"Aaaaaah——!"
A cry of pain echoed through the training grounds as Ophelia crumpled to the floor, her hands scraping against the stone to prop herself up. The jet-black, hardened armor encasing her body was already cracking and peeling at the seams. For Ophelia, this outcome was completely beyond her calculations. The floor was littered with craters and spiderwebbing cracks, silent testaments to the ferocity of the battle that had just unfolded here.
*Or rather, it was exactly as it should have been.*
The moment Ophelia had successfully summoned her magic armor, Messiah and Semia had made good on their word—they hadn't taught her a single thing about defense or counterattacks. Instead, they'd subjected her to wave after wave of brutal, unrelenting abuse. The two girls flitted around Ophelia like a pair of colorful butterflies, dodging her clumsy, instinct-driven strikes with effortless grace before raising their parasols and slamming them down hard onto the thick magic armor covering her body.
At first, Ophelia hadn't paid the girls' parasols any mind at all. After all, they looked like nothing more than the delicate accessories noble young ladies carried on outings—harmless, trivial things. She'd thought their attacks would be nothing more than a show, a way to point out how she should be attacking and defending.
But the second the first parasol struck her body, she realized just how wrong she'd been.
That flimsy, seemingly fragile parasol had unleashed a shockwave of raw, devastating power. The impact hit her like a battering ram slamming into her chest, her vision darkening for a split second as she teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. The force coursed unimpeded through her limbs, yanking her backward as if she weighed nothing at all. For a heartbeat, Ophelia was convinced she would be crushed into a pulp.
A normal human would have been killed instantly by that blow. But fortunately for Ophelia, she was no ordinary human—she wasn't even human at all, not truly. Though she wore a mortal's form, she was a soul made flesh. No matter how powerful the girls' attacks were, they were nothing more than physical impacts. They might have been agonizingly painful, but they weren't enough to reduce her to ashes.
Despite its imposing, heavy appearance, the full suit of armor was actually weightless. Whether walking or moving, Ophelia didn't have to exert the slightest bit of effort—she only needed to think a thought, and the armor would move in perfect unison with her will.
But this was only the beginning.
Standing at the edge of the training grounds, Blake watched Ophelia stumble and flail as she tried to dodge the girls' relentless assaults—and failed miserably at every turn. No matter how talented she was, she was still a complete novice who had never set foot on a battlefield. Meanwhile, Messiah and Semia were seasoned knights who had once fought by his side, turning the tide of battles across the entire continent. They would never give a battle-inexperienced girl like Ophelia even the smallest opening. Her frantic, disorganized attempts to block were utterly useless. Luck only favored those who were prepared—and right now, the two girls were barely even showing a fraction of their true strength.
Blake took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on the struggling figure before him. He was suddenly transported back to that day—the sky dyed crimson with lightning crackling overhead, and the might of the entire Bycain Empire arrayed against them. Fifty thousand Holy Knights, their soul blades blazing like stars fallen to earth, their light outshining even the Forbidden Spells of the Archmage Bycain himself. And against them, they had just five hundred warriors, battered and bloodied, lying in wait in the forest, biding their time to deliver a killing blow. Even now, Blake could still see those two tiny figures riding beside him on horseback, their parasols held high and steady, pointing unflinchingly at the fifty-thousand-strong army arrayed before them. To them, there was nothing but the open plain ahead—no obstacles, no danger, no fear.
"Where Daddy goes, we go too."
"Where Brother goes, we go too."
Their voices had been innocent and sweet, yet filled with an unshakable resolve.
That was their faith.
"BOOM!!"
Another deafening explosion shattered the air.
Blake snapped out of his reverie, his eyes landing on Ophelia, who had collapsed at his feet. The black armor covering her body was completely shattered now, pieces peeling away and dissolving into dark mist that vanished without a trace into the air.
*Is this the limit of the Illusionary Battle Style?*
Blake raised an eyebrow, then looked up at the two girls, who had already stepped back into formation, their hands clasped together.
"Well?" he asked.
"Her defensive capabilities are quite impressive, and her mana reserves are more than ample," Messiah replied, her cheerful expression replaced by a serious, contemplative look.
"In a normal combat situation, she could maintain the armor for an entire day without issue," Semia added, nodding in agreement with her sister.
"Cough… cough…"
As the two girls chatted casually, sharing their assessment, Ophelia finally caught her breath, coughing violently as she gasped for air. Breathing was a meaningless gesture for a dead person, of course, but it was necessary for her right now. The relentless onslaught had left her mind reeling; if she hadn't taken a moment to suck in the crisp, cool air, she was convinced she would have been beaten senseless. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw a hand extended toward her, a clean white handkerchief resting on its palm.
"How are you feeling?" Blake asked, smiling down at her.
Ophelia paused for a moment to catch her breath, then reached out and took Blake's hand, letting him help her to her feet.
"Terrible, my lord," she admitted, her voice hoarse. "If I were human, I would have died at least a hundred and fifty times by now."
*She's even keeping count of how many times she would have died?*
Blake blinked in surprise. It seemed he had underestimated just how masterful the former princess was at controlling her own mind and focus.
"So what did you learn?" he asked.
"If you truly want to hear the truth, my lord…" Ophelia took the handkerchief and gently dabbed the sweat from her forehead, then spread her hands apologetically. "I feel like I learned absolutely nothing at all."
"No flashes of inspiration? No profound insights gained from teetering between life and death? No moment of clarity where everything suddenly made sense?"
Ophelia stared at Blake in confusion, completely thrown by his bizarre questions.
"No, my lord. To be perfectly honest, I was completely overwhelmed… by the end, I didn't even know what I was doing anymore. There was certainly no room for inspiration or insight of any kind…" She trailed off, a flicker of unease crossing her eyes. "Is… is that a problem, my lord?"
"Not at all."
To Ophelia's surprise, Blake merely patted her on the shoulder, his expression completely unconcerned. "This is exactly how it's supposed to be. Don't worry—there's nothing wrong with it."
"But I didn't learn anything…" Ophelia protested, panic creeping into her voice. Strictly speaking, this was her fault. While she had always been a diligent, hardworking student since childhood, her natural talent and quick wit had always allowed her to pick up new skills with ease, even on the first try. For the former princess, coming out of a "lesson" having learned absolutely nothing was an unprecedented experience. It was a common affliction among the overly gifted—they never experienced failure, so they came to see success as their birthright. When failure finally did come knocking, as it inevitably did for everyone else, they immediately assumed something was wrong with them, rather than accepting it as the natural order of things.
That was the gap between geniuses and ordinary people—and it was an infuriating one.
"Trust me, this really is normal," Blake reassured her, giving her shoulder another pat before lowering his hand. "And besides, you *did* gain something from this."
"Don't forget—for ordinary people, death only comes once. But you've 'died' a hundred and fifty times today. That in itself is invaluable experience—you just haven't realized it yet."
*This counts as experience?*
Ophelia rolled her eyes, glaring at Blake. She opened her mouth to retort, then quickly closed it again. Technically, he was absolutely right. But as the one who had been on the receiving end of all that abuse, she certainly didn't *feel* any different. She couldn't tell if her lord was mocking her, or if he truly meant what he said.
"So… what about my training?" she asked hesitantly.
"Starting tomorrow, your daily task will be to come here and… practice with the two of them," Blake said, pausing for a moment as he searched for the right word to describe the one-sided beatdown she'd just endured. "Don't worry—I trust them completely. I'm sure they know exactly when to stop."
*That's basically the same as saying nothing at all.*
Still, Ophelia didn't protest. She understood the unspoken meaning behind Blake's words loud and clear—from now on, she would have to come here every day to be beaten senseless by these two girls, dying a hundred times or so each session. But would this really help? Or was it just another one of her lord's bizarre pranks, designed to torment her? Ophelia shook her head, dismissing the thought. She knew nothing about combat, after all. While it was certainly possible that her lord was just trying to mess with her, she preferred to believe that this was actually a legitimate training method—one that she was simply too stupid to understand right now.
*Very well, then. I'll give it a try.*
Resolve hardened in her eyes, Ophelia straightened her posture and nodded solemnly at Blake. "I understand, Lord Blake. I will work hard."
Blake stared at her in surprise, taken aback by her determined response. Knowing the former princess as well as he did, he had fully expected her to complain and protest, begrudgingly agreeing only after much cajoling. But this… this was surprisingly smooth sailing.
"Good. You may go rest now—just remember how this feels today," he instructed.
Ophelia nodded, then turned and walked out of the training grounds.
"Alright."
Once Ophelia's figure had disappeared from sight, Blake turned back to the two girls, his playful smile vanishing without a trace, replaced by a cold, serious expression. "What do you two think? Messiah? Semia?"
"Big Sister has tremendous potential—and plenty of natural talent," Messiah replied, her cheerful demeanor gone, her face clouded with a rare seriousness.
"Judging by her sheer tenacity alone, she'll be an extremely formidable opponent one day," Semia agreed, nodding in unison with her sister.
"She reminds me a lot of Sister Scarlet Thunder Sheila from back in the day."
"But her potential far surpasses even Sister Sheila's."
The two girls spoke in turn, then turned their gaze back to Blake, their expressions grave. "My lord… are you certain you want to make her your adjutant? We don't think this is a wise choice. Once this Big Sister fully awakens her powers, even the two of us combined won't be able to stand against her—only you would be strong enough to defeat her."
"How interesting."
A faint, meaningful smile tugged at the corner of Blake's lips as he flexed his fingers, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's been far too long since I've faced an opponent worthy of my full strength, hasn't it?"
"Not since the Holy Knight Valtar. No one has been your equal since then," the two girls replied in unison, their serious expressions melting away as they broke into sweet smiles once more.
"Humans live to fight for their goals and their faith… I think this is a perfect opportunity," Blake said, turning to leave the training grounds. "Make sure you 'train' our princess well. Don't hold back—*at all*."
"Of course, Brother."
"We understand, Daddy."
When Blake emerged from the underground training grounds, he was surprised to find Ophelia still standing in the main hall instead of resting as he'd ordered her to. She was staring blankly at a letter clutched in her hands, her expression distant and troubled. He watched her silently for a moment before walking over to her side.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Oh! My lord!"
Ophelia jumped, startled out of her reverie by Blake's voice. She looked up reflexively, and a flicker of sadness crossed her face when she saw him standing there. "It's nothing… I was just reading the latest intelligence reports…" She sighed softly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Word just came in. The royal capital of Orlut has been completely surrounded by the Sith Empire. Orlut's fall is imminent."
Officially, Ophelia was nothing more than Blake's adjutant—a lowly position for the aide of a minor noble, with no right or reason to concern herself with the fate of a neighboring kingdom. But Ophelia had once been a princess of this land, and old habits died hard. She still couldn't help but see things from a royal perspective, still couldn't help but care about the fate of her country and its people, no matter how many times she told herself that she was no longer a princess, that she no longer had the power or the right to interfere. But seeing this devastating news now, she couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of sorrow in her heart.
"The Sith Empire?"
Blake took the intelligence report from her hands and scanned it quickly, raising an eyebrow as he read. "Orlut signed a three-month ceasefire treaty? How foolish… no, actually, given their level of intelligence, it was probably the smartest move they could have made. The real question is whether the Sith will honor it. And besides…" He trailed off, falling into deep thought, his brow furrowed in concentration. Ophelia watched him curiously, wondering what was going through her lord's mind. Did he actually care about matters of state like this? Admittedly, the thought felt a little disrespectful. After all, on paper, he was a noble of the Wester Kingdom, and should therefore be concerned with its best interests. But in Ophelia's eyes, this young lord cared far more about his own interests than those of Wester Kingdom—so much so that the kingdom seemed to barely register on his radar at all.
Ophelia knew that if she continued to follow this lord, she would inevitably be forced to face a day of reckoning—a day when she, as his adjutant, would be forced to stand against the interests of her own country, to collide with it, to fight against it. But instead of dreading that moment, she found herself quietly *looking forward* to it, longing for that day to come sooner rather than later.
Watching Blake pore over the intelligence report now, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions stirred in Ophelia's heart—hope, reluctance, and a strange, nameless feeling she couldn't quite put into words.
"I wonder what Wester Kingdom will decide to do," Blake muttered, suddenly folding up the intelligence report and turning to face Ophelia. "Miss Ophelia, I have a few questions to ask you. I want you to answer them not as my adjutant, but as the former Princess of Wester."
"Of course, my lord. Ask whatever you wish," Ophelia replied, her heart skipping a beat. Blake rarely addressed her as "princess" so seriously. He knew full well that the title belonged to her past, and usually only used it to tease or gently mock her, never to treat her as a true princess. But the tone of his voice now was completely different—was something truly important going on?
"Suppose you were the ruler of Wester Kingdom right now," Blake began. "We both know that's impossible, but bear with me for a moment. If you were the ruler of Wester, and faced with the threat of the Sith Empire's massive army, and your neighboring kingdom—Orlut—offered to buy you three months of precious preparation time by sacrificing their own land, asking for nothing in return except a single promise: that you would come to their aid when the time came. Would you agree to their request?"
"Absolutely," Ophelia replied without a moment's hesitation. "This isn't just a matter of honor and justice—it's a matter of self-interest. If we refuse to stand with them now, we'll alienate any potential allies we might have in the future. And right now, the Sith Empire's power is far too great for any single kingdom to stand against alone. If we want to rally more allies to our cause, we have to show them our sincerity—we have to let them know they can trust us to stand by our word."
"But what if the Sith Empire approached you at that very moment, offering you a deal? They promise that if you refuse to honor your promise to Orlut, they will never invade Wester Kingdom. They even offer to sign a written treaty, sealed in blood, to prove their good faith. What would you do then?"
"..."
Ophelia frowned, her brow furrowing in thought. "I would not change my decision. Because accepting their deal would be completely meaningless. It would only drive our allies away from us—and if we allow the Sith to defeat Orlut and the other kingdoms, Wester will be next on their list, without a doubt. When faced with overwhelming power, treaties are nothing more than scraps of paper—especially when there's no one strong enough to enforce them."
"But have you ever stopped to think about the cost?" Blake asked, stepping toward the window and pointing outside. The leaves rustled gently in the summer breeze, glowing with vibrant green life under the warm sunlight—beautiful, peaceful, full of promise. It was the height of summer.
"Look outside. Look at the people working hard down there. They're toiling away, striving to build a better future for themselves and their families. But when the war comes, all of that will be gone in an instant. A little boy who dreams of growing up to be a brave hunter like his father might be trampled to death by a Sith warhorse in the first charge. A young girl with a bright smile, arranging flowers in a pot on her windowsill, might be torn from her home, her clothes ripped off, and violated until she dies. As for the elderly, sitting in their rocking chairs and watching the world go by… their fate will be even simpler. After all, in times of war, the elderly are nothing but mouths to feed—completely useless to both sides. Do you really think anyone will bother to spare them? They'll die not in their beds, surrounded by their loved ones, but lying in the street like a pile of garbage, their bodies left to rot, no one to mourn them, no one to bury them. The only thing waiting for them is a funeral pyre."
Ophelia pressed a hand to her chest, her face going pale as Blake's words painted a vivid, horrifying picture in her mind. She felt like she could barely breathe, barely think.
"But all of this could be avoided with a single word from you. Just one word, and their peaceful lives could continue—if only for a few more years. At least they would get to enjoy a few more years of peace, a few more years of happiness. The nobles could continue to squander their wealth, indulging in wine, women, and power. It might only last a few years, a decade, a few decades. You have to understand—conquering an entire continent is not something that can be done overnight. And if you sign that treaty with the Sith, if you offer them even a token of assistance, you could ensure that Wester Kingdom survives under their protection. You would become a vassal state, of course, and eventually be absorbed completely. But at least you would have held on—at least you would have given your people a few more years of peace…"
Blake fell silent, his eyes fixed on Ophelia, watching as a storm of conflicting emotions played across her face.
"Decades from now, you might be old and gray. You might be dead. You might have long since lost the power to decide the fate of your kingdom. So tell me—would you still refuse the Sith's offer? Would you still care about what happens to Wester Kingdom *after* you're gone?"
"..."
Ophelia didn't answer.
Blake's words were laced with his usual sarcasm, but this time, they had struck a nerve deep within her heart. They had hit upon the softest, most vulnerable part of her soul.
As a politician, as a princess, Ophelia's greatest desire had always been to ensure that her people lived happy, prosperous lives. But now, she was being forced to face an impossible choice. Confronted with an enemy she could not hope to defeat, should she raise her sword and fight, even if it meant sacrificing everything? Or should she kneel and surrender, trading her kingdom's freedom for a few more years of fragile peace? It was a cowardly, shameful, selfish choice—but was it really the wrong one?
"I…" Ophelia began, lifting her head to meet Blake's gaze. His eyes were sharp, piercing, filled with a quiet intensity that made her heart skip a beat. In that moment, she realized she had reached a crossroads in her life—a crossroads that had come far sooner than she had ever expected, catching her completely off guard, leaving her utterly unprepared, with no words to comfort herself, no arguments to justify her decision.
But right now, she only needed to answer from the heart.
"I would choose to fight, my lord," she said firmly.
"Even if it means they all die?"
"Even if it means they all die."
Ophelia lifted her chin, her eyes locking with Blake's, her gaze filled with pain and vulnerability—but that vulnerability was quickly overshadowed by unshakable resolve.
Noticing the look in her eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Blake's lips before he spoke again. "Then tell me—what do you think the current king, Wester V, will choose to do?"
"He will most likely choose the latter," Ophelia replied after a moment's thought. "It's a choice he can live with. The former… is not."
"Then it seems you have your work cut out for you," Blake said, smiling as he patted her on the shoulder. Ophelia stared at him in confusion, completely lost.
"My lord? What are you talking about?"
"If that fool chooses to accept the Sith's offer, he will undoubtedly refuse to aid Orlut," Blake explained. "And we both know how that will make our potential allies feel—betrayed, bitter, abandoned."
Ophelia didn't reply, simply staring at Blake in silence. She had just explained the consequences of that choice to him not five minutes ago—he couldn't possibly have forgotten already.
"So that means we have to help Orlut ourselves," Blake continued, a cold, calculating smile spreading across his face. "They sacrificed their own land to buy their allies a chance to survive. We can't let that sacrifice be in vain. If the king refuses to help them, then *I* will."
Blake paused, his smile widening into something predatory. "Three months. That's our last chance to turn the tide. You'd better keep practicing, Miss Ophelia. You're going to need all the strength you can get."
"My lord… what are you saying?" Ophelia asked, her heart sinking like a stone.
"Exactly what you think I'm saying," Blake replied, snapping his fingers. "I'm going to make the Sith Empire attack Wester Kingdom. Only then will the game become truly interesting. Don't forget our ultimate goal—we're doing this for the sake of peace across the entire continent… a little sacrifice is a small price to pay, don't you think?"
Ophelia stared at him, her face filled with confusion. "I don't pretend to understand what you're planning, my lord… but is this really wise? After all, our territory is still so small, so vulnerable…" She trailed off, glancing nervously around the hall, her words fading into silence. The source was a closely guarded secret, and she had no desire to let anyone else learn of its existence. In Ophelia's mind, if Blake wanted to develop the source, he would need a time of peace and stability to do so. If he provoked the Sith Empire into invading, he would have no time at all to work on the source. Worse still, if the Sith ever found out about the source's existence, they would undoubtedly send their entire army to seize it. With Duskwood's current defenses, there was no way they could hope to stand against such an assault—it would be suicide.
"Don't worry, I know exactly what you're thinking," Blake said, shrugging his shoulders, completely unfazed by her concerns. "The Byrd family will be knocking on our door any day now. Once we've settled the matter of our territorial boundaries with them, I'll leave immediately to search for the source's location… then we can deal with the Sith Empire at our leisure. After all, we still have three months. Time is on our side."
"I hope you're right," Ophelia muttered, finally letting out a sigh of relief. It seemed Blake had everything planned out after all. She might not understand his reasoning, but as long as her lord had a clear goal and a solid plan, she would not question him further.
"Well, I'll take my leave now," Ophelia said, nodding politely at Blake. Just as she turned to go, Charlotte suddenly entered the main hall. She glanced briefly at Ophelia, then walked over to Blake's side, leaning in to whisper something in his ear. A look of amused satisfaction spread across Blake's face as he listened, and he turned back to Ophelia, shrugging his shoulders apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Miss Ophelia. It seems your rest will have to wait a little longer."
"What's wrong?" Ophelia asked, turning back to face him, curious to know what news could have put such a satisfied smile on her lord's face.