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Deals, Drills, and Dawn Patrol
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「Bastion, Training Grounds」
4:30 A.M
The pre-dawn air at the Bastion was thick with a biting, crystalline frost—a natural accompaniment to the new power humming beneath G6's skin.
G6 stood in the center of the arena, her black training gear absorbing what little light remained. On her forearm, the black rose tattoo pulsed with a low, crimson heat.
"You can get out," G6 said.
A shimmer of silver mana bled from her skin, and Daunt materialized on the sand. The massive wolf shook his fur, his blue flame mane flickering against the dark. "The coast is clear. I don't sense any presence within three hundred paces."
"Of course. The knights wake at a quarter to six and gather here at seven," G6 replied. She was back in her all-black training attire, a shadow against the pre-dawn grey.
"You are certainly well-informed." Daunt's gaze swept the empty grounds. "So? Where are my favorite students?"
A cold dawn wind swept over them. Then, footsteps sounded—deliberate, crisp, and approaching.
"Looks like here they are. Such a dramatic entrance," G6 remarked.
"Good morning," Zen said, offering a weary but respectful nod.
"Good morning Lady Reise, Master Daunt," Edmund added, bowing deeply.
"Yo, Eddie. Did your old bones finally recover after resting the entire day yesterday?" G6 asked.
"They have, thank you for your gracious concern, my lady. Lilia also attended to me most diligently," Edmund replied.
"Lucky him," Zen murmured, then added, "But of course, I am also grateful for the… awful tonic."
"Right? Alistair sucks," G6 agreed.
"Enough chatter," Daunt intervened, his voice slicing through the camaraderie. "You two have merely stabilized your mana forms. You are nowhere near shaping a true spell. Today, I will teach you spells common to all mana forms. This is what distinguishes true magic from the simple affinity tricks you already know."
"Why didn't you ever teach me that?" G6 said, a note of playful accusation in her tone.
"Do not interfere, Reise. You know perfectly well you can invent any spell you please, you inhuman creature," Daunt retorted, his tone flat.
"Did he just call me a monster? You did just call me a monster, didn't you?!" G6 snapped, rounding on him. The two immediately launched into a familiar, heated bicker.
"Ahem." Zen cleared his throat gently. "I apologize for interrupting your… moment. Shall we begin?" He appeared his usual composed self, clad in impeccable noble attire, his eyeglasses glinting in the low light.
"Very well. Follow me." Daunt turned and moved toward a corner far from G6. Zen offered G6 a slight nod before following.
"And you, my lady?" Edmund inquired.
"I'll be practicing on my own. There's something I need to test. Go ahead," G6 said.
"Understood. Please do be careful." He bowed and moved to join the others.
Alone, G6 cracked her neck and began a series of warm-up exercises and stretches, her movements fluid in the silent dawn. It was time to begin her new journey into spells… into Cryomancy.
G6 stood alone in her corner of the arena, the predawn shadows clinging to her like a shroud. She faced the heavy reinforced training dummy, her hand extended, palm open.
"Manifest..." she whispered.
She focused on her internal circulation. Instead of the warm, fluid hum of standard mana, she felt a jagged, biting chill—a river of ice flowing from her heart, through her veins, and pooling in her fingertips.
Rime Point, she commanded in her mind.
A rush of frigid fog swirled around her hand. She felt the spell release—a subtle, swift expulsion.
Speed: 0.1s.
In a blink, she was standing inches from the dummy. The Rime Point—a crystallized needle of absolute cold—was buried deep into the center of the target, the impact point already spider-webbing with frost.
"Hmm. This is still too heavy," she murmured, pulling her hand back. "I'm only using 20% output, but the density is ridiculous. And my movement... 0.01 per second? Isn't that overkill?"
She flicked her wrist. "Disappear."
The ice needle didn't melt; it simply vanished into a fine white smoke.
Speed: 0.01s
A blur of black silk and shadow, and she was back at her original starting position before the sound of her previous movement could even reach the wall.
"As expected," she said, checking her pulse. It was slow—unnervingly so. "If my control was even slightly off, I'd have painted the far wall with my own organs. But since I barely broke a sweat, I really must be a genius. Ha... boring."
She leaned her head back, looking up at the darkening sky. Her mind drifted to the Queen's "request." Killing the prisoner was the easy part. The real challenge was the performance.
Let's see. What's the perfect way to kill that bastard, while simultaneously sending a message to that Queen about what happens if she tries to double-cross me?
A memory surfaced—a spell from the ancient tome. The xxx…
It was the final four words that had captivated her. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.
"HA. HA. HA. HA!"
Her laughter rang out—a chilling, joyless sound that echoed across the silent training grounds. It held a note of such pure, calculating malice that the trio on the opposite side halted their lesson mid-form.
"W-what is she laughing about?" Zen whispered, his usual composure faltering.
"I cannot say," Edmund replied, a cold sweat beading on his temple. "But I have never heard a sound quite like it."
"Hmm. I can sense the malice from here. Tsk." Daunt scowled, then bellowed at his stunned students, "AND STOP SLACKING! MANIFEST YOUR FORMS NOW!"
-ˋˏ✄ - - - - - - - ♡
The sun had fully crested the horizon, painting the training arena in a harsh, golden glare that did nothing to warm the two men currently dissolving into the stone bleachers. Daunt had already retreated into the black rose on G6's arm, leaving a lingering, phantom heat behind.
Zen was sprawled across the upper tier, his glasses skewed and his noble attire ruined by sand and sweat. "I... I think I might die before I even master the basic mana form spells," he wheezed, his chest heaving.
"I never thought I would hate my age this much," Edmund wheezed from the row below him, his hands trembling. "My joints feel like they've been replaced with rusted iron."
"Tsk. You guys are being dramatic," G6 said. She sat perfectly upright, not a hair out of place, watching the first few squads of recruits trickle onto the field below like a god observing a gathering of ants.
"C-Captain… we are not… like you…" Zen managed, looking as if every ounce of his energy for the day had been ruthlessly extracted.
"Do not be such weaklings!" Daunt's voice grumbled from within the tattoo.
G6's eyes tracked a movement on the far stairs. Tina was approaching, leading a small, skipping Lilia. They carried heavy wicker baskets. "Looks like the rations are here," G6 noted.
The two men jolted as if struck by lightning. "WATER!!" they croaked in unison.
"Lady Reise!" Lilia called out, her voice bright and oblivious to the carnage. She raced up the stone steps, waving a small hand.
"Hello there, Lilia," G6 replied.
Tina arrived a moment later, panting slightly from the climb. "Good morning, my lady," she said, bowing before her eyes drifted to the two "corpses" on the bleachers. "My goodness... what happened to you, Lord Zen? And Edmund! You look like you've been through a meat grinder!"
"W-water... please..." Zen begged, reaching a shaky hand toward Tina.
Tina hurriedly placed the baskets down and handed out bottles. The two men snatched them with animalistic desperation, gulping the liquid down so fast it spilled onto their collars. Lilia tilted her head, watching the aggressive hydration with wide, confused eyes.
Did Lady Reise actually torture them? Tina wondered, before shaking the thought away. Some things were better left unasked.
"I have these double-layered sandwiches," Tina said, distributing the food. "Please eat... to survive, I suppose?"
"Thank you, Tina. You are a saint," Zen said, his voice cracking with genuine emotion.
The two men happily unwrapped their meals and took hearty bites.
Are those… tears? Tina observed, blinking.
"I'll head back to the office once I take the empty basket," Tina said, adjusting her glasses. "I have a mountain of paperwork waiting for me. I'm leaving Lilia here to assist you, my lady."
"Alright," G6 said, already halfway through her own sandwich. Lilia sat beside her, happily munching on a crust.
"Want me to tell that woman to halt the paperwork?" G6 asked casually.
"My lady, please address Her Majesty with respect," Tina sighed. "And no need. I'd feel guilty doing nothing while you're out here... doing whatever this is."
"Well, don't say I didn't try," G6 shrugged.
"Ahem. I see Lord Zen is joining your dawn training now," Tina noted, trying to be polite.
"Don't pry, Tina. Zen is trying to reach S-Rank," G6 said.
"Trying for S-Rank is easier than this torture..." Zen mumbled through a mouthful of ham.
"Tsk. Look at this guy," G6 sneered. "He used to be the 'rational mediator,' now he's just a bitch."
"Good lord... language, my lady," Tina scolded gently. "Ah, right. Alistair gave me these."
She reached into the bottom of the basket and produced three glass vials. The two men choked mid-chew, their eyes bulging as Tina set the tonics on the stone.
"P-poison!" Zen gasped.
"What the fuck is this? Every time Alistair concocts a new tonic, the color gets darker… This looks like literal poison," G6 said, recoiling slightly from the vial's inky, opaque blackness.
"He said it will 'immediately' soothe fatigue and accelerate mana restoration," Tina said with a bright, terrifying smile.
"I don't need it. I'm perfectly fine," G6 said, sliding her vial toward the men. Her lips curled into a wicked grin. "You two can split my portion."
The two men stared at the black sludge, then at G6.
"D-devil..." they whispered in unison.
✎﹏﹏
Meanwhile, Downstairs…
The Five Angels entered the training grounds in their pristine white and gold knight uniforms. The recruits were assembling, ready to begin their morning drills.
Captain Kepler's gaze drifted upward to the highest bleachers, where several figures lounged with an almost insulting nonchalance, two of them lying flat.
"Who are those?" Kepler asked, frowning.
Brad Libert followed his gaze. "The one in black appears to be a Worthon?"
"Huh?" Nash Thonson squinted. "Oh. That's… Reise?"
"Lady Reise was here yesterday as well. She looks quite different in training clothes versus her noble attire," Libert observed.
"It seems they have been training. Their state of dress suggests it," Ursal Nocturne noted dryly.
"Ah, the maid is departing…" Thonson said as they watched Tina descend the steps.
A moment later, Tina approached the Five Angels where they stood conferring in the corner.
"Good morning, my lords," Tina said with a polite bow.
"Tina! It's been a while!" Thonson greeted. Tina offered only a formal nod in return.
"I come bearing a message from my lady. She requests that you excuse one of the recruits from the general training," Tina stated.
"I beg your pardon?" Kepler's tone was guarded.
"There is an underage recruit who, by his own desperate plea and with Prince Dio's permission—and my lady's approval—was admitted. Lady Reise feels responsible for him and wishes to personally observe and train him."
"Lady Reise?" Kepler's skepticism was palpable. "That spoile—ahem. She is not a knight. Does she have any relevant experience? Is she even a fighter? There is a world of difference between a mage and a combatant."
ina's face tightened momentarily before settling back into its usual placid expression. "I understand your concern, Captain Kepler. However, Lady Reise has proven herself to Her Majesty personally. She is not merely a Bastion staff member; she is an all-around employee of the Royal Collegium."
"Whoa—you mean she can choose which department she serves in at her own discretion?" Thonson asked, impressed.
"Indeed. And it was not granted by family patronage. We all know Her Majesty is perfectly fair. She bestowed the privilege upon my lady because it was earned." Tina's voice held a note of quiet steel.
"You speak very highly of your mistress," Cortez remarked. "But it does not change the fact that she is that 'Wicked Rose' who tormented the ladies around my nephew for years."
"Who is?"
A cold voice cut through the conversation from behind them. Prince Dio stood there in his knight's uniform.
"Good morning, Your Highness," they chorused, bowing in unison. Dio raised a hand in a casual gesture of ease.
The Prince's typically icy expression warmed slightly upon seeing Tina. "Tina? Is Reise here? Where is she?"
The Five Angels exchanged bewildered glances. He just called her 'Reise'?! Their thoughts aligned in stunned unison.
"Um, Lady Reise is… there, Your Highness," Tina replied, directing his attention upward with a subtle glance.
Dio looked up to the bleachers just in time to see G6 forcibly shoving a dark vial against Zen's mouth.
"Oh my…" Tina whispered. My lady, you impossible creature, are you trying to kill Lord Zen with that tonic?
"Is she attempting to murder that prostrate gentleman?" Libert asked, horrified.
"Who is that?" Prince Dio's face darkened.
"That is Lord Zen. He joined my lady and Edmund for dawn training," Tina explained.
"And I was excluded?" Dio's question was sharp.
"Ahem. In any case, Captain?" Tina swiftly redirected the conversation back to Kepler.
"As I stated, I cannot in good conscience entrust a recruit's training to a novice, however privileged," Kepler insisted, standing his ground. The other four Angels nodded in firm agreement.
"What is this concerning, Tina?" Dio interjected.
"My lady wishes to take the child under her personal care. Captain Kepler is… reluctant."
"Ah, the boy." Prince Dio's decision was instantaneous. "Captain Kepler, let Lady Reise have him."
The Five Angels were visibly taken aback.
"B-but Your Highness, Lady Reise is—" Kepler began to protest.
"It is fine. I only admitted that child on Lady Reise's recommendation in the first place," Dio stated dismissively. "What is his name again?"
"Pete, Your Highness."
"You heard her. This is an order. Send the boy to the bleachers. We will discuss the broader implications later." With that, Prince Dio left them, striding purposefully toward the staircase that led upward.
"I will take my leave as well," Tina said, bowing before she departed.
The five knights watched in stunned silence as their famously aloof Second Prince ascended the steps with unmistakable eagerness toward G6.
"I was under the impression their relationship was… sour?" Cortez murmured, voicing the collective confusion.
-ˋˏ✄ - - - - - - - ♡
[On the Bleachers]
The scene on the bleachers was nothing short of a medical disaster. Zen was undergoing what could only be described as a forced ascension, as G6 held his jaw and tilted the vial of black sludge into his throat.
"Drink it, Zen. If it doesn't kill you, I'll kill you for refusing," G6 muttered coldly, tipping the half-vial that was originally her portion.
"G-glrk—!" Zen's eyes rolled back as the concoction hit his system. I shouldn't have refused earlier…
A Little Earlier…
"Now, is the food settled?" G6 asked, looking at the two men who had collapsed back onto the stone.
They flinched, knowing what came next. "You two, drink this. You look half-dead," G6 commanded.
"Uhm… I believe I shall pass," Zen said, gulping at the sight of the tonic.
"What? I said drink it. You need energy," G6 said, staring him down.
"B-but… I… I don't wish to die!" Zen refused, eyeing the vial with disgust.
"Tsk. You're being a bitch again, Zen." G6 stood up and uncorked one vial.
"W-what—eep!" His protest was cut short as G6 seized his jaw and forced the tonic down his throat.
Is this the end? Zen's thoughts swam.
Witnessing his fate, Edmund immediately took his own vial, closed his eyes, and choked down the bitter, oily sludge.
"THIS IS ABOMINABLE," Edmund gasped, looking as though he might retch.
"Hey, there's half left," G6 said coolly, indicating the vial that was meant for her. Having surrendered all will, Edmund drank the remainder.
"G-give u-up… C-captain…" Zen slurred as soon as G6 finished pouring the tonic down his throat.
"What do you mean? There's still this half," G6 replied, holding up the second portion.
-Back to Present-
"Lady Reise! Please don't kill Lord Zen!" Lilia cried, tugging at G6's sleeve.
"Lady Reise."
Prince Dio's sharp, familiar voice cut through the chaos. He reached the top of the stairs, slightly winded, his eyes locking onto G6's hand clamped over Zen's face. His expression darkened.
"What are you doing to him?" Dio demanded, stepping closer.
"Improving him," G6 stated flatly, finally releasing Zen.
"H-help…" Zen whispered, looking as if death by Alistair's tonic was imminent.
Once both vials were empty, Zen desperately tried to wash the indescribable, lingering foulness from his mouth with water.
"It is surprising to see Zen joining your dawn training," Dio remarked, his gaze scanning the sand on their clothes and the worn knees of their trousers. What manner of training leaves one looking so… used?
"What's so surprising? We live together," G6 said. "Ah, right. The Queen forbade you from moving into the main building, didn't she? My bad."
Dio looked momentarily sullen but let it pass; he knew G6 lost interest in sulking quickly. "In any case, I heard you wish to train that boy, Pete?"
"Yep. They were making him a page boy. It offends my pride, since I insisted on his admission," G6 said. She looked down at the arena floor, where a bewildered Pete was being escorted toward the stairs by a disgruntled knight. "Thanks for the assist, Dio."
Dio's heart performed a peculiar, fluttering leap at the casual use of his name. He sat on the stone bench beside her, closer than propriety might dictate. "And what manner of training do you intend? Physical Enhancement affinity often focuses on the sword."
"You think I don't know how to use a sword? Speaking of which, you still owe me one," G6 countered.
"I suspect you know the theory, but are not truly adapted to its practice. And I have not forgotten my promise of a blade," Dio replied.
Just then, Pete reached the top, panting and wide-eyed with anxiety. He took in the Prince, the suffering Zen, the exhausted Edmund, and G6, who sat observing him like a queen upon a dark throne.
"L-lady Reise... I am here," Pete whispered.
G6 stood, her aura shifting seamlessly from indolent noble to merciless drillmaster.
"Hey there. Start with warm-up exercises, then stretches. Zen, stop whining and show Pete what I taught you." Zen peeled himself off the stone with a groan and shuffled over.
Pete's face paled. "A-alright…"
Zen led Pete to a spacious section of the footing and began demonstrating the basic mana form exercises G6 had drilled into them.
"It seems Zen has grown closer to you as well. He was always rather aloof, a solitary figure," Prince Dio observed.
"He's just a housemate I'm helping out," G6 said.
-ˋˏ✄ - - - - - - - ♡
As Pete finished his stretches, G6 gestured for him to sit on the stone step before her. Zen and Edmund, grateful for the reprieve, slumped nearby. Lilia sat quietly beside Edmund, observing with rapt attention.
"Alright, kid. Lesson one: your world's fighting is stupid," G6 began, her tone as matter-of-fact as if she were noting the color of the sky.
Pete blinked. Dio raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
"You've got two paths here," she continued, holding up two fingers. "Mage. Or Swordsman. That's it. It's a binary system built for nobles—big mana pools or fancy ancestral blades."
She pointed at Pete. "What happens when a mage runs out of mana in a fight? Or gets tackled before they can finish a chant?" Pete shook his head, wide-eyed. "They die. They become a punching bag. Their whole elegant system collapses without its fuel."
She then mimed holding a sword, then snapping it over her knee. "Swordsman. What if your precious sword breaks? Or you're disarmed? Or you're cornered in a space too narrow to swing?" She dropped her hands. "You're just a person in armor who's now a very heavy, very slow target."
"Remember, inefficiency costs lives," she stated.
"The only hand-to-hand style that even exists here is what they call 'Footwork' downstairs. It's basically just kick-focused sparring. Like a primitive, dumbed-down TKD. It's for show, for duels. It assumes you'll have space, that your opponent will follow the same rules, and that you'll never, ever end up grappling in the dirt."
She leaned forward, her grey eyes locking onto Pete's. "Real fighting isn't a duel. It's a system failure. It happens in mud, in alleys, when you're exhausted, when your tools break. Their 'Footwork' fails the second someone grabs you or takes out your legs."
"This world forgot how to fight with just the body. They outsourced it all to magic and metal. That is a critical weakness. I'm not going to teach you 'Footwork.' I'm going to teach you how to be a problem their neat little categories can't solve."
Just then, movement on the stairs drew their attention. Earl, Keith, Brenda, and Eliza appeared, heading for the main training grounds below. Keith spotted them and grinned, opening his mouth to call out.
Prince Dio, seated beside G6, lifted a single finger to his lips and shook his head sharply. His gaze was intense, commanding silence. Do not interrupt.
Keith's grin faded into intrigue. He glanced at Earl, who gave a subtle nod. The four of them changed course and quietly ascended the bleachers, finding seats a few rows above, becoming an unintended audience to the lecture.
Oblivious—or more likely, indifferent—to the new arrivals, G6 continued.
"The system I'll teach you is called Krav Maga," she said, the foreign words harsh and guttural against the formal air. "It's not a sport. It has no rules. Its only principle is efficiency: end the threat as fast as possible, by any means necessary. It uses everything—your hands, elbows, knees, teeth, the dirt, a rock—and it targets the weakest parts of the human machine: eyes, throat, groin, knees."
On the upper bleachers, Keith's eyes widened. Eliza gasped softly and looked away. Brenda leaned forward, utterly fascinated. Earl's expression settled into one of deep, analytical focus.
G6 stood and gestured for Zen to face her. "Demonstration. Zen, try to grab me from the front."
As Zen reached out, G6 didn't retreat. She moved into his space, her movements a blur of brutal simplicity. A palm strike deflected his arm, a knee rose toward his midsection (pulled at the last second), and a chopping motion stopped beside his neck.
"Close-distance neutralization. No room for a spell, no room for a sword swing. Just anatomy versus aggression."
She turned back to Pete, and finally let her gaze drift up to the new observers. Her expression didn't change. If anything, it grew colder, as if their presence had formalized a dangerous truth.
"The point," she said, her voice now carrying clearly to every tier, "is to be the variable their system can't compute. When the mage reaches for mana that isn't there, and the swordsman fumbles for a blade that's gone... that is when you win."
She looked directly at Pete, but the chill in her words settled over them all.
"But," she continued, her voice dropping into something colder, more focused, "what happens if both sides are stripped of magic and steel? If your opponent also knows how to fight with just the body?"
Without warning, she snapped a low, vicious roundhouse kick toward Zen's lead leg.
Zen didn't flinch. His body moved on pure, ingrained instinct—the instinct of 'Zero,' not Zen the quiet scholar. His forearm dropped to block, shin meeting bone with a sharp, percussive thwack that echoed in the sudden quiet.
G6 didn't pause. She flowed into the next attack—a feinted jab followed by an elbow strike toward his ribs. Zen shifted his weight, deflecting the elbow with his palm and countering with a knife-hand strike aimed at her neck. She caught his wrist an inch from her throat, her grip like iron.
They broke apart for a half-second, circling.
The bleachers fell into utter silence. All were shocked by Zen's fluid, lethal response. Prince Dio watched, his gaze sharpening as if seeing behind Zen's scholarly façade for the first time.
"Whoa… Zen," Brenda murmured, her voice hushed.
Down on the training field, the attention of the recruits snapped toward the two figures moving with such terrifying speed and precision.
"Is that Lady Reise?" Thonson murmured, halting his instruction on basic sword grips.
The other Four Angels watched, their drills forgotten.
"This is… oddly familiar," Kepler said, his brow furrowed.
There were no glowing swords, no chanted spells. Just the hard, clean sounds of impact and controlled breath.
G6 lunged again, aiming a spear-hand strike at Zen's solar plexus. He sidestepped, trapped her arm, and tried to leverage her over his hip. She went with the momentum, rolling across the stone like a cat, and came up in a low crouch, sweeping for his legs. He leapt over the sweep, landing poised and ready.
They weren't trying to maim each other; they were having a violent, breathtaking conversation in a language no one else in the kingdom understood.
Earl, Keith, and the others watched in stunned silence. "They're not… using anything," Eliza whispered.
Earl said nothing, his mind reeling. This is what she meant. When magic and steel fail… this is what remains.
Then, G6 made the move that silenced the entire Bastion.
She created a sudden distance, then sprinted. In one fluid, gravity-defying motion, she jumped, wrapping her legs around Zen's waist and neck. She executed a perfect flying scissor-leg throw, using her body weight to whip him toward the stone.
SLAM.
She pinned him to the floor in an instant, her legs locked and her position absolute.
"WHOA!" Keith yelled, jumping to his feet.
"What in the world was that?" Cortez breathed from below, while the other captains stood stunned.
Prince Dio remained seated, a slow, fascinated smile spreading across his face. She never ceases to amaze me.
G6 released her lock and stood up in one fluid motion, smoothing the wrinkles from her black training gear as if she had just finished a casual stroll rather than a lethal takedown. Zen remained on the stone for a moment, staring blankly at the sky as his chest heaved. Between the grueling dawn training and the "Black Tonic" currently wreaking havoc on his internal mana flow, he looked genuinely spent.
"This," G6 said, her voice cutting through the tomb-like silence of the arena like a frozen blade, "is what happens when you stop being a 'class' and start being a predator. Zen didn't lose because he was weak—though right now, he certainly is." She cast a brief, scoffing glance at his sprawled form. "He lost because he expected me to play by the rules of a person. In a real fight, there are no people. There are only threats and survivors."
She turned her gaze back to Pete, her eyes gleaming with a grim light. "Now, Pete. Imagine you aren't just limited to being a mage or a swordsman. Imagine being a weapon when you are weaponless. That makes you invisible to their logic. It makes you a ghost they can't catch."
Pete gulped, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and absolute reverence. I knew it... Lady Reise is on an entirely different level.
G6's mockery shifted toward the upper bleachers, where the Four Pillars sat paralyzed. Keith looked like he'd seen a ghost; Brenda was vibrating with a morbid sort of excitement; and Earl was as pale as a sheet, his analytical mind struggling to reconcile a high-society lady with a style that targeted the groin and windpipe.
"Enjoying the show?" G6 asked, her lip curling.
"Reise..." Keith finally found his voice, vaulting over a bench to get closer. "What in the seven hells was that? You jumped—you clipped him—you just turned a grown man into a falling tree!"
"It's a Scissor Takedown," G6 said, walking back to her seat next to Dio. "Highly risky if you miss. Highly final if you don't."
Prince Dio didn't hide his grin. He looked at the shocked, pale faces of the Five Angels standing in the arena below, then back at G6. "You just humiliated every manual in the Royal Library in under sixty seconds, Reise. Captain Kepler looks like he's having a crisis of faith."
"Enough, Zen. Thank you, you may rest," G6 said. Her voice was cold and dismissive, maintaining the icy distance the public expected of their relationship.
Zen offered a stiff, formal nod to the Prince and the others before retreating to the furthest pillar in the back row. He leaned against it, projecting a "don't ask" aura so thick it effectively neutralized any attempt at conversation.
G6's eyes snapped back to her group. "Edmund. Stop lounging and get over here. Since Zen's stamina is as pathetic as his social skills, you're taking over."
Edmund, who had been watching with a knowing, weathered smirk, stood up and cracked his neck. Unlike Zen's stiff, unrefined fumbling, Edmund moved with the seasoned, heavy weight of a veteran. He stepped into the center of the Foothold, facing Pete.
"Wait!"
Eliza stood up, her voice small but surprisingly clear. She looked at G6 with an intensity that lacked her usual fragility. "If... if magic and steel fail, and this is what remains... can anyone learn it? Even someone like me, with low physical strength?"
G6 paused, her grey eyes scanning Eliza. "Anyone can learn the mechanics. This system is designed to use the opponent's weight against them. It's the ultimate equalizer for the small against the large." Her gaze sharpened. "However, if you lack the discipline to exercise and build the necessary muscle, don't dream of using it. Without a solid foundation, the force of the impact will just backfire and shatter your own bones."
G6's words hung in the air like a verdict. The strange, electric tension that had gripped the bleachers began to dissipate, replaced by the mundane sounds of the training grounds below slowly resuming their drills, albeit with frequent, awestruck glances upward.
"Well, don't just stand there gawking," G6 said, her voice slicing through the lingering shock. She waved a dismissive hand at Keith, Brenda, Earl, and Eliza. "You have your own training. Go be productive somewhere else."
Keith opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp look from Earl—who had regained his composure and was now watching G6 with the intense focus of a scholar who'd just discovered a new, dangerous field of study—silenced him. They descended the bleachers, a quiet, thoughtful group, their earlier plans for the morning utterly derailed.
Prince Dio remained for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on G6. He had more questions—about her, about Zen's hidden prowess, about the cold, efficient violence she treated as mere pedagogy. But he saw the wall in her eyes. The lesson was over; the audience was dismissed. With a final, unreadable glance, he too rose and made his way down to the arena floor, his mind already churning with this new, unsettling piece of the puzzle that was Reise Worthon.
And so, a pattern was set for the remaining days.
Before dawn, the West Villa contingent—G6, Zen, Edmund, and the spectral presence of Daunt—would gather in the empty arena. The air would ring with Daunt's barking commands, the sizzle of unstable mana forms, and the sound of bodies hitting the sand as G6 pushed them to their absolute limits. Zen, caught between the brutal physical regimen and the volatile aftereffects of Alistair's "Black Tonic," fluctuated between determined focus and muttered complaints about "inhuman training methods."
At first light, Pete would arrive, his small face set with a determination that hadn't been there before. Under Edmund's patient but firm guidance, he drilled the basics of stance, movement, and the three foundational attacks G6 had demonstrated. G6 observed from her perch like a hawk, offering terse, precise corrections that carried the weight of absolute authority. "Your hip is lazy." "You're pulling the kick." "Commit, or you'll die."
Throughout the day, the other young nobles orbited this strange new nucleus. Keith would "coincidentally" need to consult Earl near the bleachers. Brenda would find urgent reasons to deliver messages. They were drawn, half in fascination and half in dread, to the silent, intense process unfolding above the common drills. Eliza practiced her light magic with a new, fierce concentration, her earlier question burning in her mind.
And Prince Dio threw himself into the looming political storm. He spent his hours in the main palace, digging into the records of House Neviden, pressing the guards for any detail about the serial killer's behavior, and preparing his arguments for the trial. His frustration at being shut out of G6's dawn sessions was channeled into a cold, relentless focus. He would be ready.
The tension in the capital coiled tighter with each passing hour, a slow fuse burning toward a single, public event.
The day of the judgment arrived.
»»---------❈---------««
「Main Palace, Grand Arena– Day of Judgment」
The sky was a vault of hard, cloudless blue, offering no solace. The vast courtyard before the palace steps had been transformed into a stage of solemn power. Upon a raised dais sat the King and Queen, figures of carved stone, flanked by Crown Prince Amir and Prince Dio, their faces set in contrasting lines of regal duty and icy watchfulness. Below them, in seats of carved obsidian, sat the three Pillar Heads: Duke William Worthon, Duke Trevon De Lune, and Duke Severon Nocturne. They were living portraits of authority, their expressions inscrutable masks worn for the state.
The courtyard itself was a living tapestry of the realm's power. The assembled nobility of the Three Courts—Upper, Middle, and Lower—formed a silent, glittering sea of silk, brocade, and polished ceremonial armor. A thousand carefully schooled faces held a thousand carefully contained thoughts. The air was thick, not with summer heat, but with the static hum of suppressed excitement and grim anticipation. This was no mere trial; it was the kingdom's most exquisite and brutal form of theater.
At the epicenter of this focused gravity, bound in heavy, rune-etched mana-suppressing chains and encircled by a full phalanx of Silver Company knights, stood the condemned. The commoner serial killer was gaunt, hollow-cheeked, his eyes holding the frantic gleam of a cornered beast. The stolen, unstable power within him visibly strained against its magical bindings, a palpable aura of wrongness that made the nobles in the front rows shift minutely in their seats, their composure cracking for a heartbeat.
All the required players were assembled. The Royal House. The Pillars of the Realm. The Watching Courts. The spectacle was complete.
As the Head Justice stepped forward, his sonorous voice beginning to roll the litany of charges across the stone like doom itself, not a single eye looked upward.
Far above, a kilometer distant in the boundless azure, a figure cloaked in black rode upon the back of a mythical beast. It was Daunt, his form sleek and powerful. He hung in the sky, borne aloft not by wings, but by currents of controlled wind that shimmered around his paws, a silent predator defying gravity through affinity alone.
G6 leaned forward, one eye pressed to an elongated, mana made scope. Enhanced by her perception skill, the scene below resolved with impossible, screen-like clarity. In the crosshairs of wind and will, the world narrowed to a single point. The frantic pulse in the killer's throat. The Queen's finger, a tense pale line against dark wood. Prince Dio's unblinking gaze, towards Marquis Vinesthorne. Her own breath, steady as a glacier's advance. The only sound was the whisper of high-altitude wind past Daunt's fur and the slow, satisfying click of a metaphysical safety disengaging in her soul.
Stupid mutt. He's showing off with the wind currents. Keep it steady. She thought, giving Daunt's side a mental nudge through their bond.
The judgment was beginning its ponderous, ceremonial march.
But the executioner…
The executioner was already in position.
–To be continued…–
[A/N]: CHAPTER 42 WILL BE UPLOADED ON SATURDAY