(Arin's POV)
The silence enveloping the Third Floor Library was not merely an empty absence of sound. It was a dense, heavy silence reeking of old paper that had absorbed thousands of years of human knowledge. Outside the high arched windows, the evening sky began to turn a deep purple, a sign that night would soon descend to blanket the Academy.
However, for me right now, time seemed to stop turning.
Spread out on the vast oak table were large sheets of paper covered in black ink scribbles. It was not a complex magic spell, nor a romantic poem, but a detailed technical diagram.
I stared at the sketch with eyes narrowed sharply, while I bit the tip of my quill gently in deep thought.
"The main problem I have to face is machine vibration," I muttered softly, my index finger tracing the shaft line on the Centrifuge machine drawing. "If I spin a fifty-kilogram tube at two thousand revolutions per minute using rough gears, the centrifugal force will create a dangerous wild resonance."
My imagination pictured the machine exploding into pieces, sending sharp glass shards and precious antibiotic liquid flying to every corner of the room. Without stabilizing magic or Stabilizers commonly used by Artificers.
My hand moved again, scribbling on the paper quickly. I erased the old rigid shaft design because it was inefficient. Instead, I drew a small ring-shaped component filled with small iron balls lubricated with grease.
Ball Bearings.
Most machines here used shafts lubricated with slippery magic to prevent jamming. But I did not want to depend on expensive magic. I wanted physical friction controlled mechanically.
"With these bearings installed on the main shaft and counterweight shaft, the vibration will be absorbed by the rotation of the iron balls inside," my analysis ran fast in my head. "And for the transmission, do not use iron chains. Use tightened leather belts. If the machine jams suddenly, the belt will snap, not the machine exploding into pieces."
A thin smile slowly carved on my lips. The solution sounded elegant, cheap, and purely used physics principles.
There remained only one crucial problem: Who could make iron balls this precise without the aid of magic? Ordinary blacksmiths only knew how to forge war swords and kitchen pans. I needed an obsessive metal craftsman, someone crazy about microscopic details.
Hmm... I would ask Karim later.
Tap.
The sound of light yet firm footsteps approached, breaking my concentration which was at its peak.
I did not need to look back to know who it was. The faint scent of winter rose, cold yet elegant, was enough to identify her.
That figure was Elena Rhyms.
She did not bring the guards who usually stuck to her. No ladies-in-waiting trailing her everywhere. She walked alone, hugging a thick book with a dark blue leather cover to her chest. Her beautiful silver hair reflected the library's crystal lamp light, making her look like a goddess descending into a dusty book warehouse.
She stopped right across from my table. Her golden eyes glanced briefly at the complex machine sketch before me. There was a flash of curiosity there, but she chose not to ask.
"Is this seat empty?" she asked politely, yet her tone implied that she would sit there regardless of my answer.
"For you, this seat is always empty, Lady," I answered without lifting my head from the paper, busy adding details to the gear ratio.
Elena pulled the heavy wooden chair without a single sound and sat gracefully. She placed her book on the table with the title clearly readable: Third Circle Mana Theory: Micro Climate Manipulation.
We did not speak after that brief greeting.
No awkward small talk about today's weather or the latest academy gossip. No standard questions like "What are you doing?".
Elena opened her book slowly, starting to read with sharp focus. I returned to drowning in complex engine rotation ratio calculations.
The silent atmosphere enveloped the two of us again. But this time, the silence felt different from before.
There was only the scratching sound of my quill on rough paper and the soft swish sound as Elena turned her book pages. Occasionally, she would stop reading, staring blankly into the air while moving her fingers as if casting a spell in silence, then return to reading with a small nod of understanding.
I stole a glance at her in between my work.
Her face looked very calm. No fake smile mask she usually wore in public to maintain her image. No worry lines from her fully cured illness. She looked truly peaceful.
It felt very strange. We came from very different worlds. She was a Duke's Daughter destined to lead thousands, while I was just a "sewer rat" trying to survive with a scalpel and dirty tricks. Yet at this library table, under piles of theories and sketches, we felt equal.
We were just two ambitious people sharpening our respective weapons for the coming war.
Time passed without being felt in the slightest. The sunlight outside the window was completely gone, replaced by the blue glow of the moon and street magic lamps starting to light up.
"The library will close in ten minutes," the librarian's voice echoed through the magic loudspeaker, sounding tired and wanting to go home immediately.
Elena closed her book gently. She stretched her slender neck slightly to relax her muscles, then looked at me.
"Done with your new toy?" she asked flatly, glancing at my centrifuge sketch.
"Just on paper," I answered while rolling the sketch and putting it into a protective tube for safety. "Realizing it is another more complicated matter."
We packed our things neatly, then walked side by side toward the exit.
The third-floor corridor was quiet and deserted. Our footsteps echoed on the cold marble floor. Our shadows elongated on the wall due to the spotlights, side by side but not touching.
"Arin," called Elena suddenly as we descended the spiral staircase. Her voice was low, barely a whisper, ensuring no living paintings or statues were eavesdropping on our conversation.
"Hm? What is it?"
"How is the performance of... our new 'spy'?"
The question sounded simple, yet carried a heavy weight of conspiracy within it.
I smiled thinly with meaning.
"He is doing his job perfectly," I answered softly. "He sold the information we agreed upon earlier."
"And how did 'He' react?"
"He swallowed it whole without leftovers. He thinks he holds control of the game. He thinks he just recruited a valuable asset to destroy me from within."
Elena stopped stepping in the middle of the stairs. She turned around to look at me.
A smile slowly carved on her beautiful face.
It was not the sweet smile she showed during formal family dinners. It was not the polite smile of a noble daughter.
It was the cold smile of a politician who had just watched her enemy drink poison served by her own hand. A cruel, calculative, and... charming smile at the same time.
"That plan sounds very good," whispered Elena, her eyes flashing sharply in the dim light. "Let Vesper and Karl feel they have the upper hand."
Elena stepped down one more stair, so our faces were now level.
"False hope is the deadliest poison, Arin. When they realize that information is a trap... when they realize that you are not as fragile as they think... it will be too late for them to retreat."
I stared at Elena's face intently.
There was a dark side hidden within her. A side shaped by cruel court intrigue and years of betrayal. And strangely, seeing that dark side did not scare me at all.
Quite the opposite. I felt... very compatible with her.
I, who dissected corpses and poisoned enemies to survive. She, who planted spies and manipulated information for power. Both of us were monsters wearing civilized human skin.
"You are scary, Elena," I commented honestly while chuckling softly.
"That is the best compliment I received today," she replied casually while winking one eye, then turned and continued her steps down the stairs lightly.
I followed her from behind, pondering inwardly.
Was I starting to be morally corrupted? Or was this the high price to pay to survive in this shark tank?
Perhaps the answer was both. And honestly, I did not mind at all.
(Rose Carlos' POV)
SWISH!
A sharp whirring sound cut through the cold night air as the tip of my Rapier moved fast, creating a sound like the whistle of approaching death.
I took a breath and then stabbed again with full force.
SWISH!
"One thousand," I counted in my heart.
I lowered my sword slowly, letting the tip touch the stone floor covered in a thin layer of snow. Hot steam billowed from my entire body, turning the sweat soaking my tight training clothes into white mist enveloping my skin.
The night air in the Class S Dormitory private training arena was freezing, the temperature probably below zero degrees. But I felt my body burning with the fire of spirit.
My arm muscles twitched violently, screaming in exhaustion begging for rest. My lungs felt hot like they were filled with burning embers. But I could not stop now. Not yet.
"Again!" I ordered myself firmly.
I assumed a combat stance again. Right foot forward, knees bent low, body angled to minimize the opponent's target area.
In front of me, there was no real enemy. Only a straw dummy that was completely destroyed and shapeless, its insides spilling out due to thousands of precise stabs I released.
But in my eyes, I saw something else.
I saw a pair of calm and deep blue eyes. Eyes that looked at me from behind a large sword blade that stopped one inch from my neck back then.
Arin.
The image of our duel kept spinning in my head.
At that time, I underestimated him completely. I thought he was just "the cripple" lucky enough to enter the academy. At most, he was just Elena's new toy that was interesting for a while.
But when his greatsword shattered my Mana Shield to pieces... when he stopped the momentum of his deadly slash with pure physical strength that damaged his own muscles to avoid hurting me... I saw him clearly.
I saw the savage monster beneath that human skin.
He used not a shred of magic. He did not use the elegant and beautiful sword techniques of noble families. He used pure violence, laws of physics, and an iron will bordering on madness.
"Damn it..." I growled in annoyance, stabbing the straw dummy again right where the heart should be. Truly unsuitable for a Noble Daughter.
THUD!
Straw scattered into the air.
Why did that image keep disturbing me?
I was Rose Carlos. Daughter of the respected Sword Marquis. A sword genius touted to become the youngest Swordmaster in the kingdom's history. I never felt threatened by anyone in this batch. Even Albert Hall who held the first rank I only considered a boring Knight.
But Arin... he was different.
He was different from all of us.
He had no mana and had to inject deadly monster poison into his own body just to gain strength. He had to break his own bones just to win a duel.
And Arin did it without the slightest hesitation.
"He is a true predator," I whispered to the darkness of the night, wiping sweat from my forehead with a trembling hand.
Others saw him as a victim needing pity. Elena saw him as a valuable asset. Erika saw him as a savior hero.
But me? I saw him as a fellow beast.
There was a hot feeling spreading in my chest thinking about it. Not pain from this heavy training. Nor anger from that shameful draw result.
It was a feeling of... passion?
No, that word was too romantic and soft. This was more primitive and wild.
This was hunger.
I wanted to fight him again someday. I wanted to see how far he could push his broken body beyond the limits. I wanted to see his eyes light up when he was cornered and had no other choice. I wanted to be the only person who could force him to bare his real sharp fangs.
And the most terrifying of all that... I did not want him to lose to anyone else but me.
"Don't you dare die in the Dungeon later, Arin," I muttered softly, a wild smile slowly carving on my dry lips. "Karl Benzzi? Vesper? They are just weak minions playing dirty politics."
I raised my Rapier again, aiming it straight at the pale full moon in the sky.
"You must stay alive... until I can defeat you completely with my own hands. Until I can make you kneel and admit that I am the strongest among us."
But deep in my heart, there was a small voice whispering softly. A voice saying that I didn't just want to defeat him.
I wanted to stand beside him.
I wanted to run with him on the front lines of battle, where only monsters like us could survive. I wanted to be overtaken by him, then chase him back, in an eternal and intoxicating dance of death.
"One more set," I decided loudly.
I tightened my grip on the sword hilt until my knuckles turned white. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging, but I liked it.
If Arin trained by beating iron until his hands were destroyed and bloody, then I must not lose to him. I would sharpen my technique until I could split that iron in two.
Under the cold moonlight, I danced again with my sword. Alone in the middle of the night, yet not feeling lonely. Because in my mind, the image of the young man with the greatsword was always there, challenging me to become stronger every second.