I Returned with the Cheat Holy Sword

Students in Yoram’s Knight Faculty were supposed to live and die by a single principle: never retreat from battle.

No matter who the opponent was, they charged in first without hesitation, never backed down, and fought with everything they had.
…Or so they claimed.
“Who wants to go?”

“……”
The second-year upperclassman sighed deeply as the first-years around him remained silent.
Even in Yoram, the Empire’s top academy, talent was this scarce, huh.

Knights of the Empire were supposed to charge in fearlessly, regardless of the enemy.
Well. Guess it was up to him to set the example.
With a solemn expression, the second-year looked toward the foreigner standing just outside the building.

She’d drawn a massive circle on the ground and stood within it, as if declaring that anyone who wanted to fight should step inside.
“Alright, outsider! I’ll take you o—!”
Before he could even finish his declaration, the moment his foot touched the edge of the circle, a blade flew at him and slammed into his jaw.

The second-year crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.
The first-years stared in silence.
“……”

The woman who had taken down the second-year in a single strike casually brushed her hair over her shoulder.
As if it hadn’t required any effort. Her expression was practically bored.
Nearby, the bodies of other students who’d charged in to protect the honor of the Knight Faculty were piled into a small mountain.

At this point, the kid who just got wrecked deserved praise for even trying.
“…Should we call for backup from the Magic Faculty or something?”
One of the first-years, quietly observing, spoke up.
Normally, suggesting help from the Magic Faculty would get you branded insane—given the constant rivalry between the faculties—but the current situation was anything but normal.

At this rate, one unidentified person was about to tarnish the entire reputation of Yoram.
Still, even that suggestion wasn’t the weirdest thing happening.
“You just get here?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Someone from Magic tried going in earlier. Used a spell when they stepped into the circle—and got cut in half mid-cast.”
“……”

“Got it worse than the Knight Faculty. Must really hate magic.”
“…Yikes.”
So someone had already tried that.

Meanwhile, the woman inside the circle stabbed her blade into the very center and swept her eyes ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) across the crowd.
Her sharp gaze clearly said, Anyone else want to try?
“……”

But no one stepped up.
When the situation had escalated this far, no one could casually enter that circle.
Watching this, the woman crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes in scorn.

The pose emphasized… a certain part of her body.
“……”
“……”

“Dude. Stop staring like that, you perv.”
“You’re the one being obvious.”
…They were huge.

A certain part of her, that is.
An overwhelming presence that drew the eyes and refused to be ignored.
And when the woman noticed that every man nearby had their gaze locked onto her chest, her eyes turned even sharper.

“–! ----!!”
She shouted something far more aggressive than before.
But it was in a language no one could understand.

If they could even guess what she was saying, maybe they could try calming her down—but they couldn’t.
And someone who had just arrived at the scene was thinking the exact same thing.
“Not sure what you’re saying, but…”

The woman’s eyes widened at the sudden voice.
Unlike everyone else, this voice hadn’t even triggered a reaction—she hadn’t sensed the speaker approaching at all.
“First of all, you need to chill.”

“-!”
The woman snatched her blade from the ground and turned.
But the incoming front kick aiming for her abdomen collided with her weapon, sending her sliding backward.

She tore through the pavement as she skidded away, proving just how much force had been behind the blow.
“…Oh ho.”
Sior grinned.

He’d meant to knock her out in one hit—but she’d reacted.
And quite easily at that.
Definitely not student level.

She looked about freshman age on the surface.
Why were there so many dangerous young people showing up in Yoram this year?
While Sior was thinking that, the woman steadied herself again with narrowed eyes.

She bowed her head politely.
Then assumed a formal stance and pointed her blade at Sior.
“Panhyma.”

“…?”
Sior tilted his head.
The woman frowned, speaking again—this time more forcefully.

“Panhyma!”
“Hm. What’s that supposed to mean? Sounds like a name.”
He wasn’t asking her, though.

“It’s a dueling rite.”
Carlyle spoke up from the edge of the circle.
“‘Pan’ is a title. It means she’s the head of her clan. The name that follows is her house. When they find a worthy opponent, they offer their name in respect.”

Panhyma. Clan head of House Haima.
By declaring her name first, she was acknowledging her opponent’s worth—and requesting their name in return.
It was the highest form of etiquette a clan leader from the East could express.

He’d seen this ritual before.
Carlyle cautiously stepped into the circle.
“…–”

Panhyma said something as she looked at Carlyle entering the circle.
“…What the hell did she just say?”
To everyone else, it sounded like incomprehensible babble.

But to Carlyle, it was perfectly clear.
“If you’re not here to fight, piss off. I’ve got no business with some guppy who looks like a gigolo.”
“That’s awfully foul-mouthed for a clan head, you know.”

Panhyma stared at him in shock.
A totally different reaction from when she’d faced off with Sior. Her eyes shook, mouth agape, as if she were genuinely rattled.
Of course.

Carlyle had just spoken her homeland’s language.
That explained her reaction.
Panhyma was from the Sacred Nation—a country notorious for its absolute isolation. Even in the already-insular Far Eastern continent, it was considered extreme.

And as closed off as it was, it also fostered unusually tight bonds among its citizens.
So much so that they were obligated to treat anyone who knew their language with deep goodwill, even if they were an outsider.
So.

Meeting someone who spoke her native tongue, here in the Empire, of all places?
That would’ve never even crossed her mind.
“…You… a barbarian… speaking the tongue of the Sacred Nation…?”

“Someone taught me.”
…The very person standing in front of him, actually.
From one of the countless lives he’d lived.

“……”
Panhyma slowly lowered her blade.
“…A fellow child of the Great Ancestors’ Will.”

There was no trace of her earlier hostility.
Her voice was now impossibly gentle.
“So.”

Back in the headmaster’s office, Sior looked at the now-docile Panhyma with interest.
Just moments ago, she’d been causing utter chaos—and now, after a few words with Carlyle, she was sitting quietly like a trained cat.
“How’d you do that? You seduce her or something?”

“…Not quite. But she’ll stay calm as long as I’m here.”
People from the Sacred Nation displayed near-absolute loyalty to their own codes and customs.
Which meant—

Carlyle wasn’t just acting as a translator. He was more like a control device keeping her civil.
“So, why did she come to Yoram? What’s her goal?”
“…She says she’s looking for someone strong.”

“What?”
“She wandered into the biggest building she saw and decided to raise her fame by beating up the strongest person here.”
“…She what?”

Like a wandering swordswoman trying to clear dojos.
“Why would she do that?”
“…She’s searching for someone. She thinks if her name gets big enough, that person might come looking for her.”

Carlyle understood that reason.
It was her lifelong wish.
Her younger sibling… right?

She’d lost them long ago. And now she’d come here, hoping to find some trace.
She couldn’t speak the language. Didn’t want to interact with outsiders.
That method was all she had.

“Really?”
Sior looked her up and down.
“Then have her stay here for now. Help her get settled.”

“……”
…What?
“…Excuse me?”

“She’s too skilled to just kick out. If we polish her up, she could be useful.”
“……”
“Her motives are weird, sure—but we can work with that. She listens to you, at least. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

…It seemed Carlyle’s life would continue to suffer because Yoram’s headmaster was a lunatic among lunatics.
He was being told to babysit her?
Panhyma’s got a pretty twisted personality too, you know…

Maybe not as insane as Gray, but she was still a handful.
You never knew what kind of trouble she might cause.
And anyone who casually called everyone outside her homeland a “barbarian” was already giving off major warning signs.

“So. You gonna do it or not?”
“……”
But it’s not like he had a choice.

He was the only person in the Empire who could “put a leash” on her.
Unfortunately, someone who would take issue with that fact was just around the corner.
“Oh. There you are.”

Running into Gray in the hallway right now was… probably the worst possible luck.
…Although in hindsight, it wasn’t so unlucky. She spent half the day bothering Carlyle anyway. It was weird when she didn’t appear.
“There’s something I want for dinner. Make su—”

Gray’s sentence cut off mid-word.
She’d spotted Panhyma standing behind Carlyle.
“…And who the hell is that?”

Gray’s voice was low and cold.
Panhyma, too, responded calmly.
“Speak. Who is this uncouth brat?”

“……”
…If Carlyle translated that literally, someone’s head was getting split open.
“S-Sorry, young lady. I’ll introduce her properly later—”

He tried to bow and de-escalate, but someone grabbed his shoulder before he could move.
“Do not, my comrade.”
Panhyma’s voice was solemn.

“To lower your head and grovel to a barbarian—how can one who bears the Will of the Great Ancestors act so shamefully?”
“……”
Uh. Okay.

Definitely didn’t see that coming.
Gray’s face twisted with rage.
Even if she couldn’t understand what Panhyma had said, she understood perfectly that someone had dared speak to Carlyle in her presence.

And that was enough to make the vein in her forehead pop.
“…Hey.”
Her voice was seething.

“Who the hell is she, and what is she doing clinging to you?”
“Y-Young lady, I can explain—”
Panhyma’s eyes narrowed as she looked between Gray and Carlyle.

She didn’t like seeing Carlyle flustered.
“My comrade. Is this brat giving you trouble?”
“No, no. It’s not like that. Just please, would you stand back for a moment?”

Gray’s face contorted further.
She clearly hated the fact that the two of them were speaking a language she didn’t understand.
“…What the hell are you two even saying? Why is she glued to you like that?”

“Y-Young lady, wait—”
“……”
“……”

The situation spiraled fast.
And once that happened, someone always snapped first.
Gray’s hand moved toward the Holy Sword on her back, her temple vein pulsing.

“…So you wanna throw down, bitch?”
“……”
Panhyma’s eyes narrowed in kind.

Her hand moved to the dao at her waist—then with the other arm, she yanked Carlyle into a one-armed hug.
Likely a protective reflex.
“Stand behind me, comrade. This vulgar creature knows no manners.”

“…Wait, you two, hold on—”
Carlyle opened his mouth to intervene.
And then shut it.

Suddenly, he became very aware of how this looked.
Panhyma probably didn’t mean anything by it.
But due to her… generous physique he could feel her chest pressing against him, and he broke into a cold sweat.

Which meant, from the outside...
Panhyma had Carlyle tucked under one arm, her ample breasts squishing into his chest, while she pointed her blade at Gray. Anyone looking would think that she was protectively shielding someone very close to her from a threat.
More than close.

And judging from the look on Gray’s face...
“….”
Carlyle knew it immediately.

Ah.
I’m so fucking screwed.