In the golden rays of the setting sun,
A pale hand waved in front of Allen's face.
Breaking his gaze away from those reddish-brown eyes.
"Allen, are you okay?!"
Allen looked at Sylphy.
The dust had settled, and in the soft sunset light, she knelt on one knee in front of him, her expression full of concern.
The moon-white long dress outlined her youthful figure beautifully. The squatting posture caused her waist and hips, veiled by the folds of her dress, to exude a different kind of youthful charm—less girlish, more womanly.
Inside the slit of the dress, the layers of her white garter stockings showed faint smudges of dust. The pristine fabric traced her straight calves upward, bending at the knee and ending in the garter strap at her thigh.
And then—
That long stretch of white disappeared.
Revealing smooth, fair skin.
Because of her position, the stocking's edge had slipped slightly, revealing a light red mark on her thigh from the tightness.
It was hard to look away.
Allen did.
He averted his gaze and smiled.
As usual.
"I'm fine. Don't worry. Just a little accident during the match."
As he spoke, he stood up, as if to prove he was uninjured. Battle aura rippled outward from his feet.
Wind stirred.
It blew in opposite directions from the tips of his shoes.
Pressing the dust flat against the ground.
Only clean air stirred around them.
It brushed away the dust on Sylphy's skirt, her hair, her stockings, and her skin.
Sylphy looked up at him, noticing how that dazed look from earlier had vanished entirely—like it had never existed.
She blinked, remembering how Allen had looked off since yesterday.
So…
Was it really just a trick of the light?
While she pondered, Allen spoke again.
"…The dress is beautiful. It really suits you."
"Come on, stand up."
Sylphy opened her mouth slightly in surprise.
In her vision—
Allen was rubbing his nose, showing only his chin, his gaze not meeting hers as it usually did.
She froze.
Then abruptly looked down.
Sylphy had never worn such a noble-style, slit-sided long dress. In her inexperience, she hadn't thought about her squatting posture…
And now—
From her perspective, the slit had nearly reached the root of her thigh.
Normally, even the garter buckle peeking out made her flustered, and now… it wasn't just the buckle—
From the side, it looked like she wasn't wearing anything underneath!
Sylphy's pupils contracted sharply, and she sprang up, grabbing her skirt hem tightly in both hands, not knowing where to place her gaze.
The crisp sound of high heels snapping against the ground pulled her out of her thoughts.
She turned.
Red entered her vision.
From the steps above, a red skirt trailed swiftly behind.
And then—
As if sensing eyes on her, the steps became more refined.
That flustered urgency was forcibly suppressed.
The pace slowed.
And slowed.
Until it stopped.
Hilda stood at the top of the steps, looking at the two of them.
The air hung silent for a moment, broken only by the quiet sound of the bunny-eared maid at her side adjusting her dress.
Then Hilda spoke.
"Alifa said you and Ghislaine were sparring, and that you might've gotten hurt… but it doesn't look too serious. I don't know swordsmanship—was it just flashy but not dangerous?"
As she spoke, she turned her head.
Far off, Ghislaine still stood where she was, her usual calm demeanor intact, saying something to Eris at her side.
Allen's voice answered Hilda.
"Yes, madam. It was just a sparring match. More show than substance. Nothing to worry about."
Hilda looked like she wanted to say something, then decided against it. She hesitated—
And simply hummed in acknowledgment.
Rudy ran over just then, offering Hilda a quick noble's bow before turning straight to Allen and eyeing the broken blade in his hand with shock.
"Allen! Are you alright? I saw Sylphy cast a healing spell on you just now?"
"I'm fine."
"What happened? Wasn't it the Silent Blade? Even the Light Blade at Saint-class couldn't beat you. How did—"
Allen followed Rudy's gaze and looked down at the broken sword in his hand. His eyes paused at the fractured edge.
"…To be honest, my Sword God Style has regressed a little."
"Regressed??" Sylphy and Rudy echoed in unison.
"Yes. Maybe I've been slacking lately."
Rudy opened his mouth, confused.
"But just the other day on the road, your Silent Blade was still impressive…"
"Maybe I just haven't drawn my sword the past couple of days."
"No way…"
Rudy frowned and instinctively glanced at Sylphy.
…?
"Wait, Sylphy, what's with your clothes? That style… don't tell me you two snuck out shopping while I wasn't looking? That can't be right. We didn't have time to go out these last few days."
"Ah! This is…" Sylphy stammered.
"I saw her soaking wet, so I brought her to my place and helped her pick out a change of clothes. What do you think?"
"Thank you. It suits her well."
"Yeah, Allen's right. It really does suit her. Though the size is a bit…"
Their voices were carried on the wind—
Drifting over Sylphy's bowed head as she looked at her dress, then sharply looked up at Allen and Hilda with a nervous face.
The words lingered in the courtyard air—
Fading before they reached Eris's stunned expression.
When Allen was sent flying earlier, Eris had instinctively wanted to run over like Rudy did—but when she saw him sitting up, clearly unharmed, she instead turned on a whim and walked toward Ghislaine.
She had an urge—
To demand an explanation!
To ask "why!"
She didn't understand!
From a swordsmanship perspective, or even just from the blunt fact that Allen was struck down in one blow—it made no sense to her!
Because—
Until now, Allen had always worn one label in her mind:
Strong.
Whether it was that flash of a blade in the rain, or the sight of him returning with a severed head at dawn, or even when he killed someone on the spot upon returning to the Boreas estate…
Even her once-most-revered grandfather Sauros had been speechless before him.
Allen was strong!
That moment in the rain where he saved her life—had she forgotten it?
No.
But that gratitude had been overshadowed by the far more powerful impression of strength.
It left too deep a mark.
Impossible to forget.
She admired it.
And longed to be that way too.
That's how she'd always grown—imitating those who were strong, then forging herself to become strong too.
And yes—
Her sword knowledge and logic whispered that Ghislaine was probably stronger.
After all, Ghislaine was at King-class.
While Allen was only at Saint-class.
But her instincts screamed that Allen's presence still felt stronger.
So it didn't matter—both were strong!
Everything up to this point supported that idea—
The incomprehensible theories of the Water God Style.
The near-arrogant "then cut me and see" when facing Ghislaine's Light Blade.
All matched that impression.
But just now—
That image of strength
Had been effortlessly shattered by a single stroke from Ghislaine.
She instinctively resisted that reality.
She couldn't accept that this person—who had so quickly become the one she admired most—was suddenly not so strong after all.
So she walked right up to Ghislaine, glanced at the broken sword on the ground, and asked her confusion aloud:
"What happened just now?! Why couldn't Allen block the Silent Blade? He could handle the Light Blade no problem!"
Ghislaine's reply made her freeze.
"Allen is strong."
(End of Chapter)
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