Camay stared at the magnificent sword with a curious expression, but that only accounted for half of her current feelings. The other half was a mild surprise that arose from the sight of Damien personally handing her something.

Up until now, Damien had always tended to her through others, be it dining, teaching, or scheduling, as if establishing distance. The gap felt wide enough to raise the question of why he had bailed her out from the church in the first place.

Although it had only been a day since her arrival at Damien’s manor, it was easy to tell that he faced others with a cold demeanor, avoiding any and all physical contact—except.

Camay recalled the moment he was cradling her and the charming smile he gave that was later revealed to have been a façade. Not once had he shown such personal expressions or gestures since.

So, why now? Rather than himself, Damien could have simply ordered a servant to hand the sword over to her.

After sifting these thoughts, Camay concluded: this sword had meaning, and in some way, it was special.

Camay reached out her hand to grasp the sword, but before she could, Lydia stepped in and interjected emphatically.

“Halt. It’s rather unrealistic for a lissome body to balance such a heavy artifact, wouldn’t you say?”

Lydia’s words may have seemed to be based on opinion, but her stern expression was one of absolute conviction. Her question, in every way rhetorical, was irrefutable—because she was right.

Damien gazed at the little girl in front of him. Although she was garbed in a fluttery dress, it was clear that her body was nothing but willowy, almost frail. Indeed, it would’ve been quite ludicrous for such a physique to swing a sword that nearly matched her height, not to mention width and weight. As if brought back to reality through Lydia’s words, Damien retracted the sword with an unfaltering demeanor and returned to the veranda.

For some reason, seeing this, Camay’s heart throbbed. Damien, who even had the King under his feet, was not the type of person to step down without debate. In fact, he was not one to commit mistakes in the first place, and yet, he had backed himself into a corner. But… why? What made him forego his acumen? And, just what was so special about this swor—

“As for you, Camay. You could have hurt yourself! Even I would have trouble merely lifting it!”

Perhaps it was Lydia’s harsh scolding, or perhaps it was all of the thoughts that were permeating her mind, but Camay’s eyes slowly welled up. For the first time in ten years, she was on the verge of shedding tears. Now that she was human, she could cry.

“I’m sorry… to have worried you…”

At Camay’s apology that was accompanied by sniffles and glistening eyes, Lydia quickly realized that she had overreacted. To have made a sweet little girl snivel over something paltry was excessively cruel—evil, even. There was nothing on her mind except to soothe the regretful little lamb before her.

Lydia gently hugged Camay’s head against her chest.

“Everything is fine. But please, always remember to limit your actions so you don’t ever bring harm upon yourself.”

At Lydia’s sentimental counseling, Camay nodded several times, still under embrace.

“Then, shall we continue with the lesson?”

“Yes please…”

Upon receiving Camay’s assent, bundled with remnants of sniffles, Lydia picked up the wooden sword that she had dropped before her earlier intervention. After handing the weapon to Camay, she gave out instructions while beaming with enthusiasm.

“Okay! This will be the last weapon for today. Let’s see if you can handle it!”

Lydia was pumped after having seen Camay produce a natural expression. Her worries from before that placed Camay on some sort of phantasmal pedestal had allayed, and she came to an understanding.

Her sanity, previously stretched and pulled into a chaotic state by Camay’s unbelievable talent, seemed to have been unrecoverable. But now, in her sight was an innocent little girl bestowed with a gift for magical ability—just like her.

Lydia, a wunderkind, had been treated exactly the same way during her childhood. She, too, had astounded her mentors. How could she have forgotten this? As the generations improved—as the humans evolved—it was only natural that the values for base aptitudes would also increase. This sole understanding had mellowed her violent psyche, and she had come to acknowledge Camay as one of her own.

“Camay, endow the wooden sword with holy light!”

With a spirited nod, Camay channeled her mana from the sword’s hilt to its blade, enveloping its entirety with a magnificent golden light.

Lydia’s mouth cracked into a huge grin, almost wicked in essence. Everything that she thought was impossible, had been merely presumption. Her arrogance had caused her to become short-sighted—until now.

So, this is our next hero, huh? What a supreme honor! I am unworthy, but alas, my insolence knows no bounds!

This little girl—no. This hero, under the guardianship of a man of tripartite status—a duke, a hero, a king. How could Lydia not be here? There was no way she could go back now. To miss out on the growth of the latest zenith—even death served as insufficient penance.

Lydia made a self-promise to try her best in avoiding all forms of astonishment within the presence of Camay. It was the least she could do.

She clapped her hands together once as if to signify the end of the lesson.

“And that’s it for today! I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay! Um, how did I do?”

Lydia couldn’t find the proper words of praise, so she settled with the ones at the top of her mind.

“Your performance was wonderful! I look forward to teaching you from now on!”

With smiles and a curtsy from Lydia, the lesson concluded. After Lydia left, Camay was led by Abel to one of the veranda’s tables where afternoon tea and cakes were prepared. Damien was already seated on one of the two chairs, relaxed in posture—as usual—with his cheek resting on a fist.

“You did well. Eat.”

Without moving an inch, Damien indifferently directed Camay to indulge the scrumptious-looking snacks that were placed on a tiered stand. Each and every flavor was one that she favored—however. Camay instead—talked.

“Thank you. But you didn’t do so well yourself.”

At Camay’s upbraiding, Damien’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“Heeding me is unnecessary.”

In other words, worry about yourself, and perhaps, don’t worry about me. He delivered this reply nonchalantly, but Camay returned it with defiance.

“What was that sword?”

Straight to the point, like a sniper.

“It’s just a sword. Nothing special besides its cost.”

“…Are you bluffing?”

“No.”

Camay stared intently at Damien, looking for any sort of tell, but to no avail. No matter how stoic he was, when facing a critical moment, he should have at least leaked a minor reaction. But there was none. His face and tone affirmed certitude. To such an unyielding demeanor, Camay had no choice but to believe him.

And indeed, Damien had not bluffed. The outer features of the sword were truly meaningless to him. The only facet that made it special was—its cost.

So, its price? No. Currency, too, was meaningless to him. Then that meant… the cost was symbolic. Verily so, Damien was referring to the cost of her life in exchange for saving his.

“Umm okay. It’s just that, you looked pretty pathetic back there, you know?”

Damien steeled himself before replying to Camay’s snide remark. The yearnful memories that were flooding his psyche had to be suppressed for her sake. And to maintain her ignorance, he had purposely spoken cryptically. In an attempt to lure her thoughts elsewhere, Damien deftly changed the topic.

“Speak for yourself. Quite convincing.”

Damien’s reply was neutral, but the corners of his mouth nearly resembled a sneer. Camay’s eyes widened and she stuttered.

“W-what are you talking about?!”

To the fuming Camay, Damien spoke no words and simply placed a finger under his left eye.

At Damien’s mockery, Camay’s face burned beet red. He had caught her red-handed—that those welled eyes of hers earlier with Lydia were, in truth, crocodile tears.

“B-be quiet!”

Hearing Camay’s irrational demand, Damien simply tilted his head slightly, as if to say, I haven’t said anything.

Suppressing the urge to squeal “Dummy!”, Camay leaned back in her chair and pouted with crossed arms.

Seeing this, Damien no longer felt any need to test her. After all, Camay had passed each and every test, even ones that he had yet to trial. It was as if they were the same person but with differing ages and upbringings.

From now on, all she had to do was say something, and he would make it happen—as long as it did not go against his wishes.