation.

When he looked at me, there was no laughter in his eyes—only annoyance and something darker beneath it.

"Don’t underestimate me, you little bastard," he said, his voice low and sharp. "You just caught me off guard earlier."

He rolled his shoulders once, loosening up, then bent down to retrieve his wooden sword. The way he held it now was different—firmer, more disciplined.

"Why do you think I’m a fifth-year and you’re a first-year?" he continued, taking a solid stance. His feet planted firmly into the dirt, posture flawless. "I’m an advanced swordsman."

He lifted the sword slightly, pointing it in my direction.

"You’re a beginner," he sneered, his usual smirk replaced by a serious, almost murderous gaze. "Don’t think you stand a chance."

The air grew heavy.

This was no longer a spectacle. This was no longer him showing off.

He was serious now.

And somehow, that made me smile.

"You’re finally taking me seriously," I replied, shifting my grip and settling into my own stance. My breathing slowed, my thoughts sharpening. "That’s all I wanted."

Around us, the crowd instinctively backed away, forming a wider circle. No one spoke. Even those who had been cheering earlier fell silent, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

This was no longer just about authority or punishment.

This was about pride.

Just as I was about to step forward—to drive him into the dirt and humiliate him in front of everyone—a familiar voice suddenly tore through the tension.

"What the hell is happening here?"

The voice was loud, sharp, and overflowing with authority.

Every muscle in my body stiffened.

Heads turned all at once toward the edge of the training ground.

"I had a bad feeling," the voice continued, heavy footsteps approaching, "so I left my work to check things out—and it seems I was right."

Instructor Gord.

Our swordsmanship teacher.

His expression was thunderous as he strode into the circle, his gaze flicking between Alad, me, and the battered figure lying on the ground nearby.

"Someone explain to me what’s going on here!" he shouted.

The training ground fell into instant silence.

Not a single student dared to breathe too loudly. Even the wind seemed to die down.

Instructor Gord scanned the crowd slowly, his eyes sharp and unyielding.

"No one?" he asked, his voice quieter—but far more dangerous.

The silence stretched painfully long.

"Instructor, let me explain."

Breaking the stillness was none other than Alad.

Instructor Gord’s gaze snapped to him instantly.

"So," he said coldly, "you’re Alad from fifth year."

Alad straightened slightly, regaining his composure.

"Explain to me why you’re fighting a first-year," Instructor Gord continued, his voice rising, "and why is that first-year covered in bruises?"

He gestured sharply toward Beric, who lay battered and bruised on the ground, barely conscious.

Every pair of eyes shifted to Alad.

And for the first time since this began, he didn’t look amused at all.

"Instructor, I was just doing my duty, taking charge of training them when you weren’t around," Alad said, a smug grin curling on his lips, as if he’d already found a way to talk his way out of trouble.

His confidence was irritating. No—infuriating. The way he stood there so calmly, as if the bruised first-year lying behind him was nothing more than an inconvenience, made my blood boil.

Instructor Gord didn’t immediately respond. Instead, his sharp eyes swept over Alad from head to toe, lingering on the wooden sword in his hand and the disturbed dirt beneath his feet.

"Taking charge?" Instructor Gord finally said, his voice flat. "Since when did I assign you that role?"

The crowd stiffened.

"And where’s Leonardo?" he continued, his gaze scanning the students, clearly searching for the one who was officially supposed to be overseeing the class.

No one answered.

"Oh," Alad said smoothly, shrugging as if it were nothing important. "If you’re looking for Leonardo, he said he couldn’t make it today, for, uh... various reasons."

The pause was deliberate.

"That’s when he passed the authority to me."

A few students exchanged uneasy glances. Some looked relieved, others troubled. Authority in this academy wasn’t something to be taken lightly—and Alad knew that better than anyone.

Instructor Gord placed a thoughtful hand on his chin, his brows knitting together as if weighing the words carefully.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

Damn it.

The way things were going, Alad would probably slip away from this again. He always did. He twisted rules, bent authority, and hid behind technicalities like it was second nature.

Before I could stop myself, my hand shot up into the air.

The movement was sudden enough to draw attention.

Instructor Gord noticed immediately. His eyes met mine, and after a brief pause, he nodded once.

"You," he said. "Speak."

"Instructor Gord," I began, stepping forward, my voice firm despite the tension clawing at my chest, "I just want to say that Alad is abusing that authority."

A ripple ran through the crowd.

"You can see that just by looking at Beric over there," I continued, pointing toward my bruised classmate lying on the ground.

Beric shifted slightly, letting out a weak groan.

Instructor Gord’s gaze followed my gesture.

"Abusing, huh?" he said slowly. "Well, I’d like to know more about that myself."

His eyes returned to me, sharp and probing.

"What happened to that first-year?"

I opened my mouth to answer. freewebnøvel.coɱ

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alad’s expression darken, his jaw tightening. For a brief moment—just a second—I saw irritation crack through his calm mask.

This was it.

I’d cornered him.

I was about to speak again, ready to repeat everything Nyrinn had told me, ready to expose the farce he called "training"—

"Instructor, I’ll be honest."

Alad’s voice cut through mine.

My teeth clenched.

He stepped forward slightly, lowering his head in a mock gesture of humility.

"It was me who did that to the first-year," he said, his tone heavy with feigned remorse. "But... there’s a reason."

The crowd stirred.

"A reason?" Instructor Gord repeated, his eyes narrowing. "What possible reason could justify leaving a first-year covered in bruises?"

His voice hardened.

"If it’s something trivial, you’ll be meeting the principal yourself."

A wave of tension rippled through the students at the mention of the principal. Even Alad wasn’t immune to that threat.

Or so I thought.

What kind of scheme was he trying now?

There was no way—no way—he could wriggle out of this again.

I locked eyes with him.

And he smirked.

It was subtle. Just the corner of his mouth lifting, as if he were sharing a private joke with me.

As if he’d already won.

"The reason I did it," Alad began, turning slightly so his voice carried clearly across the training ground, "is because I found out this first-year is secretly keeping an iron sword."

The words hit like a slap.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

An iron sword?

My heart skipped a beat.

"You know," Alad continued smoothly, his eyes flicking briefly toward Beric before returning to Instructor Gord, "it’s against the academy’s rules unless it’s been allowed by the principal himself."

Murmurs erupted instantly.

"An iron sword...?"

"That’s forbidden..."

"Unless you have special permission..."

Instructor Gord’s expression changed—not to anger, but to something colder. Something sharper.

He turned slowly toward Beric, who lay frozen, eyes wide with fear.

"Is that true?" Instructor Gord asked.

Beric swallowed hard, his lips trembling. He looked like he wanted to speak—but no sound came out.

I felt my fists clench.

So this was his move.

He couldn’t deny the beating, so he reframed it. Turned himself into the enforcer. Painted Beric as the rule-breaker.

Damn bastard.

Alad straightened, confidence returning fully to his posture.

"As someone entrusted with temporary authority," he said, "I couldn’t ignore a violation that serious. I had to confiscate it."

His gaze flicked to me.

"And as you can see," he added casually, "some people didn’t like the way I handled things."

The implication was clear.

That I was the problem.

That Beric deserved it.

The crowd wavered, uncertainty creeping into their expressions. Some who had been cheering earlier now looked conflicted. Others avoided my gaze entirely.

I could feel the momentum slipping.

If Instructor Gord believed this—

If this accusation stuck—

Everything would turn against Beric.

Against me.

And Alad knew it.

He always did.

"What kind of crap are you—" I shouted, my voice cracking with rage, but Instructor Gord silenced me instantly with a sharp glare.

"Silence!" he barked, his voice echoing across the training ground.

The pressure from his gaze alone was overwhelming. It felt like an invisible weight slammed onto my shoulders, freezing me in place. I clenched my teeth and swallowed the rest of my words. No matter how furious I was, talking back now would only make things worse.

Instructor Gord turned back toward Alad, his expression stern and unreadable.

"Is what you said true?" he demanded.

"Yes, it’s tru—" Alad began confidently.

"It’s not!"

Beric’s voice cut through the air, shaky but loud enough to stop Alad mid-sentence.

Everyone turned toward him.

Beric struggled to push himself up on one elbow, his bruised face twisted with determination despite the pain. His hands were trembling, but his eyes burned with defiance.

"You can search my room," he said, his voice quivering but firm. "There’s no iron sword there!"

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Alad looked genuinely surprised for half a second—then his usual smug smile returned.

"Then why don’t we?" he replied calmly, turning toward Instructor Gord as if inviting him to confirm it personally.

The confidence in his tone made my stomach churn.

Instructor Gord’s brows furrowed.

"I’ll go and check it myself," he said slowly. Then his gaze hardened as it locked onto Beric. "And if I find an iron sword, you’d better brace yourself for punishment, first-year."

The words fell like a death sentence.

Beric swallowed hard.

"Alad. Will. And you—first-year," Instructor Gord continued, pointing between us, "you’ll meet with the principal after I check."

My heart sank.

"Now, first-year, give me your room number."

Beric hesitated for only a moment before answering. His voice was quieter now, but he didn’t waver as he gave the number.

Instructor Gord nodded once, committing it to memory.

"All of you," he said, raising his voice and sweeping his gaze over the gathered students, "stay exactly where you are. Don’t even think about moving until I get back."

No one dared to breathe.

With that, Instructor Gord turned and walked away, his boots crunching against the dirt as he headed toward the dormitories.

The moment he disappeared from view, the tension in the air shifted—but it didn’t ease. If anything, it grew heavier.

I clenched my fists and slowly looked to the side.

Alad was smiling.

Not his usual mocking grin—but something colder. Something sharper. The kind of smile that said everything was going exactly according to plan.

That expression told me everything.

He set this up from the very beginning.

The authority. The beating. The accusation. The timing.

If an iron sword really was found in Beric’s room, Alad wouldn’t just escape punishment—he’d be praised for enforcing the rules. And Beric?

Beric would be finished.

Damn it.

My chest tightened painfully.

He’ll get away with it again.

Why does it always turn out like this? Why can’t I ever win against him when it truly matters?

I turned toward Beric.

He was battered, bruised, barely able to stand properly—and yet, despite everything, he looked calm. No, not calm.

Confident.

As if he truly believed there was nothing to be found.

That made it worse.

I swallowed hard.

I’m sorry, Beric.

The words echoed silently in my mind.

I tried to help, but I only dragged you into something even worse. I didn’t save you—I pushed you straight into the principal’s office.

My nails dug into my palms as I scanned the training ground desperately, my mind racing for a solution. Any solution.

But there was nothing I could do.

The rules were against us. Authority was against us. And Alad had stacked everything in his favor.

Just as despair began to creep in, something caught my attention.

At the edge of the training ground, partially hidden among the students, stood a familiar figure.

Byen.

He wasn’t panicking. He wasn’t tense.

He was watching.

And when our eyes met, he smiled.

Not smugly. Not mockingly.

Calmly.

Confidently.

My breath caught.

He raised his hand slightly, just enough for me to see, and mouthed a few words. freewebnσvel.cѳm

It took me a second to register them.

"Mission complete."