Chapter 9: Lyra Arlen
Applause poured out from the viewing nobles as my dance with my older sister concluded.
I didn't know how to dance from my past life, luckily I had taken dancing lessons as they were a vital part of being a noble. Adding onto that, my enhanced physical capabilities meant that dancing itself wasn't very difficult at all and a trivial task, which made the whole ordeal pass through easily.
As the evening continued, I found myself next to Lyra, engaging in a lively conversation.
"So, you train in swordsmanship?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Lyra nodded, her eyes lighting up. "Yes. My father insists that I learn to defend myself. He says it builds character." She glanced at the Count, who was deep in conversation with my father.
I smiled. "I started around the same age. Though I favor the spear these days, I still train with the sword. There's something about the way it moves, the precision it requires."
Lyra's eyes sparkled with interest. "I've always admired the spear, but I've never had the chance to train with one. My father thinks it's too cumbersome for me."
"Maybe we could train together sometime," I suggested. "I could show you a few techniques."
She grinned. "I'd like that. In return, I could teach you some of my sword drills. My instructor says I have a natural talent for it."
I raised an eyebrow. "A challenge, then?"
Lyra laughed, a musical sound that blended with the evening's festive atmosphere. "Perhaps. I hear you're quite the prodigy yourself, Lancelot."
We continued talking, the conversation flowing easily. I found myself enjoying her company, her quick wit and sharp mind making the evening more enjoyable.
"I've also been studying magic," she mentioned casually. "Mainly elemental spells. My father believes a well-rounded education is crucial."
I nodded, intrigued. "Magic is fascinating. I've been focusing on augmenting my physical abilities with mana, but I'd love to learn more about spellcasting."
Lyra's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "I could show you some basic spells. My favorite is a small flame conjuration. It's quite handy for lighting candles."
I chuckled. "I'd appreciate that. I've always found the precision of spellcasting to be daunting."
"It's all about practice," Lyra said with a reassuring smile. "Just like swordsmanship. The more you do it, the better you become."
As the evening progressed, we moved through various topics, sharing stories of our training, favorite books, and even a few childhood misadventures.
"Did you ever sneak out to the stables at night?" Lyra asked, her eyes glinting mischievously.
I laughed. "More times than I'd care to admit. There's something freeing about the night air."
She nodded in agreement. "Exactly. It's like the world is quieter, more peaceful. And the stars… they're mesmerizing."
We fell into a comfortable silence, both of us gazing up at the night sky through the large windows of the ballroom. The stars twinkled brightly, a reminder of the vast world beyond the castle walls.
"It's nice to meet someone who understands," Lyra said softly.
I glanced at her, feeling a connection that went beyond mere words. "It is," I agreed.
Just then, Count Arlen approached, a satisfied look on his face. "I see you two are getting along well."
I nodded. "Yes, Count. Lady Lyra is quite knowledgeable and skilled. It's been a pleasure talking with her."
Lyra smiled. "The pleasure has been mine, Lancelot."
The Count gave a nod of approval. "Good. I'm glad to see you two forming a friendship. It's important to have strong allies."
It had been refreshing talking to Lyra, though she seemed far from childish, her manner of conversation advanced for someone our age. I had heard that high-ranking nobles pushed their children through rigorous education early on, unlike my own upbringing which was more relaxed in comparison. My recent memories of a past life made it difficult to relate easily to those my age.
As we exchanged stories and laughter, a sudden, thunderous boom echoed through the ballroom, shattering the jovial atmosphere. Smoke billowed from within the house, drawing all eyes towards the disturbance.
"Count!" a knight's urgent voice pierced through the chaos, "Intruders have breached the premises!"
"Damn rebels!" Count Arlen muttered, his expression darkening with anger. Beside him, Lyra's eyes widened in fear, while I focused on remaining calm.
The knight who had alerted the Count appeared formidable, radiating a presence that surpassed even my mother in terms of mana capability — a sure sign of a blue core.
Typical intruders wouldn't dare attack such a gathering of nobles and their well-armed guards without thorough preparation.
I had heard scattered rumors about the rebels — a discontented group of commoners challenging the noble hierarchy, frustrated by perceived injustices and their limited rights. Their previous attempts at striking against the nobility had always been thwarted, yet here they were again, brazenly attempting another assault.
Morality aside, they now posed a direct threat to my family.
Ignoring Count Arlen's attempts to restrain me, I surged forward, my mana core pulsing with energy. Drawing on my mana reserves, I channeled it down to my feet, enhancing my speed as I darted back into the smoky chaos of the ballroom.
The thick smoke obscured visibility, but with a mental command and a surge of mana, my vision sharpened. Augmented by mana, I could see through the haze, identifying nobles and their knights locked in fierce combat with rebels clad in dark garments, blending into the tumult.
Swords clashed, mana-enhanced strikes flashed through the air, and shouts mingled with the acrid scent of smoke. The room echoed with the clash of metal and the cries of combatants, each side locked in a deadly struggle for supremacy.
I caught the familiar scent of my family's presence through the haze of battle. My father, the least skilled in combat among us, stood guarded by my mother and sister, who were actively engaged in the defense. Mother conjured protective shields with her mana and counterattacked at times, while Elara, wielding her rapier with augmented physical prowess, held the frontline.
Amidst this tumult, I noticed Lucas was nowhere to be seen.
Leaving my family to hold their ground, I pushed forward, navigating through the chaotic skirmish. Suddenly, a chilling sensation prickled at the back of my neck, warning of an impending threat from behind.
Instinctively, I spun around, swift and precise. Using the sheath of my sword as a defensive barrier, I intercepted the assassin's strike before swiftly unsheathing my blade and dispatching them with a decisive swing.
In the midst of battle, where survival demanded cold resolve, I couldn't afford to hesitate or conceal my skills. I didn't have to worry about them being revealed since the chaos made it so that nobody in the ballroom will be able to focus on anything of importance.
Cold determination gripped me as I shut out all distractions, focusing solely on expanding my mana senses. Drawing deeper from my mana core, I extended my perception, filtering through the chaotic currents of mana in search of familiar traces.
I meticulously categorized each trace, methodically sifting through the overlapping energies until I detected a distinct signature—Lucas's mana.
Why was he outside the ballroom? The question nagged at me, but there was no time to ponder. Instinct and urgency drove me forward as I bolted towards the source of his mana, racing against the backdrop of chaos and danger.
It didn't take long to find Lucas locked in combat with his assailant. The palpable aura of danger emanating from the rebel was unmistakable—a green core, formidable and dangerous. Lucas fought valiantly, his young frame strained against the seasoned assailant, a testament to his tenacity despite his tender age and yellow core.
I sprinted towards them, my sword flashing as I unsheathed it in one fluid motion. With a swift command, I imbued the blade with the essence of fire, azure flames dancing along its edge as I swung.
The assassin, ever vigilant, countered my strike with deft agility, the clash of our blades ringing sharply in the tumultuous air.
"Lancelot!" Lucas's voice, strained and urgent, cut through the chaos. He was battered, his left arm hanging limply, his right knee visibly injured, and his body adorned with deep cuts that marred his once pristine attire. Bloodied and exhausted, he was clearly outmatched by his assailant's ruthlessness.
Anger surged within me, hot and fierce. I pivoted to face Lucas, my eyes narrowing as I took in the gravity of his condition. The assassin had been toying with him, prolonging the fight for his own twisted amusement.
'How dare a mere insect, who would perish from a flick of my finger, lay a hand on my brother!' The thought burned fiercely within me, igniting a surge of killing intent that radiated outward.
I saw the assassin's eyes narrow, his whole demeanor shifting visibly. Fear gripped him, palpable in the way his breath quickened and his face drained of color. As an assassin, he thrived on control and precision, but my overwhelming aura unsettled him.
He faltered, his stance momentarily wavering, betraying the cracks in his facade of calmness. In that instant, I realized the power of intimidation—even without the strength to immediately enforce my threat, my intent alone was enough to sow doubt and hesitation in my adversary.
'How foolish,' I thought, observing the subtle signs of his unraveling composure.
I drew my blade in a swift motion, harnessing wind mana at my feet to propel myself toward the assassin. He reacted with a fraction of a second's delay, just managing to deflect my sword before it could cleave through him in a single stroke.
His skill was evident; despite my speed and surprise attack, his defense held strong. His higher core stage gave him an advantage I couldn't ignore.
But in this moment, raw strength alone would not dictate the outcome. In the art of combat, technique was the multiplier that transformed skill into victory.
His breath quickened, and sweat glistened on his brow as our duel intensified. Despite his initial advantage in core stage, my relentless assault began to wear him down. With every clash, I adjusted my strategy, exploiting small openings and testing his reactions.
His defensive stance faltered momentarily, a subtle shift in posture that revealed an opening. Swift as a striking viper, I redirected my blade, aiming for a precise strike at his exposed flank. The wind mana surged beneath my feet, propelling me forward with a surge of speed and agility.
He reacted with a desperate parry, barely deflecting my blade away from its intended mark. Yet, I pressed on, my movements fluid and relentless.
The assassin's face contorted with frustration and fear, realizing the precariousness of his situation. Each feint and countermove forced him to retreat, step by step, until he found himself on the defensive.
As the duel reached its climax, I seized a momentary lapse in his concentration. With a swift rotation of my wrist, I redirected my blade in a deceptive arc, aiming for an unexpected angle. The assassin, caught off guard, attempted to parry again, but this time I anticipated his move.
My blade found its mark with a satisfying impact, slicing through his guard and landing a telling blow across his shoulder. A sharp cry of pain escaped his lips as he staggered backward, clutching his wound.
I stood ready, my sword poised and my senses heightened, prepared to capitalize on any further openings. The assassin, now visibly shaken and weakened, hesitated for the first time since our confrontation began.
"Now," I said calmly, my voice carrying a steely resolve, "yield or face the consequences."
The assassin, breathing heavily and bloodied, glanced around at the chaos unfolding in the ballroom. With a resigned nod, he dropped his weapon and raised his hands in surrender.
I turned to look back at Lucas, who was looking at me with red eyes. I simply swung my blade, decapitating the assassin before raising my finger to my lips.
"Shh." I winked at him.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
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