The Royal Knights Academy of Ballaran! A prestigious institution with a history of producing distinguished knights, where simply graduating guaranteed a solid future as a knight. Surprisingly, the admission requirements weren’t strict. Status. Talent. Wealth. Having just one of these was enough to gain entry. However, while getting in was relatively easy, graduating was not.
“Henry Hamilton.”
“Yes, sir!”
The young man responded with a firm voice, exuding an upright and noble spirit.
“You’ve failed. Wait at the back.”
“…Yes, sir.”
His second reply lacked the vigor of the first. An upright and noble spirit had nothing to do with talent as a knight.
“As expected of Henry Hamilton. Another failure.”
“He’s hopeless.”
“At this point, even he must know he has no talent with the sword.”
The murmurs pierced Henry’s ears. His chest ached, but he didn’t respond. Nothing would change even if he did.
“Enough. Have you forgotten the virtues of a knight?”
At the instructor’s words, silence fell over the group. But their gazes remained the same—sharp, mocking stares that stabbed into Henry.
“Rexar.”
“Yes, sir!”
“From the next class onward, you’ll move to Class A.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“McCree, you’re in Class B.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“Lucia will…”
With each name, emotions fluctuated. The academy used a tiered class system based on skill. Naturally, Class A was for the most outstanding students, while the lowest was Class F. And Henry Hamilton’s group? He had none. He wasn’t even qualified to be placed in Class F. Failing three times over three years meant he lacked even the bare minimum talent to wield mana.
Damn it. This time too…
He had trained relentlessly. While others rested, he swung his sword. Even on the one free day each week, he ran laps alone at the training ground. His efforts weren’t entirely in vain—beneath his uniform, his body had become solid and well-trained. But no matter how hard he tried, Henry Hamilton could not even sense the existence of mana.
“Lastly… Loki, you’re in Class C.”
“Thank you, sir!”
The students’ expressions fluctuated between joy and despair. Those who advanced looked pleased, while the few who were demoted stared at the ground in misery. But for Henry, there was no such change. Moving up was impossible, and there was no lower place to fall.
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll have a one-week break. For some, it will feel short; for others, long. Use this time well. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir!”
As soon as the instructor finished speaking, the trainees scattered. They didn’t forget to glance at Henry as they passed, most with smirks on their faces. A few gazes were indifferent or even sympathetic, but they were rare.
What are they thinking?
Some would use this time to improve their skills. Others would enjoy the break. Some might even return home. Soon, the training grounds emptied, leaving only Henry and the instructor.
“Henry Hamilton.”
“Yes, sir.”
The instructor spoke, unable to conceal his regret.
“…We need to talk. Follow me.”
The head instructor Russo’s office was orderly. Everything was placed exactly where it needed to be, without a trace of extravagance—a simple, dignified space in shades of deep brown.
“Henry.”
Instructor Russo looked directly at Henry, who avoided his gaze.
“Yes, sir.”
“You know what failing for the third time means.”
“…It means I have one year left.”
The academy’s training program lasted four years. Failing four times meant that while his peers graduated, he would still be stuck in the first year. At that point, the academy would deem him talentless and expel him.
“I’ve been watching you for the past three years. More than anyone here, I’ve taken an interest in you. You know that.”
“I’m always grateful for that.”
“I know how hard you’ve worked. I also understand the weight of your family’s expectations. But Henry, it’s time to—”
“Instructor.”
For the first time since enrolling, Henry interrupted Russo.
“I have to become a knight.”
“You have one year left. If you fail again, you’ll be expelled.”
Russo was genuinely worried for Henry. He was diligent, sincere, and more passionate than anyone. If anything, he embodied the spirit of knighthood more than any other student.
“If this continues, all that awaits you is disgrace, Henry. Fortunately, you’re not the first case like this. The academy can help you find another path.”
“Instructor Alex told me the same thing.”
“So you’ve considered it.”
“I’m sorry. But I must become a knight, Instructor.”
His voice was firm and unwavering. But Russo could hear the desperation in it. He couldn’t ignore it—he was the only one in the academy who had ever paid attention to Henry.
In the end, Russo swallowed his words.
“…I’ll do my best to guide you next year as well.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s go. We need to move quickly.”
With a slight bow, Henry departed, leaving Russo alone to let out a deep sigh.
Move quickly, huh…
What an utterly meaningless piece of advice. Among all the students in the academy’s history, there was likely no one who had lived more fiercely than Henry Hamilton.
Talent truly is cruel.
Feeling this anew, Russo ran a hand over his face. The Hamilton Viscounty. Once, generations ago, it had been a fairly reputable knightly family, but after repeated decline, it now barely clung to its noble title.
When Henry Hamilton was a child, he didn’t even know that nobles were granted land and lived off the taxes collected from it. His father, the Viscount Hamilton, had taken up a plow instead of a sword, and his mother was no different.
A viscount… it’s just a title, nothing more.
That had been Henry’s belief until the year he turned nine. That year, he overheard a conversation between a royal administrator and his father. He hadn’t fully understood it at the time, but Henry had always been an sharp child. The Hamilton family had failed in its duties as nobility. Henry Hamilton would not inherit the title.
It was the first time Henry had ever seen his father so furious.
“That was the first time I heard the term ‘fallen noble’ too.”
The words had come from the administrator’s mouth. His father’s fury didn’t shake the man in the slightest. Instead, when the administrator mentioned Henry’s name, Viscount Hamilton lowered his head in defeat.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Henry. My incompetence has brought you to this.”
“You must become a knight, Henry. That is the only way. Grow stronger. Strong enough to reclaim the honour I failed to pass down to you.”
That memory had never faded. Sweat trickled down his back, soaked from training.
“Hmm.”
The air was crisp and cool. Henry inhaled deeply, letting the chill settle into his lungs. The cold sensation seemed to freeze his body, but it also cleared his mind.
Arriving at the training hall, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. Unlike the outside, the air here was warm.
“As expected, no one’s here.”
The hall was empty. It was only natural—hardly any students continued their training until the very last day of the year. But Henry Hamilton was there.
Tight. He strapped sandbags to his arms and legs. It was to familiarize himself with the weight of armor in battle. Gripping a wooden sword, he exhaled.
“Huuh…”
The weight felt reassuring. It always did. Whenever he trained, his mind felt as though it had been wiped clean, emptied of all distractions.
He began swinging his sword. A basic technique from the Royal Academy—slash, thrust, and slash again from below. The movements flowed as smoothly as water, the result of endless repetition.
“The last time.”
For some reason, he couldn’t empty his mind completely today. Usually, he would ignore the mockery thrown his way, but now, those words slowly surfaced in his thoughts.
“I’ve always known. That I have no talent.”
Everyone in the academy knew it. And Henry himself had realized it more painfully than anyone. His lack of talent was utterly despairing. Simply swinging a sword and building stamina wasn’t enough to become a knight in this world.
That was why he had always been so conscious of others’ perceptions. He had worked tirelessly to present himself as the ideal knight-in-training, to avoid conflicts, to swallow his pride daily.
“I know there are other paths besides knighthood, but…”
The image of Chief Instructor Russo came to mind—his shadowed expression filled with regret. Henry was grateful to him, and he knew the concern was genuine. Even so, he couldn’t accept Russo’s advice.
“……”
His sword sliced through the air. Had it been real steel, anything in its path would have been severed. He cut through his deep sense of powerlessness. He cut through his shattered self-esteem.
Faces of the family members who had pinned their hopes on him surfaced in his mind. Again, he swung. Again, he slashed.
Only then did his mind finally empty.
Sweat trickled down his face in beads. It was only when he reached this point that Henry finally lowered his sword.
“Huuh…”
Taking a deep breath, he glanced around. Still, no one was there.
Then, he froze.
Henry had seen something… strange.
[‘xmtn1877’ has entered.]
“……?”
Letters appeared in midair.
It was a script he had never seen before.
And yet, to his astonishment, Henry could read it.
“Entered?”
A short phrase in an unfamiliar script—he could read it, but understanding it was another matter entirely.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
[Live Stream: Medieval Knight Trainee!]
More text appeared above.
[Current Viewers: 1]
And below.
Confused by a situation he couldn’t begin to comprehend, Henry furrowed his brows and stood frozen.
[What kind of game is this?? Is this a new release?]
“Game? New release?”
Medieval. Game stream. Viewers. Game. New release.
Out of all the words listed, Henry understood only one—knight.
Henry was a knight-in-training, and based on that alone, this text might have something to do with him.
“If not, then…”
The other possibility was obvious.
“A high mage’s prank… or maybe even a mistake.”
A perfectly reasonable conclusion. Hadn’t a legendary archmage once said it himself? That high-ranking mages were all madmen.
“Are you a practitioner of magic?” Henry asked.
[What’s magic?]
This time, he not only read the words but understood their meaning.
“Are they mocking me?”
The thought crossed his mind for a moment, but he dismissed it.
This person was a mage. They weren’t asking because they didn’t know—they had to be toying with him.
“It must be some kind of profound, philosophical question.”
The one speaking to him had to be a being whose intellect had long since surpassed human comprehension.
“I apologize. I do not understand your question.”
He responded with the utmost politeness. Their fields of expertise may have been different, but it was clear that this person was an accomplished master in their own right.
However—
[This guy’s boring lmao]
[Alright, I’m out. Have fun~]
[‘xmtn1877’ has left.]
[Current Viewers: 0]
“So that’s what a ‘viewer’ meant.”
The number of mages currently speaking with him.
The previous mage had likely been disappointed with his foolish response and left.
“It can’t be helped.”
He couldn’t wield even a shred of mana. He had never expected to hold a deep conversation with a mage.
But then—
“Why won’t this disappear?”
[Live Stream: Medieval Knight Trainee!]
The strange text remained. The messages left behind by the mage remained. The “current viewers: 0” text remained.
The mysterious window hovered in midair, completely unshaken.
“I have no idea what’s going on…”
Just as he was about to give up and pick up his wooden sword—
[‘GimbapHeavenForever’ has entered.]
A second mage had appeared—one with a bizarre name.
TL : This novel has images in almost all chapters so if some images don’t load in the chapters please mention it in the comment.
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