Following the staff through the narrow corridor and leaving the vast sparring platform behind, Lyra felt a warm, enveloping sensation across her entire body.
Fresh green life elents in the air, driven by magical circles, swirled continuously around the competitors, steadily relieving their sore muscles and tense nerves.
Back on stage, she had used nearly every combat technique at her disposal, except for Light Cascade, yet still failed to defeat Senior Nosse.
The gap between a Sorcerer and a full-fledged Magnus was indeed imnse. Even with her additional status as a peak Grand Knight, victory remained out of reach.
Walking along the corridor paved with black tiles, Lyra lowered her head, staring at her little leather shoes. Her gaze inadvertently fell upon her legs, noticing two holes in the white thigh-high stockings on her right calf, likely snagged during the earlier fight.
Such rapid spellcasting, without incantations to warn her, required even a Grand Knight to remain fully alert just to barely dodge.
At this mont, Lyra finally understood why so high-level mages, despite having sufficient ntal strength, chose not to train their bodies, why they refused dual cultivation of magic and martial prowess.
Beyond the subjective consensus among citizens of the Valeria Empire that "magic is the key to entering high society," the real reason was that dedicating all one’s effort to a single discipline yielded far greater power upon advancent than dividing attention across multiple fields. That was the primary reason they chose to focus solely on magic.
Ascending the stairs, the view suddenly opened up. Watching spectators co and go in the stands, Lyra tightened her grip on her knight’s sword and retraced her steps back to the viewing area where Astrid and the others waited.
"Astrid... I lost..."
Before the match, Elise hadn’t been present. Now that the battle had ended, the head maid had finished her duties and returned to her mistress’s side.
Her eyes fell upon the woman who had once taught her combat techniques. Recalling her own helpless, battered state on stage, unable to land a single counter, Lyra’s sha deepened. She lingered in the aisle, hesitant to sit beside Astrid.
Watching the pink-haired girl standing before her, lips pressed tight, arms hugging her sword, even her white stockings torn and pitiful, Astrid blinked, then took a bottle of grape juice Elise had just brought and handed it to Lyra.
"I saw it. No wonder she’s fire-specialized. The spells Nosse released, in both intensity and destructive power, aren’t sothing a re spellcaster can easily counter."
"You did very well, Lyra."
If overcoming such a level gap were truly that easy, wouldn’t all those mages who spent every day studying elental arrangents beco laughingstocks?
Hearing Astrid’s words, Lyra extended her moist, soft tongue and lightly moistened her dry lips. After a few seconds of hesitation, she sat down and accepted the juice.
"It’s just... I feel like... I didn’t do my best..."
The reason for Lyra’s low spirits wasn’t the win or loss. Long before stepping onto the stage, she had expected to lose, the difference in strength was simply too vast.
"I thought I’d at least get a chance to exchange a few moves, but I was suppressed the entire ti by Senior Nosse. I didn’t even have room to counter..."
Elise had said that when facing an enemy with vastly superior ntal reserves, passive defense was equivalent to slow death, you had to actively attack and find the key to breaking through.
Now seated in the audience, carefully reviewing the battle in her mind, Lyra realized there had been several fleeting monts where she could have attempted a counterattack, monts she had missed.
Either her body couldn’t unload the force in ti to swing her sword, or she was too tense to recite a counter spell promptly.
After so many sparring sessions, how co her in-battle reactions were still this poor?
The more she thought about it, the more she felt her performance today didn’t deserve Astrid’s praise. Lyra lowered her head and took a sip of juice. The cold liquid slid down her throat, leaving an indescribable taste.
Hearing her, Astrid’s eyes narrowed slightly. She didn’t imdiately refute Lyra’s words, instead silently watching the pink-haired girl beside her, legs pressed together, radiating a strong sense of dejection.
How co, now that she’s no longer in her maid role, Lyra seems more and more like a little puppy?
To make the pink-haired puppy wag its tail again, Astrid gently exhaled through her delicate nose, slowly bringing the glass bottle in her hand closer to the girl beside her, then pressing the cool glass against Lyra’s cheek.
"Everyone has monts when they don’t perform well. It’s just one match, why be so gloomy?"
"Just work harder next ti. I believe you can do it, Lyra."
Astrid sotis felt that, with her help, Lyra had avoided many troubles and crises she should have faced alone. Smooth sailing wasn’t always good, after all, as the protagonist, she needed setbacks to grow.
Perhaps this match could help Lyra understand that failure was also part of life, sothing one must experience.
Feeling the cool glass pressed against her face, a faint daze flickered in Lyra’s sky-blue pupils. Only when Astrid tilted the bottle, letting the crushed ice near the rim clink softly, did she slowly snap back to reality and whisper.
"But..."
She was Princess Astrid’s best friend. Would performing so poorly make people think less of the Third Princess?
She held back the rest of the sentence. Seeing this, Astrid crossed her legs and spoke again.
"No buts. After a defeat, just reflect carefully on why you lost, and draw combat experience from it for the next match."
"You can win it back later. I’m counting on Lyra to make look good in front of foreigners."
Astrid roughly guessed that part of Lyra’s motivation for joining the competition was to bring honor to her, after all, for a fated heroine in her twenties who grew up reading knight novels, the word "glory" was enough to drive her to fight.
The cool glass bottle withdrew from her cheek, but the lingering chill remained on her skin. Gazing into Astrid’s clear, bright red eyes, where a faint smile flowed, along with a tenderness she found hard to resist, Lyra’s heartbeat quickened. She swiftly lowered her head and gulped down a large mouthful of juice.
"...I... I will."
Indeed, this defeat had given her many insights. She could record them later and reflect properly.
Noticing the faint blush on Lyra’s neck, Astrid knew her words had worked. Just as she uncrossed her crossed black-stockinged legs, sothing on her right caught her attention.
Turning her head, Amalia silently stared at the juice in her hand. When she noticed Astrid looking back, she raised her pair of cold, deep red eyes, their depths hiding emotions too subtle to read.
"What is it, Livia?" Astrid gently rubbed Amalia’s head and asked softly.
"There’s still one more match later. Do you want to return and rest first?"
Amalia shook her head. Her gaze passed through Astrid, landing on Lyra on the other side, whose ear tips were faintly red. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she spoke after a pause.
"Sister... my juice is finished..."
With that, the black-haired little girl held out her empty glass bottle. Indeed, only a few shards of ice remained inside.
Considering it would take servants a good fifteen minutes to go back and forth from the sparring platform to the dessert shop, Astrid simply handed her the half-finished bottle she hadn’t yet drunk from.
"I’ve sent soone to buy more. If you’re really thirsty, you can drink mine first."
Amalia sweetly replied with a "Okay," her gaze continuing to linger on Lyra. When the latter finally erged from her flustered state and sensed soone watching her, she turned, her eyes eting the Fourth Princess’s gaze.
Seeing this, the sister-complex girl removed the cork, then placed her lips against the spot where Astrid had just drunk. Her peripheral vision locked onto Lyra beside them, as if declaring ownership. Her two soft, pink lips gently pressed against the rim of the bottle.
......
After watching the final match, Astrid first took Lyra to change into clean clothes, then they had dinner at the restaurant. Returning to the dormitory to wrap up the day, each resud their own tasks.
Regarding her defeat, Lyra carefully recalled every detail from beginning to end. Whenever she encountered a questionable decision, she would pull a chair over to the head maid’s side and ask for advice on the pros and cons of each option.
Amalia, anwhile, sat quietly at her desk with a book in hand. It was a governance manual Astrid had previously copied from the mayor’s private library in Kost Town, detailing the town’s operational model and managent priorities, useful for helping her understand the empire.
As for Astrid, she was deep in thought, poring over docunts provided by Charlotte. The head maid had been away earlier precisely to retrieve this crucial file.
Monica Angelis, the Saintess of Light, had joined the exchange student group under the guise of an ordinary attendant.
Princess Iris Kroyd, the youngest daughter of King Velys, would participate as a competitor in the magical exchange tournant held at Elizabeth Academy of Magic one week from now.
These two characters had no ntion whatsoever in the original story, and there was no possibility that Astrid could have forgotten them.
Monica, the Saintess of Light, might be explained away by the fact that the original Lyra lacked the capability to reach such high-level figures. But Iris Kroyd, an early Magnus participant in the competition, was far too significant a figure to have zero ntions in the original narrative.
Undoubtedly, their appearance at this point in Valeria Empire, soon to beco an opposing force, was likely due to the butterfly effect caused by Astrid’s presence, diverting the original storyline.
Flipping through Monica’s personal file, it stated she was currently thirty-two, a peak Magnus, just one step away from Arcanist mage status.
As for Iris Kroyd, according to Charlotte’s investigation, this princess was the most unremarkable and low-key among King Velys’s eight children. Despite royal blood, she only reached Magnus in the second sester of her third year, a level that essentially ruled out any possibility of becoming an Arcanist mage.
Politically, based on current intelligence, Iris held an awkward position dostically. She and her elder brother, the crown prince, held vastly different political stances. She leaned toward the dovish faction, advocating for resolving internal conflicts through peaceful ans, while her brother belonged to the hawkish faction, eager for aggression, aligning perfectly with the old king’s strategy of using external conflicts to divert internal ones.
Moreover, Iris lacked any supporting power base beyond the king himself. She was essentially a marginal figure in the entire succession struggle. Her visit to the Valeria Empire at such a sensitive juncture was undoubtedly related to this.
"Monica... Iris..." Astrid gently traced the two nas with her fingers, murmuring under the lamplight.
That Hibbort would allow these two into the empire was truly unexpected.
Who knew what other variables might appear next?
......
anwhile, in the main cathedral of the Holy Light Temple in Kingdom of Velvys, Monica, the very woman Astrid had just ntioned, was conducting her daily prayers. The surrounding candles burned quietly, illuminating the flawless face of the Saintess and casting her voluptuous, alluring figure onto the floor as a long, deep shadow.
"Princess Iris, I heard you’re also heading to the Valeria Empire?"
After evening prayers ended, Monica spoke softly. The person sitting on the bench lowered her hand from her chin, and a pale white glove erged from the shadows.
"Yes, I submitted the request to my father, and he approved," Iris replied in a low voice from the darkness.
After all, this trip was to bring honor to the kingdom under her royal title, a sufficient justification.
Monica nodded gently, her voice soft.
"I didn’t expect the Iron-blooded Emperor of the Empire to approve our request so smoothly..."
"So, Princess Iris, have you co to confirm my stance?"
In truth, even so within the Holy Light Temple found Monica’s decision to personally go to the Valeria Empire puzzling.
Why would their noble Saintess lower herself to visit such an uncivilized, barbaric land?
"I’m just curious, like most people," Iris replied gently.
Hearing this, Monica lifted the corner of her lips, her voice clear and crisp.
"Is that so..."
"If it’s you, Princess Iris, asking... then I don’t mind revealing a little."
The mont she finished speaking, Monica turned around. Her amber-golden eyes reflected the face of the princess.
"Our goals are largely the sa, both aim to prevent bloodshed. Only the details may differ slightly."
"Young princess, I’m not mistaken, am I?"
Iris remained silent for a mont before finally speaking.
"From what you say, it seems you already have a prediction about the outco of this journey?"
Easier said than done. The current Kingdom of Velvys was like a massive boulder teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to slide down at any mont.
"I do have a prediction, but not a favorable one. Anyone with clear eyes can see that this war will inevitably break out. It’s beyond what a few individuals can stop."
This was an inevitable fact. All they could do was delay its arrival and minimize the damage.
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