Never Die Villain

"Lady Diane!" Anastasiya immediately pushed herself upright. "Good morning!"

Diane Laurence Messerschmidt, Ilya’s biological mother, approached the two children with an amused smile.

She gently ruffled Anastasiya’s hair as soon as she came within reach, earning a delighted giggle from the girl, before turning toward her own son and giving him a light smack on the head.

"Ow."

"Where are your manners, Ilya?" Diane placed a hand on her hip. "How many times must I remind you not to address your own mother by her name?"

"...Sorry, Mother."

It happened more often than Ilya cared to admit.

Every so often, he would call her Diane before Mother even occurred to him, and despite six years of living as her son, the habit had never completely disappeared.

In fairness, he had already been sixteen when his previous life ended, and opening his eyes in this world as a newborn had not magically erased those sixteen years from his mind.

Diane was his mother.

He knew that, and after six years together, he had grown to love her as one.

Yet somewhere inside his head, there remained an older part of him that had first come to know this woman as Diane Laurence Messerschmidt, a complete stranger who had suddenly become his mother overnight.

Diane sighed before taking the steel sword out of his hand.

"And why are you practicing before you’ve even eaten?" She inspected his sweaty face before wiping his forehead with her sleeve. "You’re six years old, Ilya. The sword isn’t going to run away if you leave it alone long enough to have breakfast."

"I wanted to get a little more practice in."

"See, Lady Diane?" Anastasiya immediately pointed at him. "He’s the strange one. I’ve been telling him to stop."

Ilya turned toward her.

"You were telling me to get stronger five minutes ago."

Anastasiya immediately looked away.

"...That was five minutes ago."

* * *

Clang——!

Ilya looked ahead as their blades separated.

Anastasiya’s swordsmanship had changed considerably from what he remembered. She rarely moved more than necessary, preferring to hold her ground and overwhelm whoever stood before her through sheer superiority in technique and strength.

Many within the family claimed she had inherited that habit from Valentin, along with the same arrogant style of fighting that made every exchange feel as though the opponent was the one being tested.

Ilya stepped forward again.

He guided the blizzard around his sword as he swung, adding weight behind the strike just as he had done against Aleksei. This time, however, a thin layer of snow gathered along the tip of the blade before he could disperse it.

Anastasiya saw it immediately.

"...I knew it." Her eyes narrowed. "You’re using magic."

"I’ll never beat you otherwise."

"You’ll never beat me in a million years."

"...Right."

Ilya could only chuckle.

Anastasiya brought her sword down against his next swing without bothering to hide what she intended to do. If Ilya was going to use magic, then there was no longer any reason for her to restrict herself to the sword alone, either.

Aura burst from her body, gathering around her arms before running along the length of the blade, and the pressure behind her sword changed so drastically that Ilya immediately knew what was coming.

Sword Intent followed a moment later, sharpening the force of her strike as she swung straight through his attempt to meet her head-on.

Bang——!

The impact sent Ilya backward.

His boot scraped against the floor as he was driven several meters away, and his arms went numb from the collision. He barely managed to keep hold of his sword before regaining his footing, though the blade was already trembling in his hand from what it had just endured.

"...That’s excessive."

"You started it."

Anastasiya raised her sword again. "Come at me."

Ilya kicked off the ground.

He swung wide as aura spread across his body and gathered around his sword, but compared to the overwhelming amount surrounding Anastasiya, his own was almost pitiful.

Even after years of training, this was as far as he had managed to take it.

Only recently had Ilya begun to understand why.

His poor affinity with aura had never been something he could overcome by simply training harder.

It came down to his disposition.

In the same way that most swordsmen could spend their entire lives trying to become wizards and never succeed, someone born for magic could spend just as long pursuing the sword and still find himself struggling against a path his body had never been suited for.

For years, Ilya had been doing exactly that.

He had trained his body, learned every stance, memorized techniques until he could perform them without thought, and endured the same lessons as every other child of House Belozersky.

Yet the one thing expected of every true swordsman in the family had always refused to answer him properly.

Aura.

All those years, he had been forcing himself down a path that had never been meant for him.

Clang——!

Their swords met again.

Anastasiya’s aura immediately overwhelmed his own, and Ilya felt the difference travel straight through his arms.

His blade was knocked aside, leaving his chest open for barely an instant before Anastasiya’s sword came sweeping back toward him.

Ilya moved away.

The edge passed close enough that he felt the air against his clothes, and before Anastasiya could continue her assault, he brought his sword around from below.

She caught it without difficulty, their blades scraping against each other as Ilya pushed forward with what little aura he could muster.

Anastasiya stared at him from behind their crossed swords.

"If you overextend yourself with that magic, you know what that means for us, don’t you?"

"I know."

"Then act like it."

Ilya pushed harder against her blade, though it did little to move her.

"Don’t worry, Anastasiya. I intend to beat you without revealing my cards to the family."

Anastasiya’s eyes narrowed. "You’re still thinking about winning?"

"Why else would I be holding a sword?"

"...Unbelievable."

She shoved his blade away and immediately brought her sword around again.

"Then let me make this easier for you. Lose quietly and stop struggling."

She closed the distance between them in an instant.

"You’ve already drawn enough attention to yourself these past few days, Ilya. You don’t need to give them another reason to keep looking at you."

Ilya caught her next strike.

Clang——!

"And you?"

"What about me?"

"You want me to lose for the family’s sake..." Ilya tightened his grip as Anastasiya pressed down against his sword. "Or because you don’t want me beating you?"

Anastasiya’s expression darkened. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not."

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