"Under no circumstances can I agree to your demands, my lord. For the Byrd family, this is simply unacceptable."
As Ophelia stepped into the drawing room, Viscount Wen's voice was the first thing to greet her. He was staring at Blake with a grave, unyielding expression, while Blake wore his usual easy smile, as if he hadn't paid the slightest heed to the other man's words.
"I beg to differ, Viscount Byrd," Blake replied calmly. "The Duskwood Forest was originally my territory. So asking for a boundary demarcation based on this map is a perfectly reasonable request, is it not?"
"But your demands are far too excessive! Even if I were foolish enough to agree, my family would never consent to such terms. Why can't we both meet halfway and find a solution that works for everyone?"
"Actually, I *am* being quite reasonable in this negotiation, Viscount."
It was clear that the two men were locked in a tense standoff. Charlotte stood behind Blake, her lips curved in a faint smile as she gazed at the oil painting hanging on the wall ahead, seemingly oblivious to the heated argument unfolding before her.
"Miss Ophelia? You're back."
The sound of the door opening briefly interrupted their dispute. Both Blake and the viscount turned to look at Ophelia as she entered—but the moment they saw her, they both froze in surprise.
"What's the matter? Where are the two girls I asked you to fetch?"
"Well… it's a bit complicated, my lord," Ophelia replied, a look of obvious embarrassment crossing her face. "The two young ladies are currently training in the underground sparring hall. I called out to them several times, but they seemed completely absorbed in their practice and didn't hear me. I wish I could have intervened, but as you well know, my abilities are nowhere near strong enough to make them stop. I'm afraid you'll have to go there yourself."
"Oh?"
A glint of amusement flashed in Blake's eyes. He quirked the corner of his mouth, then stood up and gave Viscount Byrd an apologetic shrug. "It seems those two rascals are at it again. Why don't we go see what they're up to, Viscount?"
"Very well."
Viscount Byrd nodded, picking up his handkerchief to dab at the sweat beading on his forehead before heaving a sigh and rising to his feet. He was growing tired of this fruitless argument. He had originally planned to settle the boundary issue first, then bring up the checkpoint incident afterward. But he had never imagined Blake's appetite would be this insatiable—and he was not exaggerating when he said his family would never agree to such terms. It would mean squandering nearly a century of the Byrd family's hard work and sacrifice, something no member of the clan could ever accept. So he could only sigh helplessly, pushing the boundary dispute aside for the time being to deal with the checkpoint matter first.
Guided by Blake and Ophelia, the viscount soon arrived at the underground sparring hall. The damp, frigid air made him shiver slightly with discomfort—but what truly caught him off guard was the deafening roar echoing from inside the training grounds.
"BOOM!!"
The thunderous sound reverberated through the underground chamber, sending a jolt of shock through the viscount. He frowned, clapping his hands over his ears to muffle the noise as he struggled to catch his breath. He shot a curious glance at the dark, imposing door ahead of him. Just what kind of "training" could possibly make such a racket? It was loud enough to rival a siege cannon firing!
But the moment he stepped through the door and beheld the scene inside, Viscount Byrd's eyes widened in pure, unadulterated shock. He froze in place, his breath catching in his throat as he stared, dumbfounded, at the two figures darting through the air like a pair of black-and-white butterflies.
The dark-haired and white-haired girls were circling and clashing across the sparring hall at speeds defying all human comprehension. They laughed like tinkling bells as they wielded their parasols in a flurry of attacks and parries. On the surface, it might have looked like nothing more than a playful scuffle between two children—but the moment the viscount spotted the shimmering black and white soul auras flickering around their bodies, he knew he could not have been more wrong.
**Soul Sword Aura! Mid-ranked Swordsmen!!**
The viscount felt as if someone had smashed a sledgehammer into his skull, leaving his mind spinning in a daze. He had never, in his wildest dreams, expected to see two mid-ranked Swordsmen here—and they were so young! By the grace of the Divine, these girls looked no older than ten years old! How could they possibly possess the strength of mid-ranked Swordsmen?!
But before the viscount could even begin to process this earth-shattering revelation, something happened in the sparring hall that left him utterly dumbfounded. The dark-haired girl leaped backward, nimbly dodging a thrust from the white-haired girl's parasol. But in the blink of an eye, the white-haired girl suddenly retracted her weapon, and a hazy white glow enveloped the parasol. She raised it high, then drove it forward in a powerful stab.
A brilliant beam of white light erupted from the tip of the parasol, streaking directly toward the dark-haired girl standing a short distance away. But at the very last second, the dark-haired girl spun around in an impossibly agile maneuver, narrowly evading the attack. The white light grazed her side, then slammed into the stone wall with a deafening explosion that shook the entire underground sparring hall, sending clouds of dust and debris raining down from the ceiling. A spiderweb of cracks now snaked across the wall's surface.
If the viscount had been merely astonished before, he was now on the verge of fainting from sheer terror.
**Sword Aura Projection! High-ranked Swordsmen?!**
Viscount Byrd stood rooted to the spot by the door, his mind completely blank, unable to process what he was seeing. By the Divine, *who on earth were these two little girls*? How could they possibly wield the power of High-ranked Swordsmen? In that instant, the viscount felt as if the very fabric of the world had been turned upside down—as if he had stumbled into some impossible alternate dimension, with the real world slipping away from him with every passing second.
But beside him, Ophelia and Blake showed no signs of shock. Ophelia remained perfectly calm, even shooting Blake a helpless look as she reported, "As you can see, my lord, I have no ability to intervene in the young ladies' duel."
"I know," Blake replied with a smile, nodding his head. He then patted Ophelia's shoulder meaningfully and added, "Well done."
At Blake's words, Ophelia shot him a mischievous grin before quickly schooling her features back into their usual expression of resigned exasperation. Meanwhile, Blake had already descended into the sparring hall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword at his waist. Viscount Byrd watched him in a daze, his mind operating purely on instinct—what could this young lord possibly hope to accomplish against two High-ranked Swordsmen locked in combat?
But then he saw it: a flash of white light slicing through the darkness.
A crescent-shaped shockwave tore across the ground, striking the parasols in the two girls' hands with pinpoint accuracy. Their movements stuttered, and their weapons, which had been locked in a fierce clash, were thrown apart by the unexpected impact.
"Alright, that's enough playtime," Blake said, sheathing his sword with effortless ease. "We have business to attend to."
Watching Blake casually sheathe his sword and speak so nonchalantly, Viscount Byrd felt no more shock or terror—only a profound, numbing sense of disbelief. When he had first received intelligence reports about Blake's strength, he had doubted whether the young lord truly possessed such power. But after witnessing him effortlessly halt a duel between two High-ranked Swordsmen, he no longer had any doubts left.
"Brother? What's the matter?"
"Father? Did you need us for something?"
At the sound of Blake's voice, the two girls immediately darted over to his side, their faces lighting up with sweet smiles as they asked in unison.
"Yes, I have something I need to ask you," Blake replied, gently patting the tops of their heads. In that moment, he looked like nothing more than a doting older brother with a soft spot for his younger sisters.
"I've heard that on your way here, you forced your way through a checkpoint… and killed some people in the process. Is that true?"
"A checkpoint?"
At the mention of the word, both girls tilted their heads to the side, as if trying to recall something. Then they frowned, shooting Viscount Byrd—who stood a short distance behind Blake—a glare filled with reproach. Their expressions were identical to those of two mischievous children whose prank had just been exposed: annoyed and indignant.
Feeling the weight of their gazes, Viscount Byrd jolted violently, snapping out of his stupor. He had originally thought he held the moral high ground in this matter—but now, he couldn't have been further from that delusion. By the Divine, what kind of misfortune had befallen him? Dealing with a High-ranked Swordsman lord was already bad enough—but the two little girls he had come here to protest against were also High-ranked Swordsmen?
*Just let me die now.*
The viscount broke out in a cold sweat under the intense, distrustful stares of the two girls. He had no doubt that these were the same girls who had attacked the checkpoint—their features were far too distinctive to be mistaken. Multiple witnesses had described their appearance in detail after the incident. But he had never imagined he would be faced with such a nightmarish predicament.
**Three High-ranked Swordsmen!**
The viscount's eyes darted back to Blake. Just who *was* this young lord, anyway? Not only did he have a member of the royal family serving as his subordinate, but he also had two High-ranked Swordsmen—barely more than children—at his beck and call. Three High-ranked Swordsmen… how many families in the entire Wester Kingdom could boast such power? Admittedly, the most ancient and influential noble clans possessed such strength—but they were the most powerful families in the kingdom, capable of shaking the realm to its core with a single word. But this young lord… he looked nothing like someone who commanded such formidable power.
*How on earth had he managed to gather so many High-ranked fighters under his banner?*
In that moment, Blake's identity seemed more mysterious than ever to Viscount Byrd. He made a silent vow: the moment he returned home, he would launch a thorough investigation into this young man's background. In particular, he would revisit the terms of their previous business deal—this was a matter that *had* to be resolved properly. Otherwise, the Byrd family would surely be making a deadly enemy for themselves.
*Assuming he lived long enough to return home, that is.*
"Is it true?" Blake pressed on, seemingly oblivious to the girls' annoyed glares and Viscount Byrd's mounting terror. The two girls exchanged a glance, then nodded their heads in unison.
"It's true, Brother."
"That's right, Father."
"But it wasn't our fault!"
"It was those bad men's fault!"
"We paid the toll!"
"But they still wouldn't let us pass!"
"So we got angry…"
"…and killed them."
Listening to their casual confession, Viscount Byrd's face turned ashen. He actually knew the full story of what had happened—there had been plenty of onlookers at the checkpoint who had witnessed the entire incident. While it was true that the guards had been in the wrong, there was a world of difference between giving them a good thrashing and *killing* them.
To be honest, the Byrd family hadn't taken the commoners' reports very seriously at first. They had scoffed at the descriptions of the two girls' incredible strength, dismissing them as the exaggerated fantasies of ignorant peasants. The dust cloud that had erupted during the fight had obscured most people's view of what really happened, after all, making the witness accounts even less credible in the family's eyes.
But after what he had just seen in the sparring hall, the viscount realized those "ignorant peasants" had not been exaggerating in the slightest. Every word of their testimony had been the unvarnished truth.
*So what now?*
Viscount Byrd was known for his quick wit and sharp mind—but in that moment, he was completely at a loss for what to do. While the Byrd family was technically in the wrong in this matter, the girls' decision to kill the guards had escalated things to a whole new level of severity. The viscount had originally planned to use the guards' deaths as leverage to gain the upper hand in negotiations, painting Blake and his companions as reckless killers and putting the Byrd family in the right. After all, even if the family had no intention of waging war over such a trivial matter, the viscount still needed to make it clear that Blake's side had crossed a line.
Because in this world, it wasn't *right* that made might—it was *might* that made right.
But now, the viscount had completely abandoned that foolish plan. The girls were High-ranked Swordsmen—so what if they had killed a few guards? If anything, the Byrd family should be on their knees thanking the Divine that the girls hadn't come looking for *them* to exact revenge. And here he was, foolishly walking right into their lion's den… What did he have left to rely on now? The moral high ground? The strength to back up his demands?
The viscount thought long and hard.
It seemed he had nothing.
In fact, he *definitely* had nothing.
"Alright, regardless of the circumstances…" Blake began, casting a glance at the viscount, whose face was a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions. "Killing people is never the right thing to do. You two were far too reckless. Those men were the Byrd family's guards, after all—your actions were inappropriate, to say the least…"
Blake paused for a moment, then continued, "Now, apologize to this gentleman."
At Blake's words, the two girls exchanged an unhappy look, then took each other's hands and walked over to Viscount Byrd. They lifted the hems of their dresses in a graceful curtsy and said in unison, "We are truly sorry, sir. We know we were wrong. Please forgive us."
"Viscount Byrd," Blake said, stepping forward with a warm smile. "Do you find this resolution acceptable?"
Staring at Blake's smiling face, then at the two innocent-looking girls standing before him with their heads bowed, Viscount Byrd opened his mouth—but no words came out. *Was this really happening?* It was like watching a doting older brother apologize for his "naughty little sisters" after they pulled a childish prank… Was this some kind of joke?
But even so, the viscount didn't dare to demand anything more. He had originally planned to use this incident to cow Blake into submission—but now, that option was completely off the table. The girls had apologized, and that was that. If he dared to press the issue further… well, he was staring down the barrel of two High-ranked Swordsmen. He didn't have the courage to push his luck.
"Of course, my lord," the viscount replied, forcing a bitter smile as he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "If you are satisfied with this resolution, then I have no objections whatsoever."
Though he felt a surge of resentment in his heart, the viscount knew there was nothing more he could do about the checkpoint incident. If he continued to press the issue, he would not only be in the wrong—he would also be putting his entire family in mortal danger. Three High-ranked Swordsmen! While they might not be able to destroy the entire Byrd family, they could certainly cripple it beyond repair. And that wasn't even taking into account the pure-blooded royal standing beside them! If things escalated into a full-blown conflict, the Byrd family would find themselves facing not just three High-ranked Swordsmen—but the wrath of the royal family itself!
The Byrd family might be a powerful noble clan, but they were still subjects of the Wester Kingdom. Falling afoul of the royal family would spell nothing but disaster for them.
With that thought firmly in mind, Viscount Byrd said nothing more. After following Blake and the others back up from the basement to the main hall, the viscount wasted no time in excusing himself, citing the late hour as his reason for leaving. Though Blake tried to persuade him to stay for dinner, the viscount politely but firmly declined, claiming he had urgent matters to attend to and could not linger any longer. As for the question of the Duskwood Forest's boundaries, he promised to report Blake's demands to his family and deliver a satisfactory response as soon as possible. Then, he made his exit—leaving the castle at a speed that surprised everyone present.
"That was resolved rather quickly, wasn't it?"
Watching the viscount's retreating figure, Blake's lips curled into a satisfied smile. He turned to Ophelia, who stood beside him, and said, "We have you to thank for that clever plan of yours, Miss Ophelia."
"It was my duty, my lord," Ophelia replied, reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. The red glow of the setting sun bathed her figure, casting a faint pink flush across her fair skin and making her look utterly enchanting.
After locating the two girls, Ophelia had initially planned to bring them directly to Blake in the drawing room. But she had quickly abandoned that idea. She knew full well that doing so would put Blake in an extremely passive position. In the delicate dance of political negotiations, every single action—no matter how small—could shift the balance of power. If she had marched Messiah and Semia into the drawing room to apologize to the viscount, their side would have conceded the high ground before the negotiations even began. Once they showed even the slightest hint of weakness, it would be impossible to regain the initiative.
So instead, she had asked the two girls to head to the sparring hall for a training session, then went to inform Blake of the situation. This forced the viscount to accompany them to the sparring hall—where he would see the girls' true strength with his own eyes. And as she had predicted, witnessing their power firsthand had completely changed his stance on the matter.
Ophelia was no longer the naive girl who couldn't even distinguish between the different ranks of swordsmen. Under Blake's patient guidance, she had learned all about the various warrior classes and their influence and standing among the nobility. Her plan had been partially an experiment to test her understanding of these dynamics—and the results had exceeded her expectations. The influence of High-ranked Swordsmen among the nobility was truly not to be underestimated.
"After all, is that not what an adjutant is for? To be of service in times like these?"
Ophelia looked up at the young man standing beside her, a soft, genuine smile spreading across her face.
"It certainly is," Blake replied with a chuckle. He leaned against the stone railing of the balcony, gazing out at the forest, mountains, and the sinking sun on the horizon. "Do you think the Byrd family will agree to our demands without a fight?"
"It won't be easy," Ophelia admitted, shaking her head slightly. "But it won't be impossible, either. It all depends on how much they believe the information we've shown them. There will undoubtedly be some probing and testing from their side—but if we handle things carefully, everything should proceed smoothly."
"In other words, you already have a plan in mind?"
"I do, my lord."
At that, Ophelia's face lit up with a confident, relaxed smile. "Would you like to hear it?"
"No, there's no need," Blake said, shrugging his shoulders. "I have complete faith in your abilities. So… now that our negotiations with the viscount have come to a close, I'll leave the rest of this tedious business in your capable hands. I'll leave the two girls here to assist you—you can order them to do whatever you need. They're actually quite obedient when they want to be."
"What about you, my lord?"
Sensing that Blake intended to distance himself from the matter, Ophelia turned to him in surprise.
"I'm going to find our 'Source,'" Blake replied, his expression unchanged—as if he were simply planning a casual afternoon stroll. "I expect you to have this tiresome business wrapped up by the time I return, Miss Ophelia. I'll leave the two sisters here to help you—you can command them to do whatever you need. Those children are actually quite obedient when they want to be."
"You're planning to go alone?" Ophelia's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "That's not a wise decision! The Source is incredibly important. We should dispatch a large escort to protect you. Besides… we still don't have the extraction equipment we need, and laying the pipelines will be no easy task."
"I won't be going alone," Blake assured her. "I'll be taking Judy and the others with me—and I'll treat them to a nice meal as a reward. As for the Source…"
Blake paused, then fixed the young woman before him with a mischievous grin.
"Trust me, Miss Ophelia. I have my ways."