Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 61: Maria

Chapter 61: Maria

Dust rose as bodies moved, swords clashed, and the sound of steel striking steel echoed across the training yard.

Christina coughed out blood, bruises already forming under her torn uniform. She lay in the dirt again, her limbs aching and breath ragged. Around her, the other trainees were already moving on, focusing on their drills as if her humiliation was routine—because it was.

Even though Christina was bleeding, no one came to help her. But it wasn’t bullying or anything like that. The simple reason was that they were in the well-known Knight Training Sector of Sturgon Academy—infamous for being a faculty that crushes newbies. Many students were too afraid to even apply, given how tough life in that faculty was.

One of the reasons for this was that from the moment they entered the Knight Faculty, students were trained to become true knights. They were taught about the hardships of knighthood. It wasn’t a path one could take hoping to comfortably enjoy the luxuries of life. Even though that was occasionally part of being a knight, knights had duties to fulfill and responsibilities to carry out.

And as usual the voice came as soon as Christina was defeated.

"Get up," barked the instructor, though his tone lacked urgency. He already knew she wouldn’t fight back, not against the count’s son. Not when she always had to lose.

In a normal academic environment, this would have been a punishable offense—using one’s power like that. But Sturgon Academy wasn’t like that. It even encouraged lower-ranking nobles to support and follow the higher-ranking ones, no matter how talented they were. For the nation, hierarchy was everything. They knew that the moment respect for it died, they would lose all their leverage. After all, they weren’t like the Harlow Empire, where royalty held absolute power.

Christina clenched her jaw. Her eyes, red from dust and unshed tears, flicked upward toward the figure of the count’s son—tall, handsome, always with that disappointed frown on his face.

He looked down at her like she was pathetic.

Her fingers curled into fists.

"Don’t look at me like that..." she muttered inwardly. "You’re the reason I have to lose every time."

And yet, she endured.

But today wasn’t like the others.

Today, even the instructors were distracted.

Because today was that day.

The day everyone had been talking about for weeks.

Princess Maria Alexandria Harlow’s first formal training session.

The yard was abuzz with anticipation. Even those who normally grumbled about another spoiled noble taking up space were silent. The ones training on the dummies had slowed their strikes, eyes darting toward the special platform being prepared.

Among the women, there was a sense of excited tension—rivalry and camaraderie brewing all at once.

Among the men, it was simpler. Most of them just couldn’t look away at the black hair beauty.

Maria descended the stone steps in dark and silver armor, custom-forged for her by the Harlow imperial smiths. Her long dark hair was tied into a high ponytail that swayed with every graceful step. Her posture was regal, yet relaxed. The sun caught on the polished plates of her armor, giving her a glow that made some forget to breathe.

"She looks like a divine knight of beauty," one of the male trainees whispered.

"She’s beautiful..." another muttered, eyes wide.

"She’s our comrade now," said a sharp voice from one of the female trainees. "Not a damn painting. Stop leering at her!"

The crowd hushed as the first opponent stepped into the training grounds. They were going several rounds and the winners would advance until they are given some extra points for their performance. It wasn’t much, but at least it gave them some extra leverage to enter Order 13 which is the most prestigious knight society of the nation, which even royalty has to respect.

He was a tall, muscular young man from the Sturgon Academy—a competitive branch known for breeding elite knights. He cracked his knuckles, flashed a smug grin, and raised his sword.

"I hope Your Highness won’t mind if I don’t hold back," he said, voice laced with bravado.

Maria simply bowed slightly, her eyes calm. "Of course. I would be insulted if you did."

The whistle blew.

He charged.

A straight, aggressive line—predictable, yet powerful. His blade aimed for a fast overhead strike to overwhelm her.

Maria didn’t move until the last moment. Then, she side-stepped like flowing water, her form shifting like a breeze on silk. She guided his blade down with the flat of hers, using his momentum to make him stumble.

Gasps echoed through the crowd.

With one spin, Maria pivoted and delivered a gentle, yet decisive tap of her blade to his armored side—where a real strike might have cut into his ribs.

The match was over.

The Sturgon student blinked, stunned at how quickly it had ended.

Maria stepped forward and offered her hand, her expression open, kind.

"You fought with spirit. A great opponent, but I hope you weren’t so straightforward" she said sincerely. "But I know you can be even better. I see it in how you move. Don’t stop refining it."

The man looked at her, stunned. Then, slowly, his lips parted into a boyish grin. He clasped her hand and stood.

"Thank you, Your Highness... You’re incredibly talented. I see now why the Empire has faith in you." He gave a small bow. "As the son of Viscount Rugal, I consider it an honor to call myself your comrade and ally."

Maria smiled, inclining her head in return. "And I consider it a pleasure to train beside someone with so much potential."

Around the ring, several knights—older men and women, some retired, some dispatched from the secretive Order Thirteen—watched the exchange with intense scrutiny. Though none made a move, their eyes never left Maria. Protecting the Princess was more than a duty—it was a sacred task.

Christina watched from the edge, her breath still heavy, her vision a little blurry.

The crowd applauded. Another opponent stepped in.

Then another.

And another.

Maria didn’t falter.

She moved like a dancer, elegant and deadly. Her footwork was light, but her strikes sharp. She never went for humiliation, only efficiency. She helped up each opponent. Encouraged them. Smiled genuinely.

To many, it was inspiring.

To Christina, it was a reminder.

It was a reminder of how miserable her life was—because she could have been the one on the training ground receiving all the praise instead of Maria, if only she hadn’t been born a lowborn baron’s daughter with nothing but wealth.

The next opponent was a short-haired girl with a scar across her brow. Her stance was aggressive, her expression wary.

"I don’t get it," the girl said, sword raised. "How does someone like you—a princess—get to follow this path? This is a knight’s path. A man’s path."

There were murmurs in the crowd, but Maria just tilted her head with a soft smile.

"In Harlow," she replied calmly, "it doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman. If you have the skill, you can choose your path. That’s what makes my nation so precious to me."

The girl hesitated, caught off guard. "That... sounds nice."

Maria raised her sword. "Let’s see what kind of knight you can be."

The match began, and the girl fought with fury—wild and fast. But Maria’s elegance didn’t waver. She matched every strike with precision, deflected with care, and ended the match without leaving even a scratch.

When it ended, Maria helped the girl up too.

The scarred trainee looked up, eyes wide.

"You... you really mean it," she whispered.

Maria simply nodded, and the girl—whose name no one ever remembered—found herself smiling for the first time in weeks.

From the outskirts of the training field, Christina sat in the shadow of the watchtower. Her bruises throbbed. Her face was still swollen from earlier.

She watched Maria cut through opponent after opponent, shining like a star meant to inspire.

Her voice was calm, her posture confident, her words like a gentle wind brushing over fragile hearts.

Christina muttered, barely audible over the noise.

"How lucky... to be born a princess..."

She shifted, wincing.

"To be allowed to follow your dream... without insects crawling out of the dark just to crush it..."

Her gaze dropped to the dust beside her.

She remembered the nights she cried alone.

The morning drills she repeated in secret, the wounds she wrapped herself, the victories she had to forfeit.

All because the count’s son couldn’t lose.

She watched Maria being cheered on by girls and boys alike—hailed not for her title, but her talent.

And she felt something stir in her chest.

Not hate.

Not jealousy.

But something bitter.

Something hollow.

She wondered... what Maria would do if she were born in Christina’s shoes.

And then, for the first time, Christina whispered a thought she’d never dared speak aloud.

"What if I stopped losing on purpose?"

The thought sat with her.

Heavy.

Real.

The crowd roared again as Maria saluted her final opponent, her chest heaving only slightly, cheeks flushed with effort and pride.

And Christina?

She didn’t smile.

But she stood.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.