Under the setting sun, a fair hand waved in front of Alan's eyes, pulling his gaze away from the reddish-brown pupils.
"A-Alan… are you okay?"
Alan looked at Sylphie.
The dust had settled. In the rosy light, she was crouching on one knee in front of him, looking at him with concern.
The moon-white long dress perfectly outlined Sylphie's budding figure. In her crouched position, the dress concealed some of her youthful slenderness, accentuating more of her girlish beauty.
Within the slit of the long dress, the layered folds of her white garter socks by her knee were dotted with specks of dust. The white extended up from her straight calf, bent at the knee, to the garter clip at the front of her thigh.
And then, the long stretch of white disappeared.
Followed by delicate, pinkish-white skin.
Because she was squatting, the edge of the sock had slipped down slightly, revealing a faint red line indented on Sylphie's thigh.
It was a sight that made it hard to look away.
Alan looked away.
He smiled at her.
Just as always.
"I'm fine, don't worry. It was just an accident during the spar."
As he spoke, he stood up, as if to show he was alright. Touki rippled out from his feet, stirring up a wind that blew in opposite directions above and below his shoes, 'pressing' the dust to the ground. And so, only a clear wind swirled around them, carrying away the dust from Sylphie's long dress, hair, socks, and skin.
Sylphie looked up at him, thinking that the dazed,恍然 look on Alan's face from a moment ago had vanished instantly, as if it had been an illusion. She blinked, remembering Alan's unwell expression since yesterday.
So…
could it have been an illusion…
As she thought, Alan's voice sounded.
"…Mmm, the dress is beautiful. It suits you very well…"
"You should stand up now."
Hearing this, Sylphie's mouth opened slightly.
In her line of sight, Alan was touching his nose, showing her only his chin. His gaze, unlike usual, was not directed at her as they spoke.
Sylphie's expression suddenly froze.
She quickly looked down.
Sylphie had never worn this kind of noble-style dress with a side slit before. Lacking experience, she hadn't thought about anything else when she hastily knelt down…
What met her eyes was the side slit, which was now almost exposing the top of her thigh. Normally, Sylphie would be embarrassed even to show the clip of her garter socks, but now… forget about the clip… from the side, what was the difference between this and not wearing any pants at all?
Sylphie's pupils contracted sharply. She shot to her feet, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dress, not knowing where to look.
The sharp sound of high heels on the ground pulled her from her thoughts.
She turned her head.
A splash of red entered her vision.
At the top of the stairs, a red dress was being dragged hastily along the ground. Then, as if sensing her gaze, the steps became more dignified, suppressing the unseemly haste. Slower and slower, until they finally stopped.
Hilda stood at the top of the stairs, looking at the two of them.
The air was silent for a long moment, with only the sound of the bunny-eared maid, who was following closely beside Hilda, arranging the hem of her dress.
Hilda spoke.
"Alifa said you were sparring with Ghislaine, Alan, and that you might be injured… but it seems you're not seriously hurt. I don't know much about swordsmanship. Was it all just for show and not actually dangerous?"
As she spoke, she turned her head to the side. In the distance, Ghislaine was still standing in the same spot, her expression as calm as ever, watching them. She was saying something to Eris beside her.
Alan's voice sounded by her ear.
"Yes, my lady. It was just a simple spar. All bark and no bite. There's no need to worry."
Hilda looked at Alan, about to say something, but then felt there was nothing to say. She hesitated for a moment and hummed in acknowledgment.
At this moment, Rudeus also ran over. He first hurriedly bowed to Hilda in the noble fashion, then quickly glanced at Alan, before staring straight at the broken sword in his hand, his face full of astonishment.
"Alan! Are you okay? I thought I saw Sylphie use healing magic on you just now?"
"I'm fine."
"What happened just now? Wasn't it the Silent Sword? Even the Saint-rank Sword of Light couldn't touch you, so how could…"
Alan followed Rudeus's gaze and looked down at the broken sword in his hand, his eyes pausing for a moment on the fractured cross-section of the blade.
"Mmm, actually, my Sword God Style has regressed."
"Regressed??" Sylphie and Rudeus said in unison.
"Yes, perhaps I've been neglecting my practice recently."
Rudeus opened his mouth, unable to understand.
"But two days ago on the road, your Silent Sword was still so impressive."
"Mmm… perhaps it's because I haven't swung a sword in the past two days."
"How could that be…"
Rudeus frowned and subconsciously glanced at Sylphie.
??
"Eh? Sylphie, what's with your clothes? This style… did you and Alan sneak out to buy clothes without me? No, that can't be right… you haven't had a chance to go out these past two days…"
"Ah! This is…" Sylphie was flustered.
"I saw that Sylphie was soaked to the bone, so I took her to my room and helped her pick out some clothes. What do you all think?"
"Thank you, my lady. It suits her very well."
"Mmm… Alan's right… it really does suit Sylphie… but the size…"
The conversation was carried away by the wind.
It brushed past Sylphie's face as she looked down at her dress, then quickly up at Alan and Hilda, her expression nervous.
It danced in the air.
The echo drifted across the courtyard.
And dissipated before it could reach Eris's stunned face.
When Alan was sent flying, Eris had subconsciously wanted to run over with Rudeus. But when she saw Alan sit up from the ground in a sorry state and confirmed that he was physically fine, she had, on a whim, turned and walked over to Ghislaine instead.
She subconsciously wanted to 'demand an explanation'!
She wanted to ask why!
She didn't understand!
Neither the swordsmanship aspect nor the fact that Alan had been sent flying by a single strike made any sense to her!
Because, up until now, the single biggest impression Alan had left on her was—
Powerful!
Whether it was the lightning-fast strike in the rain, the sight of him returning with a head in his hand at dawn, or the scene of him killing a man in a fit of rage upon returning to the Boreas estate yesterday morning. He had even left her grandfather, Sauros, whom she had always considered the strongest, speechless.
Alan was strong!
Had she forgotten that he had saved her life in the rain?
No.
But that feeling of gratitude was overshadowed by the more obvious 'impression of power.'
The fact of his power was too unforgettable. Impossible to forget.
It made her admire him greatly. And she longed to become someone like him.
Her lifelong habit had been to imitate the 'strong' people around her, and then arm herself! To make herself strong!
However, her knowledge of swordsmanship and her reason vaguely told her that Ghislaine was probably stronger than Alan. Because Ghislaine was a King-rank, and Alan was only a Saint-rank.
But her strong intuition still told her that Alan was still very 'powerful.' So it was fine. Alan and Ghislaine were both strong!
And everything that had happened up until that moment—whether it was the incomprehensible, esoteric theories of the Water God Style, or his almost arrogant "Just cut me" in the face of Ghislaine's Sword of Light—all fit this impression.
But just now, that image of 'power' had been shattered by a single, seemingly light strike from the equally powerful Ghislaine.
It made her subconsciously resist accepting the fact before her.
She could not accept that this person, who in just a few short days had risen to the position of her most admired person, was no longer powerful.
So she walked up to Ghislaine, glanced at the broken sword Alan had left on the ground, and asked her question.
"What happened just now?! Why couldn't Alan block the Silent Sword! He had no problem with the Sword of Light!"
But Ghislaine's answer left her stunned.
"Alan is strong."
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