Chapter 347
Chapter 347
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 347
Chapter Title: Chapter 347 - #75_오만과 편견(6)
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 347
Chapter Title: Pride and Prejudice (6)
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1.
On the hilly path leading to the Jemernai estate grounds, a dense forest of hornbeams and chestnut trees flourished.
Amid the fallen leaves shed by trees preparing for winter hibernation, a black spear cleaved through the air with a sharp whoosh.
A 2.45-meter long spear woven from shadows.
Its shape and length were exactly the same as the Red Branch.
"Whish…!"
The opponent facing it was Eloa.
Her cherry blossom-colored hair tied back neatly for mobility, she effortlessly deflected the spear tip that rose to her chin.
At the same time, Siu spun round and round.
From within that spin rose intermittent triple thrusts.
-Clang! Clang! Clang!
Eloa dodged the alternating high and low spear strikes, then closed the distance in one fluid motion.
Her blade, slithering up the opponent's body like it was gliding, halted right before Siu's throat.
Their gazes met, and Siu flashed a wry smile while raising both hands.
"Good work."
"Haa, you too, Master. I still can't beat you."
"Of course. You think I'd let you catch up already?"
The two shared water amicably, then sat on a nearby tree stump using it as a bench.
Siu sought instruction from Eloa.
He had originally fought using a shield and longsword, but this time he switched armaments.
He planned to make the Red Branch his main weapon once he could control it perfectly someday.
Though the Contract of the King of All Diseases allowed him to handle any weapon proficiently, there was still a vast difference between familiarity and not.
That was clear in how easily he lost compared to when they sparred with longswords.
"What's the issue?"
"It's the distance. The spacing you're used to from before feels foreign now, so you advance when you should retreat and retreat when you should advance. But it's just a matter of time. Once you get accustomed, it'll click."
Sitting slightly apart, Eloa dabbed the beads of sweat on her forehead with a handkerchief.
How could such strength emerge from that slender nape and fragile frame that looked like it would topple with a single poke?
Even if it was thanks to magic, it was utterly astonishing.
"It's been ages since we sparred like this."
Eloa beamed as if that alone made her happy.
"Look at me for a sec."
She suddenly leaned toward Siu.
Their distance shrank abruptly.
As Siu froze awkwardly in what felt like an incoming kiss,
Eloa patted his face with her handkerchief.
It was probably one with a floral pattern she had embroidered herself on a pure white background.
"I-I can do it myself."
"No need. It's not a big deal."
Even though it was the opposite side from where she'd wiped her own sweat, a strangely sweet scent tickled his nose.
As if she'd doused herself in perfume.
Amid his embarrassment, Eloa tucked the handkerchief back into her bosom.
"It was so hard just to catch a glimpse of you lately... Been that busy?"
"Yeah, but things are wrapped up now, and I want to focus on training for a while. Could I keep asking for your help going forward?"
"If it's you asking, I'll make time even if I have none. Anytime."
"Thanks, Master."
"Any plans after this?"
"Probably dive into magic research. It just won't unravel easily."
He'd thought he'd gained some confidence in magic.
But it felt like a harsh lesson that it was all baseless arrogance.
He was testing various sample magic formulas, but the results were disastrous.
Like taking an egg to smash a rock.
"You'll master it in no time."
"Then I'll head out before it's too late. See you at dinner."
"Go on."
Siu bowed politely and headed to his lodging.
Eloa watched his retreating figure intently.
The happiness etched on her lips shifted to a wistful smile, leaving an inexplicable mix of regret and resentment.
She murmured softly to herself.
"...This is enough."
After spending the night with Siu in the carriage and erasing his memories,
Eloa had managed to compose herself in her own way.
Including going to apologize to Sharon, his lover.
In a sense, they had finally returned to a proper master-disciple relationship.
Was it because they'd been together so naturally until now?
Only after wiping Siu's memories did Eloa realize how much the rainwater tunnel incident had bothered him.
As proof, she hadn't caught those wary sidelong glances during their time together today.
Awkward silences didn't settle between them either.
She was relieved by that,
yet a fresh pang of resentment lingered in one corner of her heart.
"Bitter."
Eloa rose again before stray thoughts could intrude.
She was still paying the price of the lingering contract.
But it wasn't as debilitating as before, where she could barely move.
To dispel distractions, moving her body was key.
Eloa danced a rippling sword dance for a while, reining in her mind.
2.
Amelia, still wandering the lands to fulfill the kill list,
and Clara beside her, handling guidance and miscellaneous care.
The pair finished today's hunt and sat around a bonfire before their makeshift camp.
Amelia's prey today was a notorious public enemy of the 21st hierarchy.
A formidable foe where even Clara couldn't predict the outcome in a head-on clash.
A savage public enemy wielding deformed elemental magic to unleash cold flames and scorching ice.
Yet, independent of her own will, Amelia—honed by ceaseless battles—was overwhelmingly strong.
Even Clara, who had watched her fights up close, hadn't anticipated such a lopsided power gap.
Dew-like rain falling over a parched desert.
A riot of nameless wildflowers blooming, nullifying all magic.
An overpowering spectacle that begged the question: was there any opponent who could stand against it?
"Good work today too."
"……."
"I was ready to jump in if it got tough."
"……."
Clara boiled tea for the weary Amelia while peppering her with questions.
It was crucial work.
To keep Amelia from shattering, periodic check-ups were essential.
That fragile gold, shining so pitifully yet crumbling at the slightest distraction—
how could she leave it be?
Amelia's prolonged silence.
Clara assumed she just didn't feel like answering, but then she noticed something off.
"You okay…?"
"…I'm fine."
"You…."
Clara looked at Amelia and swallowed a groan.
Her face and lips were deathly pale.
Her long lashes trembled faintly.
Her usual blank expression persisted, but cold sweat poured ceaselessly, leaving her skin slick and sticky.
Clara grasped Amelia's condition at a glance.
Mana deficiency.
The symptoms from forcibly wringing out mana beyond the stigma's limit.
"If you're this bad, you should've said something!"
"I'm… fine…. Just need… a little rest…."
Even lifting her eyelids seemed a struggle for Amelia.
Her feverish exhales came in nods like a sick chick.
Mana deficiency wasn't typically grave.
Like post-exercise exhaustion, it was naturally recoverable, strictly speaking.
But Amelia had depleted her mana repeatedly up to now.
Pushing her strained body back into battle had finally surpassed that recoverable threshold.
"Come here!"
Clara tossed the teapot meant for Amelia and scooped up her petite frame.
Even through her clothes, her body burned like a lump of fire.
Sweat-matted strands crossed her cheeks, and Amelia gazed up at Clara with unfocused eyes.
"Amelia. One favor."
"……."
"To help you, drop your autonomous defenses."
"……."
"I'll transfer my mana."
What Clara intended was sharing her mana with Amelia.
Fundamentally taboo among witches.
For it was exceedingly perilous.
For witches whose bodies were ethereal, mana was akin to blood.
Each wielding unique nature magic, their mana held distinct properties.
Accepting another's mana defenselessly risked side effects like a mismatched blood transfusion—not to mention, if the giver harbored even a sliver of malice, death loomed immediate.
"Trust me?"
"……."
Even in this state, Amelia's eerily unchanged eyes rippled faintly.
A sky-blue ripple, beautiful enough to sting the eyes.
Amelia nodded faintly, and Clara began emergency aid at once.
Clara extracted the mana stored in her stigma outward.
Her personalized mana, vivid red like surging crimson flames.
Couldn't transfer it like this.
Had to revert it to a pre-personalized, maximally neutral state before infusing.
Clara's mana reserves vastly outstripped several peers of her hierarchy.
Yet purifying it was grossly inefficient, wasteful.
Distilling a full bottle of mana water yielded mere droplets of pure mana.
"Hang on. You'll feel better soon."
Sweat beaded on Clara's brow too.
Soon, pure white, transparent mana remained in her palm.
Not perfectly neutral, but pure enough.
"Haa…."
As Clara transferred it, color returned to Amelia's face.
Seeing her slip into sleep as tension ebbed, Clara sighed in relief.
"…That was close."
She'd thought they'd grown close, yet Amelia still walled her off.
Regrettable, but so very her.
For Amelia Merrygold was woefully immature, fragile, clumsy—compared to her lofty 23rd hierarchy.
A fool who couldn't even comfortably bare her wounds to others.
Clara brushed Amelia's lush golden locks as she lay against her lap.
Thin, fluffy strands like gold melted and woven on angels' looms glided pleasantly between her fingers.
Her haggard, sweat-slick cheeks.
Her fine lips parted slightly, exhaling fevered breaths.
Even disheveled from the fray, Amelia radiated an odd allure.
Clara, mesmerized by the sight, eyed the kill list tucked in Amelia's bosom.
The roster of public enemies to slay, left by Kether Duke.
Normally, one needed the owner's permission to peek…
But this wouldn't do.
Since she'd taken it upon herself to back Amelia, at least learning the next target seemed wise.
Clara opened the kill list.
Skipping past today's vanquished public enemy, Kether's next mark was…
"This one's… not gonna be easy."
Affiliated with Clifford.
Great witch of the 22nd hierarchy.
Known as the Witch of Desire, who had sent countless witches to eternal rest.
Bianca Belliri.
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