Cassie could say she had lived an eventful life within her long lifespan. From the best of heroes who once clashed with frightening Demon Lords, to the advancement of civilization into the technological marvel it now was, and finally to the discovery of the Abyssal Realm, which harbored dangerous entities—there wasn't much in life she hadn't seen.

So, to say she was shocked after the conclusion of Art's "venting" would be an overstatement, but nevertheless, she was surprised.

Was her assessment actually correct? Had she not made the wrong call under the influence of liquor? Or was the Goddess of Luck finally shining her radiant light on her after centuries of bad luck?

"I can't believe it."

It wasn't just the fact that she had seen Art parry Villeir's attack—it was the fact that the style of parrying he had used belonged to a certain famous family of swordmasters.

All swordsmen looked the same in her eyes, but occasionally—especially when she was focused—she could see subtle differences: the level of strength in a swing, the angle, the timing, and even the form the user employed.

Panicked, her senses were at their maximum, and hence she had noticed—for just a second—that Art had achieved a realm of mastery in swordplay that should have been impossible given his background.

His timing, the part he had parried, and the momentary use of Aura to maximize his strength—that kid, in her eyes, had done something most swordmasters would take years to understand. Had it been a noble brat or someone hailed as a genius in combat, she would have understood. But Art wasn't any of that.

So how?

"That movement skill he used belongs to the Snowfield."

Spinning the pen in her hand, she kept her gaze locked on the surveillance video, trying to decipher Art's identity, trying to wonder how a simple mistake had escalated this much.

---

After another traumatic event, Art was confident enough to say he had somehow made it out alive.

Of course, it wasn't of his own merit that he had managed to pass the "venting," and it should have been impossible if he hadn't had the "Skill Ticket" .

As the price for managing to get his first student, he had been given that ticket by the System to copy one skill set from Trish, and back then, he hadn't wasted time in copying her sword skills.

Right now, what he lacked was a fighting style. Unfortunately—and fortunately—for him, the game was slow-paced enough to allow him time to train, but also fast enough that he wouldn't be ready when things became chaotic. So, he had taken the easy way out and copied her technique.

With that, he had become proficient enough in swordplay to pass the venting. Since the principal selecting him meant he was qualified, he just needed to prove himself—and parrying that blow had been the condition.

"All this effort… how the heck did Art do it in the game's timeline?"

Art had been a teacher in the academy by the time the game's plot began, meaning he must have also gone through the venting. But unlike him, Art didn't have any Systems he knew of—so what had he done to be employed?

At first, it didn't make sense to him, but he also decided not to think about it much. It wasn't like how Art got in would affect him in any way. As long as the information didn't directly impact him, he didn't particularly care.

This world was already an anomaly since he had come into it. The one from the game was a mere reference point for him to follow—not mimic.

Leaving the testing building and walking across the enormous campus grounds, Art, his demeanor casual, stared at the blade in his hand, his reflection staring back.

"My first job, and it's in another world—and an academy teacher at that."

After so many years, he had finally joined his siblings in the adult world. Though they were worlds apart, he just wanted to say one thing:

"My unemployment debuff has been cleansed."

---

Villeir would describe himself as a vampire who strongly advocated for elitism and nobility.

Truth be told, he didn't particularly hate commoners—he just thought nothing of them.

From the beginning, he was born better than most, so why should he—a superior being in race and status—bow his head and look down at the inferior beings below him?

Many condemned him for his flawed ideology, which they said only made sense to him, but he didn't argue. That was the mindset he had carried with him from birth.

"Think nothing of him."

Staring at his palms with a dissatisfied look, he muttered.

The mistake had parried his attack, and he was left baffled by how.

The spell he had used was a mid-grade blood magic type, amplified tenfold by his enormous mana but still restrained enough and yet It wasn't something a mere three-star Aura user could block—as a matter of fact, the sword he had handed to him should have broken, along with his wrist.

But that didn't happen.

As a vampire with a physique far surpassing humans, he could see more than meets the eye—and Art was among them.

When he first saw the human, his posture, mannerisms, and even expression denoted that he had never grasped a blade—or any weapon of the sort. Sure, he was an Aura user, but even among those lucky enough to awaken one of the two energies, only a few actually took on the mantle of heroes.

The remaining majority, on the other hand, either went on living normal lives or cultivated in isolation for their own benefit.

Hence, even if he was an Aura user, that didn't mean he had fighting experience.

But that all changed after his first attack.

It pained him to say this, but he hadn't missed—no, his attack had been dodged.

From the moment his attack was dodged, something seemed to have changed within Art. His body began to emit a pressure comparable to his own.

All of a sudden, the young man seemed to have grasped decades of fighting experience—not only effortlessly dodging his attack but parrying one.

The change had been so sudden that it left him in shock, and now he stood in the testing room alone.

"First the country bumpkin, and now this."

The world seemed to be suddenly pushing exceptional commoners at him, as if laughing at all his efforts to denounce them.

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