Chapter 89 – Deciding Match During Field Practice (7)

In the Kingdom of Pennheim, the seasons shift with predictable regularity. Yet, two locations remain immune to the cyclical dance of nature.

Lake Senrir, eternally locked in ice, home to the Ice Duke and the Rochear knights.

And the Phecda Tower in the Batudis region, perpetually veiled in mist, a consequence of Baldur’s Nightmare.

***

Osborne, founder and president of the Royal Meteorological Society, began his day as he always did: with a cup of black tea and a comprehensive assessment of the continent’s weather patterns. He opened the window of his office, a frown creasing his brow.

“Those infernal messenger lines. A blight on the skyline.”

The lines, emanating from Horus’s Lighthouse, were a constant irritant, a web of intrusive wires marring the otherwise pristine view. But he dared not voice his displeasure. No one in the Society would risk offending Terra Ernestine.

With a sigh, he lit a cigarette as his assistant entered, bearing the daily weather report.

“Readings from the observation posts, sir. Thessalon and Pennheim sectors.”

“More anomalies, I presume?”

Osborne unfurled the report, his frown deepening.

The weather had been erratic of late. A series of unexpected solar eclipses had darkened the skies earlier in the year. Lake Senrir had thawed, disgorging the long-frozen corpses of demonic beasts, which now drifted like macabre icebergs towards the Lavierre Mountains. And the perpetual mists of Batudis were inexplicably receding.

“Ominous. Any celestial shifts of note?”

“The Phecda star’s luminosity has fluctuated, sir. And Merak continues to dim.”

“Hmm…”

“Unconfirmed reports also place Horus’s Lighthouse within the Batudis region.”

“Noted. You’re dismissed.”

Osborne settled at his desk, the weight of his observations pressing down on him. He dipped his quill in ink and began to meticulously document the recent phenomena on parchment.

The monthly report to the crown was a burden he bore with increasing unease. The ominous atmosphere permeating the royal capital made it difficult to deliver such unsettling news.

Undoubtedly, tensions with the Holy Kingdom were escalating. But he couldn’t omit his findings.

[Celestial movements and escalating unrest suggest imminent turmoil within the kingdom.]

He hesitated, his hand hovering over the parchment, then added another sentence, a bold proposition he hadn’t dared suggest since the outbreak of the small war.

[The Royal Meteorological Society recommends the immediate convening of an Archduke Meeting.]

***

The darkness within the dungeon was absolute, a suffocating void where only the faintest glint of their eyes betrayed their presence.

It was a place where secrets could be buried, where lives could be extinguished without a trace.

Adela slowly raised her ice pick, her grip tightening, the cold metal a comforting weight in her hand.

The woman who constantly insinuated herself between her and Louis had returned.

If left unchecked, Liv would undoubtedly worm her way back into the store, clinging to Louis like a persistent vine.

Adela’s voice, devoid of its usual playful lilt, cut through the oppressive silence, sharp and cold as the ice she commanded.

“Your confidence is misplaced. Your greed is showing.”

Crackle. Crackle.

Frost spread across the cavern floor, radiating outwards from her feet with each measured step.

Though she lacked formal training, Adela, awakened to her Unique Magic, was the Ice Duke in all but name.

Her Ice Pick spell, though still unrefined, possessed a raw power that rivaled even the most advanced magic.

“Your pursuit of the store owner is disrespectful, Baroness. You presume too much.”

“What are you implying?”

“Are you truly unaware of the stark disparity in our social standing?”

Adela’s words were a double-edged sword, aimed at both Louis and Liv.

A commoner like Louis could never be permitted such…unconventional arrangements. And he was already deeply involved with Adela, a countess.

Liv, a mere baroness, inserting herself into their established dynamic, was a flagrant violation of noble etiquette. A scandal waiting to erupt.

But Adela’s confidence wasn’t solely derived from her superior social rank.

“I’ve already…been intimate with him-nya~.”

A twisted smile played on her lips, a stark contrast to her usual cheerful demeanor.

An icy aura emanated from her, a palpable wave of frigid power, a silent assertion of dominance directed at the shadowy figure before her.

“Your continued pursuit will only lead to your own humiliation, Baroness.”

But…

“Humiliation? Please.” Liv’s eyes curved into a knowing smile. She stepped out of the shadows, her beauty a radiant beacon in the oppressive darkness, her blue hair cascading around her like a silken waterfall. She placed a hand on her slightly rounded belly, her gaze filled with smug amusement. “I’m hardly humiliated. The Boss seemed quite content, after all.”

“W-what…?”

“He even followed me back to the tower, apologizing profusely, claiming he was worried about me.”

Her smile widened, a predatory glint in her eyes.

Adela’s face hardened, her expression freezing over, mirroring the icy magic that coursed through her veins.

Her lips trembled as she choked out a single word.

“…Liar.”

“You know better than anyone whether I’m lying. The Boss…he’s exceptional, isn’t he? Oh, but I didn’t have the luxury of a bed. The couch sufficed, and let me tell you…”

“LIAR!”

KABOOM!

A wave of frigid energy exploded outwards, engulfing the cavern in a blizzard of ice and snow. Liv stumbled backward as Adela advanced, her ice pick raised, her eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re lying! He…he wouldn’t…”

Her voice trembled, tears welling up, freezing into tiny crystals that clung to her lashes. She looked heartbreakingly vulnerable.

But Liv didn’t flinch.

She knew that heartache intimately.

But even so, she couldn’t relinquish Louis.

“If you doubt me, ask him yourself. You know he doesn’t lie.”

Adela’s tears froze on her cheeks, her sorrow hardening into icy resolve, a chilling rage directed at the woman who dared to challenge her claim.

“This is all your fault.”

“…”

Adela straddled Liv, pinning her to the ground, the sharp tip of the ice pick pressed against her abdomen.

“You seduced him.”

“…”

“You overstepped your bounds.”

“…”

“You took everything from me.”

“…”

“You’re the one to blame.”

“…”

Liv remained silent, her gaze unwavering.

“Leave him. Now.”

“No.”

“What…?”

“Stab me. If you dare.” Liv placed her hands on the ice pick, her gaze challenging Adela’s. “Go on. I dare you.”

Adela’s resolve wavered. She bit her lip, drawing blood, the metallic tang mixing with the salty taste of tears. The pain in her heart far surpassed the physical sting.

She inhaled deeply, gathering her strength. One thrust, one small movement, and this…interloper would be eliminated.

Her hand trembled as she applied pressure, the sharp point digging deeper into Liv’s flesh.

And then…

“Ugh…”

A choked sob escaped Adela’s lips, not of rage, but of anguish.

***

Liv looked down at Adela with a mixture of pity and contempt.

This girl, with her privileged position, so close to Louis, yet so utterly lacking in the ruthlessness required to secure his affections.

So naive.

Was this truly a descendant of the Ice Duke, a member of the Rochear lineage, known for their cold, calculating pragmatism?

“You don’t even have the guts to kill me.”

“Agh…ahh…”

Liv’s form shimmered, dissolving into a violet mist, a deceptive illusion.

And then she reappeared behind Adela, an identical ice pick embedded in the girl’s chest, just a hair’s breadth from her heart.

“Does it hurt?”

“It…hurts…” Adela gasped, her voice barely a whisper.

“It will hurt far more if you continue to cling to the Boss.”

Liv shattered the ice pick in her hand, then grabbed Adela’s hair, forcing her to look up, their gazes locked.

“What makes you think you’re any different from me, junior? Face reality.”

Liv had awakened her Unique Magic.

They were equals now, standing on the same playing field. The disparity in their family status was irrelevant. Adela, estranged from the Rochear house, had no support, no resources to draw upon. Liv, in fact, wielded her Unique Magic with greater finesse, a more capable mage in every respect.

“You say the Boss is everything to you? He’s everything to me, too.”

Liv systematically dismantled Adela’s every argument.

Like Adela, she had abandoned everything to be with Louis. No, she had done so long before Adela had even entered the picture.

Liv had no one, nothing to rely on. And Louis had granted her deepest wish, allowing her to reunite with her father, even if only within a fleeting illusion.

How could she possibly give him up?

“Your greed is astounding. You think you can monopolize the Boss so easily?”

“Then…you don’t care? If…if other women…pursue him?” Adela sobbed, her voice choked with tears.

“No. I don’t.”

“…”

Liv had never expected Adela to relinquish Louis.

But there was one crucial element her naive junior had failed to grasp.

“Neither of us is worthy of fully possessing the Boss.”

Liv understood the depths of Louis’s past, the weight of his journey, the true nature of his power, and the specter of the woman he had once loved.

Social standing? A meaningless distinction.

Liv, with her sharp intellect, had analyzed the situation, reaching a conclusion diametrically opposed to Adela’s naive assumptions.

Louis…the Boss…he wasn’t someone a mere countess, a fledgling Archduke candidate, could ever truly possess.

She’d devoured countless books within the academy library, but the word “hero” had never appeared within their pages. But she’d pieced together its meaning from overheard conversations, whispers of a savior, a figure of immense power and destiny.

And even if Adela remained oblivious to the full extent of his past, her instincts, honed by her proximity to Louis, must have whispered the same truth.

“Have you ever, even for a moment, truly believed you had the Boss within your grasp?”

“…”

“Hasn’t he always felt…just beyond your reach? A force you could never fully control?”

“…”

Adela’s silence was an admission.

Her expression crumpled, the mask of haughty confidence shattering, replaced by a raw vulnerability, a bitter resentment.

She’d craved Louis’s undivided attention, yet a deep-seated insecurity had festered within her, a fear of inadequacy, a constant anxiety that she wasn’t enough.

That insecurity had fueled her impulsive outburst, the destruction of the academy store.

The Tree of Sephiroth.

When the roots rot, the tree falls.

Louis had been deeply wounded by their inability to comprehend him, to accept him for who he truly was.

“I don’t need to kill you to win.”

“Win…?”

“Yes. I’m confident that no matter who vies for the Boss’s attention, I will always be the one he cherishes most.”

Liv lowered her staff, revealing the doll she’d chosen as her marker, a miniature replica of Louis.

“If you lack that same conviction, if you can’t even bring yourself to stab me, if you’re not willing to fight for him, then…”

She placed the doll in Adela’s trembling hand.

“Take this and leave. Stop making things harder for him.”

She remembered how Louis, even after they’d trashed his store, had sought them out, one by one, offering comfort and understanding, never demanding an apology.

He, the victim, had extended compassion to his tormentors.

“Think about it, junior.”

“…”

“Think about how extraordinary the Boss is, how kind. You might think you’ve known him all along, but…”

Now, the whole world knows.

With a final, pitying glance, Liv turned and walked away, leaving Adela alone in the darkness.

She passed Carl and Erzebert, who were just finishing off the last of the wombats, their faces etched with exhaustion, and stepped out of the dungeon.

And there he was.

“Baroness Liv!”

“Boss. What are you doing here?”

“Um, well…” He hesitated, unable to articulate his concern.

It was obvious. He’d come for Adela.

As if there was any comparison between Liv, a survivor of the Lavierre Mountains, and a spoiled noble girl who couldn’t control her emotions. The Magic Duel and the store incident had been flukes.

“Oh, right. I have a little something for you.”

“You’re a terrible person, Boss.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Later.”

Liv brushed past him, a subtle fragrance lingering in her wake, a silent invitation. She wanted him to notice, to turn, to acknowledge her, even if his attention was primarily focused on Adela.

This…complicates things. She murmured under her breath.

***

The field training concluded.

Erzebert, despite securing a marker, couldn’t shake the gloom that settled over her as she received her evaluation. The instructors had meticulously documented every misstep: the stolen backpack, Pii’s blatant insubordination, the chaotic wombat encounter.

She glared at her familiar, her frustration bubbling over.

“Pii! This is your fault!”

“Pii!” The familiar chirped back defiantly.

“What do you mean by that?! And why did you receive an evaluation? And how is it possible that you scored higher than I did?!”

“Pii!”

“Argh!”

Carl, observing Erzebert’s escalating argument with her familiar, glanced at Adela, curious about her results.

But Adela, instead of reviewing her evaluation, had her head down, scribbling furiously on a separate piece of paper.

“Adela, what are you doing?”

“Writing…a letter.”

A letter? Ah, yes. The term was ending. She must be writing home.

But everyone knew Adela’s ties to the Rochear family were tenuous at best.

“Who are you writing to?” Carl asked, his curiosity piqued.

“…My sister.”

“Really? The Ice Duke? What are you saying?”

“It’s nothing much. Just…” Adela folded the letter, her expression resolute, and tucked it into an envelope.

The message was brief, a single, concise sentence:

I, a descendant of Rochear, have inherited our family’s Unique Magic, but my control remains inadequate.

“…So I need help.”