Cold northern winds swept endlessly across the Rosenfeld training grounds.
Silver moonlight illuminated the vast black stone arena while ancient dragon statues towered silently around the battlefield like forgotten kings observing from another age.
And at the center of it all—
Kel stood calmly beneath the night sky.
The demonstration had already ended.
The two condensed aura swords surrounding him earlier had already dissolved into silver particles drifting softly into the winter winds.
Yet strangely—
The pressure lingering across the arena had not disappeared.
Because everyone watching understood instinctively—
Kel held back.
Severely.
And that realization itself felt unsettling.
Meanwhile—
House Rosenfeld quietly observed its returned firstborn beneath flickering mana torches.
Each pair of eyes carried different emotions.
Different thoughts.
Different conclusions.
Duke Aktaris von Rosenfeld
The Slaughter Dragon stood silently near the arena edge.
His broad figure remained unmoving beneath the northern winds while silver moonlight reflected faintly across the dark military coat draped around him.
Outwardly—
He appeared calm.
Expressionless.
Yet internally—
His thoughts sharpened continuously.
Too smooth.
That was the problem.
Kel's aura control had looked too refined.
Too experienced.
Not the movements of someone who merely encountered the sword art recently.
And certainly not the control expected from a fifteen-year-old noble heir recovering from a curse.
The Duke had spent decades on battlefields.
He knew combat instincts better than most beings alive.
And what he witnessed earlier…
Was not talent alone.
It was survival.
Adaptation.
Battle experience carved directly into muscle memory.
Meanwhile—
Aktaris quietly remembered something else.
The way Kel moved his floating aura swords.
Not flashy.
Not elegant.
Efficient.
Every movement minimized waste completely.
That wasn't noble swordsmanship.
That was battlefield swordsmanship.
The kind developed by someone repeatedly fighting stronger enemies.
Inside his mind—
One thought surfaced again.
"What exactly did you experience during those two years?"
Yet the Duke asked nothing.
Because forcing answers from Kel would only make him withdraw further.
And strangely—
Aktaris understood that instinctively.
Meanwhile—
His crimson eyes quietly followed his son standing beneath moonlight.
And for perhaps the first time clearly—
The Duke realized something unsettling.
Kel no longer resembled someone growing beneath House Rosenfeld's protection.
He looked like someone who survived entirely different worlds already.
Helena von Rosenfeld
Kel's mother quietly watched from farther behind.
Her gloved hands remained softly folded together while silver tears almost shimmered within her eyes beneath the cold night winds.
Not from sadness.
But disbelief.
Because the young man standing there…
Looked nothing like the dying child she remembered.
For years—
Helena feared opening her son's bedroom door.
Feared hearing coughing.
Feared bloodstained sheets.
Feared mornings where his breathing sounded weaker than before.
She remembered carrying him when he was too exhausted to stand.
Remembered cold skin.
Weak hands.
Endless medicine.
And now—
That same child stood beneath the northern moon commanding aura itself like a sovereign born for battle.
Healthy.
Stable.
Alive.
Beautifully alive.
Meanwhile—
The moment Kel condensed those floating swords—
Helena unconsciously covered her mouth slightly.
Not because of the technique.
But because she finally realized something painful.
Her son truly no longer needed protection.
That realization strangely hurt more than expected.
Inside her heart—
One quiet thought surfaced.
"You grew up while I wasn't watching."
The Eldest Uncle
The eldest of the Rosenfeld brothers folded his arms silently.
Unlike the others—
His focus remained entirely on the sword art itself.
Dangerous.
That was his conclusion.
Not because of destructive power.
But because of flexibility.
Any technique capable of evolving endlessly became difficult to predict.
And unpredictability in warfare created monsters.
Meanwhile—
Another realization bothered him slightly.
Kel adapted to the sword art immediately.
Too naturally.
The uncle had originally assumed the returned heir merely possessed intelligence.
Yet now—
He began suspecting something more frightening.
Kel possessed combat intuition.
Pure instinct.
The kind impossible to teach through books alone.
Meanwhile—
The older man quietly exhaled.
House Rosenfeld truly produced absurd descendants sometimes.
The Second Uncle
The second uncle observed differently.
His eyes did not remain on the floating swords.
But on Kel himself.
Specifically—
His emotional control.
Not once during the demonstration did Kel seek praise.
Not once did he display arrogance.
No excitement.
No pride.
Only calm restraint.
And honestly—
That unsettled him more than the swordsmanship itself.
Because powerful young nobles usually desired recognition.
Validation.
Attention.
Yet Kel behaved like someone already beyond caring about such things.
As though impressing others meant nothing anymore.
Inside his thoughts—
One conclusion quietly formed.
"He experienced far more than he admitted."
The Eldest Cousin
At twenty-three years old—
The eldest cousin already commanded northern military units personally.
He understood battle better than most young nobles.
Which meant—
He immediately recognized the true terror behind Sovereign's Orbit Sword Arts.
Multiple attack vectors.
Continuous pressure.
Adaptive movement.
And above all—
Battlefield awareness.
Watching Kel earlier felt almost unnatural.
The floating swords didn't merely attack.
They protected blind spots instinctively.
Intercepted openings.
Controlled space.
That level of coordination required absurd concentration.
Yet Kel handled it effortlessly.
Meanwhile—
The cousin quietly narrowed his eyes.
If this was merely "somewhat understanding" the sword art…
Then how terrifying was its true creator?
The Younger Brother
Kel's thirteen-year-old younger brother looked completely fascinated.
His crimson eyes practically sparkled beneath the moonlight.
To him—
Kel simply looked incredible.
Strong.
Cool.
Mysterious.
The perfect older brother.
Meanwhile—
The younger boy gripped the sword manual tightly against his chest afterward.
Inside his thoughts—
One determination formed clearly.
"I'll learn it too."
Not out of jealousy.
But admiration.
Pure admiration.
The Younger Sister
Kel's ten-year-old younger sister quietly watched from behind Helena.
Unlike the others—
She didn't fully understand the deeper implications of the sword art.
Or aura theory.
Or military value.
What she understood instead—
Was emotion.
And tonight—
Her older brother looked lonely somehow.
Even while standing among family—
Kel felt distant.
Like someone watching the world from farther away than everyone else.
And strangely—
That made her chest hurt slightly.
The Third Cousin
The sixteen-year-old cousin who purchased the manual earlier now looked openly overwhelmed.
Because originally—
He thought Reina Asheville herself already looked monstrous.
Yet now—
Kel used the same sword art almost casually.
As though it belonged naturally within his hands.
Meanwhile—
One frightening thought surfaced.
"Could he possibly know Lady Reina personally?"
The idea sounded absurd.
Yet somehow—
The familiarity earlier felt too natural.
Marine
Farther behind the noble family—
Marine quietly observed the arena silently.
Unlike others—
She smiled softly.
Because she remembered clearly.
The weak trembling hands unable to even hold training swords properly.
And now—
Those same hands manipulated aura blades beneath the northern moon.
To others—
Kel looked mysterious tonight.
To Marine—
He simply looked healthy.
And that alone made her happier than anything else.
Meanwhile—
At the center of the training grounds—
Kel quietly stood beneath drifting snowflakes while northern winds moved softly through his black hair.
Inside his mind—
Sairen whispered quietly.
"They're all watching you differently now."
Kel calmly looked toward the moonlit arena.
"…I know."
The silver-haired spirit softened afterward.
"Does it bother you?"
Silence followed briefly.
Then finally—
"…No."
Another pause.
"But it feels strange."
Because honestly—
For most of his life—
People looked at him with pity.
Fear.
Sympathy.
Fragility.
Yet now—
Their eyes carried something entirely different.
Respect.
Curiosity.
Wariness.
Expectation.
And somehow—
That change still felt unfamiliar.
Meanwhile—
The northern snow continued falling endlessly beneath ancient dragon statues.
And standing beneath the frozen night skies of House Rosenfeld—
Kel von Rosenfeld quietly realized something important.
The moment he returned home—
The balance inside the family itself had already begun changing.