Veteran Reader in a regression novel

My morning routine has changed a lot. Ever since I ended up in this world, I’ve been living among the knight order under Sir Henry’s command, and as expected, I’m treated pretty poorly. It’s no surprise. I’m just an unknown boy picked up by their commander out of nowhere, handed a recommendation letter, and now being personally trained by him.

From the looks of things, everyone here is itching for a chance to take me down. It’s annoying to be glared at all the time, but they’re not foolish enough to cross the line—yet. Yesterday, Sir Henry told me today’s training would be different. So far, we’ve focused on technique and building up my physique, so the only logical next step would be putting what I’ve learned into practice.

Seeing how the others seem even more agitated than usual, Sir Henry must’ve done something to rile them up—a way to relieve the knights’ stress and train me at the same time. Efficient, but I can’t help resenting him for it.

Just as I’m lamenting my predicament, Sir Henry walks in with a big smile—the kind of smile a swindler would have. Seeing that expression has always been a bad omen, so I start praying even before he speaks.

If it’s a one-on-one duel, I can handle that. But why would he have stirred them up so much? Surely, he isn’t insane enough to… Right? As a reader, I pride myself on predicting twists, but this is one time I really hope I’m wrong.

“Good morning, everyone!” Sir Henry’s voice jolts me from my thoughts.

Once he has everyone’s attention, he continues, “I’m glad to see you’re all treating the newbie so amicably.” His tone drips with sarcasm.

This setup… It sounds exactly like something I would write myself. Is he secretly my dad or something? Now everyone’s glaring at me outright! He just made it sound like I ratted on them! But he isn’t done adding fuel to the fire.

“He told me that you all lack the skill and qualifications to be taught by me, so he’s frustrated you keep hiding in the shadows, glaring at him cowardly.”

The temperature drops as a chill runs down my spine. Sir Henry isn’t done. With one final flourish, he shouts:

“How can knights act like this? If you have a problem, prove it with your swords! To think you would stoop so low as to pressure my disciple indirectly. Have you no shame? I’ve decided to use this chance to prove to you all that my disciple is the greatest talent. The priest is on standby, so feel free to come at him as much as you like.”

Leaving me with that bombshell, he walks off, leaving us all in stunned silence. While it might sound like he’s saying, “If you all fight him, you’ll need every healer we have,” what it really means is I’ll need so much treatment that one medic isn’t going to be enough.

Life is full of surprises, but this is the first time I’ve been set up this thoroughly. Maybe I should sneak in tonight and shave his eyebrows. If this is his idea of a morning greeting, I might as well respond in kind tomorrow—if I survive.

I tighten my grip on my sword, feeling its weight in my hand. I scan the faces around me, trying to gauge their intentions. They’re all hesitating, some evaluating my strength, others wondering just how far they can go without getting into trouble.

If one of them makes the first move, the rest will likely jump in. I can’t wait for that to happen.

With a quick exhale, I lunge left, aiming to break their encirclement before they all decide to charge at once. My movement breaks their formation slightly, and for a moment, they look at each other, uncertain.

Then, as I feared, someone starts the party.

A tall knight steps forward, sword raised, and swings at me with enough force to make the air buzz. I barely sidestep, his blade missing my shoulder by an inch. But there’s no time to think, no time to plan. My instincts scream at me to keep moving.

I duck and dodge, narrowly avoiding strikes as more knights join the fray. My heart pounds. I’m faster than some of them, but their skill and strength are leagues beyond mine. Every swing of their blades reminds me just how much I lack.

But giving up now would be a one-way ticket to the healer’s tent—and probably an even more humiliating lecture from Sir Henry tomorrow. I’d rather endure a broken bone than see that smirk on his face.

With another dodge, I see an opening and make a desperate attempt to knock one of my attackers off balance. I swing low, catching him by surprise and making him stumble back a few steps. It’s not much, but it gives me some breathing room.

Another knight rushes forward, his expression a mix of annoyance and determination. I can practically see “Let’s end this” written on his face. He charges, sword aiming for my torso. I parry just in time, but the impact feels like it’ll shatter my bones. Sir Henry never attacked me seriously—just counters and defenses—so this is the first time I’m guarding against a real strike.

I try to push him back, but he holds his ground, his grin widening as he feels my grip slipping. With a quick twist, he disarms me, sending my sword clattering to the ground.

My heart sinks as I stare at the blade just out of reach. But surrender isn’t an option—not with all of them watching.

With no weapon, I do the only thing I can think of: I duck low, using my hand as a support, and drive my foot straight into his…forbidden zone, silently muttering an apology.

No one, not even a superhuman, can brush off a hit like that.

He recoils, stumbling back with a pale face, and I take advantage of his distraction to retrieve my sword. A ripple of whispers spreads through the group, some of them laughing, others surprised.

“Well,” I mutter under my breath, “at least I’m unpredictable.”

The moment of amusement doesn’t last. The knights regroup, and now they look even more determined to bring me down. This is going to be a long morning.

What’s the point of this training? Will I really learn anything useful from this brawl when I can barely swing a sword?

As I prepare for the next wave, I throw a quick glance toward the exit, half-expecting to see Sir Henry watching with that smug smile of his. If he’s there, he’s probably enjoying every second of this.

But maybe I’ve been around Sir Henry too long, because despite the predicament I’m in, a grin spreads across my face. I’d find out later, though, that my smirk is somehow even more annoying than his.