Chapter 206: Radiant as an Ice Blossom
“Lillian, remember this. A sword is not merely a weapon. It is an extension of your body. And Ice Element magic is not merely magic. It is an extension of your will.”
Back then, she had not understood. She had only been six. She could barely hold a sword steady, so how could she possibly understand what it meant for a sword to be an extension of the body, or for ice to be an extension of the will? All she had known was that her father’s hand was large and warm, guiding her little hand again and again, correcting the way she held the sword.
Later, she grew up. She became strong enough to beat boys older than her in swordsmanship class, yet her father still said little. At most, after her practice, he would hand her a cup of warm water.
She had thought that was all there was to it.
Until now.
The fake Ryan charged at her again.
This time, Lillian did not retreat.
She raised her sword, and Ice Element energy began to gather along the blade. Not ice spikes, not ice thorns, but something thinner, fainter. The frost spread outward from the blade and condensed in the air into countless fine strands.
Ice threads.
They were so fine they were nearly invisible. They drifted through the air, everywhere at once, filling the entire corridor. The fake Ryan rushed into them and collided with the threads. His movements faltered for an instant. The threads were too fine to cut him, but they clung to him. Each strand was like a spiderweb, latching onto his body and dragging at him, slowing him down.
He swung his knife, severing the threads. But there were too many. Cut one, and ten more wrapped around him.
Lillian did not stop. She kept swinging her sword, kept weaving more of those icy threads. Her Mana was draining wildly. Her wound was bleeding badly. But she did not stop. The threads grew denser and denser, crisscrossing through the air until they formed a vast net that sealed off the entire narrow corridor.
The fake Ryan’s speed kept dropping. He was still swinging his knife, but the threads were too thick now, too dense, like fog, like a wall. Every step forward forced him to cut through dozens of strands. Every swing of his blade cost him several times more effort than before.
At last, he showed an opening.
It was tiny. His movement slowed for only an instant.
But for Lillian, that was enough.
She stepped forward and thrust her sword. This time there were no ice spikes, no ice thorns, only the sword itself. A layer of frost, thin as a veil, clung to the blade, shining with a cold gleam in the mirrored light. She herself became like a streak of light, slipping through that net of ice threads, her sword tip aimed straight at the fake Ryan’s chest.
He raised his knife to block. Blade and sword collided.
But this time, Lillian’s sword did not stop.
The ice threads suddenly tightened, wrapping around his wrist, his arm, and his knife. In that instant, he could not move.
That single instant was enough.
Lillian’s sword drove into his chest.
The fake Ryan froze. He lowered his head and looked at the sword in his chest. Frost was spreading from the wound, freezing his body bit by bit from the inside out.
“H-how is that possible...”
His voice was terribly hoarse.
Lillian said nothing. She only tightened her grip on the hilt and drove the blade another inch deeper.
The fake Ryan’s body began to crack. Just like the other mirror-images before him, fractures spread from the wound, racing across his face and body. That face, identical to Ryan’s, twisted with fury and unwillingness.
Then, with a crash—
He shattered.
The fragments fell to the ground, turned into motes of light, and slowly dissipated. Only the short knife remained, hitting the floor with a clear metallic clang.
Lillian stood there, gasping for breath. Her shoulder was still bleeding. Her Mana was nearly exhausted. Her legs were shaking. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.
She lowered her head and looked at the fading motes of light on the ground, at the short knife lying there.
Then she lifted her head and looked at herself in the mirrors.
That face was covered in sweat, blood, and exhaustion. Her hair was plastered messily to her cheeks, clumped together by sweat and blood. The wound in her shoulder was still seeping blood, staining half her clothes red.
But her eyes were bright.
Very bright.
Like light shining from beneath the surface of ice. Like a star burning in the depths of the night.
She looked at her reflection and suddenly remembered the first day she had ever held a sword. It had been her father’s sword, so heavy it was taller than she was. She had needed both hands to grip the hilt, and even then she had not been able to lift it, only drag it along the floor. Her father had stood beside her, watching in silence.
Later, she grew older. She became strong enough to lift that sword, to swing it, to defeat the boys older than her in swordsmanship class. Her father still did not say much. At most, after her training, he would hand her a cup of warm water.
Later still, she entered Saint Roland Magic Academy and became “the young lady of House Rosedale,” the proud, arrogant noble girl who always held her chin high and refused to yield to anyone. She wore beautiful dresses to dances and laughed with the daughters of other noble houses.
She had thought she had already grown up.
Until today.
Until now.
She stood here alone, covered in wounds, nearly drained of Mana, with a monster she had killed by her own hand lying at her feet. That monster had Ryan’s face, Ryan’s skill, and strength enough to kill her countless times over.
But she had won.
She had won by herself.
Lillian suddenly wanted to laugh.
And she did.
The Lillian in the mirror laughed too. The two of them stood across the glass, looking at one another, like two different people, and yet like the same person.
She remembered something her father had once said.
“Lillian, remember this. A sword is not merely a weapon. It is an extension of your body. And Ice Element magic is not merely magic. It is an extension of your will.”
Back then, she had not understood.
Now she did.
A sword was an extension of the body. That meant that the moment she gripped the sword, her body ceased to be merely a body and became a weapon.
Ice was an extension of the will. That meant that the moment she called forth frost, her will ceased to be merely a will and became power.
She stood there, covered in wounds, in utter disarray.
But her back was straight.
Like a sword.
Like a flower blooming amid ice and snow.
In the mirrors, countless versions of her stood just as straight. The reflected light fell on her, casting her shadow long across the floor. It shone through her wounds, through her exhaustion, through her disheveled state, and illuminated that single point of brightness in her eyes.
It was pride.
The pride that House Rosedale had passed down through generations.
The pride of a warrior.
She drew in a deep breath. The air was cool as it entered her lungs, carrying the chill of the mirrors, the rusty tang of blood, the salt of her own sweat. Then she slowly breathed it out.
She lowered her head and looked at her hands. They were still trembling, but far less than before.
She had won.
Not to prove anything.
Not to show anyone.
Simply because—
She could not die here.
Rex was still waiting for her. That fool was probably still somewhere in this maze, calling out “young miss” like an idiot. If she died here, he would probably cry so hard he looked ridiculous.
And there was Ryan. And the others who were still waiting for her to go back.
There were still people she wanted to see.
People she wanted to protect.
People she wanted to keep walking forward with.
So she could not die.
It was that simple.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter