"Left! Very good. Stay on defense."
Angelie charged forward suddenly, her steps somewhat unsteady but full of enthusiasm. Her technique was still clumsy and her moves were not yet precise, but there was a bright determination in her eyes. She aimed straight for her opponent's waist — then...
"Ow!"
She was stunned by a light counterattack and her wooden sword fell from her hand. She quickly covered her forehead. Mocking laughter echoed from the other side of the training ground.
"You're still far too inexperienced, Angelie. Did you really think you'd land a blow on me?"
A small bump had appeared on her forehead. She raised her hand to rub it, looking wide-eyed at the man standing in front of her. He remained standing with his arms crossed, his expression serious yet tender.
"Hmph. What did you expect from a child who isn't even ten?" Angelie replied sulkily.
"If you stumble so easily, how will you ever become a knight ?"
Angelie pouted. "Papa, you always say that..."
Despite her complaints, Angelie quietly bent down to pick up the wooden sword.
"Angelie," her father said, his voice growing serious. "A true knight never gives up."
"No matter how many times they fall, they will get back up to protect the weak and defend what is right."
Angelie looked up at him. In that moment, it seemed as if everyone in the training yard held their breath.
Without hesitation or reluctance she raised her sword high once more. Her small eyes sparkled with stubborn determination, but not in a childish way.
"Then I will show you, papa."
…
"Where is Mirabelle?" Angelie looked down and saw Chloe lying motionless in Gray's arms. Her wound was still bleeding, and her clothes were torn and covered in dust.
"She's treating Randor," Gray replied hastily.
Angelie bit her lip and her eyes darkened, as if she was blaming herself for not stopping this sooner.
"Take the girl there immediately. Order Mirabelle to treat her right away.'
"I'll come as soon as the match is over."
____
Outside the cramped infirmary, a crowd of apprentice knights jostled for space amid the strong smell of antiseptics. I stood in a corner, watching them. Every face radiated innocence; none of them had ever tasted the rusty iron of the battlefield. They were children born into luxury, dreaming only of glory and unaware of the smell of blood. I wondered whether they were there to learn or merely to witness the cost.
"His ribs were broken, but his internal organs weren't too badly damaged."
The Blade household's healer mage, Mirabelle, said from the inner room. Petite with her hair neatly tied up, she looked like a newly qualified mage. However, her demeanour, walk and the pressure she exudes make it impossible for anyone in the crowd to catch up.
I saw her carry an injured knight as though she were lifting a sandbag, with ease. For an ordinary mage, that would have been insane. But it was not just her strength that impressed me; it was her skill, too. She moved with agility and precision, making no unnecessary moves. Each action she took to check the wounds was fluid, as if she had performed them thousands of times before.
"How is the girl, Mirabelle?"
Angelie asked hurriedly. Her usual calmness had disappeared, revealing a look of panic beneath her cloak. She stopped in the middle of the room. She didn't look at anyone else; her gaze was fixed firmly on the small body lying on the bed.
Angelie's face turned pale.
The dried blood on Chloe's hands stood out even more under the light, seeming to cut into her very soul.
She clenched her fists tightly, but her fingers still trembled. Nobody had ever seen her like this before.
Not a strong knight. Not a duchess. Just someone who was scared.
Although Mirabelle's voice remained calm, she turned her eyes slightly towards Angelie. No one said another word.
I could clearly hear the Duchess's soft yet heavy breathing, yet heavy like someone trying to hold back tears.
Gray stood at a distance, his face revealing little. Only his eyes showed signs of inferiority and guilt. I didn't need to read his thoughts to know what he was feeling. The way he stands still makes him look like someone waiting to be sentenced — it's clear.
Due to negligence, he allowed a child to enter the duel. It was a stupid mistake; nothing could justify it.
"Healing."
A white light spread from Mirabelle's palm. It wasn't hot like fire nor cold like frost, but an unusual warmth—like an invisible hand gently placed on the chest: tender yet irresistible. Chloe stirred.
Her body flinched ever so slightly, a faint breath escaping through clenched teeth.
"...U..."
A small groan escaped her lips. Chloe's eyelids fluttered. Her light purple eyes, still coated with dust, opened briefly and intermittently beneath her eyelashes. She wasn't fully conscious yet, but the color in her face had begun to return. It seemed that the pain had eased somewhat.
Angelie stood by, holding her breath. Her heart was beating so fast that she could hear it. She didn't dare step closer for a moment, as if doing so would cause the magic to disappear.
"Don't move," Mirabelle instructed.
"You still have some broken bones that haven't healed properly."
Chloe fidgeted, then lay still.
"You... you..."
"Mage?"
Mirabelle didn't answer. Instead, she gently placed her hand on Chloe's forehead — a tender gesture.
"Um... But you should rest a bit more now."
The white light gradually softened but did not disappear completely.
Chloe was okay.
Angelie let out a quiet breath, as though she had just been released from an invisible cord tightening around her chest. There was still a trace of remorse in her eyes—faint, but lingering. But there was also a sense of relief and gratitude. Angelie walked forward and raised her hand gently. She placed her hand on Chloe's forehead.
Looking at that scene, I felt like a stranger watching through foggy glass. It felt like I was looking at another world. A world that I once knew but lost a long time ago. Perhaps even a lifetime ago. Or maybe even longer.
There was a time when I stood like this too. Outside the door.I watched others in pain, trembling and calling out to someone.
I just stood there. Like a shadow.
I no longer remember that memory clearly.
I only remember the cold feeling in my hands.
My heart was empty.
Nothing but silence.
Just like now.
The light from the healing still lingered through the doorway like wisps of white smoke.
It swayed and spread out, dancing around the doorframe, before stopping where I stood. It did not cross over.
So, the light knew how to stop. Even it refused to touch me.
There was no heart left beating in my chest. But something was still tightening — my body knew it was out of place.
The light is not intended for the cursed. Clearly. A cursed person should not be in its presence.
I took a step back from the room.
I am not afraid. But I shouldn't be there.
My body limped as I moved; many of my bones had been broken during the duel. I didn't want anyone to see me like this. It wasn't because of anything significant; it was just the way I moved — like someone who had just been dug up from their grave: surplus, bizarre and out of place.
I pressed my left arm tightly against my body. My shoulder began to throb painfully beneath the armour, as if hundreds of tiny blades were trying to cut through the joints. Even the lightest touch would shatter it like a piece of pottery.
I hope nobody notices. That would be best.
My footsteps echoed softly, like sand gliding over stone — almost inaudible.
With each step, a beat resonated in the ribcage. Each breath was a crack in the decaying shell.
I don't know how long I have been gone for; I only know that ash has started to fall from the dry joints.
I stopped under an old column where light was sparse. The shell on the left had long been carbonised, its surface mottled with dark patches that flaked away like parched, cracked earth at the end of a dry season. Below — a crack, gradually spreading like the broken web of an object that should no longer be repaired.
I pressed my palm against the injured part. Even though it was behind the layer of armour, it still felt cold to the core.
In the end, the power from that Harold's holy magic began to corrode me.
"No one has ever been able to hide anything from me."
The voice came from behind me. It wasn't loud, but it was sharp. I didn't turn my head. I stood still, like a shadow pinned to the ground.
Arlo.
He wasn't wearing armour. He wasn't carrying a sword either. All he wore was a thin white robe that fluttered in the wind. His sleeves was rolled up, and there was dirt smudged around the edges of his shoes, as if he had hurried here. Yet he stood tall. Unwavering.
I didn't ask him when he started stalking me. There was no need to. His silence spook volumes — he had seen something. Even if little, it was enough to know... there was something unusual.
"You are in extreme pain, aren't you?"
It sounded more like a statement than a question.
I could not deny it.
He approached slowly, as though he were nearing an unknown entity.
Although he remained calm, he gently placed his hand on the hem of his robe.
"The genius healing mage of the Blade... Mirabelle. She has saved countless people. From desperate civilians to knights on the brink of death."
"As a knight who earned glory for the Blade Family, I wonder why you didn't seek their help?"
I didn't reply. I just looked up at the sky through the gap in the roof tiles. A beam of light swept by. It didn't touch me.
Arlo continued, his voice steady.
"I have seen holy knights destroyed for misusing rituals."
"I have seen people turn into demons when their souls were consumed by forbidden magic. Some were even cursed for seeking power."
He paused.
I turned around.
His eyes didn't pretend. They understood.
"Tell me..."
"Who are you, Hades?"
Just a question.
No pressure. No threat.
One beat.
Two beats.
"I'm not an ally," I said. "Nor am I an enemy."
Arlo squinted. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, almost forming a smile.
"Great answer... not"
Was that a sign of realisation?
He hadn't ordered or forced me to speak.
He fell silent. He just stood there while I gradually collapsed, leaning against the wall to keep my balance. It was as if he was considering whether it was worth including me in his chessboard.
The wind blew through his robe.
My body swayed; my left arm and spine had been almost completely destroyed.
Arlo, he had sensed it early on:
That I did not belong here, that I was not part of this world, of humans.