Chapter 22
The day had been… eventful, to say the least.
I had wrapped up my lecture much faster than usual.
The students were too distracted by the upcoming Academy Festival, and frankly, so was I—though not for the same reasons.
Now, I sat in the backseat of the black mana-powered car, the city blurring past as we sped toward the Imperial Knights' training grounds.
It wasn't far from the Academy; just on the eastern ridge of the Capital.
A place reserved exclusively for those who bore the mantle of the Empire's shield—the Imperial Knights.
They weren't just ceremonial guards in silver armor.
These were the real deal.
Warriors trained to respond at a moment's notice if anything went wrong in the Capital.
Elite, disciplined, and terrifying in battle.
The grounds were off-limits to most civilians, but not to me.
Not when I had a direct reason to be there.
My wife, Olivia, served as a Knight Commander under one of the Generals.
Unfortunately, that General loathed me.
The man practically burned holes through me with his glare the last time we crossed paths.
A Tier 4 knight through and through, with all the pride and arrogance that came with it.
That was also why I rarely stepped foot inside the Imperial camp.
Not out of fear—but because I didn't have time for childish grudges dressed in armor.
Still… that gap between us wouldn't last much longer.
Another few months of research, and I'd break into Tier 4 myself.
I could feel it—no, I knew it.
The deeper my connection with mana became, the more effortless it felt to weave spells.
I was using less mana for more output.
Efficiency, precision, adaptability.
I had already created two new spells capable of threatening Tier 4 opponents.
Mages or Knights—it didn't matter. If it was a one-on-one battle, I could take them.
No doubt in my mind.
Add to that the enchantments I'd been inscribing onto my clothing—carefully layered seals, defensive sigils, mobility seals—my confidence wasn't just born from arrogance.
It was grounded in preparation.
As long as I wasn't facing someone standing at the cusp of Tier 5, I had a real chance of victory.
Maybe even a guaranteed one.
The fear I once held for Tier 4 opponents was fading.
I had reached the peak of Tier 3, the final threshold before the First Limiter.
Breaking that barrier was another challenge entirely.
For most mages, it required forming a contract with a spirit, undergoing risky body modifications, or soul-binding with a legendary-tier weapon.
Knights had it no easier—they had to do the same or survive a battle where death was all but certain.
Trial by fire, quite literally.
As for me… I was holding back from all three options.
Not because I was hesitant, but because I was waiting.
I had already set my sights on a weapon—a powerful, ancient item scheduled to appear in an upcoming auction.
I intended to soul-bind with it the moment I acquired it.
A legendary-tier weapon of my own design, enhanced with enchantments that would push me past the limits.
But first… I needed to fix my financial situation.
The salary from my job as a professor was barely enough.
Most of it went straight into funding my mana stone research—an experimental project with enormous potential but even more risk.
My wife had been shouldering most of our household expenses, paying the staff and managing the logistics.
She never complained.
Not once.
But I didn't want to depend on her.
I had my pride, too.
She was already doing more than enough.
It was time I pulled my own weight.
Thankfully, I had a plan—a path forward.
The noble party coming up in a few days… if it went the way I envisioned, it could open doors.
And I had to succeed.
The Head Professor would soon start demanding concrete results in my research.
I couldn't afford to fall behind.
The car pulled up to the massive iron gate of the Imperial Training Grounds.
A guard recognized me immediately and waved us in without question.
I nodded in appreciation.
Beyond the gates stood a grand, old-world manor—likely a place used for formal receptions or hosting nobles on visits.
But it was what lay behind that truly drew attention: an expansive open training ground.
Dozens of knights moved across it like steel currents in motion—some young and fresh, others bearing the cold eyes of men who had already faced death.
It didn't take me long to spot her.
Amidst the throng of armored soldiers, there she stood—Olivia.
My wife.
The Knight Commander.
Every inch of her radiated discipline and deadly grace.
She was in full training gear, leading a formation drill with her unit.
From the sidelines, I watched in silence.
Her presence commanded absolute respect.
No one dared slack off under her watch.
They moved in sync, executing the Imperial Swordsmanship technique—standard across all military academies and deeply rooted in the traditions of the Empire.
But Olivia's movements were different.
Sharper.
More fluid.
She had adapted the form, turned it into her own.
A technique born of years of mastering countless schools of swordplay and forging her own style through sweat and blood.
Her soldiers did their best to mimic her… but there was no matching her finesse.
Eventually, she halted the drill and clapped her hands. "Alright, that should be enough for today."
Her voice was firm, but not unkind.
The entire unit practically collapsed onto the training field, gasping for breath.
Each of them wore the standard Tier 3 training armor—ten kilograms on every piece, designed to suppress movement and push the wearer's limits.
And yet Olivia moved in it like it was silk.
Effortlessly.
She wasn't just a commander in name.
Her strength dwarfed theirs.
The only thing holding her back from promotion to General was her Tier.
The moment she stepped into Tier 4, she'd ascend—no questions asked.
As the soldiers dispersed, Olivia strode toward me, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from her face.
"You're early," she said, her tone flat.
"Well," I said with a smirk, folding my arms as I leaned against one of the nearby pillars, "it would've been a crime not to come see my beautiful wife like this."
Olivia paused mid-step, her face turning slightly toward me.
A faint blush bloomed on her cheeks, the rare kind that only appeared when I caught her off guard.
"I thought guys found women who sweat too much... unattractive," she tossed back, clearly trying to regain the upper hand.
I grinned, leaning into the banter. "There are different kinds of sweating," I countered smoothly.
"A guy lifting weights? That's the sexy kind. But you?" I let my gaze roam, just enough to make her raise an eyebrow.
"You make armor-drenched exhaustion look... dangerously appealing. It really makes me wonder what's hiding under all those layers of steel and leather you wear every day."
Olivia rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a smirk. "You'll never find out."
"Oh really?" I took a step closer.
Then another.
Until I was right in front of her.
And then I did something stupid.
Bold, but stupid.
I slid one arm around her waist and pulled her toward me.
For a second, her eyes widened in genuine shock—and to be fair, she had every reason to be surprised.
She was currently wearing her full training gear, every piece of it.
Each segment of that armor—arm guards, greaves, chestplate, shoulder pauldrons—was individually weighted at ten kilograms.
Twenty pieces of armor in total.
Twenty times ten... two hundred kilograms.
Add to that her natural body weight—roughly seventy-eight kilos.
That was a whopping two hundred and seventy-eight kilograms.
And I—a mage—had just pulled that weight toward myself without flinching.
Not bad for someone who wasn't supposed to be able to bench-press a steel statue.
But there was a method behind my madness.
My [Warrior Body] passive gave me a constant physical boost.
Combined with the layered enchantments in my clothes, the bodily mana enhancement I maintained daily, and the quick-cast spell I'd slipped under my breath the moment I saw her—the one that reduced the armor's weight by sixty percent—yeah, I could manage.
Barely.
Her surprised expression melted away as realization set in. "You cast a weight-reduction spell on me."
"I had to," I whispered, my face inches from hers. "Or you'd have knocked me over and flattened me like a pancake."
Her lips curved.
And then I kissed her.
There, in the open field of the Imperial training grounds.
She kissed me back immediately—fierce, hungry, and unguarded.
But just as quickly, she pulled away, a hand pressed lightly to my chest as she looked over my shoulder.
"You do know my soldiers are watching, right?" she muttered under her breath, lips still dangerously close.
We both turned.
Sure enough, a dozen knights were suddenly very interested in their boots or pretending they hadn't seen a thing.
Two of them—a man and a woman—stood especially rigid, their faces fixed in a valiant attempt to appear neutral.
They were doing a terrible job.
"And," Olivia added, her voice flat,
"I'm literally covered in sweat. Including my lips."
I wiped the corner of my mouth with exaggerated drama. "Guess I'd better get used to it. Besides,"
I whispered with a wink, "what do your soldiers matter… when it's just you and me, sweetheart?"
Her lips twitched again, curling into that rare, genuine smile I loved so much.
And then—gently—she pushed herself away from me.
"I'm going to take a quick bath," she announced casually, turning on her heel.
"Want company?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes glinting mischievously. "No."
But the way she said it… her sultry smile, the subtle sway of her hips as she walked away, the way she knew exactly how to tempt me...
Women like her were devils wrapped in beautiful skin.
Alluring.
Dangerous.
And, Maker help me—I wouldn't want it any other way.