Chapter 20: Power and Where It Points
The training grounds spread out in a wide circle of white stone pavement.
At its center stood Michaelis.
He had removed one layer of his jacket.
A longsword hung at his waist, and his flame-like red hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck.
Even standing still, the symmetry of his build was obvious.
His legs were remarkably long.
No wonder he was popular, I thought distantly.
Am I popular?
I still cannot tell whether these are death flags or romance flags.
Around Michaelis stood simple human-shaped dolls.
They resembled large wooden mannequin models used for sketching, painted white.
Their heads were slightly lowered, arms and legs hanging limply.
They were unsettling.
Suddenly, a faint electric glow flickered over one.
It began moving stiffly.
With grinding sounds, it advanced toward Michaelis.
Nooo!
That is terrifying and creepy!
Its head just jerked sideways!
One doll approached from behind at an angle.
Without even glancing, Michaelis smoothly drew his blade and swept it.
The torso split cleanly.
Flames erupted from the wound.
The doll collapsed onto the stone, fire spreading rapidly until nothing remained.
At some point, blazing flames had wrapped around his blade.
Is that not hot?
Is it not frightening?
Michaelis showed no concern, calmly watching the remaining dolls.
Come to think of it, neither he nor Kishtarial shouted spell names.
…Well, I do not shout when I cast barriers either.
Our instructor once said some people verbalize to trigger activation, others chant internally.
Magic requires mana control and visualization.
The trigger differs for each person.
When I form a barrier, I picture its shape, properties, and strength.
For rain, a soft half-dome like an umbrella.
For footing, a square block like a large stone.
If one shouted incantations in real combat, ambush would be impossible.
It would be a handicap.
And if one stammered mid-spell? Disaster.
“Julius—too soft. Send something faster and sharper.”
Michaelis glanced at the soot-stained spot where a doll had vanished.
A combative smile curved his lips.
That doll had been fast already.
There are stronger ones?
Before I could process it, four dolls attacked simultaneously.
In a single flash, he cut them down.
The faint streaks of flame showed multiple strikes had occurred in that instant.
Michaelis is strong.
I knew that.
But seeing it in person is overwhelming.
He has won tournaments repeatedly, yes.
But this feels like another dimension entirely.
More dolls materialized.
This time they held wooden swords and glowed purple.
They looked upgraded.
Even more disturbing.
They spun at terrifying speed.
Their limbs were sharpened, grotesque.
If kicked by that, one might be sliced clean through.
Like Odile’s thirty-two fouetté turns in Swan Lake—
Except deadlier.
Even as I worried, they closed in.
One struck.
Michaelis parried, severed its arm, then its leg.
It writhed on the ground—horrifying.
Another doll leapt, crushing the fallen one beneath it without hesitation.
They had no awareness of comradeship.
A spear-armed doll lunged upward toward his face.
Michaelis stepped back, tilting his head slightly.
It missed completely, exposing its torso.
His blade pierced its core.
Flame engulfed it, melting through from within.
He stepped over it, closing the distance to others.
Strike.
Strike.
Some burned instantly.
Others did not.
He controlled the flames precisely.
His red hair flashed with silver and fire.
A dance of flame.
Soon, only charred remnants remained.
Michaelis von Domitrius.
In the original route we hardly interacted.
But if ever we stood opposed, he would be terrifying.
Even with Raven and Julius as guards, in a one-on-one duel, Michaelis might prevail.
I am glad I remained a well-behaved shut-in.
The dolls were frightening.
But the spectacle was extraordinary.
Still…
Those dolls feel familiar.
From where?
“The dolls resemble that cursed murderous mannequin from the horror story Julius once read to me…”
“Yes, the one that terrified you so much you demanded to sleep with Lord Kishtarial and Julius,” Jibril chimed in.
“How do you know that!?”
“I made Lord Kishtarial confess it previously!”
“Alber, however cute she looks, Jibril is this kind of girl. Remember that.”
Kishtarial narrowed his eyes at her.
Jibril beamed triumphantly.
“I think mischievous Jibril is adorable.”
Even if she misbehaves slightly, my affection does not diminish.
Kishtarial slumped.
Jibril clung to me victoriously.
As always, complete opposites.
She hugged me so tightly I nearly toppled—
Thankfully supported from behind again.
“Michaelis!
That was incredible!
I had heard rumors, but never imagined such mastery!”
“It is the first time I have shown you,” he replied gently.
“It was truly splendid.
You moved as if dancing with flame and steel.
To defeat so many at once so effortlessly!”
My words felt insufficient, yet I tried to convey my awe.
He accepted them with a smile.
My gaze fell upon his mithril blade.
Despite the flames, neither scabbard nor hilt bore soot.
“So much fire, yet not a single scorch mark.”
“The scabbard is woven with high-purity mithril silver.
The hilt is crafted from fire dragon hide.
That level of flame does not affect it.”
He held it closer for me to examine.
The intricate patterns shimmered.
When he offered to show the blade itself, I eagerly agreed.
The silver blade was breathtaking.
Straight, flawless, almost sacred.
My reflection stared back—
Ah. I am disguised.
I tried to touch it.
He swiftly withdrew it.
He used to fluster more easily.
Now he deflected smoothly.
How vexing.
As I persisted, I noticed something near the hilt hidden in his hand.
“What are you holding?”
When I pried his fingers open—
The sword slipped.
It embedded into the ground.
If it had fallen on a foot, that would have been catastrophic.
Attached to it lay a crimson tassel charm with a small magic stone and braided cord.
“You attached it to your sword?”
“Yes… Alber.
If you are curious, you should not suddenly put your fingers into someone’s hand.”
“You were hiding it.
I thought you would not tell me.”
Why was he hiding it?
“…Someday, I will tell you.”
“That is fine.”
He retrieved the blade before I could.
“Both of you are amazing.”
Top students indeed.
I, on the other hand, live leisurely at the Latitche estate.
My tutors are excellent, but not strict.
Recently even etiquette lessons turn into Rose Brand discussions.
Perhaps I am better suited for product development than society.
Still—
“Between you and Father… who is stronger?”
Their smiles froze.
Julius and Anna froze as well.
Jibril averted her eyes.
Have I asked something improper?
“Ojou-sama,” Raven spoke evenly.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“The Duke is regarded as a monster not only domestically but abroad.
It is disrespectful to compare him.”
Too many implications.
Even combined, could they not match him?
“Even demons and assassins flee from him.”
Father is too overpowered.
And yet his daughter can barely manage basic offensive spells.
Still—today was worthwhile.
Renaria Datches’ route remains unclear.
But I witnessed extraordinary things.
Prince Lucas’ route and the harem route seem likely.
Yet Kishtarial and Michaelis show little progress.
As we departed, nearly ten knights escorted our carriage.
Kishtarial and the others looked uneasy as they saw us off.
Their armor seemed high-ranking.
I feel apologetic.
As we exited the academy gate, the carriage stopped.
“What is it?”
“Milady, allow me to handle this. Please do not show yourself.”
“I leave it to you, Anna.”
Shut-ins are weak in emergencies.
Anna spoke outside.
The tone grew increasingly hostile.
A dreadful premonition stirred.
Suddenly the opposite carriage door burst open.
Not a knight—
Another figure stepped in first.
“Oy, so it was you.
The woman who made Renaria cry!”
Golden hair like spun silk.
Sea-green eyes.
A handsome face twisted with cold fury.
White silk shirt, deep green cravat, tailored jacket.
A nobleman radiating authority.
I do not know him.
And yet—I do.
“My name is Lucas Orl Sandis!
Do not claim ignorance of it.
You shall atone with your own body for wounding my beloved Renaria!”