Chapter 31
The following day, the grand wall clock chimed precisely at five in the afternoon.
A rich, melodic resonance rolled down the mansion's high-ceilinged corridors as brilliant reddish-orange sunlight poured horizontally through the gaps in the heavy velvet drapes. The waning daylight painted the polished oak panels and marble floors in warm, fiery hues of dusk, casting long, elegant shadows across the estate grounds.
Unlike the previous days, when every stride had felt leaden and weighed down by administrative purgatory, Damnern's footsteps today possessed a springy, untroubled lightness.
The suffocating exhaustion that had clawed at his bones all week was completely gone.
A single night of unbroken sleep had worked miracles on both his physical constitution and mental resilience. His silver hair, usually left in a state of chaotic disarray after hours hunched over state ledgers and military reports, had been meticulously combed back from his face. The bruised, shadowy hollows beneath his blue eyes had faded significantly, replaced by a vibrant, healthy vitality.
For once, he looked less like the overburdened head of a prominent noble house and more like a doting father simply eager to spend a quiet evening with his children.
He had even bypassed his stiff, formal wool coat, leaving it draped over his office chair. Instead, he wore a loose-fitting set of dark cotton training garb that granted him absolute freedom of movement—a simple, comfortable attire that felt infinitely better than the restrictive aristocratic tailoring he wore by default.
Today, I will not let my children down again.
The vow settled warmly in his chest as he strode down the hallway.
A faint, fond smile softened his rugged features. The memory of the previous evening remained vivid—the raw concern etched into Eldern's face, and the quiet, understanding look in Elyra's eyes when they realized how drained he truly was.
Just recalling it warmed his heart.
Those two little souls had genuinely worried about him, and the quiet realization filled him with a deep, humbling sense of pride. Because of that, he was fiercely determined to make tonight's lesson memorable.
After all, he was finally going to deliver on his long-awaited promise: teaching them the blade.
Especially Elyra.
Ever since recovering from her fever, she had exhibited a focused, unwavering fascination with combat training. Though she rarely vocalized her enthusiasm, Damnern could easily spot the fierce determination burning behind her serene sapphire eyes.
The mental image only widened his smile.
As he continued down the corridor, anticipation bloomed in his chest with every passing step. For the first time in an age, he found himself genuinely looking forward to something entirely disconnected from taxation, border politics, or noble obligations.
He was simply looking forward to his children.
Guided by that thought, he crossed the quiet expanse of the second-floor gallery and finally came to a halt outside Eldern's chamber doors.
The dark polished wood stood silently before him. Damnern paused for a heartbeat, drawing a slow, calming breath as the distant echoes of the estate faded away. A soft smile curved his lips before he raised his knuckles and tapped lightly against the panels.
Knock. Knock.
A second later, he wrapped his fingers around the brass doorknob and pushed the heavy door inward.
"Eldern, Elyra—"
Before he could finish, the door swung wide open on its own accord.
Eldern and Elyra were standing shoulder-to-shoulder directly on the threshold, looking precisely as though they had been waiting for him to arrive.
"Yes, Papa!" they chimed in synchronous harmony.
Finally...
Elyra's small fingers tightened around the handle of the miniature wooden sword she clutched like a prized relic.
Damnern's gaze instantly locked onto the weapon, and his paternal heart performed an ecstatic backflip.
She's actually carrying my gift...And I carved it with my own hands!
He screamed internally, a wave of profound emotional triumph washing over him.
Fiercely battling to keep his exterior cool, he cleared his throat and gestured toward the blade. "So...?"
He raised an eyebrow playfully. "Do you like it, Elyra?"
"E-Eh..."
For a fraction of a second, Elyra froze, caught off guard. Then she abruptly averted her gaze, her cheeks dusting with a delicate, pink flush.
"Y-Yes..." she mumbled, staring intensely at the floorboards. "Tank yu."
The words were whispered so quietly they barely carried across the room.
It was the absolute first time she had ever voluntarily thanked him for anything.
Damnern froze.
His HP dropped to zero; a critical strike straight to his soul.
"It's super light, Papa!" Eldern eagerly chimed in, brandishing his own training sword with an enthusiastic swing. "It's totally custom-sized for Elyra!"
For reasons she couldn't entirely articulate, Elyra felt a sudden, inexplicable twitch of annoyance at her brother's commentary.
Why does that sound like a backhanded insult?
She narrowed her eyes, shooting Eldern a withering glare. Eldern, completely oblivious to the lethal aura radiating from his sister, simply beamed back.
Minutes later, the trio stepped out onto the vast, immaculate lawn of the backyard.
The evening air was crisp and refreshing, carrying the sweet scent of clipped turf and approaching twilight. A gentle breeze swept across the open training grounds, while the sinking sun cast long, amber ribbons of light across the grass.
Damnern stepped forward, planting his feet firmly as he crossed his arms over his chest, his expression shifting into a professional, coaching demeanor.
"Alright," he announced, his voice dropping into a steady, authoritative cadence. "As per standard procedure... two laps around the perimeter."
He cast a quick, knowing glance down at his daughter.
"...Except for Elyra."
Elyra blinked, her head snapping up.
"You will only be running half a lap."
"Yes, Papa," the siblings replied in unison.
Half a lap...
Elyra suppressed a quiet sigh. A prick of dissatisfaction flared in her chest. Half a lap felt insultingly easy—as though everyone in this household still viewed her as a fragile piece of porcelain.
Yet...
It's infinitely better than being benched completely.
"Go!" Damnern commanded.
Without further hesitation, Elyra broke into a steady jog alongside her brother.
Twenty minutes later, the warm-up concluded, and both children marched back to the center of the grounds. Elyra's chest heaved with a slightly elevated rhythm, but her breathing was remarkably controlled compared to her near-collapse days prior.
"Good," Damnern praised, stepping over with a long wooden chest filled with blunt practice weapons.
Today's curriculum centered on the foundational forms of the Solv Family style. It was a storied, hereditary swordsmanship discipline passed down through generations—a sophisticated system prioritizing fluid balance, precise spatial awareness, and efficient, minimal expenditure of Fue energy over crude, muscle-bound strikes.
"Check your footing," Damnern instructed, gently placing a warm, calloused hand over Elyra's small fingers to correct her grip on the hilt. "Do not strangle the handle. Keep your wrist fluid."
Every subtle shift of her posture was closely monitored, every microscopic flaw patiently adjusted. Beside her, Eldern swung his practice blade with boundless, high-octane energy that relied more on enthusiasm than technical execution, while Elyra practiced with quiet, methodical precision.
And for the first time since her rebirth into this chaotic world, she didn't feel the suffocating iron grip of pressure.
No screaming overseers. No brutal punishments for minor errors. No lingering terror.
Only calm, attentive guidance. Only genuine paternal warmth.
Even if the physical exertion is ridiculously mild...
A faint, genuine smile slowly bloomed across her face.
This isn't bad at all.
Her wooden sword sliced through the evening air with a clean, rhythmic hiss.
I... I never imagined training could actually feel... enjoyable.
In her past life as Ryudien, training had been the absolute antithesis of joy. Training was survival—a relentless cycle of escaping assassins, enduring torture, trading blows, and staring death in the face. Every single lesson had been soaked in fresh blood, deep physical agony, and psychological dread.
Yet here, the atmosphere was entirely foreign. This wasn't combat designed merely to keep her breathing through another day. This was cultivation for the sake of genuine growth. For the first time in her existence, she wasn't clawing her way upward in crushing, lonely isolation.
She was growing stronger alongside people who cared if she lived or died.
Slowly, the sun dipped entirely below the horizon, painting the western sky in bruised purples and deep indigos as twilight settled over the estate.
"That will do for today," Damnern called out, lowering his own blade.
The evening session drew to a close. Elyra stood frozen for a moment, staring down at the miniature wooden sword resting comfortably in her palms, running her thumb over the grain in silence before tightening her grip.
A profound, unfamiliar yearning began to take root deep within her core—not a thirst for vengeance, not a bitter grudge, but a pure, unadulterated ambition: a fierce hunger to keep moving forward, to shatter her physical limits, and to walk this path of power to its absolute zenith.
That same night, around eight o'clock, Maid Sasha bustled around the nursery, putting the finishing touches on Elyra's evening attire before stepping back with a bright, approving grin.
"Oh, my stars~ The Young Lady looks like an absolute doll tonight!"
Elyra blinked, her reflection staring back at her from the full-length vanity mirror.
"T-Tank yu..."
A furious, embarrassed blush instantly radiated across her cheeks.
Still...I-I really am undeniably cute in this body, she admitted to herself with a quiet, inward sigh, studying the soft, porcelain-skinned blonde toddler staring back from the glass.
Sasha let out a melodic giggle at her flustered expression.
At that moment, Elina glided gracefully into the bedchamber, looking radiant in a sweeping evening gown.
"Is our little warrior ready?" the Countess asked softly.
"All set, Countess!" Sasha replied cheerfully.
Elina offered an approving nod, extending a slender hand. "Come along, Elyra."
Without a trace of resistance, Elyra slid her small hand into her mother's palm.
Together, they descended the grand staircase to the main foyer, where Damnern and Eldern were already waiting by the double doors. Though she still had zero inkling of their destination, Elyra offered no complaints, simply allowing herself to be swept along by the family current.
Moments later, the entire family piled into the plush, velvet-lined private carriage, and the heavy draft horses shifted forward, their hooves clacking rhythmically against the stone paving.
The sprawling manor slowly receded into the velvety night as they departed the estate, charting a course straight toward the twinkling lights of Willowess City beneath a canopy of brilliant starlight.
To be Continued...