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Under the setting sun, a pale hand waved in front of Allen's eyes, pulling his gaze away from those reddish-brown irises.
"Al—Allen, are you okay?"
Allen looked at Sylphie.
The dust had settled. In the twilight, she crouched before him on one knee, her expression full of concern.
The moon-white dress hugged her youthful figure perfectly. The way she knelt, with the skirt draping over her hips, masked some of her lingering childishness and instead accentuated the budding grace of a young woman.
The slit in the long dress revealed white garter stockings, their layered folds at the knee speckled with dust. The stockings stretched smoothly up her slender legs, bending at the knee before disappearing beneath the hem—
Only to give way to soft, pinkish-white skin.
Because of her crouched position, the edge of the stocking had slipped slightly, leaving a faint red mark where it had pressed into her thigh.
It was… distracting.
Allen averted his eyes.
He smiled at her.
Just like always.
"I'm fine. Just a mishap during the spar. Nothing to worry about."
As he spoke, he stood, as if to prove he was unharmed. Battle aura rippled from his feet, stirring the air.
A gust of wind swept outward, pressing the dust to the ground while leaving everything else untouched—
Cleansing Sylphie's dress, hair, stockings, and skin of any lingering grime.
Sylphie looked up at him, but the dazed expression she'd glimpsed on his face moments ago was already gone—as if it had been an illusion.
She blinked, recalling how Allen's complexion had been off since yesterday.
Was it really just my imagination?
Before she could ponder further, Allen spoke again.
"...The dress suits you. It's pretty."
"You should stand up."
Sylphie's lips parted slightly.
In her line of sight, Allen rubbed his nose, avoiding eye contact and leaving her with only the view of his chin.
Then—
She froze.
Oh no.
Sylphie had never worn this kind of noble-style slit dress before. In her haste, she hadn't considered—
Her gaze dropped.
The slit had ridden up dangerously high.
Normally, she'd be embarrassed just exposing the garter clips. But now?
From the side, it's practically like I'm not wearing anything at all!
Her pupils shrank.
With a whoosh, she shot to her feet, frantically smoothing her skirt, her face burning.
The sharp click of heels against stone snapped her out of her fluster.
She turned.
A flash of red entered her vision.
At the top of the steps, a crimson skirt swayed as its owner descended with hurried grace—
Before abruptly slowing, as if its wearer had remembered her dignity.
Step by step, the movement grew more measured.
Until finally, she stopped.
Hilda stood on the stairs, watching them both.
Silence lingered, broken only by the sound of her rabbit-eared maid adjusting her skirts.
Then, Hilda spoke.
"Alphonse mentioned you were sparring with Ghislaine and might get hurt. But it seems you're fine. I don't know much about swordsmanship—was it just for show?"
As she spoke, she glanced toward the training grounds.
Ghislaine stood where she had been, her expression as composed as ever, observing them while saying something to Eris beside her.
Allen's voice pulled Hilda's attention back.
"Exactly, my lady. Just a friendly match. More spectacle than substance."
Hilda opened her mouth as if to say more, then hesitated before finally letting out a soft "Hmm."
At that moment, Rudeus rushed over, hastily bowing to Hilda before scanning Allen with wide eyes.
"Allen! Are you okay?! I saw Sylphie healing you—"
"I'm fine."
"What happened?! That was silent tachi, right? You've blocked Light Reversal before, so how—?"
Allen followed Rudeus' gaze to the broken sword in his hand. His eyes lingered on the fractured edge for a moment.
"I've gotten rusty in Sword God style."
"Rusty?!" Sylphie and Rudeus blurted in unison.
"Yeah. Probably haven't practiced enough lately."
Rudeus gaped.
"But two days ago, your silent tachi was still sharp!"
"Maybe I skipped training these past couple of days."
"That's impossible—"
Frowning, Rudeus instinctively glanced at Sylphie.
"Wait—Sylphie, what's with the dress? This style… Did you and Allen go shopping without me? But we haven't had time to go out yet—"
"Ah! This is—" Sylphie flustered.
"I saw Sylphie drenched, so I took her to my quarters and picked this out for her. What do you think?" Hilda interjected smoothly.
"Thank you. It suits her," Allen said.
"Yeah, it really does… Though the fit seems a bit—" Rudeus mused.
The conversation drifted on the breeze, brushing past Sylphie's flustered face as she fidgeted with her skirt, stealing glances at Allen and Hilda.
The words carried across the courtyard—
But faded before they could reach Eris, who stood frozen in place.
When Allen had been sent flying, Eris had almost bolted after Rudeus—
But the moment she saw Allen sit up, unharmed, she'd inexplicably turned toward Ghislaine instead.
She wanted answers.
She needed to know why!
None of this made sense!
Neither the swordsmanship aspect nor the fact that Allen had been knocked back so easily aligned with her understanding.
Because—
The biggest impression Allen had left on her so far was one word:
Strength.
The lightning-fast slash in the rain.
The image of him returning at dawn, a head in hand.
Even yesterday morning, when he'd stormed into the Boreas estate and killed without hesitation.
He'd left even her grandfather, Sauros—the strongest person she'd ever known—speechless.
Allen was strong.
Had she forgotten how he'd saved her in the rain?
No.
But that gratitude had been overshadowed by something far more striking—
The undeniable fact of his power.
It was too vivid.
Too unforgettable.
It made her admire him.
And yearn to be like him.
Her entire upbringing had been like this—imitating the strong, absorbing their strength to make it her own.
But now—
Her swordsmanship knowledge whispered that Ghislaine might be stronger.
After all, Ghislaine was King-tier.
Allen was only Saint-tier.
Yet, in her gut, Eris still felt Allen radiated an unshakable might.
So it was fine! Both were strong!
Everything up until now had reinforced that belief—
Whether it was the incomprehensible, profound theories of Water God style.
Or his near-arrogant confidence when facing Ghislaine's Light Reversal: "Just swing at me."
But then—
That image of strength had been shattered in an instant.
By a single, effortless strike from Ghislaine.
And Eris refused to accept it.
She couldn't bear the thought of the person she'd come to idolize in just a few days losing that strength.
So she marched up to Ghislaine, glared at the broken blade on the ground, and demanded—
"What just happened?! Why couldn't Allen block silent tachi?! He's fine against Light Reversal!"
Ghislaine's reply stunned her.
"Allen is strong."
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 215 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 80 power stones I will publish the next chapter.