Nolan t her gaze, amused. "So co at ," he replied, stepping forward until they were only a breath apart.
She froze, eyes flicking between his face and the set of his mouth. "No, Master," she said quickly, surprise and sothing sharper under the words. "I... I don’t want to face you right now."
Nolan’s smile softened. "Oh? Not ready?"
"No." She swallowed, and her fingers tightened on the hilt. "I don’t want to face you. I want to face him." She jabbed a finger toward Damian.
Damian straightened, eyebrows rising as every head turned to him. "?" he said, incredulous.
"Yes, you." Celia’s voice trembled at the edges but did not break. "I can’t let him stay here. I want Master all to myself. I don’t want to share him."
Nolan’s mind flickered for a mont—Did Damian do sothing? Why the sudden hostility?—but his face remained calm. "Celia," he said gently, "why do you feel that way?"
She took a breath and lifted her sword until the tip caught the lamplight. "There’s already competition. I’ve accepted sharing Master with Linda and Lyra, but not him. He has to go. He must know who the boss is, so he’ll respect himself."
A hush fell over the room. Linda shifted, Lyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Damian’s expression hardened into sothing unreadable.
Nolan stepped between them, placing his hands where they could be seen. "Hold on. Nobody is being driven out today." His voice was steady, the kind that settled sharp edges. "Celia, I asked you to think about this. You have tomorrow to decide. If you believe soone is a threat, tell why. But you do not decide exile with a blade."
Celia’s jaw clicked. She lowered the sword a little, torn between fury and loyalty. "I just—" she started, then stopped, the confession lodged in her throat.
Damian let out a low sound that could have been a laugh or a sigh. "If this is how you earn respect, then swing your sword. But I am not the enemy you imagine."
Nolan t Damian’s gaze, then looked back at Celia as if weighing both their hearts. "We will train tomorrow," he said finally. "We will test strength and patience. And then you will tell your choice."
Celia’s grip loosened, but she did not sheath the sword. The decision would co tomorrow. For now, tension humd in the air like a held note, and the quiet promised a reckoning to co.
"I approve," Nolan said finally, his tone calm but sharp enough to silence the room. "Damian, step forward."
Damian exhaled quietly and obeyed, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel as he moved to the center of the yard. Nolan followed him, stopping between the two.
"Hey," Nolan said, glancing back at both of them. "Hold back and enjoy this. Don’t kill each other."
"Yes, sir," Damian replied, his voice even, though there was sothing hidden in his eyes.
He lowered his head slightly, thinking, Why does Master like these two won so much? His gaze flicked toward Celia, whose blade glead faintly in the moonlight. I was planning to keep calm tonight... but since she called out, maybe I’ll use this as a chance to put her in her place.
Nolan’s gaze lingered on both of them, then he raised his right hand into the air.
"Celia," he said quietly. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, Master," Celia replied, determination flashing in her eyes.
Nolan’s hand dropped like a blade. "Then let the fight begin."
He stepped back.
In the sa instant, Celia’s aura flared. A rush of white flas erupted around her, wings of light unfurling behind her shoulders. Her hair lifted slightly, and her sword ignited with a blinding glow.
"White Phoenix—Awaken!" she shouted.
The ground cracked beneath her feet as she dashed forward with frightening speed. Her blade sliced through the air, aiming straight for Damian’s chest.
The impact rang out—clang!
But Damian didn’t even flinch. He stood unmoving, the blade pressed against his neck, not even leaving a scratch.
"What—?" Celia’s eyes widened. She stepped back slowly, her sword trembling in her grip. "That... that should’ve cut through steel!"
Nolan’s brows furrowed slightly. So she’s seeing it now, he thought. She doesn’t know yet.
Damian began walking toward her, each step heavy with quiet power. The ground cracked slightly under his feet, a faint golden pattern spreading from where he stepped.
Celia’s heartbeat quickened. "I’m not done yet!" she shouted. White flas surged again, her body blurring as she charged a second ti. "Take this!"
Her sword ca down at his neck with full strength—another loud tallic clash echoed through the courtyard.
The blade stopped again. No blood. No mark. Nothing.
Damian’s expression didn’t even change.
Celia’s eyes shook. "W-What are you...?"
Nolan folded his arms, silent. He hadn’t told her the truth.
Damian isn’t human, he thought. He’s the Divine Dragon King in mortal form. His skin alone can withstand sacred steel.
Celia staggered back, her flas flickering out. For the first ti, fear mingled with awe in her eyes as Damian’s faint smile curved at the corner of his lips.
"Are you done?" he asked quietly. "Because now... it’s my turn."
Celia’s face flushed red with fury. "Hey, stay back, Damian. I’m not done with you," she snapped, fingers white on the hilt of her sword.
Her breath ca fast. What’s going on? Why can’t I penetrate his skin? Who is he? A thousand questions slamd into her head. Is this why Master wanted him as our companion? He might actually be useful. She tightened her grip. This is my most powerful skill—Attack. Still, it failed.
Damian stepped forward with the sa calm he’d worn since he arrived. Celia charged without hesitation, white energy coalescing around her blade. She swung, a beam of pure light streaking toward him.
Damian raised a hand. The strike hit his chest and rang like a bell—yet he did not so much as stagger. The blade kissed his skin and stopped, leaving no mark.
Celia staggered back, confusion and anger warring on her face. What is this?
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