Harem Training System: Every Girl I Train Makes Me Stronger!

"Do you think you’ll ever visit them?" Catherine asked, her voice barely audible above the whisper of the wind. "Your parents, I mean."

"I don’t mean a formal appearance at some stiff family gala or a political necessity."

"I mean... properly. Visiting them because you want to."

Lia fell silent, the question hanging between them like a fragile thread. She turned her gaze toward the horizon, where the last bleeding traces of orange had surrendered to an encroaching, bruised purple.

Her fingers traced the rim of her teacup absently.

"I think so," Lia said finally, though the words seemed to cost her something. "Eventually. But not soon."

"I need to feel truly steady in who I am now before I can walk into a room with them without feeling like I’m suffocating." She paused, her jaw tightening slightly as she wrestled with the raw memory of the evening. "But I don’t want to burn the bridge while I’m still standing on it."

"My mother... she looked at me tonight the way I spent years imagining she would. Just once. Just for a moment."

"I don’t want to throw that away out of spite, even if spite feels like the only honest thing I have left right now."

Catherine reached out, briefly touching Lia’s arm in a gesture of silent solidarity. "That’s remarkably mature, Lia."

"More than most adults I know."

"I’ve had a lot of practice dissecting complicated feelings lately," Lia said, a small, wry smile ghosting across her lips, a flash of her old self, but softer. "Apparently, that’s what happens when someone finally lets you actually feel them instead of forcing you to bury them under six feet of expectation."

William squeezed her hand, his grip warm and grounding. "For what it’s worth, Lia, whatever pace you need, whether it’s months or years, we’ll be here."

"The ground won’t move beneath you."

Lia looked at him, her eyes searching his, finding only honesty.

"I know," she whispered. "That’s the part that still catches me off guard."

"That this isn’t conditional."

"That I don’t have to perform, or win, or prove my worth every single morning just to earn my place at the table."

"You never had to earn it," William said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of conviction. "You just weren’t given the chance to believe that before."

For a long while, they simply existed in that shared truth. The conversation gradually drifted into lighter, safer waters—the kind of mundane chatter that builds the foundation of a life.

Catherine recounted a minor bureaucratic disaster involving misplaced parchment and a particularly stubborn dean, while Lia began asking William increasingly technical questions about the wind flow mechanics of Wind Stance dual wielding.

William could see the spark in her eyes; she wasn’t just curious, she was already mentally dissecting the forms, likely plotting some devastating new technique of her own.

Above them, the sky deepened into a true midnight. Stars began to pierce through the darkness like scattered diamonds, and for a few precious moments, the world felt perfect.

The peace was absolute.

Then, the silence shattered.

It started as a low rumble, distant but unmistakable, the rhythmic, heavy thunder of hoofbeats and the grinding protest of carriage wheels against stone.

This wasn’t the scattered noise of students returning from supper; this was something far more deliberate, far more imposing.

The sound echoed off the academy walls with a metallic, insistent cadence, accompanied now by the sharp, synchronized march of what sounded like a full formal honor guard.

William sat up straighter, his instincts immediately flaring. He exchanged a sharp, questioning glance with Catherine and Lia. The hair on the back of his neck prickled.

Lia set down her teacup, the porcelain clinking softly against the stone as she tilted her head, listening intently.

"That’s an obscene amount of noise for this hour of the evening," she noted, her voice dropping into a more alert register. "That sounds like an army, not a visiting dignitary."

"That definitely doesn’t sound like the Valestria carriage," Catherine said, already rising to her feet, her hand instinctively moving toward where her staff would usually rest.

"No," William agreed, standing slowly, his muscles coiled with sudden readiness. "That sounds significantly larger."

"And much more... official."

Lia rose as well, brushing off her clothes with practiced calm despite the obvious tension crackling in the air. She glanced toward the main gates with keen interest.

"This academy has had an unusual number of dramatic entrances lately."

"I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something in the water this season that attracts grand processions."

"At this point, I’d be more surprised by an ordinary, quiet week," Catherine muttered, though her eyes remained fixed on the approaching shadows.

William let out a tired, humorless huff of agreement as the approaching thunder grew louder, the lights of torches beginning to flicker at the edge of the courtyard like angry fireflies.

...

The descent toward the courtyard felt like walking into the eye of a gathering storm. As they moved down the stone steps, the atmosphere shifted from evening tranquility to something charged, something electric and dangerous.

They weren’t alone; several instructors, their faces lined with confusion and growing unease, joined them, along with clusters of students who had abandoned their evening routines, drawn by the hypnotic thunder of approaching hooves.

When they finally reached the courtyard’s edge, the spectacle was overwhelming. An elaborate, gilded carriage so ornate it seemed to glow with its own malevolent light rolled to a smooth, ceremonial halt directly before the main gates.

It bore a crest none of them recognized: a snarling lion entwined with crimson thorns, rendered in gold that looked almost too bright, too aggressive. The carriage was flanked by a phalanx of mounted honor guards in polished, gleaming plate armor that reflected the torchlight in blinding flashes.

They sat atop massive warhorses, their weapons gleaming with lethal readiness.

The academy guards were in obvious disarray. They scrambled into hastily formed lines, their boots skidding on the cobblestones as they tried to summon some semblance of ceremonial dignity.

Staff members rushed forward with flustered expressions, whispering urgently to one another, clearly caught completely off guard by this unannounced intrusion of power.

"Who in the world travels with an honor guard that size for an unscheduled visit?" Kaela muttered, suddenly appearing at William’s elbow.

Her voice was low, laced with a wariness she couldn’t quite hide. Ellie and Clara were close behind her, their faces pale as they stared at the imposing column of steel and gold.

"Nothing good, probably," Olivia interjected dryly, approaching from the opposite direction.

Her arms were crossed, her stance defensive. "Nobody shows up with that much pageantry unless they want to make sure everyone is watching and terrified."

William felt a cold knot tightening in his stomach.

’This isn’t a visit,’ he thought grimly. ’This is an invasion of presence.’

’This is a performance of dominance.’

The carriage door swung open with a slow, deliberate creak. A young man stepped down, moving with the languid, practiced confidence of someone who had never known the meaning of the word ’no.’

His attire was obscene and rich, layered silks in deep royal blues and golds, embroidered with threads that seemed to catch every flicker of light. He carried himself with an easy, almost bored arrogance, surveying the gathered, flustered welcoming party with a faint, amused smile.

He exchanged brief, polished pleasantries with the academy staff, his voice dripping with a condescending courtesy that made William’s skin crawl.

But then, something changed. The young man’s gaze lifted.

His eyes didn’t linger on the instructors. They swept past William, past Catherine and Lia, scanning over the crowd as if they were nothing more than background scenery.

His pupils seemed to narrow, his focus sharpening with predatory intent as his gaze traveled toward the distant training grounds, searching for something or someone specific.

A slow, hungry smile spread across his face. It wasn’t the smile of a suitor; it was the smile of a conqueror who had finally spotted his prize.

"I simply cannot wait," he announced.

His voice wasn’t loud, yet it carried with supernatural clarity across the hushed, expectant courtyard, rich with an unmistakable, self-assured anticipation that made the air feel heavy. "To marry a princess."

His eyes locked onto a specific point in the crowd, and his smile widened into something almost manic.

"Kaela Aurelius."

The silence that followed was deafening. Beside William, the world seemed to stop.

Kaela went completely, utterly still, frozen like prey caught in the unblinking stare of a predator.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!