The Harsh Lesson on Duty and Duty
In the small training yard tucked behind Clay’s blacksmith shop, where passersby once tested weapons before purchase, the space now belonged entirely to Philia Serios. No one else had claimed it, not after Clay’s own inept demonstrations had scared them away.
Selma lounged in the corner chair, sipping tea with lazy grace. At the center of the yard stood Philia herself, frozen in the most basic lowering stance imaginable. Eyes closed, body utterly still, she appeared calm on the surface. Beneath that calm, however, mana surged in endless, explosive waves that she forced to contain.
Short, violent body reinforcement formed the core of Selma’s swordsmanship. Success depended on tightening the interval between power-ups and on the stamina to survive the mana collisions that followed. With a physique like Aslan’s, the overload might have been bearable without drills, but for most students—Philia included—true endurance came only through repeated, careful training.
Feeling the warmth of tea seep into her body, Selma watched her disciple quietly.
No change crossed Philia’s face. No sound escaped her lips. Yet sweat poured down her features in sheets. The effort had finally reached its limit.
“That’s enough for now.”
“Hah—! Huff, huff, haa… haa…”
The moment the words left Selma’s lips, Philia collapsed to the ground and gasped desperately. She had held her breath to avoid losing control the instant she reached the edge of her limits.
This final drill was meant to build her body’s resistance, but every time her skill improved, the burden on her frame grew heavier. Philia had never grown used to the pain.
Still, it was nothing like the days of the tournament, when even a single activation gave opponents time to notice the interval. Now the repetition was far shorter; she could fire three or four times in the span of a single swing.
“Well done.”
Philia thanked Selma for her patience, then took the offered cup and sat beside her mentor.
After training, they always shared a quiet moment together. In the beginning they discussed weaknesses and future directions. These days the tone felt less like teacher and student and more like mother and daughter.
Selma had never had a child, yet she had loved her last disciple. Philia, who had never tasted the warmth of family, found the bond equally easy to accept.
“That boy… is he finally growing on you?”
“Pfft—”
Philia knew exactly who Selma meant. She choked on her tea in surprise.
“No, I have zero feelings for Instructor Rai.”
She wiped her chin with a sharp shake of the head. Selma gave a small nod.
The real question had been whether the swordsmanship and mana lessons under Rai were satisfactory. The disciple had misunderstood the intent entirely.
Selma had misspoken, but the vehemence of Philia’s denial told her there was something deeper hidden in the girl’s heart.
People who had never met the Devil of All Nations feared him as a monster. In truth, the opposite was true. Those who had faced him in combat or stood back to back with him all felt genuine respect and even affection.
“How are your understanding of sword techniques and mana?”
“Very well, Instructor Rai teaches me everything thoroughly.”
Philia answered without hesitation. Mana was far more than the total amount of mana. It encompassed every technique—blocking, focusing, overheating, splitting, flowing, transforming—and the knowledge required to wield them. Selma’s own swordsmanship emphasized mana overheating for explosive reinforcement and mana blocking to end it prematurely. Rai taught only two of those concepts directly, yet Philia felt her overall mastery had risen noticeably.
She wondered why her master had chosen to entrust that aspect entirely to Rai.
“Is there anyone you like? A suitor?”
“No. None at all. Certainly not Instructor Rai.”
Selma fell silent the instant the name was spoken again.
She wondered what had happened at the academy that romance could suddenly make a girl panic and blurt out that name, but she did not ask. Instead she changed the subject before the disciple could grow more uncomfortable. Philia was grateful; she could finally speak freely.
Philia, learning swordsmanship from Selma and mana from Rai, had little free time compared to other students. Everyone trained for the same reason, but she alone split her day between Rai’s lectures and Selma’s private lessons. Once she reached exhaustion, she studied the day’s notes, completed personal drills, and attended academy classes before returning home.
She envied her friends who still had time to play, yet even Seset, a pure mage who trained advanced magic instead of mounted combat, always looked tired.
By the time she left Selma’s side the evening had already grown dark. The lively chatter from the nearby tavern followed her the whole way home.
At her own residence she performed her final personal drills and reviewed her notes. The day’s progress felt strangely good. Her body ached, but the visible improvement gave her fresh motivation.
As she passed through the streets she overheard villagers discussing Agnes.
Some expressed worry. Others praised the academy for finally subduing a Death Knight. A few devout followers voiced anger at the “sacrilege.”
Students at the academy generally found the lessons satisfactory, but opinions outside remained divided.
Philia did not wish to get involved and headed straight home.
Today I’ll keep the training short and handle my assignments while I still have time.
Seset had always pushed her chores to the last minute, yet Philia preferred to finish them early so the night felt lighter. Unfortunately, the sight of Emma standing anxiously outside the gate changed everything.
Emma served Philia at the academy, but once classes ended she returned to the residence to assist the other servants. The sight of her waiting at the door told Philia something unpleasant had occurred.
The flashy carriage parked at the entrance confirmed it. Its white body was trimmed in gold plating—pure display, never utility. The Serios crest, the family’s symbol, adorned every panel, and even the shield motif carried golden borders. Philia hated the ostentatious sight.
“Miss.”
Emma hurried forward the moment Philia appeared.
“The master has arrived.”
Master. Philia’s father, the head of House Serios, the very man she despised most.
Inside the residence he sometimes acted like an emperor, but he always sought respect. The fact that he had come without warning meant he wanted something immediately. The servants must be in an uproar.
Philia calmed Emma and entered the parlor. Her father sat on the sofa, waiting.
Yet he was not simply waiting. The man she hated most had chosen one of the actions she despised above all: hot tea poured directly onto Emma’s feet.
“Your tongue dares serve you such suspicious tea?”
“I-I’m sorry…”
Emma trembled as she apologized. The head of House Serios had poured the scalding liquid anyway. He extended his arm and let the cup tip slowly, then dropped the saucer from his fingertips. The crash was muffled by the carpet and Emma’s feet, but the sound still rang out clearly.
Philia ignored the servant and bowed her head quietly.
“You have returned, Father. If you had sent word ahead, I would have prepared your preferred blend. My apologies.”
House Serios had once enjoyed only the finest teas from the capital. Nothing of that caliber existed here. The servants gave her little support, and she herself did not enjoy such excess. She tolerated the arrogance because she could not change her father. The best she could do was placate him and urge his quick departure so the other servants would be happier.
“What a disgusting stench.”
The words, spoken while Philia stood right in front of him, were impossible to believe.
Philia’s father wrinkled his nose and pressed a handkerchief over it. She forced a polite smile.
“I had no time to bathe after training. Please allow me a moment…”
“Enough. I knew this was how a brute would end up when I heard you planned to attend the academy.”
Philia’s words were cut off as he waved a hand. A servant behind him produced a bottle of perfume and sprayed it in all directions.
Philia kept her face pleasant despite the overwhelming scent, but inside she felt only irritation.
“A noble lady cannot even maintain proper etiquette? Is this how you plan to disgrace the family name?”
“I’m sorry.”
Philia wanted to scream, but she swallowed every word and offered only an apology. She had hoped to placate him and speed his exit, yet the more she bowed, the more he complained.
“I knew the moment you said you would go to the academy. Look at you now. You’ve forgotten all manners and courtesy and turned into a wild monkey. How can a noble of the illustrious Serios house produce such an offspring?”
He chuckled mockingly.
“Disgraceful. Disgraceful. It’s only natural you’ve become like that after associating with Princess Emilia.”
Philia’s spine stiffened. The man was not even apologizing for the scalding tea he had poured.
“You have impure blood running through you, which is why you look like this. It’s no wonder Second Prince Endo spoke the truth. A crow surrounded by other crows only makes the heron blacker.”
Philia understood what he meant. Impure blood was another way of saying commoner.
Every servant inside the residence was a commoner, yet none of them flinched. Philia had grown used to the insults; they no longer stirred any emotion.
“Those lowborn mongrels keep crawling into the palace. What on earth is the Emperor thinking?”
“Father, please lower your voice.”
Philia warned him gently. She had no desire to hear the Emperor insulted.
“You must listen! If His Majesty heard my advice, he would know what the problem is! Surrounded by flatterers and sycophants who pander to commoners, how can he possibly tell what is right? The Empire has become like this because of them!”
He slammed his fist into the sofa arm, seething with rage.
House Serios had always prided itself on its noble blood and rejected commoners. Now that commoners were entering politics and important posts, the family spat venom.
“It’s only thanks to Second Prince Endo that we haven’t been completely dirtied by these commoners. Otherwise the palace would already be ruined!”
Philia kept her expression perfectly calm, but inside she seethed.
“Today you will return to the capital and abandon the academy. I have already chosen a suitable marriage partner for you.”
Philia had kept her face steady, but surprise made her look up.
“A marriage partner?”
Betrothal or not, it was marriage. Houses like Serios had always used marriage to consolidate power.
Philia had once been betrothed, but when her family fell into decline, her father had broken the agreement without mercy. Now she had no partner at all. She had met her fiancé several times, yet he held no affection for her. The idea that her father could simply discard a betrothal made her feel nothing but disgust.
“I’ve found a decent man. The son of Viscount Mutimir…”
Philia forced out the words she wanted to say.
“But I am still attending the academy.”
“Why would you waste time at that useless academy? You might as well learn to butcher people like a savage. A noble—”
He launched into a long lecture about civilized nobles. Philia listened politely and waited until he finished before speaking.
Phil of House Serios had never dreamed of marrying for love. From childhood she had accepted that one day she would be sold off to strengthen the family. Therefore, attending the academy was her greatest wish. She wanted nothing else; the rest of her life would follow her father’s wishes.
That was why he had sent her to the academy in the first place. Yet now he was breaking that promise.
“Please wait until I graduate—”
“You don’t understand! The timing of marriage between noble families is everything! Stop wasting time and pack your things immediately!”
Philia closed her mouth. The noble manners he had displayed moments ago had vanished. She watched the snarling man for a second, then rose.
“I will defer the wedding until after graduation. I will explain my situation to Viscount Mutimir myself.”
“What—?!”
“Miss, please listen to the master.”
Philia’s defiance left her father speechless. The servant behind him stepped forward.
The man spoke respectfully, yet the underlying threat was clear: refuse, and he would not hesitate to enforce compliance.