Bead Ice Cream
Marta's training sword carved through the cool air of early summer. Sharp, yet softly linked—one motion bleeding into the next. It was the Yeonseong Sword Art, one of House Zieghart's foundational forms.
Whoosh!
She brought the blade down with a killing glare, as if she stood in the heart of a battlefield. Even the sand rising off the training ground could not bring itself to approach her.
Whoosh!
A similar rush of sword-wind rose from her right. A blond boy with crimson eyes. Raon Zieghart.
His blunt training sword was unfolding the exact same opening forms of the Yeonseong Sword Art.
Raon, who had lagged so far behind, had finally caught up to Marta.
But the face of the girl watching him held none of the old impatience, none of the old tension. A smile tugged at her lips instead, and she applauded him.
"Not bad."
Marta set down her training sword and swept her disheveled hair back.
"The speed you pick up martial arts—even calling you a genius doesn't cover it. But..."
She drew the word out, twirling a finger.
"If your mana sensitivity is that pathetic, it's a pearl on a pig's neck. I don't envy a half-talent like that."
Marta's voice was loud. Every trainee heard her. No one stepped forward.
"You'd be better off split down the middle—half the talent for aura, half for martial study. With what you've got, the best you can hope for is a swordsmanship instructor."
The trainees Raon had helped, Burren, even Rimer and the instructors standing off to the side—none of them opened their mouths.
Of course they wouldn't.
Marta's sneer deepened.
Nobody expected that idiot wouldn't learn aura in four months.
Aura training had been part of the official curriculum for over four months, and Raon still hadn't grasped it. His aura core was empty.
At first I was terrified.
Watching him advance at that monstrous pace, she had been genuinely horrified. The fear of that enormous talent closing in on her had kept her awake at night. Even training from dawn until dusk had not driven the dread away.
But after she heard what Kamel said, everything changed.
He really was only half.
The claim that Raon had shown the worst mana sensitivity at the aptitude test had not been a lie. Four months after beginning cultivation, he still had not formed a scrap of aura in his core.
What good was mastering swordsmanship or fist arts if there was no power to put behind the fist or the blade?
"Heh."
Marta cocked her chin, sneering at Raon as he swung his sword with cold sweat on his face.
He wasn't even worth worrying about.
She had thought of him as a threat. Not anymore. Raon was not on Burren's level, or Runaan's—he did not even measure up to that coward Dorian.
The one thing still lodged in her mind was that he had managed to strike back at her once.
I can forget that now. In any match that uses aura, he won't even be an opponent.
Marta turned away with an easy smile.
"Hm?"
Runaan Sullion was standing there with a sullen look on her face.
"Go."
"Is that all you have to say?"
"Go."
"You don't have to rush me. I was leaving anyway. I've got high-level training to do."
She gave a light wave of her hand and left the training ground.
Whoosh!
Marta had mocked him to her heart's content and walked off, but Raon did not react. White breath steamed from his lips as he swung his sword without pause. The only thing reflected in those red eyes was the blade.
After finishing even his night training, Raon surveyed the indoor training hall.
Everyone's gone home.
A two-day holiday began tomorrow, so they had all returned to their houses. Not a single person remained.
"Hah..."
Raon let out a heated breath and set down his sword. He had been so absorbed in swordsmanship while circulating the Ring of Fire that he had not even noticed night falling.
It was the same focus he used to have in the instant before an assassination—an extreme concentration that was hard to summon during ordinary training.
My swordsmanship's improved quite a bit.
By focusing solely on the blade, his mastery of the Yeonseong Sword Art had risen considerably. A little more practice and he would be able to use it in real combat without any trouble.
"So you've finally come to your senses!"
Just as he was savoring the day's training, Wrath's voice rang out, thick with rage.
"To just stand there after being provoked like that. You pathetic whelp!"
Provoked?
"That black-haired wench kept running her mouth!"
Ah. Did she?
Raon huffed a quiet laugh. He had been so focused on training he had not even noticed Marta talking.
"If she had prattled such things at This King, This King would have frozen her entire body and smashed her to pieces!"
I already told you. There's nothing to gain from fighting her right now.
Rising to her bait and picking a fight would get him nothing from Marta. It would be far better to wager the top rank against her and walk away with an elixir or a martial arts manual.
I can beat her no matter what anyway.
Even without the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, beating a greenhorn like Marta would be simple. The time to pick a fight was when she had a decent treasure on her.
Time to head back, I guess.
Raon finished tidying up and was about to extinguish the magic lamps when he heard small footsteps at the door.
Tap.
Light, small footsteps. He heard them every day—he could not fail to recognize Runaan's gait.
He turned. Runaan stood there, her violet eyes glittering. They were not the vacant look she usually wore.
"Here."
She held out the hand she had been hiding behind her back. A box, a little smaller than a brick.
"What's this?"
Runaan did not answer. She opened the lid. Beneath a rush of pure white cold, a single bead sat inside, about the size of a child's fist.
"Uh..."
Raon looked from the bead in the box to Runaan's violet eyes and back.
"You want me to take this?"
"Mm."
Runaan nodded and placed the bead from the box into his hand. A pleasant coolness rose against his palm.
"Eat."
That was all she said before she closed the lid.
What is this?
He had no idea. But if it was being stored in a box packed with that much cold, it had to be something precious.
"Hmm..."
Everything he had learned in his life as an assassin said he should not eat it. But the expectation in Runaan's eyes moved his hand.
"Hah..."
She wouldn't give me anything weird.
He shut his eyes and popped the bead into his mouth. It melted the instant it touched his tongue. A cool sweetness, like frozen chocolate, wrapped around his entire mouth.
"Whoa..."
It was so cool and sweet a laugh slipped out of him. His eyes flew open.
"T-this flavor exists?! This is a sweetness This King never tasted even in the Demon Realm! No—did the cold make the sweetness sharper? More! Bring more! This King wishes to eat more!"
Wrath must have been sharing his senses, because he bounced up and down after tasting the ice cream.
Settle down.
Raon shoved the fluttering Wrath aside with his elbow.
"How is it?"
"I-it's good."
"Bead ice cream."
Runaan gave a big nod, stepped back, and walked straight out of the training hall.
"Huh? Hey!"
He called after her, waving, but Runaan did not look back.
"...What an odd one. Though it would have been nicer if she'd given one more."
Was she worried about me?
Runaan had probably given him the bead ice cream because she was concerned about Marta's open mockery today.
He had had ice cream at the Annex now and then, but never in this form or with this flavor. Judging by the size of the box, it could not have held more than four. She must have handed him the last one.
She gave me the last one.
Runaan, like any child, adored sweets. She could easily have been possessive of the last ice cream, yet she had handed it over without hesitation. That could not have been an easy decision.
He could picture her in his mind—fidgeting, clutching a hoarded snack, then making up her mind.
"Good grief."
Raon huffed a laugh. He felt a little sorry for making even a kid like her worry.
But I'm really fine.
He meant it. The path he had to walk was higher and harsher than anyone else's. And the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames was the guide that would make that path easier.
A guide that exceptional would not lend its power so readily. He had to wait, and wait with patience.
I'll have to pay her back later.
A gentle smile on his face, Raon left the training ground. His exhausted steps felt as light as grass in the wind.
"Good heavens! Young Master Raon!"
The moment Raon opened the door to the Annex, Helen, who had been standing at the entrance, rounded her eyes and hurried over.
"What brings you here?"
"Raon's here?"
Hearing Helen's voice, Sylvia kicked her door open, rushed out, and threw her arms around him.
"How long has it been! You haven't visited in months!"
"I saw you last week."
Raon pushed Sylvia away as she nuzzled his cheek. Ever since he had become a trainee, weekend visits had been allowed, so Sylvia had come to the dormitory every week.
"That's completely different!"
Sylvia shook her head, slapping at the air.
"You haven't eaten yet, have you? I'll get something ready right away. Helen!"
"Young Master, just a moment, please."
Sylvia took the maids into the kitchen. From the voices carrying out, it sounded like they were making beef stew.
How to put it.
He could not express it precisely, but coming to the Annex put his heart at ease. Was this what a real home—something he had never had in his previous life—felt like?
"Hurry up! Raon's going to be hungry!"
"I know! But the ingredients..."
"Just throw in everything we've got!"
Listening to the warm sounds from the kitchen, Raon headed for the bath.
The next morning, before dawn.
Judiel was on her knees in Raon's room, her head bowed.
Raon sat on the edge of the bed, tapping a sheet of paper in his hand. It was the same kind of moonlight paper he had found at the lake before.
"Raise your head."
At his solemn voice, Judiel trembled and lifted her face.
"Any word from the Heavy Martial Palace?"
"N-nothing in particular. There was an order to investigate more thoroughly because you'd been learning fist arts and swordsmanship so quickly, but now that you haven't grasped aura, they seem to have lost interest."
"As I thought."
Raon smiled faintly. Aura was the most important factor for every martial artist. It seemed they had lost interest in someone whose talent for it was so poor.
"And my mother?"
"Interest in Lady Sylvia also appears to have waned. If this continues, there's a chance I'll be withdrawn."
Some might think a withdrawal would be a good thing. It was not.
I'd lose a useful piece.
The reason he had turned Judiel into a double agent would vanish. That was not a favorable development.
"U-um, by any chance... have you been deliberately not learning aura...?"
Judiel parted her trembling lips.
"Who knows."
Raon did not answer. He only smiled. That alone made Judiel swallow dryly.
The terror of that day still ruled her.
"Good work. You may go."
"Y-yes!"
Judiel rose, her eyes shaking. Relieved she would not have to suffer fear and pain, she opened the door and left quickly.
"Anyone listening would think you'd been holding back on purpose."
Using atmosphere and circumstance well is a skill too.
Raon flicked Wrath, who was dangling from his wrist. Judiel would jump to her own conclusions and inflate both his presence and her fear of him.
"To struggle so much just to learn aura. Pathetic. When This King was in the Demon Realm, This King could perform any magic or martial art This King had learned once with This King's eyes closed."
Yeah, I'm pretty pathetic.
Raon answered easily and left the room. His heart was at ease, so he could laugh off Wrath's teasing.
"Hm?"
He was heading to the garden for his dawn training when a man approached from a distance. Red hair, and a pleasant wind that seemed to travel with him—an elf. Rimer.
"Instructor?"
"Sleep well?"
Rimer waved, his hair looking like a bird's nest.
"What brings you here so early?"
"I never kept that promise I made before. I felt bad about it, so I thought I'd give you a little help."
"Promise?"
"On the first day of fist training I said I'd teach you the Jinseung Fist and then ran off."
"Ah!"
"It's too late for that now, so I'll give you a different lesson."
He grinned and wiggled his fingers. A deep green wind surged from the tips of those slender fingers.