The air cracked with unstable mana as the training ground shook violently, cracks splintering across the floor beneath Kyle’s feet.
The very foundations of the royal palace trembled, causing alarms to ring throughout the capital. Panic surged like a wave.
Servants stumbled and fled, nobles cried out in fear, and soldiers instinctively reached for their weapons as the violent surge threatened to tear the structure apart.
At the heart of it all stood Kyle—motionless, head bowed, fists clenched—his aura flaring uncontrollably. Divine mana sizzled against the overwhelming pressure of sothing older, sothing angrier.
lissa, already on edge from the rising tension earlier, felt the shift in mana before the quake even hit. Her heart dropped.
"That’s him. Young master..."
She whispered.
Without another thought, she took off, shoving past confused guards and frightened nobles. When she reached the training ground, the sight that t her eyes stunned her into silence.
Kyle stood still, his back to her, facing the puppet now seated on its knees, the remnants of a shattered mask at its feet.
But what terrified lissa most wasn’t the puppet.
It was Kyle.
His body vibrated with pure fury. The ground beneath his boots had turned molten from the pressure of his mana. The air twisted and groaned around him.
She reached for her weapon.
She had no idea what had triggered her young master like this—but the puppet was clearly the cause.
She would end it.
Without hesitation, she leapt forward, mana drawn into her blade.
"I’ll take care of this—!"
But before her sword could strike, Kyle moved.
His hand clamped around her blade with precision and calm, stopping her mid-swing. The pressure of his grip alone caused her mana to flicker and destabilize.
"Stand down."
He said, his voice low.
lissa’s breath caught. That tone—it was flat, furious, restrained. His usual control was paper-thin.
"But, young master. You’re losing yourself. Let help—"
She tried, her voice shaking.
"No."
The finality in his voice struck harder than any weapon. He released her blade, and his eyes—cold, unfamiliar—t hers.
"I said I’ll deal with this myself."
lissa swallowed hard.
"Then... what do you need from ?"
Kyle inhaled deeply, as if pulling himself back from the edge. Slowly, he lowered his gaze and let go of the mana burning in his hands. The shaking stopped, but the tension remained thick.
"You did a good job coming here. But go back. Tell the others not to co looking for . I need ti. Alone."
He said more gently now, though still distant.
lissa hesitated, torn between obedience and concern.
"Will you be okay...?"
His silence lingered too long.
Then...
"I don’t know."
It was the most honest answer she had ever heard from him.
Sothing inside her ached, but she nodded.
"I understand, young master."
She stepped back, hesitating only for a second longer, before she turned and left. Her heart weighed with unease, her mind filled with worry.
Whatever Kyle was confronting—whatever that puppet ant to him—it wasn’t sothing she could help him face.
At least not yet.
______
The grand duchess’s boots echoed sharply against the stone as she rushed through the corridor, her cloak fluttering behind her.
Servants scrambled out of her way, alard by the panic etched into her expression. Her heart thundered against her ribs. The quake, the blast of unstable mana—there was no doubt.
Kyle was the source.
She needed to see him.
But just as she neared the outer halls of the training grounds, a familiar figure blocked her path. lissa stood tall, her back straight, hands clasped before her like a shield.
"Please return to your quarters, Your Grace. Young Master Kyle has ordered not to be disturbed. He needs ti."
lissa said calmly.
Amana’s eyes narrowed.
"Move."
lissa didn’t budge.
"I can’t."
"I wasn’t asking."
"I wasn’t either."
A heavy silence settled between them as both won stared the other down. Amana’s grip on her hilt tightened.
"You have no right to bar my path. I am his fiancée. If anyone should be at his side now, it’s ."
The grand duchess snapped.
The words were sharp, but to lissa, they felt like a blade straight to the heart.
Fiancée.
Of course. That was the truth lissa always tried to ignore.
Her chest ached, and for a mont, her fingers twitched with the urge to let the duchess pass. To admit she had no place in Kyle’s world beyond what he offered her as a subordinate. But...
She stood firm.
"I was given an order by my young master. And I intend to follow it."
lissa said, her voice firm despite the ache.
The duchess took a sharp step forward.
"You think I care about your little orders? You think you can stop ?"
lissa’s eyes sharpened.
"I won’t let you disturb him, Your Grace. Not when he specifically asked for space."
Amana exhaled through her nose, frustrated, insulted.
"Then I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget."
Without another word, she drew her sword. A flicker of noble elegance and power pulsed through her stance—this wasn’t a bluff. She fully intended to strike.
lissa took a step back and drew her own blade.
She didn’t want this fight.
But if protecting her young master ant standing up to the very woman he was promised to—then so be it.
The two won circled each other, tension thick between them. Amana’s strikes ca swift and disciplined, the product of noble training, battlefield experience, and raw conviction.
lissa matched her, not with polish, but with grit and relentless determination. She had trained under Kyle himself. She knew how to endure.
Steel clashed with steel in a blur of silver.
"You’re wasting ti! He needs support!"
Amana growled between strikes.
"You don’t understand. He doesn’t need people crowding him right now. He needs space to think."
lissa countered, pushing back.
"And you know what he needs better than I do?"
"I’ve known him longer."
That brought Amana to a brief pause. Her hesitation lasted only a heartbeat—but it was enough.
lissa slipped inside her guard, pressed her blade to the duchess’s shoulder—not to wound, but to stop the duel.
Both won froze.
Their swords trembled slightly as they held their positions, breaths coming fast.
The courtyard between the palace wings grew tense as Grand Duchess Amana and lissa faced one another, blades drawn.
Wind rushed between them, tugging at their cloaks, but neither moved—yet.
"I won’t let you pass."
lissa said, her voice low but resolute.
Amana’s eyes narrowed.
"You forget your place, lissa. He is my fiancé."
"And I’m his subordinate. He gave an order. I won’t betray it."
lissa replied, holding her sword steady.
A flicker of irritation crossed Amana’s face. She lunged first, her blade sharp and swift. lissa blocked the strike, her arms shaking under the strength behind it.
The two clashed, steel ringing against steel as palace guards peeked from nearby corridors, too stunned to intervene.
"You’re reckless! He needs soone beside him, not a wall of stubborn pride!"
Amana shouted, swinging again.
lissa grit her teeth and countered with a low sweep.
"He needs peace, even if it’s just for a mont. If you care for him, then respect that!"
Their blades locked, faces inches apart. Amana’s breath was heavy. lissa’s hands trembled, but her stance didn’t falter.
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