Nano
procrastination symphony
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Fantasy Neo-Aspect
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Nano
procrastination symphony
Freyja Eigel.
Monstrously strong yet graceful. Ambitious yet unassuming. Most descriptions of Deneb Academy’s Undefeated Princess went along the lines of a charming young lady. Her paradoxical brutality was overshadowed by a beautiful figure and elegant demeanor, and she always took care to treat others graciously. Thus, to outsiders, her speaking badly of others or using crude language was of the unthinkable. Moreover, she was a Baron’s daughter. Who would think that her poisonous words could be heard in anything but a dream?
Those exact words came to mind as Lynnea calmly flipped a page in her book. Meanwhile, the harsh clack of porcelain hitting porcelain sounded from the other side of the table.
“That unforgivable- ! Does he even have the mind to teach?” Freyja bitterly spat. Since her meeting with the principal a week ago, she had been in an utterly foul mood. With only her closest friend who understood her best, the brunette inevitably ended up as her ranting outlet. Not that the marquis’ daughter minded. The little princess was always endearing in her eyes (much to the protest of said girl’s mother).
Lynnea’s lips quirked into an amused smile at the knightess’ angry words. She spoke as if coaxing a petulant child, “I’m sure he’s a nice person.”
Without missing a beat, Freyja’s glare fixed itself on the owner of those offending words, “You think everyone is a nice person.” At that, Lynnea’s patience finally wore thin, and she heaved a tired sigh. Now that it’s come to this, she could only give in and listen to yet another reiteration of that day’s events.
The day after her temporary suspension had been issued, Freyja (along with her fellow offender, Tristan Cantrell) had been ordered to report to the headmaster’s ward. Being given additional punishment had been within her expectations. They had caused a ruckus within school grounds, after all. What the knight had not expected, however, was said punishment involving working with her recently proclaimed arch nemesis to teach a class of first years. With their subjects switched, no less.
Teaching magic theory to a class of first years was not much of a problem. It was merely a rudimentary level of knowledge that even her magic-hating self had begrudgingly committed to memory. Cooperating with that disrespectful brat was, on the other hand, unacceptable. However, there was no choice but to bite the bullet. The headmaster was a profound figure who commanded even the royal family’s respects. Meanwhile, Freyja was an insignificant nobody whose achievements measured nothing close to her brother and father’s reputations. The only thing she could do was pray that the following week would be as painless as possible.
Freyja let out a rare whimper, “If I fall here, tell my father that I apologize for being a useless daughter.”
Naturally, Lynnea, as lady-like as she was, could only pet the silverette sympathetically while subtly rolling her eyes. Perhaps this was what was meant by “the dumber a child, the cuter it is.”
---
The dozens of pure, untainted eyes that trained themselves on the knightess unnerved her greatly. “I am Freyja Eigel who will be temporarily substituting for your magic theory classes,” she introduced stiffly. Then, she promptly distracted herself with the clock on the wall as her…partner (she hoped she’d never have to say that again) gave his own introduction (though she also wouldn’t have been surprised if he had refused one). It would only be for a few hours. It was only the first day, but it didn’t go for sure that something catastrophic would happen. Right?
Unfortunately, it seemed the goddess of fortune was on vacation today.
Right as the bell rang eight times to signal the start of class, the onslaught of the day’s misfortunes was released. The moment the chalk met the board, a harsh screech sounded from the writing implement. Freyja froze. Was this the legendary…? No, how could she have made such an amateur mistake? That was impossible- yet it was an irrefutable fact that such events had just transpired.
Nevertheless, Freyja continued onwards as if nothing had happened. Currently her situation was like that of an egg attempting to hit itself upon a rock, but there was no use in complaining at this stage. The show must go on, even if her words sounded robotic at best. Indeed, teaching was on a completely different level from tutoring. She was truly in awe of the professors who taught at this school with such finesse.
“What is known today as ‘magic’ is a technique originally thought to have been discovered when…” As she spoke, Freyja glared at the blonde to the side. It was immature and cowardly to pin the blame on another, yes, but it was true that he was part of the reason she had been dragged into this mess. If he dared interrupt with that no-good mouth of his during her part of the class, he’d surely pay during his part.
Monstrously strong yet graceful. Ambitious yet unassuming. Most descriptions of Deneb Academy’s Undefeated Princess went along the lines of a charming young lady. Her paradoxical brutality was overshadowed by a beautiful figure and elegant demeanor, and she always took care to treat others graciously. Thus, to outsiders, her speaking badly of others or using crude language was of the unthinkable. Moreover, she was a Baron’s daughter. Who would think that her poisonous words could be heard in anything but a dream?
Those exact words came to mind as Lynnea calmly flipped a page in her book. Meanwhile, the harsh clack of porcelain hitting porcelain sounded from the other side of the table.
“That unforgivable- ! Does he even have the mind to teach?” Freyja bitterly spat. Since her meeting with the principal a week ago, she had been in an utterly foul mood. With only her closest friend who understood her best, the brunette inevitably ended up as her ranting outlet. Not that the marquis’ daughter minded. The little princess was always endearing in her eyes (much to the protest of said girl’s mother).
Lynnea’s lips quirked into an amused smile at the knightess’ angry words. She spoke as if coaxing a petulant child, “I’m sure he’s a nice person.”
Without missing a beat, Freyja’s glare fixed itself on the owner of those offending words, “You think everyone is a nice person.” At that, Lynnea’s patience finally wore thin, and she heaved a tired sigh. Now that it’s come to this, she could only give in and listen to yet another reiteration of that day’s events.
The day after her temporary suspension had been issued, Freyja (along with her fellow offender, Tristan Cantrell) had been ordered to report to the headmaster’s ward. Being given additional punishment had been within her expectations. They had caused a ruckus within school grounds, after all. What the knight had not expected, however, was said punishment involving working with her recently proclaimed arch nemesis to teach a class of first years. With their subjects switched, no less.
Teaching magic theory to a class of first years was not much of a problem. It was merely a rudimentary level of knowledge that even her magic-hating self had begrudgingly committed to memory. Cooperating with that disrespectful brat was, on the other hand, unacceptable. However, there was no choice but to bite the bullet. The headmaster was a profound figure who commanded even the royal family’s respects. Meanwhile, Freyja was an insignificant nobody whose achievements measured nothing close to her brother and father’s reputations. The only thing she could do was pray that the following week would be as painless as possible.
Freyja let out a rare whimper, “If I fall here, tell my father that I apologize for being a useless daughter.”
Naturally, Lynnea, as lady-like as she was, could only pet the silverette sympathetically while subtly rolling her eyes. Perhaps this was what was meant by “the dumber a child, the cuter it is.”
---
The dozens of pure, untainted eyes that trained themselves on the knightess unnerved her greatly. “I am Freyja Eigel who will be temporarily substituting for your magic theory classes,” she introduced stiffly. Then, she promptly distracted herself with the clock on the wall as her…partner (she hoped she’d never have to say that again) gave his own introduction (though she also wouldn’t have been surprised if he had refused one). It would only be for a few hours. It was only the first day, but it didn’t go for sure that something catastrophic would happen. Right?
Unfortunately, it seemed the goddess of fortune was on vacation today.
Right as the bell rang eight times to signal the start of class, the onslaught of the day’s misfortunes was released. The moment the chalk met the board, a harsh screech sounded from the writing implement. Freyja froze. Was this the legendary…? No, how could she have made such an amateur mistake? That was impossible- yet it was an irrefutable fact that such events had just transpired.
Nevertheless, Freyja continued onwards as if nothing had happened. Currently her situation was like that of an egg attempting to hit itself upon a rock, but there was no use in complaining at this stage. The show must go on, even if her words sounded robotic at best. Indeed, teaching was on a completely different level from tutoring. She was truly in awe of the professors who taught at this school with such finesse.
“What is known today as ‘magic’ is a technique originally thought to have been discovered when…” As she spoke, Freyja glared at the blonde to the side. It was immature and cowardly to pin the blame on another, yes, but it was true that he was part of the reason she had been dragged into this mess. If he dared interrupt with that no-good mouth of his during her part of the class, he’d surely pay during his part.
Aster
travelling satelite
Tristan Lucius Cantrell
There weren't many things capable of upsetting the young nobles of the Cantrell household, all whom were raised with discipline and strict self control. The enforcement of rules and etiquette have been hammered into the second master's eldest son, but not in a way any of the Cantrell elders would have expected. In fact, it wasn't just the Cantrell family who were unnerved by Tristan's archaic ideals, but his peers and fellow noblemen as well. However, the more they hear him argue his case, the more one would feel that the blonde was indeed correct.
These ideals pertained directly to the repudiation of female knights. Female fighters in general, should not be something enforced or advanced. Tristan strongly believed that such a brutish career should only be handled by men capable of wielding their strength with the skill and elegance fitting of an Imperial knight. The thought of a maiden being out on the battlefield had him feeling deplored, not because he looked down on females but rather, he felt their existence would be wasted in such a field. They were capable of great things. Their beauty and innocence ought to be preserved, not tainted by blood and hardship.
Standing at the pinnacle of all his ideals was Frejya Eigel in stark opposition, whose existence not only brought him disdain but also reminded him why he stood for what he does. He could only hope to convince more people on prohibiting the furtherance of female knights in order to save others from completely ruining their future.
Looking at the silver-haired babe, Tristan could only shake his head and sigh. He had heard rumors of her beauty and the nickname Princess would've been fitting for her if not accompanied by her boorish strength and the ability to wield a 5 pound saber with one hand. He dare not believe it until he had witnessed it himself during their duel.
What a waste.
While he didn't say it aloud, it was evident in his cool gaze. He didn't even bother looking in her direction, choosing instead to stand aside when Frejya introduced herself to the class of students. Likewise, he introduced himself with all the polite finesse of a noble, and continued to allow Freyja resume her punishment. Lips quirked into a distinguishable snigger at the shriek of chalk, but no sound was made. The motion was left only for the knight's eyes and he couldn't help but smirk as she struggle to teach the basics of magic.
If he really allowed her to continue on like this, the students would be bored to death.
"The history of magic, its components and how it came to be are all important in building one's foundation for magic," Tristan's voice rang out, crisp and clear, "However, even with the theory, it all comes down to whether or not your adept in honing your mana." There was a proud glimmer in his eyes as he scanned the room of curious faces.
"For that reason, why not hold a practical lesson instead? Your theory will be brought back as homework. No one should slack in their studies," Tristan proposed, almost gloating when he saw the students agree eagerly with him. Anything would beat having to listen to another hour long lecture. Of course, by suggesting this, it meant that Frejya would have little or no skill to continue administering the class, lest she prove him wrong and use magic herself.
He was curious, of course, to see how the hard-headed princess would react and whether she was capable of magic at all.
.These ideals pertained directly to the repudiation of female knights. Female fighters in general, should not be something enforced or advanced. Tristan strongly believed that such a brutish career should only be handled by men capable of wielding their strength with the skill and elegance fitting of an Imperial knight. The thought of a maiden being out on the battlefield had him feeling deplored, not because he looked down on females but rather, he felt their existence would be wasted in such a field. They were capable of great things. Their beauty and innocence ought to be preserved, not tainted by blood and hardship.
Standing at the pinnacle of all his ideals was Frejya Eigel in stark opposition, whose existence not only brought him disdain but also reminded him why he stood for what he does. He could only hope to convince more people on prohibiting the furtherance of female knights in order to save others from completely ruining their future.
Looking at the silver-haired babe, Tristan could only shake his head and sigh. He had heard rumors of her beauty and the nickname Princess would've been fitting for her if not accompanied by her boorish strength and the ability to wield a 5 pound saber with one hand. He dare not believe it until he had witnessed it himself during their duel.
What a waste.
While he didn't say it aloud, it was evident in his cool gaze. He didn't even bother looking in her direction, choosing instead to stand aside when Frejya introduced herself to the class of students. Likewise, he introduced himself with all the polite finesse of a noble, and continued to allow Freyja resume her punishment. Lips quirked into a distinguishable snigger at the shriek of chalk, but no sound was made. The motion was left only for the knight's eyes and he couldn't help but smirk as she struggle to teach the basics of magic.
If he really allowed her to continue on like this, the students would be bored to death.
"The history of magic, its components and how it came to be are all important in building one's foundation for magic," Tristan's voice rang out, crisp and clear, "However, even with the theory, it all comes down to whether or not your adept in honing your mana." There was a proud glimmer in his eyes as he scanned the room of curious faces.
"For that reason, why not hold a practical lesson instead? Your theory will be brought back as homework. No one should slack in their studies," Tristan proposed, almost gloating when he saw the students agree eagerly with him. Anything would beat having to listen to another hour long lecture. Of course, by suggesting this, it meant that Frejya would have little or no skill to continue administering the class, lest she prove him wrong and use magic herself.
He was curious, of course, to see how the hard-headed princess would react and whether she was capable of magic at all.
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Nano
procrastination symphony
Freyja Eigel.
The silver-haired knightess gripped her gloved hand dangerously tight. Had she been any less conscious of manners and morals, she would have likely dragged the bratty blonde into the hall to settle their scores right then and there. Her brother’s words as well as the Eigel name, however, cooled her temper which had threatened to conflagrate. He wasn’t worth it: her thoughts were better spent on regaining control of the situation.
Incidentally, Magic was, unfortunately, scripted into the world’s common sense. It was only natural for the class to be curious of the unknown at their fingertips. Therefore, a wish to shift gears through field practice was an understandable sentiment. Freyja herself had largely preferred actual training over conditioning and theory when she had just picked up the sword. However...
“Thank you for your input, Mister Cantrell,” the silverette said, emphasizing the fact that his words were mere suggestions so long as she was the instructor of the class. The knightess was neither so naive nor weak-minded as to allow her nemesis to gloat over how she could not do her own allotted job properly.
Sharp, peridot eyes scanned the room full of expectant faces. Some students flinched under her gaze; others retained their hopeful expressions. At this, Freyja internally sighed. It would be cruel to yank the carrot from right under their noses.
“We’ve already received permission to use Field B for swordsmanship later, so it can’t hurt to head there early,” Freyja said cautiously with a hint of warning in her voice, “but do note that the school’s regulations regarding magic must be followed as to preserve this class’ safety.” Just as how freshmen at this level were not allowed to carry their own swords, the academy also banned the casting of anything higher than basic Tier 1 magic, both supervised and unsupervised. Fortunately, what they could or could not do did not appear to bother a majority of the class, leaving the knightess to freely lead the class to the training grounds with ease.
That said, Freyja did not pass by without shooting Tristan a warning glance. It was true that it was against her policy to use magic, but she was not one to abandon her duties, punishment or not. In the first place, one only needed direction and knowledge to teach. The fact that she was stronger than her former private swordsmanship instructor was solid proof.
With far more efficiency than her previous stiff recitation of facts, the knightess dispersed the students evenly once they arrived at the field. “Today’s lesson will be restricted to the basic spell ‘flare,’ and the practice of adding functions to spells. You may rescript the spell to travel a set distance, curve in a specified direction, or any other variations so long as you do not alter its size or concentration,” she instructed firmly. Though she was not familiar with a large range of spells, it did not matter as simple was best when it came to rudimentary classes. Not only did they allow for a reinforcement of branch techniques—though rescripting was the basis of higher-tier magic itself in this case—but it was also relatively safe with a low risk of backlashes. Should something go awry, she had no doubts that she could easily prevent any larger accidents with her own abilities.
Freyja subconsciously gripped the sword at her side tightly. If possible, she hoped that nothing out of the ordinary would happen at all.
If only that damned Tristan hadn’t run his mouth off.
The silver-haired knightess gripped her gloved hand dangerously tight. Had she been any less conscious of manners and morals, she would have likely dragged the bratty blonde into the hall to settle their scores right then and there. Her brother’s words as well as the Eigel name, however, cooled her temper which had threatened to conflagrate. He wasn’t worth it: her thoughts were better spent on regaining control of the situation.
Incidentally, Magic was, unfortunately, scripted into the world’s common sense. It was only natural for the class to be curious of the unknown at their fingertips. Therefore, a wish to shift gears through field practice was an understandable sentiment. Freyja herself had largely preferred actual training over conditioning and theory when she had just picked up the sword. However...
“Thank you for your input, Mister Cantrell,” the silverette said, emphasizing the fact that his words were mere suggestions so long as she was the instructor of the class. The knightess was neither so naive nor weak-minded as to allow her nemesis to gloat over how she could not do her own allotted job properly.
Sharp, peridot eyes scanned the room full of expectant faces. Some students flinched under her gaze; others retained their hopeful expressions. At this, Freyja internally sighed. It would be cruel to yank the carrot from right under their noses.
“We’ve already received permission to use Field B for swordsmanship later, so it can’t hurt to head there early,” Freyja said cautiously with a hint of warning in her voice, “but do note that the school’s regulations regarding magic must be followed as to preserve this class’ safety.” Just as how freshmen at this level were not allowed to carry their own swords, the academy also banned the casting of anything higher than basic Tier 1 magic, both supervised and unsupervised. Fortunately, what they could or could not do did not appear to bother a majority of the class, leaving the knightess to freely lead the class to the training grounds with ease.
That said, Freyja did not pass by without shooting Tristan a warning glance. It was true that it was against her policy to use magic, but she was not one to abandon her duties, punishment or not. In the first place, one only needed direction and knowledge to teach. The fact that she was stronger than her former private swordsmanship instructor was solid proof.
With far more efficiency than her previous stiff recitation of facts, the knightess dispersed the students evenly once they arrived at the field. “Today’s lesson will be restricted to the basic spell ‘flare,’ and the practice of adding functions to spells. You may rescript the spell to travel a set distance, curve in a specified direction, or any other variations so long as you do not alter its size or concentration,” she instructed firmly. Though she was not familiar with a large range of spells, it did not matter as simple was best when it came to rudimentary classes. Not only did they allow for a reinforcement of branch techniques—though rescripting was the basis of higher-tier magic itself in this case—but it was also relatively safe with a low risk of backlashes. Should something go awry, she had no doubts that she could easily prevent any larger accidents with her own abilities.
Freyja subconsciously gripped the sword at her side tightly. If possible, she hoped that nothing out of the ordinary would happen at all.
If only that damned Tristan hadn’t run his mouth off.
Aster
travelling satelite
Tristan Lucius Cantrell
Her glare did not go unnoticed and it left Tristan feeling more smug than ever. Instead of letting that self-satisfaction appear on his visage, he took her disapproval with grace, smiling with gentle radiance as he led the rest of the students out towards the field. Freyja's instructions were practical and reasonable. This much, the male could acknowledge, working instead to help struggling students.
Naturally, he stayed as far away from the babe as possible. Being in the same room with her was already suffocating. With this much space between them, Tristan had almost forgotten she was there until his attention was caught by a shout of a nearby student.
Her spell had gone haywire. The flare flying in the direction of Freyja's face. If Tristan didn't know the babe better, he would've dove forward to defect it, but he's seen the woman's insane reflexes, trusting her to dodge it just fine. Who would've thought that the student would curve the wayward spell, preventing it from hitting Freyja's face but manipulating it just in time for it to hit her square on the bum!
It was so unexpected, even Tristan reacted a second too late. The student who had tried to fix her spell, ended up doing more harm than good. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or laugh.
Regardless of which, the male still went over to check on her. Brutish as she is, the babe was still a girl and Tristan had a natural soft spot for women, especially when they were hurt.
"Are you alright?" he asked, sounding decently concerned.
.Naturally, he stayed as far away from the babe as possible. Being in the same room with her was already suffocating. With this much space between them, Tristan had almost forgotten she was there until his attention was caught by a shout of a nearby student.
Her spell had gone haywire. The flare flying in the direction of Freyja's face. If Tristan didn't know the babe better, he would've dove forward to defect it, but he's seen the woman's insane reflexes, trusting her to dodge it just fine. Who would've thought that the student would curve the wayward spell, preventing it from hitting Freyja's face but manipulating it just in time for it to hit her square on the bum!
It was so unexpected, even Tristan reacted a second too late. The student who had tried to fix her spell, ended up doing more harm than good. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or laugh.
Regardless of which, the male still went over to check on her. Brutish as she is, the babe was still a girl and Tristan had a natural soft spot for women, especially when they were hurt.
"Are you alright?" he asked, sounding decently concerned.
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Nano
procrastination symphony
Freyja Eigel.
Giving in to her reflexes, Freyja’s short sword came unsheathed in a silver arc. When the metal harshly sliced through mere air, the knightess’ stoic gaze subtly contorted into one of mild shock. As if in vengeance towards her disdain towards magic, the fireball had deftly vaulted over the tip of the blade which had threatened it. Had it been purposeful, the silverette would have praised the student’s finesse and control to time the “feint” so perfectly. Having not expected such an event arising from an accident, however, she stumbled to the side a hair too late. A fierce sting and the smell of burnt cloth alerted Freyja—and those around her—of the flare that had magnificently planted itself right on her behind.
Fortunately, Flare was considered a rudimentary spell for a good reason: hardly was it that it ever inflicted major injury. With a solid pat, any remaining cinders were completely extinguished. A quick evaluation determined that only a minute portion of her thigh had suffered any burns. Even those were light, requiring a mere two or three days to heal.
In response to Tristan’s concerns, the silverette was briefly touched. However, she quickly answered impassively, “I will not allow my mistakes to hinder you. Rest assured.”
As someone who had fought her and made his disdain towards her clear, she doubted he had any reasons to care for her wellbeing. In all likelihood, his mind was probably on the class’ disruption rather than her injury itself. At best, it was false pretense.
Regardless, any unpleasant afterthoughts were thoroughly wiped by an uneasy mumble from the student whose spell had gone haywire. Freyja slid her sword back into its sheath and faced the nervous student. Truly, she had made a fool out of herself, but the girl did not deserve her wrath.
“I suppose I shouldn’t ever anger you,” Freyja said jokingly, her mouth curving into a slight smile. Following suit, she announced that the class was to resume their practice for another 10 minutes before stopping for a lunch break.
Taking advantage of the breather, the knightess promptly excused herself from the field. She didn’t care much for image, but it wouldn’t do as a student to walk around with a partially burnt skirt, regardless of whether or not she was wearing something underneath.
Within the time she had taken to borrow from an acquaintance and change, the class had finished and cleaned up—presumably under Tristan’s instruction—and prepared for their next lesson.
Freyja’s eyes landed on the mage, her gaze laced with a hint of uncertainty. She had somehow managed to get through the lesson on magic, but her minimal pass was attributed to the fact that magic was primarily based on theory. Swordsmanship, however, focused far more on technique and the body. Books could not be relied on. Not to mention, did he even know how to hold a sword properly?
Studying the blonde more closely, his physique was not half bad. Though his clothes prevented further observation, it was apparent that he, at the very least, was not an unhealthy stringbean. He had height as well. If he trained diligently, she had no doubts that he'd be capable of building a good foundationthough he still wouldn't compare to even her older brother pinky. Regrettably, this man was an almighty prodigious mage whose attitude was as detestable as that toad from so many years ago.
Nevertheless, Freyja (unknowingly) studied Tristan with a pensive expression. He was the exact type of person she hated, but her mishap in the previous lesson reminded her that it was unfair for the students to have a less-than-satisfactory class. Fortunately, though she'd prefer to deny him any compliments, the blonde seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. However...
“Have you even touched a sword within these past few years?” Freyja asked. The inquiry was harmless in intention. Even so, she quickly noted that most would take her wording as her berating him. Though she could only follow up her words with a soft, “oh...”
Giving in to her reflexes, Freyja’s short sword came unsheathed in a silver arc. When the metal harshly sliced through mere air, the knightess’ stoic gaze subtly contorted into one of mild shock. As if in vengeance towards her disdain towards magic, the fireball had deftly vaulted over the tip of the blade which had threatened it. Had it been purposeful, the silverette would have praised the student’s finesse and control to time the “feint” so perfectly. Having not expected such an event arising from an accident, however, she stumbled to the side a hair too late. A fierce sting and the smell of burnt cloth alerted Freyja—and those around her—of the flare that had magnificently planted itself right on her behind.
Fortunately, Flare was considered a rudimentary spell for a good reason: hardly was it that it ever inflicted major injury. With a solid pat, any remaining cinders were completely extinguished. A quick evaluation determined that only a minute portion of her thigh had suffered any burns. Even those were light, requiring a mere two or three days to heal.
In response to Tristan’s concerns, the silverette was briefly touched. However, she quickly answered impassively, “I will not allow my mistakes to hinder you. Rest assured.”
As someone who had fought her and made his disdain towards her clear, she doubted he had any reasons to care for her wellbeing. In all likelihood, his mind was probably on the class’ disruption rather than her injury itself. At best, it was false pretense.
Regardless, any unpleasant afterthoughts were thoroughly wiped by an uneasy mumble from the student whose spell had gone haywire. Freyja slid her sword back into its sheath and faced the nervous student. Truly, she had made a fool out of herself, but the girl did not deserve her wrath.
“I suppose I shouldn’t ever anger you,” Freyja said jokingly, her mouth curving into a slight smile. Following suit, she announced that the class was to resume their practice for another 10 minutes before stopping for a lunch break.
Taking advantage of the breather, the knightess promptly excused herself from the field. She didn’t care much for image, but it wouldn’t do as a student to walk around with a partially burnt skirt, regardless of whether or not she was wearing something underneath.
Within the time she had taken to borrow from an acquaintance and change, the class had finished and cleaned up—presumably under Tristan’s instruction—and prepared for their next lesson.
Freyja’s eyes landed on the mage, her gaze laced with a hint of uncertainty. She had somehow managed to get through the lesson on magic, but her minimal pass was attributed to the fact that magic was primarily based on theory. Swordsmanship, however, focused far more on technique and the body. Books could not be relied on. Not to mention, did he even know how to hold a sword properly?
Studying the blonde more closely, his physique was not half bad. Though his clothes prevented further observation, it was apparent that he, at the very least, was not an unhealthy stringbean. He had height as well. If he trained diligently, she had no doubts that he'd be capable of building a good foundation
Nevertheless, Freyja (unknowingly) studied Tristan with a pensive expression. He was the exact type of person she hated, but her mishap in the previous lesson reminded her that it was unfair for the students to have a less-than-satisfactory class. Fortunately, though she'd prefer to deny him any compliments, the blonde seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. However...
“Have you even touched a sword within these past few years?” Freyja asked. The inquiry was harmless in intention. Even so, she quickly noted that most would take her wording as her berating him. Though she could only follow up her words with a soft, “oh...”
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