I Became The Academy’s Blind Swordsman

The bells that had been ringing in the city pierced through the rain, announcing the death of a young star.

I stomped forward, not even bothering to avoid the puddles on the ground.

Soon I was inside the small church where the bells had come from.

The air was even more somber and there was no light in the place, only a few candles burning here and there.

At the end of the hall was Zetto.

He was lying comfortably in a wooden coffin, redder than blood.

After today, the coffin containing the dead will be closed tightly. So this was the last time I would be able to see him.

I looked at Geppeti and Rei, who stood beside the coffin, dressed in all black.

“Aizel…”

I wondered if they had accepted this terrible reality but Geppeti was no longer crying and Rei avoided my gaze.

It was too much for her at such a young age.

“……”

I bowed weakly to them, offering my condolences, and then turned to face Zetto.

He was lying on a cool, jet-black coat, wearing the Academy’s uniform.

The pure white bandages that had always accompanied him were clutched in his right hand, resting alongside his sword at his side.

To the naked eye, Zetto appeared unharmed, except for the absence of his left arm.

At any moment, I felt like he would pull himself up and speak to me.

But…I knew better than anyone that such a miracle would not happen.

My hands tightened around the coffin.

This was the second time I’d seen it.

I searched and searched.

I wandered the world with the sole intention of saving Zetto but I couldn’t find it and no miracle happened.

There was no way to revive the dead so at that point, I gave up and I took the easier way out.

It was the first time I had ever chosen to regress when I wasn’t even facing death.

I turned back time for the sake of one insignificant person and destroyed everything people had built.

Selfishly, I deceived myself into thinking it was for Zetto’s sake.

That if I didn’t, I couldn’t move forward.

I didn’t think I could save him.

This is the result.

Zetto died again.

I made him suffer again.

How painful it must have been for him.

How tormented he must have been that I had saved his life and he had chosen to die.

I stroked his hair gently and I could feel the coldness of his forehead behind his hair through my black gloves.

It was cold and I could feel his pain.

I’m sorry, Zetto, I couldn’t have saved you.

I’m an incompetent regressor for making you go through this twice.

I’m so sorry.

There are no miracles.

Not for him, not for me.

Regression was never a miracle.

The happiness I had regained was replaced by more misery, the joy by more sorrow.

This is a curse on my soul.

Regression has always been a curse for me.

I thought of all the ways I could have saved Zetto, but they no longer made sense.

From the moment my worthless life was saved by Zetto…

…it was sealed.

My fate was sealed.

“……”

I chose to accept that fate.

His sacrifice would not be meaningless.

I will survive to the end, to the bitter end, no matter how desperate and miserable it may be.

So…

“…Rest in peace, Zetto.”

I bent down and kissed Zetto’s forehead.

Then I turned away.

“…You’re early.”

I saw Kaen, who had also come to mourn Zetto’s death.

He had made so many connections in his short life so many would come to see him.

Before, I had stormed out of the cathedral, unable to wait for his end.

I’d run, thinking there must be a way to save him.

This time was different.

There was no reason to, no point.

“Zetto is waiting.”

With those words, I bowed weakly to Kaen and turned on my heel.

I sat down in a waiting pew in the center of the church, then I stared at Zetto in disbelief while waiting for everything to finish.

After a while a heartfelt song in his honor echoed in my ears. It was a wistful tune but the melody was filled with despair.

***

I looked down at Zetto.

His serene face was the same as it had been in the morgue, except now he was lying in a coffin, as well dressed as when he was still breathing and alive.

At first, I was simply angry.

I was angry that I’d missed him when I thought I’d finally be able to reach him.

I was frustrated.

I knew everyone had to die someday, but I didn’t understand why it had to be Zetto.

I was about to vent my frustration into anger but as I listened to Kaliman’s story, I changed my mind. I almost did something foolish.

I wanted to cry, but no tears came to my eyes.

My eyes had long since gone dry.

I pulled the ring off my ring finger.

Immediately, the ring went to the ring finger of Zetto’s right hand, which was clutching a white bandage.

“If only it were my left hand… It would have been better…”

Apparently it wasn’t allowed to me even after his death.

“I’ll remember that, Zetto.”

I grinned like a fool and for once it wasn’t an act.

***

The bell chimed, announcing the passing of a young star.

Zetto’s funeral was held in a small church near the Academy.

The funeral was followed by quite a procession. There were quite a few people who had been close to Zetto.

“The blind saint…”

“At such a young age…”

“What a nightmare…”

The mournful voices of the residents of the Innocence Academy are heard in the procession.

One of the men listening asks the woman in the black dress.

“What does the blind saint mean…?”

“That’s what the guy who died this time was called. He must have been traveling around the city doing good deeds.”

The woman who answered was Blanc, the head of the southern branch of the Black Hand, the continent’s top intelligence guild.

She had come simply to be by Aizel’s side, but the guild leader’s order to gather information had forced her to bring a guild member with her.

The guildmate Blanc brought was a man named Hakam, who was known as the Morning Bird.

Hakam the Morning Bird had a bitter rivalry with one of his fellow guild members, the Night Rat.

As he watched Zetto’s funeral, Hakam was deeply troubled.

It was the funeral of an academy cadet, a commoner with no connections and no family name.

He could understand why so many people have gathered here, but he doubted the quality of information they would be able to gather.

It was the superior’s order, so he obeyed, but Hakam, who had recently been outperformed by the Night Rat, was feeling a little dissatisfied.

‘Let’s just do a little mourning.’

Despite his unusual nickname, the Blind Saint, there was no information to be gleaned, and he trudged on, scattering mealworms to the birds flying low in the flowing rain.

As they entered the church, Blanc spoke up.

“I have some business to attend to…”

“Yes, sir.”

“…I need to keep my wits about me?”

“…”

Hakam glanced at Blanc while thinking that and once they were fully inside the church, he realized why.

‘That’s…’

The first thing that caught Hakam’s eye was the red-haired man.

He could tell by the back of his head that he was the one who was responsible for the bird mail system that only the black-handed dignitaries could use.

‘Jeras Clementine…?’

The man’s identity was Jeras Clementine, patriarch of House Clementine of the Continental Four Elemental Houses.

‘Why would Lord Clementine attend a cadet’s funeral?’

Hakam looked around, intending to ask Blanc, but Blanc had long since disappeared into the crowd.

‘It’s always like this with the leader…’

Deciding he had no choice, Hakam slipped into a corner of the funeral home, hid himself properly, and went about his business.

‘Is that his daughter next to him?’

Jeras’ daughter, Yuri Clementine, that was her for sure.

Hakam looked between Jeras and Yuri, who was standing in front of Zetto’s coffin and listened, trying to gather information.

His tinnitus, called Morning Bird, is partly due to his work with birds, but it’s also due to his unusually bright ears.

The bird hears the end of the day, the mouse the end of the night.

Hakam channeled mana into his ears, amplifying his vital sense of hearing.

Soon he heard Yuri’s voice.

“You said you’d be back…”

“……”

“Come back… Please…”

“Yuri…”

It was a plaintive cry that even Hakam’s mouth tinged with bitterness.

‘This is inappropriate…But work is work…’

Hakam thought to himself as he organized the information.

The cadet, who had died, Zetto, had a close relationship with Yuri Clementine.

It could be argued that Jeras visit was simply to comfort his daughter, but that would be inaccurate.

The presence of the family’s patriarch carries great significance.

‘But that doesn’t mean Cadet Zetto has a direct connection to Jeras, and even if he is a skilled swordsman, there’s no reason for a swordsman to have a connection to House Clementine…’

Hakam had a question.

Yuri placed an ice cube on the coffin and turned away, leaving only Jeras standing in front of Zetto, staring down at him.

He whispers softly and only Hakam hears him.

“…I thought I was going to have a son-in-law.”

‘A son-in-law…?’

“You’re the worst son-in-law ever. How dare you make my daughter cry…”

There was no anger in his voice as he continued, but rather a hint of despondency.

“Next time, don’t be so fleeting…Make your woman happier.”

“……”

“May the Phoenix bless you…”

With those words, Jeras turned away.

Hakam’s mouth dropped open as he realized he’d just gotten a huge piece of information.

‘If it’s Yuri Clementine, she must be connected to the First Prince of the Kingdom of Terracia…?’

Of course, he’d known that it was more of a pressure from power, but this was the first time he’d heard that Jeras had tried to make Zetto his son-in-law.

The next person to appear after Yuri and Jeras was a nameless old man.

His face was not particularly informative, but Hakam’s ears were open enough to hear his voice.

“…What is it, are you sad too?”

The old man did not look at Zetto’s face in the coffin, but at his feet.

“Strange, you don’t even hate him…? Huh… I wonder what kind of trick he played on you… Now that there’s no life force left to eat, you’ll be free in a few days.”

Hearing this, Hakam couldn’t understand the old man’s words, so he shrugged it off, thinking, ‘He’s just a madman.’

After the madman, another shabbily dressed old man approached.

This time, however, the face was familiar.

Beneath the tattered robes, the old man’s face was one Hakam knew well.

No, he was a man he’d rather forget.

Hakam remembered his previous encounters with him.

The old man had approached the tower, holding onto a bird that was desperately trying to fly away, and asked innocently, “I’d like to write a letter to Julius Klaus.”

Hakam, who couldn’t even speak, felt his life was threatened at the time.

The old man suddenly sits down in front of Zetto’s coffin and speaks.

“…I told you to come to me until I was old and dead, but what if you died first…”

Hakam overheard the small talk between the dead and the old man and was horrified.

The old man’s identity was none other than Chris, the greatest swordsman on the continent.

‘He had a relationship with the Sword Saint…?’

Chris took a long swig from the bottle in his hand and said, “That’s too bad…it’s a shame…” and left.

Hakam thought that perhaps the cadet named Zetto who had died this time could not be categorized as a mere academy cadet.

Maybe he was a major player who wasn’t even on the Black Hand’s radar.

Next up was a man named Anthony.

A man who had been a fairly prominent merchant in the Holy Land, but who had been falsely accused and exiled, only to rise again and become a legend among merchants.

He came with his daughter and confronted Zetto.

“…Dad, why isn’t brother Zetto waking up?”

“Well…”

“Zetto… Wake up…”

“Emilia…”

“He’s just like mom…he’s asleep…People are crying… I hate this…”

“……”

The innocence of a child can sometimes be brutal for adults.

Hakam overheard and cut off the flow of mana to his ears.

‘Shit.’

It was a common sentiment among informants.

Hakam scratched his head.

He had a job to do, but this was not a good place to continue gathering information.

No blood, no tears, no nothing.

They should always strive to be thorough and accurate, and to keep their opinions to themselves but at the same time, you can’t give up being human, Hakam thought.

People’s negative emotions were filling the cathedral where the heartfelt song had been played.

‘Let’s call it a day.’

Blanc was here on personal business anyway, and with this much information, it would be assumed that he wasn’t working.

Besides, Zetto, the main source of this information, was already dead, so it might be worthless.

Hakam was about to turn away when the thought occurred to him.

Knock.

He bumped into someone.

It was a fairly large crowd for a small church, so it could have happened.

“…I’m sorry.”

Hakam quickly bowed his head and apologized but no one responded, so he raised his head.

“…”

Hakam’s eyes caught sight of the woman who had bumped into him.

“Ugh…”

After recognizing the woman’s face, Hakam had to stifle a gasp of surprise.

He tried not to let on that he’d figured out her identity.

The silver-haired woman wasn’t looking at him.

Her body was shaking, and she seemed to be lost in thought, but her eyes were fixed on the direction of the coffin.

The woman in front of him, clad in black robes, was comparable in reputation to the former Sword Saint.

‘The Saint…why…’

Bernice, the Saint of Innocence.

‘Here…?’

She walked into Zetto’s funeral in disguise.