...

How would one define agony? Some might say that the death of a loved one was the pinnacle of suffering; others might describe relentless depression and suicidal thoughts as pure desperation. But Alexander was ready to throttle Narsiz and perhaps himself just to escape the nightmare unfolding before him.

"She started it!" Persephone pointed enraged at Freya while looking toward Alexander, "This is but a barbarian!"

"No, he did!" Freya shot back, unwilling to accept the blame. Instead, she turned her glare toward Zafiro. "T'was the orphan's thinkin' from start to finish."

Zafiro stomped his foot, squaring his shoulders defensively. "I never said you should try to kill them!"

Seated comfortably, Alexander watched the spectacle with weary eyes, slowly chewing on the black-tart candies he affectionately called brain teasers for apparent reasons. The bittersweetness of apple and citrus taste, combined with the lingering burn of death, soothed him, allowing brief moments of clarity amid the storm. Those allowed him to have a clear head, enough to reserve an entire floor of the Wintersleep Hotel for their impromptu meeting, anticipating the possibility of heated tempers. The last thing he needed was for the future heirs to make a scene in public.

'Can't say I'm too surprised,' Alexander mused, watching the squabble unfold. He'd expected tensions, but witnessing the Count's offspring acting as brashly as any Guard Household scion was exasperating. 'Maybe I gave him much credit.'

Styx's voice cut through the clamor, directed at Bjoern. "Those idiots attacked us, believing that liar! This little fucker wants to lead us?" He spat to the side in disgust. "I would have thrashed you if your bitch of a sister hadn't ambushed us!"

Alexander's tail swished lazily behind him as he observed the heated exchange, his ears twitching with amusement as the candy's effects settled in—a warm haze dulling his frustration. Lorient leaned in close, her whisper pulling him back to reality, making his ears twitch. "Alex, I'm not the expert here, but shouldn't we intervene?"

He sighed, his tail pausing mid-swish. "Let them tire themselves out first," he murmured, popping another candy into his mouth. "I haven't the patience to play nanny to a pack of wild pups."

Bjoern stepped forward, his gait steady and eyes aflame. "Oh, ye think ye can stir me, eh?" He jabbed a thumb toward the door. "Let's do this right—real warriors settlin' it with a proper spar!"

Styx opened his mouth to accept the challenge, but Persephone seized the end of his blazer, pulling him back. Her gaze was intense, almost pleading. "Dear, you will not fight this barbarian."

Seeing the exchange, Bjoern smirked, his voice dripping with mockery. "Oh? Yer mistress got ye on a tight leash, eh? Won't be gettin' yer treats if ye step outta line, lil' pup?"

The atmosphere in the room shifted, tension coiling like a spring ready to snap. Narsiz and Lorient exchanged glances before both leaned in to whisper urgently in Alexander's ear.

"Alex," Lorient began, her tone insistent. "Remember how you told me to get my shit together with the Strip? I suggest you stop this before it gets out of hand." She sighed softly. "I like the bar in this hotel, and if they ban us, I might actually kill one of them."

Alexander arched an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at his lips—she had a point. It was amusing that their subjects could ban them, something their Mother had made clear. Other than that, they would also always be met with harsher punishment than any commoner—privilege and expectation went hand in hand.

Narsiz added, his voice steady but firm. "If they get serious, someone might die. And knowing you, you might take out more than one." He tapped Alexander's ears gently. "You're twitching constantly, and the candies are barely calming you. Intervene before you actually kill them."

His words were louder than a whisper, drawing everyone's attention to Alexander. 'You little fucker,' Alexander thought, his lips curving at how effective such a simple trick was on a group of hotheaded teenagers.

Freya was the first to react. "Heh, ye plannin' to take me on? No offense, but ain't ye a bit—" Her grin shifted into a sly smirk. "—too small fer that?"

He bit down on his candy, the sharp flavor cutting through his thoughts. "Fine." Rising from his chair, he stood tall—eye to eye with Styx, shy of six feet but still smaller than her. As he shrugged off his blazer and rolled up his sleeves, Freya's gaze lingered on the scars crisscrossing his arms—a faint blush dusted her cheeks.

Loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt, Alexander's demeanor shifted, an aura of intensity radiating from him. The room seemed to hold its breath. "Wanna have a go? I'm always up for demonstrating what mana can do. Think of it as a friendly exchange of pointers."

Freya's blush deepened, but her grin was feral. She sauntered toward him, her aura flaring like a wild flame. Her green eyes, reminiscent of deep forests, locked onto his. "Aye, this is what I've been lookin' for," she purred. "Let's strike a wager, boy."

When Alexander saw her expression, it was all too familiar—the same possessiveness he'd seen in many accomplished girls of the Guard Households. They didn't just desire him; they wanted to own him. Only Matilda, Vanessa, and Sarah had ever considered his feelings, allowing him to make his own choices without undue pressure. It wasn't entirely consensual, but Sarah, given her position and age, had done her best not to manipulate him.

Was it strange for Alexander, mentally older and more knowledgeable about their behavior, to be so carefree? Not particularly. It was a different world with customs he couldn't change since the wider society gladly accepted them—something he also had no interest in changing, seeing how Merlin went nowhere because the Earth's moral compass held no value in Orbis.

Was it hypocritical for him to force specific changes while allowing others he disliked similarly to stay? Perhaps, if his endeavors had failed. But they hadn't. His unique perspective was making a difference, and he needed to adjust to the natural changes while assessing if his societal solutions had lasting merit.

Returning to the present, he met Freya's starving gaze, which spoke volumes. "I can guess what you want," he said evenly. "Why not spell it out?"

She tilted her head, muscles tensing beneath her skin. "I know a true mate when I see one. Yer the only one who sets my instincts ablaze." Her expression teetered on the edge of ecstasy as her pheromones thickened the air. "I want ya, no matter what promises've been made."

Alexander smiled back though he felt no genuine interest. The prospect of the bet intrigued him more. "Then, what do I get if I beat you?"

Freya spread her arms wide, pushing her opulent chest forward. "Anythin' ye want, lil' boy! I'll grant yer wish—even if it means takin' down me own Father!"

At this, Bjoern stepped forward, alarmed. But Freya silenced him with a sharp glance. "I know yer secret, so ye best keep quiet—'less ye fancy some sufferin'."

An uncomfortable silence settled as brother and sister stared each other down. Alexander chuckled, breaking the tension. "What a ridiculous bet," he said, shaking his head. "Let me be honest—I don't need anything from you."

Freya's aura flared, her hands clenched into white-tinted fists, and her tail flinched erratically, but Alexander had enough. He unleashed his own aura, the air tinged with crimson killing intent that made even the Iron-Claws flinch. "Don't overestimate your standing here," he said coolly. "But I'll humor you. If you win, I'll grant you a rendezvous and the chance to become my second wife. How does that sound?"

Her eyes narrowed, followed by a cocky smile flashing across her face. "An' what d'ye get if ye win?"

Alexander's smile turned cold, arrogance seeping through. "The satisfaction of putting you in your place," he replied, echoing in the silent room. Even Narsiz and Lorient exchanged worried glances at his hubris.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Freya turned to a servant by the door, retrieving a spatial pouch. "Ye'll get yer wish, ye lil' punk," she said, drawin' out two one-handed maces. Her smile was gone. "I'll make ye regret ever underestimatin' me."

Alexander clapped once, the sound sharp and contrasting his joy in the tense air. "Excellent choice! Let's have a friendly duel where I bash your head in," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

...

Standing in the city guard's underground training area—a spacious hall with dirt floors and minimal adornment—the nobles and their guards gathered along the sidelines. Conversations buzzed among them, and even Isabella, who was keeping her distance, found herself chatting with Persephone and Narsiz.

Alexander stretched, happy that he got such an idea. This little duel could immediately mediate between them, showing who had the say. While he disliked such methods, they were the most effective, especially given his time constraints.

'They really don't respect me, but only what I did,' he mused, knowing the difference. They saw him as nothing but a genius they could manipulate since they squabbled right in front of him, not holding back and using their flimsy justifications—a quick duel would make them quickly understand that he would not hold back.

He took his stance, mana swirling subtly around him as he pre-constructed several spells. "Ready to eat dirt?" he taunted, a playful smirk on his lips.

Freya stood across from him, spinning her maces with practiced ease. "Ye know, a genius don't stand a chance against someone who's finished their legacy—once they get serious. No amount o' magic'll close that gap," she said, though a hint of uncertainty flickered in her eyes.

Alexander snorted, "Are you sure about that?"

She shrugged, nonchalant in her demeanor, "Fine, I'll—"

Bjoern called out from the sidelines, interrupting her. "Take 'im serious! Ain't no weakling could control an ancient aura like that without losin' their mind!"

Zafiro interjected, his tone light, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes. "But isn't he just an Architect of Warfare? No offense, but they're not known for one-on-one duels. Brilliant with administration and strategy, sure, but combat?"

The Count's son looked at Alexander as if wanting to help him out, but he disagreed since such a duel could lead to more problems if not properly held, especially with an Iron-Claw who put a high importance on honor. "I could take both positions but decided on the current title because Sarah disliked those things," he smiled cheekily, "For love, you know?"

Freya studied him, then nodded. "Fine." She settled into a ready stance, her expression serious. "If ya think I need to."

"That's what I like to see!" He looked over at the others—Zafiro appeared puzzled, Narsiz facepalmed, while Lorient, Bjoern, and Styx stood with arms crossed, mirroring each other's approving nods. "Who'll play referee?"

Lorient, Styx, and Bjoern stepped forward, exchanging silent glances before Styx spoke up. "I'll start the duel, but we'll all keep an eye out. If things get too heated, we'll step in."

After a moment of silence, Freya and Alexander locked eyes again, the air between them charged with an unspoken challenge. Styx raised his hand. "Begin!"

Both flashed, leaving a blur that made the onlookers gasp. They appeared only a moment later before each other—Alexander's hands ignited with flames, dancing and culminating on his fingertips, turning into searing heat. At the same time, Freya moved with fluid grace, her movements almost otherworldly.

Alexander struck first, a streak of scalding red leaving into the air—Freya bent like a reed in the wind, evading effortlessly. She countered with a swing of her mace, aiming to end the duel swiftly. He responded by manipulating localized pressure spells, twisting his body in impossible ways to dodge.

As her mace whistled past his head, he retaliated with a backward kick, channeling the repurposed slicing technique toward her neck. Freya's eyes widened as she brought up her other mace to block. The clash sent shockwaves rippling through the arena, stray winds cutting shallow lines across her skin and forcing the spectators to shield themselves.

Persephone watched in awe as Lethe had difficulties shielding her. "This is ridiculous," she mumbled under her breath, unable to believe the unorthodox fighting style—using spells in combination with physical attacks. Hope flickered within her. If Alexander could wield magic this way, perhaps she, born without [Energy Veins and Core], could also learn. Her heart beat faster, and warmth flooded her, even imagining the possibilities. The occasional worries she felt about coming here were washed away immediately.

As Alexander and Freya clashed, they separated briefly. He launched compressed earth projectiles toward her, each carrying the force of a battering ram. Freya deflected them, her hands numb from the impact. 'What is this nonsense?' she thought, panic rising. He matched her, move for move, with a skill that belied his age.

After blocking several more projectiles, she realized that giving him space was a mistake. 'He's controlling the battlefield,' she acknowledged, acknowledging that her assumptions of him were belied. Deciding to close the gap, she shifted into her translucent form, slipping past his defenses, the projectiles passing through her, leaving nothing but a swishing sound.

Alexander smirked, his arrogance making her pop a vein. "How fancy," he remarked casually.

"I'll show ye what real strength looks like!" she retorted, her maces aiming for decisive blows—making him unable to flee.

Zafiro called out, concern creeping into his voice. "Be ready to intervene!" He was impressed but knew that skills of this magnitude could be dangerous, especially for those not even in the same growing phase.

Isabella nodded, tension evident in her stance. "He's in over his head!"

Watching them, Zafiro suddenly became confused as Alexander jumped backward, brought his hands together, and formed a rectangle, one eye closed in focus. "Say cheese!" he exclaimed.

Narsiz shouted urgently, "Cover your eyes and ears! Now!"

Before anyone could react, a blinding flash erupted, followed by a deafening explosion. The shockwave rattled the arena, and the spectators cried out, some falling to their knees.

Zafiro was one of them, even though he did as Narsiz said, using considerable [Energy] to shield himself. However, the massive, high-pitched explosion was too strong. As he was on his knees, barely knowing where up and down was, the ringing sound still assaulted his ears—feeling how something wet flowed down the side of his head while simultaneously his eyes burned, 'A monster.'

Zafiro forced himself to look, even though his eyes hurt immensely, only to see a Freya staggering, disoriented, and out of her translucent form. She swung her maces erratically as blood dripped out of her ears, screaming something he still couldn't hear.

Alexander, though, stood to the side, watching her struggle, a hint of concern crossing his features. 'Maybe I overdid it,' he admitted to himself. But it was also a gamble for him as he couldn't be sure when analyzing her [Mystic Skill]—since she could speak and see in her form, it meant that she had access to light and the air around them. It was probable that her skill would become far stronger once it leveled up enough and she went through the tests, but for now, the risk he took played off.

"I'll kill ye, ye little rat—argh!" Her screams were desperate, like an injured wild animal being cornered. Alexander wanted to attack but felt it would be better to end it in a way she couldn't deny afterward—while honor was meaningful, pettiness could still come through due to her age, making his life Outer Circle during the campaign.

After a good minute, Freya could hear and see again, her breath ragged as she locked eyes with Alexander, "Ye lil' bastard!"

He shrugged nonchalantly, his smile unfazed. "Want to see something really cool?" His eyes gleamed dangerously. "Something really, really cool?"

Freya took her stance, her body's muscles coiling like steel ropes underneath her skin, making her appear as if nothing had happened, "Bring it on, lad."

Before he could answer, she disappeared, her speed at least twice as fast as before, making Alexander realize that he had to take it seriously. His body burned as the mana started to flow at extreme speeds, his heart racing, muscles twitching uncontrollably, and his mind flooding with numerous senses—he disappeared too, his speed matching hers flawlessly.

They appeared all around the training ground, sending shockwaves after shockwaves through the area as tremors rang out due to their confrontations—a cacophony of cracking and breaking resounded as Alexander and Freya fought brutally but honestly.

Alexander laughed, a sound both joyous and unsettling. "Come on! Faster! Stronger! Show me how much you want me!"

Freya answered, her screams a mix of frustration and determination. She shifted in and out of her translucent form, trying desperately to land a blow. But he was always a step ahead, matching her move for move.

"Shouldn't we step in?" Bjoern urged, worry creasing his brow. Freya was pushing herself to the brink, and Alexander seemed almost possessed.

Lorient clicked her tongue. "He never fought this hard against me."

Bjoern glanced at her, unable to comprehend what was happening, 'Is this for real?!' Alexander had already won but decided to enjoy the spar, reminiscent of someone that made him shiver, 'Damn it! He is like her!'

As he moved to intervene, a sickening crack echoed as Freya's mace connected with Alexander's ribs. He grunted but retaliated instantly, a searing bolt of flames piercing her chest, his eyes filled with madness and joy, while his sister barely survived, unable to back down.

He was sent flying, crashing into the wall. Freya, clutching her wound, barely remained standing, eyes still blazing with ferocity. Yet, Alexander wouldn't give her any breathing room, shooting projectiles through dust clouds, barely evading and blocking those.

"Buhahaha! Come one, come one! Where is your fucking fighting spirit!" His voice slowly descended into ecstasy, penetrating her body with his attacks—enjoyment seeping flooding his mind, all the stress slowly dissipating after months of passiveness and diplomacy.

Freya's strength waned as the last projectile mangled her hand—the mace slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground. She stumbled forward before collapsing, bloodied and dangerously injured.

The onlookers stood frozen, unable to comprehend the ferocity of what they'd witnessed.

"Someone stop this!" Persephone cried out.

They immediately rushed to her, starting to heal her to the best of her abilities so she would be stable enough to bring her to the Temple, which was luckily only a couple minutes away from the training ground.

'This was better than sex,' Alexander exhaled, his body entirely relaxed.