At the mock combat facility—the Arena—annexed to Aegenhalt's private training grounds, two swordsmen faced each other across an expanse of packed earth.
The battlefield was deliberately sparse: no obstacles, just a vast area specifically designed for unobstructed combat. Nothing to hide behind, nowhere to run. Pure skill would determine the victor.
One combatant wore the full armor of the Ansheinus family knight order—polished steel plates that caught afternoon light, red cloak marking his rank. The other wore light armor, just a simple breastplate protecting vital organs and nothing more.
The swords they carried showed similar disparity: one held a high-quality blade issued to knights—balanced, deadly, expensive. The other gripped a well-crafted but crude stone sword, conjured by magic, temporary by nature.
There was an obvious gap in equipment, in resources, in official standing.
Yet the latter—the lightly armored young man—showed no cold sweat on his brow, no stiffness in his expression despite facing superior gear and a legendary opponent. He simply stood there with a cool, almost cold expression, utterly composed.
"...I'm coming."
He muttered in a voice carrying deep resonance—steady, certain, final. Then slowly raised his sword into guard position, muscles coiling with controlled tension.
...In that instant, phenomenal acceleration.
A crater formed where he'd been standing—earth exploding outward from the force of his launch. The surrounding air trembled—*biribiri*—vibrating with released energy.
Pale blue flames erupted along his crude stone sword, coating the conjured blade in supernatural fire. Like a beast hunting prey, the young man rushed forward with dimensional acceleration—speed that defied human limitations—and delivered a flash of attack toward his target without a trace of hesitation.
"—Kik!"
The knight bit down on his back teeth—*giri*—hands dampening with sweat despite years of experience. But he accepted the strike, met it head-on with his superior blade.
The moment of contact: an explosive shockwave erupted outward.
Scorching heat waves generated simultaneously, creating a dizzying gust that would have knocked lesser fighters off their feet. The clash of magic and steel sent sparks cascading in all directions.
...Yet the young man who received the counter-blast full in the face didn't stop his momentum at all. Didn't even slow.
On the contrary, he accelerated further while unleashing additional combos—relentless, unforgiving, *hungry* for victory.
The red cloak attached to the armor—proof of the Knight Commander of the Ansheinus family—billowed and whipped in the magical windstorm.
*GAGAGAAAN!!* The high-pitched sound of blades colliding rang out intermittently—metallic screaming that hurt the ears.
Sparks scattered everywhere as the sword exchange continued: one strike, two strikes, three... The rhythm of *kengeki* building like a drumbeat.
It seemed as if it might last forever—two masters locked in eternal contest. But battles end with momentary lapses, single mistakes exploited ruthlessly.
—BAKIN!!
A sharp sound resonated, piercing eardrums like a needle.
The stone sword wreathed in blue flames shattered completely—exploded into fragments.
The pulverized sword pieces were swallowed by lingering flames and returned to ash, scattering on the wind.
*Got him!!*
Convinced of victory, the knight's swing approached the now-disarmed young man with lethal intent.
...But.
"—!?"
The Knight Commander's strike cut through *kuu*—empty air, nothing.
The young man's figure had vanished—impossibly fast evasion.
The confident blow ended in emptiness, creating a massive opening in the knight's guard.
...The sword hadn't been broken by force.
*He deliberately released it!!*
By the time understanding dawned, it was already far too late.
"GAAAAAAAH!!!!"
A roar—barely human, purely feral.
The young man had dropped into a posture so low he practically crawled against the ground—beneath the knight's vision, inside his defensive range.
He slipped into the widely exposed guard of the armored warrior and pressed his palm flat against the breastplate.
"[Smash]!"
Explosive magical power surged forth—compressed, concentrated, *devastating*.
Using acceleration comparable to a jet engine's thrust, the young man slammed the knight with everything he had.
Instantly, double... triple... no, even more layers of shockwaves dominated the field—*ZU-ZUZU-ZUUUN*—overlapping impacts that made the very air scream.
"Gaha..."
All air expelled from lungs... no, more than that—a blow that nearly shattered every bone in his body. Only the knight's will and hastily deployed defensive magic prevented complete catastrophe. Years of experience saving him from instant defeat.
Refusing to lose like this, the Knight Commander tried to regain his stance, fighting spirit blazing in his eyes despite pain.
...But a crude stone blade was already pressed against his throat—conjured instantly from scattered fragments, reformed through will and magic.
"Kuh...! ...I surrender."
The words came with difficulty, pride wounded but wisdom intact.
The young man before him radiated an aura like a lion that had captured its prey—predatory, absolute, *victorious*. The stone sword, improvised through magic, carried unmistakable killing intent despite its temporary nature.
The armored warrior admitted defeat with a bitter expression, lowering his own blade in acknowledgment.
"Match decided!!"
When the referee called the outcome, the gallery erupted—*waa*—into excited chaos.
Cheers, disbelief, animated discussion about what they'd just witnessed.
The victor stood calmly amidst this commotion, showing a nonchalant demeanor that seemed almost studied. As if the match result meant nothing—just another Tuesday.
The handsome young man brushed dust from his face and body with casual grace, sweat making his skin gleam in afternoon light.
*Who exactly is he?*
The question rippled through observers who didn't know, who hadn't watched his five-year transformation.
"Liam!"
"Owah?!"
Sudden impact descended! Not enough to break his stance, but unexpected enough to make him let out an undignified yelp.
"E-Lady Erica... suddenly hugging me in a place like this is..."
"Do you dislike being hugged by me?"
Her voice carried that dangerous edge—the one that turned simple questions into traps.
"Ah, no, it's not that... there are people watching, and I'm rather dirty right now—mmph!"
As he hurriedly tried to make excuses, she gently pressed her beautiful index finger against his lips—silencing protest with that single elegant gesture.
"I don't care who sees us... I don't care what condition you're in, understand?"
This was the action beat that changed everything—not the battle's conclusion, but this moment. Her public claim, her possessive display, fundamentally shifting their dynamic from private attachment to open declaration. No more hiding, no more pretense of proper master-servant distance.
"Don't you feel the same?" The unspoken challenge hung in her words as Erica aimed those black eyes at him—targeting, assessing, *demanding*.
*What is this young lady saying...!?*
If she said things like that, he couldn't respond anymore... couldn't maintain proper boundaries...!!
...However, staying like this was still problematic. Very problematic.
Wondering if he could somehow get this crazy young lady to release him, he looked at the referee knight with desperate, pleading eyes.
They'd crossed swords several times over the past five years—surely they had enough connection to communicate nonverbally, heart to heart...
"..."
*No, hey! Don't look away!?*
Actually, everyone else was avoiding eye contact too for some reason. Suddenly finding the sky or ground incredibly fascinating.
And yet he could still feel their warm, knowing gazes—amused and understanding and absolutely unhelpful!!
Having come to this, there was nothing more he could do. No escape, no rescue.
He'd be restrained until this young lady—currently smiling *nikoniko* while clinging to his arm—was satisfied. However long that took.
*I still have work left today... could she maybe release me in about two hours?*
...Somehow, he'd been trying to look cool fighting the Knight Commander, but that mood had completely deflated now. All his hard-won dignity evaporated.
Well, he wasn't really good at that kind of posturing anyway. Maybe it was fine like this.
...And so, I—Liam , fifteen years old—was doing my best to avoid bad endings.
While being thoroughly embarrassed in public by my possessive mistress.
＊＊＊
In order not to repeat the helplessness and misery I'd experienced five years ago—that crushing defeat, that near-death humiliation—I'd intensified my training regimen dramatically since that day.
Sword technique, magic mastery, tactical thinking. Every aspect of combat refined obsessively.
To gain power sufficient to overturn any obstacle, to crush any threat before it could threaten those I protected.
My motivation was crystalline: become strong enough that death couldn't claim me, that fate couldn't force Erica into darkness.
At first, I'd thrown myself into it with reckless abandon—training until I collapsed, then training more. But after about half a year, I began training alongside the knights of the Ansheinus family's direct knight order.
Well, naturally—as expected of combat professionals—I'd been thoroughly schooled in the overwhelming difference in ability. Crushed repeatedly, humbled constantly.
But I wasn't discouraged by such setbacks. Couldn't afford to be. After all, if I gave up, that would be game over—no, *life* over. Not just failure, but death and Erica's corruption following inevitably.
So I continued sweating more than them, more than anyone else in this world... pushed myself to limits I didn't know I possessed.
Well, with that level of commitment, even someone like me with no particular talent could achieve decent results apparently.
Now I could easily win against ordinary knights—the rank-and-file who'd once seemed invincible. And I'd been winning more and more against leader-class opponents like captains and vice-captains.
Considering my starting point, the results were remarkable enough to take pride in.
But it still wasn't enough to relax. Not nearly enough.
In the original story, far stronger opponents had appeared constantly—monsters in human form, combat geniuses, protagonists with plot armor. I needed to be stronger than all of them.
My death as the childhood friend meant Erica's bad ending. That equation was simple, absolute, *unavoidable*.
That outcome had to be prevented at all costs. No exceptions, no acceptable losses.
...That said, currently I seemed to have hit a plateau in strength development—stagnation despite continued effort.
How to put it... I felt somewhat stuck in a rut, like I'd hit diminishing returns.
I'd learned techniques to handle captain-level opponents, but that knowledge came partly from familiarity—knowing their patterns, their habits, their tells.
Real threats wouldn't be so accommodating. Wouldn't fight fair or give me time to adapt.
I needed more varied experience, more diverse opponents. Assassins threatening my life wouldn't come under circumstances I was accustomed to—they'd strike from blind spots, use unexpected tactics.
Maybe I needed to venture outside Aegenhalt, test myself against unfamiliar fighters with unknown styles.
*But I also have duties as a butler that I can't neglect...*
The time I could devote to gaining combat experience was inherently limited. Responsibilities constrained growth.
This was my current situation: lacking resources, lacking time, lacking certainty about the path forward.
Even though I still had some breathing room now, I needed to figure out solutions quickly. Before the margin for error disappeared completely.
Because soon—very soon—came Erica's academy enrollment.
Which meant the main story's beginning. The scenario starting in earnest.
And I still didn't know if I was strong enough to survive what came next.