The Iron-Blooded Empress's Lesson in the Sunlit Garden
The training grounds of Rai's private garden buzzed with the sharp clash of steel and the low, steady rhythm of breathing. With the academy during the vacation period, the number of students who could train here without restriction had shrunk to just two. Aslan, who had joined the group naturally after returning from his recent dungeon expedition, spent most of his time in the yard now. It wasn't a private lesson from Rai himself—only the training grounds had been chosen.
Rai's exceptional skill was common knowledge, but accepting a personal tutorial would mean handing over the entire family legacy. Without genuine trust, such an arrangement didn't happen at the academy.
At home he had the disagreeable instructor Demian. By coming here to train, Aslan simply selected the place where Rai and Zeroa were already working out. During the break, he had been at the academy long enough that the only people he felt close to were these two.
He hadn't been given explicit permission, yet Rai never chased Aslan away when he trained in the garden. Instead, he would pass by and offer a quick piece of advice.
“Tighten your stance. You don’t need to spread your legs.”
“Why? This is the proper form!”
“Adjust to your body, you idiot. The proper form is meant for universality. You know you’re not an ordinary person, so take what you need and discard what you don’t. By now you should be making fine adjustments to fit your own frame, shouldn’t you?”
“What exactly is ‘fitting my body’?”
“Did you put a helmet on your head to test it? Roll your head. The stance widens to generate power for swinging the blade, but you’re naturally strong with a solid frame. You don’t need to abandon agility just to pour everything into raw strength. Besides, agility is already your weak point—strengthening the weakness is exactly what you should be doing.”
Every lesson drew complaints, yet the explanations were precise and easy to follow.
Usually the teasing Rai would deliver lessons with a smirk, but when Aslan listened, he felt his stalled progress inch upward. Especially since it ran completely opposite to the rigid posture Demian demanded—something Aslan secretly preferred.
After their session, both Zeroa and Aslan were drenched in sweat as they approached the tree where Rai leaned. The weather was hot; training in direct sunlight was grueling. The two had swung their blades for hours.
“Are you really drinking that?”
Aslan, sitting in the shade, watched Zeroa gulp down the vile elixir with a furrowed brow.
“I threw it up a few times at first, but once I got used to it…”
“If it’s that bad, why not just skip it?”
“I’m weak.”
Zeroa gave a bittersweet smile and finished the glass mixed with the awful black pill. His expression remained perfectly calm, as if he were merely drinking water.
Because the taste was so revolting, Aslan—who had once taken it as a wager penalty—still felt the disgusting flavor lingering in his mouth. He leaned back, turned his head away.
In his peripheral vision he caught sight of Rai reading a book. It looked utterly out of place, yet Rai surprisingly read a great deal. During training breaks he always sat in a corner reading, eating, or doing both at once.
Now he was doing both. Aslan watched Rai concentrate on the book while eating snacks and asked,
“What are you reading?”
“Theory of the Actor and Spatial Network, written by Devastein.”
“… …”
Even the title alone sounded incomprehensible. Aslan only knew Devastein was a famous mage; he understood nothing after that.
“It doesn’t look like it would suit a book at all, yet you actually read it.”
“It’s the kind of smug thing intellectuals write just to show off. Steal the useful parts from them.”
The tone wasn’t flattering, but the importance of learning struck Zeroa as oddly sincere. With Aslan creating the right atmosphere, his own courage surfaced.
The timid Zeroa had always wondered about one thing: the technique used against assassins.
Zeroa still had no idea how it had been done.
“…Could you teach me that technique you used against the assassins?”
“Why? Do you want to learn?”
“…If I can.”
Since the dungeon, Zeroa had grown cautious about asking Rai for secrets or techniques. Rai’s generosity had made him feel he was being disrespectful, but the overwhelming spectacle of that day had planted a deep hunger in Zeroa’s heart that no sheltered pride could extinguish.
“What is it? You sliced all the assassins in one stroke? Is that true?”
Aslan’s interest sparked curiosity in Zeroa. He glanced at Rai for silent permission, then explained. The man had swung his sword with zero mana, yet every target in front of him had been sliced cleanly.
It had felt as though space itself had been severed. Aslan’s eyes sparkled.
“Space Sever! Just hearing the name makes it sound amazing—”
“It’s not Space Sever. Don’t rename someone else’s technique on the spot.”
“Then what? Air Cutter? Ground Sever? Space Slice?”
“Cut.”
“…Cut? That’s it?”
Rai nodded. Aslan grumbled that the name sounded too plain. The moment he pointed out how the others loved to make grand names for ordinary things, Zeroa finally voiced what he had been thinking.
“That wasn’t magic, was it?”
“No. Pure sword technique. The concept isn’t physical power, of course.”
“Can I learn that too?”
Rai smiled faintly at Zeroa’s eager question. Aslan fell silent and simply watched.
“You two have two paths.”
“What are they?”
“Give up now, or train until you die for ten years and then give up.”
“… …”
A bright smile lit Rai’s face. For a moment Zeroa and Aslan simply stared, speechless.
The silence stretched. Aslan finally scowled.
“I don’t know how amazing that skill is, but you sure have a lot of pride.”
“It’s not talent or anything. The very nature of it is different.”
“What does that mean?”
Zeroa asked. Rai created a complex magical circle in mid-air with a flick of his wrist.
A vast blue circle formed from countless smaller ones intertwined so intricately that looking at it alone made the eyes dizzy. Aslan stared at the hundreds of runes and countless components until Rai spoke.
“This circle is from about a hundred years ago, before the term ‘pure mage’ became popular—a test question for anyone who wanted to claim the title of mage. To pass it, you must infiltrate and dismantle it.”
The score had been poor, but the two students had studied enough at the academy to recognize the structure. Yet this circle was so layered that even grasping its meaning had been nearly impossible.
Such precision demanded not only knowledge but flawless mana control—an ancient mage’s qualification. Zeroa felt the old mages had demanded terrifyingly high levels of power.
“With more warriors learning magic, the number of true mages has declined. Levels have dropped sharply. Several major events have occurred where magical knowledge was lost.”
Rai’s “major events” were common knowledge to Aslan—the burning of the Grey Tower at the dawn of the War Era, the repository of all ancient magical wisdom.
“The difference in nature is that I am a mage. More precisely, a Battle Mage born from the mage lineage.”
“Are the people called ‘warriors’ today not Battle Mages?”
“Not all who use magic are the same. The starting point differs. Warriors develop techniques around the weapon in their hands. Battle Mages develop them around magic itself.”
The two exchanged glances, still not fully understanding, while Rai continued.
“You can learn the knowledge of magic circles. But the issue is mana itself. I was raised to wield magic as a weapon; you were raised to use it as an assistant. The natures are fundamentally different. If you want that technique, you must discard everything right now and start from the beginning.”
“…Didn’t you use mana back then?”
Mana had been absent, yet Zeroa found himself confused by Rai’s words. Earlier Rai had called it a pure sword technique.
“The technique I used then was one only those who reached the extreme of sword mastery could employ. My sword was crude, so I had to cheat with magic. You didn’t feel the mana because the formula was already complete before I swung. By the time I arrived, the spell had already activated.”
“Whether it was a shortcut or not, you reached the extreme.”
“That’s right. I’m exceptional.”
Finally, with a self-satisfied grin, Rai looked up at the person standing before him.
Aslan, following Rai’s gaze, had sensed no approach—until a middle-aged man with long black hair suddenly appeared before him, looking down. Aslan startled and grabbed his sword.
“Relaxing so comfortably, Instructor Rai? The academy seems quite lenient for its reputation. Shouldn’t someone who claims to ‘train hard’ be sweating more?”
The man with long black hair smirked, lifting one corner of his mouth. Aslan’s ugly expression flashed before he forced himself to stand tall, massive blade resting on his shoulder as if in challenge.
“Are you the one who looks too relaxed? What business do you have here?”
“Long time no see, Joshua.”
Rai’s lazy grin made Aslan whirl around.
“You know each other?”
“Yeah. We worked together before. What are you doing these days?”
“I’m the Vice-Minister of the Imperial Intelligence Department.”
“Vice-Minister? You’ve climbed the ranks.”
“There are five Vice-Ministers, but I’m the lowest of the low.”
They spoke casually, yet the title “Vice-Minister of the Information Bureau” left Zeroa staring blankly at Joshua. The Bureau was a simple name for an institution that controlled espionage, counterintelligence, and national security across the empire. It could arrest even high nobles on the Bureau’s word.
A Vice-Minister of a department directly under the Emperor would be difficult for even a duke to treat lightly.
“I’m sorry.”
Aslan dropped to one knee before Joshua and begged forgiveness. This was no ordinary hot-blooded youth he could bluff. He had challenged a man who could uproot an entire family with a single word; panic surged through him.
Joshua still smiling, lifted Aslan to his feet and plopped down in front of Rai.
“Send the lizard back.”
“Really? I sent it because you seemed to like it. More?”
Joshua chuckled. Zeroa nodded, realizing the strange delicacy of feeding high nobles.
He pictured Aria gracefully slicing the lizard with a silver spoon and felt a strange pang. Later he might grab a lizard to feed Aria—just to watch her reaction.
Joshua had been watching the lizard feed incident closely. The man who fed the lizard out of malicious boredom, ignoring Rai’s actions and deliberately provoking him, was almost nonexistent in the empire.
Rai had instantly recognized his subordinate as Joshua, now Vice-Minister of the Imperial Intelligence Department. No one in the empire was more unpleasant.
“I didn’t come for the lizard’s value. Why are you here?”
“Long time no see, yet you start with business? That hurts.”
“Act hurt then.”
Joshua laughed cheerfully. Rai’s frown made him shrug.
“I came because of the academy headmistress. She’s showing off her new pet too much—everywhere. If you want attention, get it.”
Zeroa tilted his head, clueless about which pet Celenas had. Rai flicked a gold coin toward Aslan.
“Friend reunion. Go play. We’ll talk later.”
“Got it! Have a great time, Vice-Minister Joshua!”
Aslan and Zeroa left the garden at a run. Aslan, the noble, understood the dangers better than the commoner Zeroa.
Rai watched them go, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Then the nuisance is gone. Shall we continue?”
“I also sent my students first. You should send yours too.”
“Hmm… one-on-one with you is scary. But what can I do?”
Joshua thought for a moment, then clapped his hands twice.
Nothing visibly changed, yet the agents hidden around Rai’s house withdrew. Rai tossed the book aside, feeling the pressure vanish.
“You still like Devastein, I see.”
“You can’t just walk into the academy freely, can you?”
“Even the Emperor’s bedchamber is off-limits to the Bureau.”
“A fine organization. You even have access to the ladies’ bathroom.”
While Rai made light jokes, a mustached man pushing a tea cart entered the garden.
He bowed politely to Joshua, then to Rai as well.
“I am Cale Theorg. It is an honor to welcome the famous Devil of All Nations.”
“Trustworthy. Don’t worry. You still prefer sweets? This person has a sweet tooth despite his terrifying reputation, so sweet things.”
“Would you like snow-flower tea from the Bel Federation? No sugar added, yet it has a subtle sweetness the ladies adore.”
“I don’t know tea, just bring it.”
Cale prepared it expertly and served it in elegant cups.
As he watched Cale wheel the cart away, Rai took a sip. The taste was surprisingly good; he let out a silent sigh of appreciation and gave Cale a thumbs-up.
“You’re doing well, Joshua. I knew you wouldn’t starve, but…”
“Too good, actually. What are you plotting?”
“Well, how would someone like me understand the Sun’s will?”
The mention of the Emperor’s permission earned a click of disapproval from Rai as he sipped again.
“Is that all you wanted to ask? You don’t care how my old subordinates are doing, do you? You clearly have no intention of looking.”
“One is a pervert who sends lizards, the rest are probably fine.”
Rai’s indifferent tone made Joshua sigh and shake his head.
“You’re always like this. When you’re around, you make people happy, then vanish like you never existed. How many twisted people do you think have been created by that palm-flipping ruthlessness of yours?”
“I don’t know. At least Melanie and Wyatt seem to be doing well. Old Juan too.”
Rai spoke lightly. Joshua sighed quietly, bowed his head, then lifted it again. The smile was gone; only seriousness and sharp eyes remained.
“Unfortunately, I came because those twisted subordinates you had have started a resistance force.”
The revelation that former subordinates had formed an anti-imperial group silenced Rai.
The conversation continued in the quiet garden, the weight of old alliances and new dangers pressing heavily on both men.