Steel rang against steel.
The sharp clash echoed across the training grounds, cutting through the quiet afternoon air. Each strike was precise. Controlled.
Relentless.
I stood at a distance, watching.
Andrias moved like he always did—clean, efficient, powerful. His blade carved through the air with practiced ease, his aura flaring faintly around him with every motion. Even without magic, he was strong.
Stronger than most.
It wasn't surprising.
He had been raised for this.
---
"Your footing is off."
The instructor's voice was firm.
Andrias clicked his tongue. "It wasn't."
"It was," the man replied. "You're overcommitting."
Silence.
Then—
Another strike.
Faster this time. Sharper.
The air trembled slightly from the force behind it.
Anger.
Hidden beneath discipline.
But not well enough.
---
"You're watching him closely."
I didn't turn.
Esther's presence was quiet, but unmistakable.
"He's worth observing," I said.
"That's not what I meant."
Of course it wasn't.
I glanced at her briefly. "Then what did you mean?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her gaze remained on Andrias, who had just forced his opponent back with a powerful swing.
"…You're different," she said finally.
I looked forward again.
"I've always been this way."
"No," she said softly. "You haven't."
---
The sound of steel rang out again.
Louder this time.
Andrias pushed harder, faster—his strikes losing a fraction of their precision in exchange for force.
The instructor stepped back.
"Enough."
Andrias froze.
For a moment, the tension in his body remained—like a drawn bow that refused to release.
Then, slowly, he lowered his sword.
"…Understood."
---
Training ended shortly after.
Servants approached with towels and water. The instructor left without another word.
Andrias remained where he stood, breathing steady but heavy, his gaze unfocused.
I stepped forward.
Esther didn't follow.
---
"You're improving," I said.
It wasn't praise.
Just observation.
Andrias let out a short breath. "You would know."
"I would."
He glanced at me then, eyes sharp.
"…You didn't come here just to watch."
"No."
"Then say what you came to say."
Direct.
Good.
I met his gaze calmly.
"You sent me to the front lines."
His expression didn't change.
"Of course I did," he said. "You're a mage."
"That's not what I meant."
A pause.
Short.
But enough.
"…Careful," Andrias said quietly.
"Why?" I asked. "Because I'm wrong?"
"No," he replied. "Because you're speaking as if it matters."
---
The wind shifted.
Carrying dust across the training ground.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then I said:
"You placed me in a position that had no support."
"That's how war works."
"It's also how people disappear."
His jaw tightened.
"…You survived."
"Yes."
"And you're standing here now," he continued. "So what exactly is your complaint?"
I studied him.
Carefully.
There it is.
Not denial.
Not guilt.
Just… justification.
---
"You expected me to die," I said.
This time—
Silence.
Not the usual kind.
He didn't answer immediately.
Didn't deflect.
Didn't argue.
Just stood there.
Then, slowly—
"…It would have been simpler."
Honest.
Blunt.
And finally—
Real.
---
I felt something settle in my chest.
Not anger.
Not shock.
Just confirmation.
I had known.
Even in my last life, I had known.
But knowing something… and hearing it spoken aloud—
were different things.
---
"Because I'm a mage?" I asked.
His eyes sharpened.
"…Because you're unpredictable."
"That's not the same thing."
"It is," he snapped. "You don't follow structure. You don't respect order. You act as if none of this matters—"
"And it does?"
His voice cut off.
I tilted my head slightly.
"Does it matter, Andrias?" I continued. "This house. This name. This expectation you keep chasing."
His grip on the sword tightened.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Then explain it."
---
For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer.
Then—
"Everything I have," he said, voice low, controlled, "I earned."
There it is.
"I trained," he continued. "I followed every rule. Every expectation. I became what they needed me to be."
His gaze locked onto mine.
"And then there's you."
Silence stretched.
Heavy.
Sharp.
---
"You disappear for months," he said. "You ignore your duties. You act like none of this concerns you."
His voice dropped.
"And yet… you return from war as a hero."
I said nothing.
"You didn't earn that," he continued. "You were *born* with it."
Ah.
There it is.
Not hatred.
Not entirely.
Envy.
---
"Power you didn't work for," he said quietly, "isn't yours to keep."
The words hung between us.
Familiar.
Expected.
And yet—
Empty.
---
I stepped closer.
Not aggressive.
Not threatening.
Just enough to close the distance.
"You're wrong," I said.
His eyes narrowed.
"I did earn it," I continued. "Just not in the way you understand."
His jaw clenched. "And what does that mean?"
"It means," I said calmly, "that your definition of strength is too narrow."
---
For a brief moment—
Something cracked.
Not visibly.
But I saw it.
The hesitation.
The doubt.
Gone as quickly as it appeared.
Replaced by anger.
---
"You speak like you're above it all," Andrias said. "Like none of us matter."
"I don't," I replied.
That stopped him.
---
The wind stilled.
Even the distant sounds of the estate seemed to fade.
"You don't… what?" he asked.
"I don't see myself as part of this," I said.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
Just truth.
---
Something shifted in his expression.
Not anger.
Not immediately.
Something deeper.
Something closer to—
fear.
---
"…Then leave," he said.
Quiet.
Controlled.
"If you don't belong here… then leave."
I held his gaze.
"I will," I said.
Not yet.
But soon.
---
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I turned.
And walked away.
---
Behind me, I heard the faint sound of metal striking stone.
Not loud.
But enough.
---
As I stepped out of the training grounds, a thought lingered in my mind.
Clear.
Certain.
Unavoidable.
---
He didn't hate me because I was weak.
He hated me because—
no matter how hard he tried—
he could never become what I was.
---
And that…
was something he would never forgive.
---
But that wasn't what mattered.
Not anymore.
---
There were more important things to consider.
More fragile things.
More… temporary.
---
Charles.
---
I exhaled slowly as I walked down the empty corridor.
The house felt the same as always.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Watching.
---
In my last life, I had ignored these signs.
Walked past them.
Chose not to act.
And when the time came—
there was nothing left to save.
---
This time…
would be different.
---
Even if I had to break everything in this house to do it.