XElenea
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🕑 Added 2025-01-22 16:00:04 +0000 UTCTo sense Roy's mana, one would need to be at least an Advanced Swordsman—and even then, they'd only perceive an unusual disturbance. But Advanced Swordsmen weren't exactly common; they weren't as plentiful as cabbages in a field.
Roy halted his mana projection once he had depleted half of it. He still had things to accomplish later that night and couldn't afford to completely exhaust himself.
Standing before him, Ghislaine spoke in her usual calm tone, "You should refrain from doing this so often."
Refrain from doing this so often...
Those words immediately perked up Rudeus, who had been sprawled on the ground gasping for air after hours of sparring with Eris. His ears sharpened as he eavesdropped shamelessly, the phrase triggering an inexplicable excitement within him.
Having been pummeled by Eris for nearly two hours, Rudeus hadn't even noticed Roy's earlier actions. Oblivious to any magical probing, his focus had been entirely on surviving Eris's relentless assault.
Roy nodded in acknowledgment, responding with a neutral, "Understood."
Ghislaine, her expression as stoic as ever, stepped forward. "Then let's begin."
Without relying on magic, Roy squared off against the Sword King.
The gap in skill became glaringly obvious almost immediately. Ghislaine dominated the match, her attacks overwhelming him despite his passive Sword Heart ability mitigating some of the embarrassment.
In essence, it was a one-sided beatdown. The disparity in experience and mastery of swordsmanship was insurmountable.
However, Ghislaine wasn't just bullying him. She was meticulous in pointing out his errors, correcting even the smallest flaws.
"Your slashes need to be faster," she advised, parrying his blade with ease. "Your feints are too predictable, and your movements telegraph your intentions. Like this, you won't deceive anyone."
Her skillful deflections nullified Roy's every strike, her critique blunt yet precise.
Teaching others wasn't easy, Roy admitted, but Ghislaine's methodical instruction far surpassed Paul's haphazard approach. Thanks to her guidance, he managed to correct several flawed techniques.
As the day gave way to night, the training session ended, and everyone retired to their respective rooms.
Roy sat by the window, gazing silently at the moonlight.
It's time.
Dark mana gathered around him, swirling like an ominous mist. Cloaked in a black hood, Roy disappeared into the shadows.
...
The Slums, South District
In a small, dilapidated room, a white-haired girl with a smug expression huddled under a threadbare blanket.
She had decided not to attend. To her, Roy was just some wandering nobody. He might have some strength, sure, but did she look like a fool?
Instead, she opted to stay home and sleep.
Her "home" was barely worthy of the name—a rundown wooden shack with a thin layer of straw on wooden planks serving as her bed. The tattered blanket barely shielded her from the cold.
Her circumstances were grim, but from her perspective, it wasn't all bad. After all, there were people in worse situations—people who didn't even have a "home" to call their own.
Still, the boy's words lingered in her mind, filling her with unease.
She hadn't heard the exact phrase "there's no such thing as a free lunch," but she understood the sentiment. A chance to grow stronger was tempting, yet doubt and hesitation gnawed at her.
That hesitation wasn't unique to her—it was a universal truth. Whether in this world or the one before, it was the same.
Scams preyed on those who harbored a flicker of hope.
People were inherently greedy, much like gamblers. Buying a lottery ticket, knowing the odds were astronomical, yet clinging to the thought, What if I win?
They wouldn't say it aloud, but deep down, the hope was always there. And that was the trap—the gambler's fallacy, the irresistible allure of a slim chance.
At that moment, the white-haired girl was lost in a sea of confusion.
Should she give up this opportunity? After all, the other person hadn't asked for anything in return—just to meet in the middle of the night. Was it really worth turning away?
She tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn't shake.
But then, thinking of her older brother, she gritted her teeth and finally climbed out of bed.
The white-haired girl's name was Elena. She had no family name—only those of the middle class or above were fortunate enough to have full names. It was clear she didn't belong to that group.
Her mother had been a prostitute, and her father, an alcoholic. Together, they had given birth to her.
Her mother, once a stunning beauty from a prestigious family, had fallen from grace. She had married a charming but ultimately heartless man, someone who had no skills of his own. Eventually, she was abandoned by him and even sold into a brothel.
Born of a loveless union, Elena's life seemed doomed from the start.
Perhaps it was luck—or maybe something else—but for reasons unknown, her mother chose to carry her to term. The bad news, however, was that she abandoned Elena shortly after birth.
Fortunately, her mother was not entirely without a conscience. She entrusted the girl to a man—someone Elena would later refer to as her "older brother."
He was an adventurer, though his strength was modest, at the level of a mid-tier swordsman. Even so, he wasn't someone who would sink into the depths of despair so easily.
His downfall had come at the hands of his former comrades in the adventurer's guild. Betrayed by them, his right arm was severed, and his reputation was shattered beyond repair.
With only a handful of savings left, he arrived in the slums, resigned to the idea of living out the rest of his life in this forsaken place.
Yet, by some twist of fate, when he saw Elena as a baby in the arms of a woman, something in him stirred. He wasn't a pervert—no, he simply felt an inexplicable connection to the child.
After some discreet probing, he learned about her situation. He then offered the woman money to take the child from her.
The man was tall and rugged, but life's hardships had worn him down into a disheveled figure. Despite his appearance, the woman, experienced in the fickleness of human nature, saw something in him. Without hesitation, she agreed to let him take Elena.
Thus, Elena's life was traded for the price of a night's pleasure.
However, despite the circumstances of her adoption, the man cared for her deeply. Though he had lost his arm, his lingering aura of menace was enough to keep the local troublemakers at bay.
Soon, he became the undisputed ruler of the street. At least, no one dared to challenge him.
But as time passed, the infant in his arms grew. With her father's indulgence, she became spoiled and unruly—domineering and aggressive. Eventually, Elena became the white-haired troublemaker she was now.
In truth, her situation was not so different from Eris's—both girls had been shaped by their environments.
But unlike Eris, Elena was far more adaptable, knowing when to manipulate a situation to her advantage.
Of course, they were both still children. Their personalities would continue to evolve over the years. Would they grow into good women eventually? Maybe.
