After being rejected by the little girl with knitted brows, Damien shifted his attention to the second tutor. Lydia Corsli, an acclaimed practitioner of magical theory, would be arriving in just under an hour. Evaluating the little girl’s magical ability was yet another opportunity for Damien to further solidify his supposition. Indeed, this very supposition was the sole reason he had taken her in.

Although the little girl’s etiquette was nowhere to be found, her determination to improve was evident by her swift refinement. Of course, such attitude only deserved the utmost amount of praise, but because decorum could be taught, it was therefore meaningless. What truly mattered—what Damien truly sought for—was someone who shared inherent similarities with the most important person in his life.

Yes—it was all a test, based on a chance. A chance that, within the realm of impossibility, danced clumsily on thread so delicate that it could be severed by a mere breath. And yet, it prevailed—the little girl’s palate thus far had matched perfectly with hers. As if fate had bestowed wings upon this reckless dancer, the test continued to act two. And to Damien, his next step was palpable.

“Abel, my office.”

Damien, rising from his chair, spoke indifferently without heeding the little girl, Camay.

“Understood.”

“I’m coming too.”

“No.”

Camay, tersely rejected by Damien, stood up abruptly as if not having heard his words, or rather, word. But Damien, having observed her childish demonstration, was one step ahead.

“Desserts are mango pudding and lychee jelly.”

To such delightful words, Camay almost forgot why she had stood up in the first place. While the maids tended to her in the dining room, Damien headed to his office. Once inside, his butler waited in the halls next to closed doors.

Near Damien’s table was a regal, mahogany closet that he had sealed using thirty percent of his magical power. Within it mounted a majestic sword that exuded boundless grandeur.

Damien, staring mournfully at the sword—an expression of his that no one else had seen before—dwelled upon the conversation he had with its original owner.

“At the fray’s climax, one of us must deal the final blow. If we were to exchange swords, then our capacities to do so would be harmonized. What do you say, Damien? Hehe.”

“No.”

“Wh-what?! You can’t just shut me down like that… Give me your sword! Any refusal is henceforth rebuffed!”

Unable to bear the memories that arose from this weapon, the closet was meant to stay eternally sealed—but.

It seemed that, this time, the anticipated distress had withered ever so slightly, as if a new flower had started to bud by absorbing past nutrients.

✦✧

Soon, Lydia Corsli would arrive. Camay and Damien were seated in a grand veranda, viewing the manor’s picturesque backyard that was paved with grass and bordered by a tall hedge. The lesson was to be held outside.

Moments later, Abel returned.

“Lydia Corsli has arrived.”

As he stepped aside, a woman clad in prestigious attire with chestnut hair and scarlet eyes who seemed to be in her mid-twenties entered.

“I am Lydia Corsli. A pleasure to be here.”

She curtsied grandly—her torso nearly perpendicular to her lower body, with arms fully spread out like the wings of an eagle. An eagle that had… found its prey.

In the blink of an eye, Lydia had fluttered to Camay and was now cuddling her, rubbing their cheeks together.

“Oh my god. You, are, soo, cute!”

Camay, suddenly foisted upon a smothering embrace, was close to squealing a “Gah!” but managed to resist. Damien, who was just about to kick Lydia out then and there, held back his urge to do so.

“Cease it.”

Wincing at the authoritative voice directed at her, Lydia reluctantly released her captive. But after having noticed the shy cherub with pinkish cheeks staring back at her, the only thought in her mind was going for round two. However, she was stopped by the feeling of death looming behind her—the grim reaper that only saw her as a pawn for his act two.

“Camay, call me Lydia, okay? You have to!”

Camay, still dazed from Lydia’s bold cuddle, nodded. Lydia then snapped her fingers as if signaling for something.

“Bring in the weapons!”

At her shout, three maids stepped into the veranda, each holding a distinct wooden weapon: staff, bow, and sword. Lydia genuflected to level herself with Camay.

“Camay, I’ll be teaching you magic today, okay?”

At the little girl’s nod, Lydia reached into her pocket and took out a white crystalline orb.

“Before we start, let’s have a look at your elemental affinities. Please place your hand on this orb.”

Camay nervously extended her arm and placed a palm on top of the orb. In mere moments, two small jewels of light grew into existence and capered within like fireflies—one blue, one gold.

“Your elements are water and light!”

An affinity toward an element enabled the production and manipulation of such element using one’s mana.

Lydia gazed at the orb in awe, specifically toward the golden jewel. Water was common, while light was rare. However, a hero’s affinity for light was intrinsic and thereby tacit.

Camay’s previously tense expression loosened into one of relief. Meanwhile, a neutral Damien, who also had an affinity for light, hastened Lydia.

“Continue the lesson.”

Lydia offered her palm to Camay. Upon joining hands, the two strolled into the backyard with three armed maids in tow. Damien and Abel stayed behind in the veranda.

Approaching one of the maids, Lydia was handed a staff.

“Here, take this and imagine producing a drop of water.”

Grasping the staff with both hands and extending her arms outward, Camay closed her eyes and followed Lydia’s instructions. These actions may have seemed rather theatrical, but assuming this was Camay’s first time invoking mana, total concentration was essential.

Camay channeled her mana through the staff. After around ten seconds, the staff’s tip sparkled blue, having formed a drop of water that immediately fell to the grass.

“Camay, you did it! On your first try, too!”

“Yes! Um, can we do something harder?”

With no intention of celebrating what should have been a feat, Camay instead wanted to continue the lesson. Noticing Camay’s indifference after being praised, Lydia’s eyes narrowed with anticipation verging on excitement.

“Then, imagine a ball of water.”

This time, with eyes opened, Camay raised the staff. In five seconds, drops of water started forming and gathering at the tip, eventually assembling into a liquid ball.

Lydia gaped at the sight before her. First off, this was a recognized skill called 「Water Ball」 that should have taken at least a week before satisfying results were produced. And yet, Camay had pulled it off in mere minutes. As if that weren’t enough, the ball would usually have an unstable shape with chaotic protrusions, but Camay’s was… a sphere—a perfect ball.

That was to say, Camay had mastered the skill on her first try. Lydia speedily and unnoticeably fell into a muse, trying to reason this unbelievable result. Having been a wunderkind herself, she too had mastered this skill—on her eightieth try.

Relax… perhaps Camay had simply practiced this skill numerous times beforehand. Indeed, this could have served as a plausible explanation.

But wait. According to her sources, Camay was summoned… only yesterday. It should have been impossible for a child’s tiny mana pool to sustain more than ten water ball attempts per day.

Or maybe, she could have been concealing her true abilities? No. No way. For a human child to possess such aptitude was preposterous.

Which meant—Camay had genuinely mastered the skill… without a shred of deception.

Lydia, having reached this conclusion within three seconds, felt a chill run down her spine. Laughing dryly inside and showing only a slight grin on her face, she decided it was time to move on to the next weapon.

“Camay, take this.”

Camay’s staff was exchanged for a bow.

“Alright,” Lydia clapped her hands together, “Pull back the bowstring and imagine an arrow of light.”

An arrow of light—also known as 「Holy Arrow」. The strength of the arrow was proportional to one’s ability to coagulate their mana. More solid meant more power—but.

Factors such as the bow’s durability, as well as the user’s physical strength and remaining mana had to all be considered. If someone were to have poured enough mana to create a concrete arrow, merely launching the attack was dependent on the bow’s quality. In the event that the bow was unable to withstand the density of the arrow, the user’s durability would become vulnerable.

Yes—the medium unto which the materialization of mana befell, received damage proportional to the amount of mana disbursed. Put simply, the usage of magic—hurt. This was why weapons were imperative.

While pulling back the bowstring, Camay channeled her mana through the bow. In five seconds, a golden light began forming between the bow’s nocking point and arrow rest, and swiftly took the shape of an arrow.

Having beheld this, Lydia’s attention peaked, and her brain begun operating at full throttle to scrutinize Camay’s every action, every breath. Her sole query: Why was Camay different?

If Lydia, a wunderkind, was compared with a commoner, the result was plainly disparate. These two categories should have represented the boundaries of humankind—and yet. When Lydia compared herself with Camay, it seemed as if another boundary had emerged. And within was—a being of higher dimension.

Imagining this phantasm, Lydia blanched. Her heart rate, elevated from such fantasy, rose further after having observed Camay’s arrow which had pierced a tree ten meters away.

Lydia—snapped. Now, this had gone too far. Was she being played? Was this just some cruel joke orchestrated by someone? She probed her surroundings cynically.

Her maids? No, they were personally screened. Then perhaps…

Peering into the veranda, she scanned the expressions of Damien and Abel. And the results were in.

Damien: visage of a stone.

Abel: visage of a stone.

No way… there was no one else in the property. This she certainly knew.

Then—Why am I here? Lydia questioned her own presence as a tutor. Since the very beginning, there had been no teaching. All she had done was speak, and Camay made it happen. Unable to justify anything that had transpired thus far, she laughed inwardly.

After recovering, she drifted toward a maid and received the final weapon.

“Camay, take thi—”

But her speaking was abruptly paused after sensing a familiar looming presence. Damien had stepped out of the veranda while holding a sword.

“Use this.”

Damien proffered the sword to Camay. Deep within his eye lingered a nearly imperceptible glint.