As the Long Winter Passes, Part 8
The thick dust finally cleared, revealing a single woman standing proudly in the center: Seraphina Serion.
She could not move easily, for her legs felt as though they would tremble and give way at any moment.
The tension that had gripped her body suddenly released, replaced by the intoxicating rush of victory.
She had won.
She had actually won.
Without a single trick or underhanded scheme, she had defeated Marc Visus in a fair, square contest of pure skill.
The man she had challenged countless times but could never defeat was finally brought to his knees before her.
Even though it was her own doing, she could hardly believe it.
The final strike of their duel had split the very heavens, and now, through the open sky above the arena, a single shaft of sunlight shone down, illuminating only the spot where she stood.
Though no one dared to speak it aloud, Seraphina’s posture was the very definition of a victor.
Standing proudly beneath the sunlight, she looked breathtakingly beautiful and noble. The hands gripping her greatsword were almost reverent, capturing the gaze of everyone in the arena.
Conversely, her opponent lay pathetically on the ground, all trace of his pre-duel composure completely vanished.
Though he bore no visible, life-threatening wounds, he lay sprawled as if unconscious, unable to pull himself up.
The technique Seraphina had used to conclude the duel was just that precise, and that sharp.
The Serion family's treasure sword, which Marc had brandished so proudly, now lay discarded in the dirt, covered in dust.
The first match, which everyone had assumed would end in an easy victory, had instead delivered a clash of such high caliber that it left the entire crowd speechless.
Perhaps that was why the arena, which had been filled with clamor and noise just before the duel, was now enveloped in a chilling silence.
Neither the spectators nor the commentators could fully comprehend or process the sequence of events that had just unfolded before their eyes.
Marc Visus, the favorite to win the tournament and the focus of everyone's expectations, had been defeated by Seraphina Serion—a girl dismissed by all as a washed-up has-been.
"...! Y-Yes! The... The duel has reached its conclusion! It was a battle so incredible, I can hardly believe my own eyes! The victor is! Seraphina Serion!"
The announcement echoed belatedly across the arena, but no one could bring themselves to care.
There were no cheers, nor even a polite patter of applause.
It seemed the crowd would need much more time to shake off their sheer disbelief.
Seraphina paid no mind to the silence. She turned around coolly and made her way back to the waiting room.
The crowd was not the one she wished to share the joy of victory with.
And so, she quickened her pace.
Toward the only man who had believed in her, who had waited for her, and whom she could not help but love with all her heart.
"Seraphina!"
"Rofel!"
Just as she had anticipated, Rofel was already waiting in her room.
His face was flushed with excitement, and he made no effort to hide his joy.
The moment she saw him, she threw herself into his arms, embracing him tightly.
She indulged herself in his warmth, which now felt more comforting and tender than anything else in the world.
Whether Rofel was aware of her intense feelings or not, he offered a pure smile and did not reject her embrace, holding her back.
"Congratulations, Seraphina. That was an absolutely incredible match! My jaw was hanging open the entire time. All that training you did really paid off."
"Thank you for the praise. But this would have been impossible without you. I... truly cannot thank you enough."
"Haha, what did I even do? You're the one who won that duel from start to finish. You don't need to thank me so much."
"Fufu, it seems you do not know that excessive modesty can be a poison. But no matter. That, too, is simply part of who you are."
To be honest, the affairs of her family were the furthest thing from her mind right now.
Of course, she was genuinely happy about her own growth—delighted that she had defeated Marc Visus with her own strength, secured her path to succeeding the family, and drawn closer to the heights she had always dreamed of.
She even felt an itch to start sparring again immediately, wanting to recreate and refine the technique she had just unleashed.
But in truth, she was far more thrilled by something else.
It was the realization that she could now spend as much time as she wanted with the charming, ideal man standing right before her: Rofel.
Had she lost to Marc, her fate would have been sealed. She would have been reduced to a mere puppet, used to bind Marc to the Serion family for the rest of her life.
And she would have been forced to tragically let go of the first man she had ever loved.
But she had seized victory from Marc's grasp.
Although the tournament was not entirely over, her victory over Marc was absolute. She would no longer be at the mercy of her family's decisions; instead, she would be the one making them.
When the day came for her to choose a partner, she would hold immense leverage within the family.
And if that happened...
Gulp.
She had already chosen the lifelong partner she wanted by her side: the man standing right in front of her.
Moreover, this sweet, naive man did not seem to reject the affection shown to him.
Since she lacked nothing in terms of status or ability, she could easily concoct various excuses and pretexts to keep him close to her.
And from there, if she slowly conquered his heart and body, winning this frustratingly charming man wouldn't be difficult at all.
Though there were many other alley cats eyeing him, she could deal with them one by one.
Lick.
With their heads resting on each other's shoulders in a deep embrace, Rofel could not see her face.
He could not see her licking her lips, her face twisted with a raw, almost vulgar desire that completely shattered her noble image from moments ago.
"By the way, Seraphina. I know defeating the favorite, Marc, basically means you've won the whole thing, but you shouldn't let your guard down just yet. Shouldn't you start preparing for your next opponent?"
"Perhaps you are right. But there is no need to rush. There is still plenty of time before my next match. ...So..."
She pressed herself even closer to Rofel, resting her cheek against his shoulder.
The hands caressing his back began to move with a strange, sensual rhythm.
"Just a little longer... Let me hold you like this just a little longer..."
She whispered, tightening her grip around him.
As if she would never, ever let him go.
The Patriarch of the Serion family. The disciple of the former Sword Saint. And the Commander of the Serion Knights. All of these titles belonged to one man: Regulus Serion.
Renowned not only for his personal strength but also for his exceptional ability to nurture successors, he had produced countless talents from the family's knight order.
This year, in particular, he had designated Marc Visus—a student who did not share the family's bloodline—as the next heir.
It was a strange and unusual decision, but given his immense reputation and authority, no one in the Serion family dared to voice their objections.
Yet now, this very man sat in the VIP box of the arena, staring blankly into space, completely ignoring the matches unfolding before him.
The reason, of course, was the outcome of the recent duel—and more specifically, the nature of it.
This duel had carried the condition of deciding the next head of the family.
Originally, an unfamiliar young man had suddenly appeared and challenged his disciple, who had been overwhelming his daughter, Seraphina. The disciple had accepted the challenge on the spot.
But after winning his match in the tournament, the disciple had suddenly changed the terms, insisting that the final duel be fought against Seraphina instead of that young man.
Though Regulus had found it odd, he had not cared enough to pry into his disciple's personal reasons.
However, the situation had unfolded in a way he could never have anticipated.
Marc Visus, the genius he had personally scouted and trained as his disciple after so long, had lost.
And his defeater was none other than Seraphina Serion—the daughter he had deemed untalented and cast aside from the succession.
Just a short while ago, it was absolutely impossible for Seraphina to defeat Marc.
The gap in their talent was so vast that no amount of effort or time could have bridged it.
Yet, she had won the duel fair and square.
Furthermore, the final strike she had delivered—one that literally split the clouds high in the sky—undeniably belonged to his former master.
It was unmistakably the technique of the Sword Saint, Sargas—a realm of mastery that no one else had ever been able to replicate or reach.
This meant she had reached a level of swordsmanship at her young age that neither he, nor anyone else in the Serion family or the knights, had ever achieved.
He clutched his throbbing head, trying to calm his chaotic thoughts.
The daughter who had rejected the family had achieved the very realm that neither he nor the disciple who inherited his teachings could ever reach.
A sudden wave of shame, regret, and guilt washed over him, making it impossible for him to raise his head.
Yet, his mind was not entirely consumed by negative thoughts.
On the contrary, a strange sense of relief began to wash over him.
For he was finally able to lay to rest the memories of his youth and the feelings he held for the first child he had ever gained—and lost.
To understand this, one had to look back at his firstborn child and his very first disciple.
The story of Richar Serion, who was once the eldest son of the Serion family.
The young man who had lost his brilliant life far too soon.