With a single, sudden, swift strike, she swung her ice sword with a lateral force, hitting my shoulder and pushing me backward. My body recoiled violently and I fell to the ground.
I groaned; the pain was real.
"Damn…" I muttered, placing my hand over my injured shoulder.
I slowly got up, my breaths heavy, my knees nearly giving way.
She stood there, not approaching, watching me in silence… as if waiting for my reaction, or perhaps passing judgment on me now.
I am no match for her… not in this body.
My current body is still weak… my strength still limited. This is not an equal battle, and I know it well.
But my eyes never left her. Because despite everything, I had no intention of backing down.
Not after this challenge… not after this mission appeared.
"It's fine… if I'm not her match now, I will be later. But first, I must survive this confrontation."
I whispered slowly through my lips:
"Temporary Immortality."
The moment I spoke the words, a strange feeling coursed through my body… warm, dense, then flipped into total emptiness.
The pain… evaporated.
The ache in my shoulder, the weakness in my legs, everything vanished in an instant, as if my body had become a machine that knew no meaning of breakage or fatigue.
I smiled.
A silent smile, yet enough to say everything.
In the next moment, I activated the enhancement I had received from the system. Because I had completed the mission, energy surged within me like a raging river, illuminating my veins with hidden heat. My limbs became lighter, and my sword felt like a natural extension of my soul.
Then I attacked.
I sprinted toward her with a speed I had never known before, a sudden movement that made her eyes widen for a moment.
My sword rose into the air, propelled by an irresistible energy, and came down upon her with the force of will and determination.
She raised her ice sword to block the strike—
but this time,
I was her match.
I surged toward her like a storm, my sword raining down relentless, unyielding blows. Each strike I delivered carried the weight of resolve, igniting sparks of collision around us.
She blocked… yes, with skill.
But she began to retreat.
Step by step.
It was clear—despite her composed features and cold expression—that her strength was starting to wane. Her sword trembled slightly with each parry, her breaths grew heavier.
Of course… how could something so beautiful be as harsh as ice?
I told myself as I studied her face: her blue eyes, like winter in its purity… yet now hiding a tension that hadn't existed just minutes ago.
I pressed the attack, my sword moving with confidence. She tried to retaliate, to strike back, but I gave her no opportunity.
This confrontation… would not last much longer.
A smile spread across my face, a smile I did not release in vain…
I was seeing what I had desired from the very first moment.
Her sword… was beginning to crack.
That pure ice she had thought unbreakable was fracturing before her eyes. The fissure widened, the glow dimmed, and the cold began to dissipate.
"She won't last much longer…" I muttered inwardly, with quiet confidence.
Her face remained composed, skillfully parrying my strikes, yet I saw what lay beneath that composure:
a slight tremor in her wrist… a subtle slowness in her movements… a faint weariness in her gaze.
Then, on the final strike—
I raised my sword high and brought it down with concentrated force…
and the ice shattered.
Her sword broke before her eyes, shards of ice scattering through the air like glass mixed with snow. Her eyes widened in shock… then she lost her balance and fell to the ground.
I stepped forward, brandishing my sword toward her, the blade's edge stopping mere hairs away from her temple.
She stared at me, her eyes speaking volumes… surprise, confusion, and perhaps a respect she did not voice.
I looked at her silently, then said with a weary smile, my breath ragged:
"I am the victor."
And before I could see her reaction,
everything vanished.
My energy extinguished like a candle at its end,
and the temporary immortality faded.
Then darkness fell…
and I collapsed, unconscious, my body too weak even to feel pain.
After hours of unconsciousness, I woke up.
I slowly opened my eyes; the dim light in the room made everything blurry for a moment. I tried to lift my body—and succeeded—but as soon as I sat upright, a sharp pain struck my head like an arrow. I gasped and pressed my hand to my forehead immediately.
"Ah… what is this pain…!" I muttered through clenched teeth.
Everything came rushing back at once… the confrontation, the chase, the mission, then the ice… and my fall.
Before I could fully grasp my surroundings, I saw a girl in a maid's uniform standing beside the bed, her eyes wide with astonishment.
Then she called out loudly, her voice excited:
"Milady Lord Celia! The young master has awakened!"
I shot her a frown while clutching my head; her voice pierced my skull like a needle.
"Why are you shouting from here? You could have called her after leaving my room," I said in a heavy, slightly mocking tone, though it did not hide my irritation.
Her face immediately turned red, and she bowed shyly:
"Oh, sorry for the disturbance, young master."
Then she hurried out, leaving behind a heavy silence… and a pain that had yet to subside.
But I was awake, and that meant I hadn't died.
And that, in itself, was progress.
Lord Celia entered as if swept in by a storm, her steps quick, her eyes full of worry she made no attempt to hide. She approached me calling my name, and sat beside me immediately, her uneven breaths preceding her:
"Are you alright? You weren't hurt, were you?"
She looked at my face, searching for any paleness, any sign of pain…
Despite my irritation at her sudden closeness, I couldn't lift my hand to push her away.
Why?
Because her touch… was warm.
It brought back something I hadn't felt in a long time…
A mother's touch…
That genuine worry, the way her gaze surrounded me, as if I were all that remained of this world for her.
A lump formed in my chest, but I held myself together and said in a voice louder than a whisper:
"I'm fine… you can let go of my face now."
She stopped examining me, yet her hands didn't move away immediately.
She looked at me for a long second… a look of sadness, tenderness, laden with unspoken things.
Finally, she withdrew her hands and said in a low, almost broken tone:
"I'm sorry… I bothered you."
I didn't want to look into those eyes.
I didn't want to see the pain, the memories they carried…
So I looked away, at the wall, anywhere that didn't carry her features, and said with feigned coldness:
"No problem… Lord Celia."
But my voice betrayed me slightly, letting slip a trace of longing I refused to acknowledge.
She stared at me in surprise… as if my cold words had struck her unexpectedly.
Then the surprise slowly faded, and behind it, sorrow crept into her features.
She repeated my words as if she could hardly believe what she heard:
"Lord Celia…?"
There was something fragile in her voice, something on the verge of breaking.
She tried to mask it, to respond with gentle detachment, but the tone of disappointment seeped through despite her efforts:
"Fine… call me whatever you like. The important thing is that you are comfortable."
She said it while stepping back slowly, step by step, as if each step pulled a piece of her warmth away.
She left behind a silence charged with tension… and suddenly, my chest felt tight for no apparent reason.
I couldn't make out her features clearly as she walked away.
My gaze was fixed on the empty space, while something twisted inside me.
I wanted to tell her… I wanted to ask her to stay, to not leave, to remain sitting beside me just a little longer.
But I didn't.
The words got stuck in my chest, because the truth was harsher than anything I could speak aloud:
She is not my mother.
Despite her touch, despite her worry, despite the warmth of her presence,
she was not the one who raised me.
I hadn't lived with her,
nor with anyone in reality… except for one person, my mother from my original world.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, then a sudden question leapt into my mind:
"Right… Oris, what happened to her? Where did she go? And is she the one who brought me here?"
I didn't expect an answer, but a familiar voice came from the doorway, deep, calm, and carrying a quiet authority:
"No, it wasn't the one you're thinking of who brought you here, young master."
I turned quickly, and there, as always, stood Andrew.
His practiced smile was still fixed on his face, as if nothing in the world could alter it.
He was holding a tray of food, which he gently placed on the nearby table.
"What do you mean?" I asked, sighing with mild annoyance, crossing my arms over my chest and glancing at him with a mix of seriousness and fatigue.
"And what do you want now?"
Despite my outward calm, questions burned inside me.
If Oris didn't bring me, then who did? And why?
And what does this man know that he isn't showing?
At my words, Andrew didn't smile, nor did he show any sign of irritation.
Instead, his expression shifted for a moment…
The practiced smile vanished, replaced by something else behind his eyes:
Something like reproach… like suppressed pain.
He stepped closer, standing firmly, then spoke in a low voice, sharp as a blade:
"You're not a child?"
He paused for a moment, as if giving me a chance to back down from my sarcasm, then continued:
"Perhaps you've forgotten, young master, that you've been absent from her sight for years. She thought you were dead… or worse. And now, after all that, you say she has no right to worry?"
There was a quiet anger in his voice, but it wasn't directed at me—it was aimed at the pain I refused to acknowledge.
He averted his gaze for a moment, then returned it to me:
"Lord Celia wasn't searching for an heir… she was searching for her son."
He fell silent… then, in a softer tone, as if the wall he had built around his emotions was beginning to crack:
"Say what you will, but she is worried… and she will remain so, whether you believe it or not."
Then he turned his back calmly, leaving silence to dominate the room.
"Damn it…"
The words slipped through my teeth before I could control them, as if I were trying to expel the anger mixed with regret.
"Why must I always utter such trivial things?" I muttered, turning my face away from the door Andrew had exited.
I gripped the edge of the blanket covering the bed, my fingers digging in as if trying to hold onto something… anything.
I was angry… but at whom?
At Andrew? At Celia? Or at myself, whose attempts at coldness betrayed weakness at the first sign of care?
I exhaled deeply, then flopped back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The spark still burned in my chest.
Just when I thought I had grown stronger… this place, this family, always brought me back to the starting point.
The system's voice rang in my head, slicing through the tangle of my thoughts like a sharp blade,
and all those chaotic emotions vanished the moment the notifications appeared before me:
---
• Victory achieved against Ice Princess Oris Neverknight
Updated statistics:
Name: Kyle Astorite
Type: Human
Level: 5 → 9
Mana Points: 2,005,000
Rank: E
Class: Hunter
Ability: Temporary Immortality
. . . .
I stared at the numbers for a moment, my face void of any expression… but inside?
There was a faint sense of satisfaction… I had progressed.
"My level… and my rank too. That's good."
I whispered to myself, slowly lifting my back from the bed.
Five thousand mana poi
nts weren't insignificant… and with the ability I now possessed, I could maneuver more, survive more… and perhaps, control more.
Yet amid all this, one question lingered in my mind like a distant echo:
Was defeating the Ice Princess… just the beginning?