The Imperial Ball ended as all grand illusions do—
with elegance.
And distance.
Music swelled one final time.
Couples gathered.
Nobles paired gracefully across the polished marble floor.
The final dance.
A closing spectacle of status, beauty, and political display.
Azriah did not move.
He remained seated.
Calm.
Detached.
A glass of lemon juice in hand.
'…I prefer this.'
Sham scoffed.
"You're avoiding unnecessary social interaction."
A pause.
"Cowardice."
Azriah took another sip.
'Shut up just let me enjoy some peace,okay?.'
Across the hall—
Diana Elysium stood beside the Emperor.
Poised.
Refined.
Every bit the image of imperial perfection.
And yet—
her attention drifted.
Toward him.
A glance.
Then quickly away.
Again.
Another glance—
lingering just a moment longer this time—
before she composed herself once more.
Azriah noticed.
Of course he did.
'…So she's watching.'
Sham chuckled.
"Not subtly either."
Azriah took another sip of his lemon juice.
'Let her.'
Still—
he didn't call her out.
Didn't react.
Simply continued sipping his drink as though nothing existed beyond it.
The dance concluded.
Applause followed.
The night ended.
And soon—
the Antioch carriage departed the Imperial Capital.
Inside the carriage—
silence lingered briefly.
Until—
Asta spoke.
"Wake up before sunrise."
Staring at Azriah.
"Your training begins from tomorrow."
Azriah leaned slightly.
"…Morning?"
Asta corrected instantly.
"Preparation in the morning."
Azriah exhaled.
'This will be unpleasant.'
Sham snorted.
"Oh, extremely."
Moments later—
Asta added calmly—
"And do not be late."
That—
felt like a threat.
Later that night—
within the quiet of the carriage—
Sham reappeared beside him.
"So."
A pause.
"Any Weapon the protagonist fancies."
Azriah leaned back.
'Sword.'
Sham frowned immediately.
"Predictable."
Azriah smirked faintly.
'Effective.'
Sham sounding smug said-
"You should learn the bow."
A pause.
"Precision."
Another.
"Distance."
And—
"Elegance."
Azriah shook his head.
'Swords are cooler.'
Sham stared.
"…Cooler."
Azriah nodded.
'Also—'
A pause.
'The original Azriah used a sword.'
Sham rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Ah yes."
A pause.
"Let us base life decisions on fictional legacy."
Azriah shrugged.
'I'll explore other weapons later.'
A pause.
'For now—'
Another.
'Sword.'
Sham sighed.
"…You lack vision."
Azriah smirked slightly beneath the blindfold.
'Says the one obsessed with sticks and strings.'
Sham looked deeply offended.
"The bow is a symbol of refined lethality."
Azriah waved him off.
'Shut up.'
Morning came quickly.
Far too quickly.
The training grounds of Antioch Estate stood vast and pristine.
And at its center—
Asta standing there.
Dressed in combat attire.
Light.
Functional.
Azriah arrived shortly after.
Also in training gear.
Still recovering.
Still adapting.
Asta wasted no time.
"Sit in the lotus position."
Azriah obeyed.
Still.
Focused.
Asta stepped forward.
Placed her hand lightly over his back—
just above his core.
Then—
released mana.
Violently.
Pain exploded instantly.
"—GHAAAH—!"
Azriah screamed.
His entire body convulsed.
Mana circuits burned.
Overloaded.
Got fried.
It felt like his core was being torn apart—
and rebuilt simultaneously.
"Don't scream its not even that bad."
Asta's voice was cold.
Unwavering.
Azriah's nails dug into the ground.
His breath shattered.
His mind nearly broke.
After what felt like eternity—
she stopped.
Azriah collapsed forward—
barely conscious.
A potion was forced into his hand.
"Drink."
He obeyed instinctively.
Healing surged.
Stabilizing the destruction.
Gasping—
he looked up.
"...What was that for you crazy lady?"
Asta annoyed flicked his forehead.
"I just shocked your core."
A pause and gave a devilish smile.
"Now it will reshape."
Another pause.
"To suit your needs."
Azriah stared.
'That sounds insane.'
Asta ignored him.
"Now—"
A pause.
"Run."
Azriah blinked.
"…What."
"100 laps."
Silence.
"…You just fried my circuits."
Asta smiled slightly.
"Yes."
A pause.
"And you will not use mana."
Azriah's soul visibly left his body.
'…I regret everything.'
Sham laughed uncontrollably.
And so—
he ran.
One lap.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
Pain.
Exhaustion.
Burning lungs.
Shaking legs.
Twenty laps in—
he collapsed.
Flat.
Breath gone.
Body failing.
For a moment—
silence.
Then—
CRACK.
A lightning orb struck the ground—
just inches from his leg.
Burning earth instantly.
Azriah froze.
Slowly—
he turned his head.
Asta sat calmly on a chair.
Watching.
"…Next time…"
A pause.
"…it won't miss."
Azriah stood instantly.
And ran.
Faster.
Cursing internally.
'Why did I ask her to train me—'
Sham was wheezing.
"This is fantastic."
Days passed.
Ten.
Long.
Painful.
Unforgiving days.
Asta's "training" reshaped everything.
Stamina.
Flexibility.
Endurance.
Pain tolerance.
No mana.
Only body.
Only suffering.
To Azriah—
it was simple.
Hell.
And it had only just begun.