Chapter 7
Seeing the thick barrier, Aisel smiled in satisfaction—until Winter’s question made his face crumple at once.
“What do you mean, how? You don’t even know that?”
“I’ve only just begun awakening. It hasn’t even been a month yet.”
“Tch. I knew from the very beginning.”
The genius, who had never once taught magic to an ignoramus, pressed a hand to his forehead in visible discomfort.
Annoyed beyond words, Winter asked,
“Then how did you make it, Mage?”
“With my will. I made it because I wanted to.”
It sounded as absurdly simple as saying, ‘I poured water into a cup.’
If things really worked exactly as one wished, she wouldn’t still be lying here half-dead like this.
Still, Winter didn’t dismiss Aisel’s words lightly.
After all, he was the disciple of the Great Sage—and the second greatest mage in the world.
“I’ll try, then.”
Answering with a sigh, Winter closed her eyes and extended her left hand, just as Aisel had moments earlier.
Will. With my will.
In her mind, she pictured the hemispherical barrier Aisel had created.
Then she imagined a bomb falling onto that solid shield—boom—blowing a massive hole straight through it.
The thought alone was exhilarating, and a faint smile curved her lips.
That was when it happened.
A strange sensation tickled her fingertips.
When she slowly opened her eyes, golden mana like shimmering heat haze was gathering around her hand.
“…Good heavens.”
“See? You can do it if you try.”
Aisel spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
As if tossing out a vague comment was all he’d done.
Winter had plenty she wanted to say, but she held back, worried that the petty mage might get sulky.
The real problem came next.
As if eager to praise her for wanting to break the barrier, the golden mana clustering at her fingertips began to swell and writhe even more violently.
Aisel, who had been smug until then, finally noticed and grabbed Winter’s wrist.
“Hey—wait—”
But at that moment, the condensed mana shot straight out of Winter’s hand.
BOOOOM!
A thunderous explosion shook the ground itself.
“Mmm…”
Winter let out a soft groan as she opened her eyes.
She had definitely been measuring mana with Aisel… but now she was lying in bed.
Judging by the dim light outside the window, quite some time had passed.
“Tch. You’re awake?”
A blunt voice cut through her hazy vision. Aisel was sitting by her bedside.
Despite his tone, there was clear relief in his slightly furrowed brow.
“Why… are you here, Mage…?”
“Your mana exploded and blew up the reception hall.”
“…What?”
Winter blinked, utterly confused. Blew up the reception hall?
Her first thought was Maydillian—whether he might have been nearby.
She knew, consciously or not, that he often lingered around her.
“Was anyone… killed?”
“No. No injuries either.”
“Oh.”
Thankfully, her favorite character hadn’t even lost a single hair.
Nodding quietly, Winter suddenly asked something that came to mind.
“But didn’t your barrier stop it?”
“……”
“Then how did the reception hall blow up?”
“……”
At her murmured question, Aisel had no proper answer.
“Cough.”
Avoiding her gaze, he merely cleared his throat.
Watching him in silence, Winter changed the subject.
“So how is my mana? How long can I live?”
Even though she already knew the ending, she asked anyway. There wasn’t much else to be curious about in this situation.
At her question, Aisel shifted his posture. Letting out a deep sigh, he spoke with a heavy expression.
“To start with the conclusion—you are blessed by mana.”
“…Oh. Really?”
“Yes. It was as if all the mana in the world was responding to your will, rippling around you. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. It’s an extraordinary blessing for a mage. However…”
“……”
“For you, it’s no different from a curse.”
A blessing and a curse.
Despite the duality of his answer, Winter didn’t waver.
Aisel called it a curse, but Winter had never thought of it that way.
Because thanks to it, she had met Maydillian.
That alone was enough.
Thinking that, she asked quietly,
“Because my body is too weak?”
“Yes. It’s like trying to pour the ocean into a cracked glass. Your body won’t endure it for long.”
“I see.”
Her calm nod made Aisel flinch instead.
He’d worried a lot, hearing she was called the ducal house’s executioner and all—but what executioner? She looked more like a prematurely aged child.
Yet the strange yearning burning in her golden eyes remained.
She had no attachment to her own life… so what, exactly, was she looking toward?
His thoughts growing tangled, Aisel continued out of obligation.
“For now, I’ll prescribe spells and medicine to suppress your mana. We’ll observe your condition a bit longer.”
“…Yes.”
So in the end, spells and medicine.
The process was different, but the result was the same.
Winter’s expression darkened at the thought of enduring a little more comfortably with Aisel’s help, even if she died at eighteen.
After Aisel left, she knew she would lose control of her mana, collapse, and cough up blood again and again.
In the original story, Winter vented her anger on Maydillian every time that happened.
Of course, she wouldn’t do that now.
Still, physical restrictions meant restrictions on her freedom as well.
And time was already painfully short if she wanted to move for Maydillian’s sake.
Her heart grew restless.
Seeing her expression, Aisel awkwardly spoke up.
“Don’t… worry too much. I’ll look for other methods, somehow.”
“…Thank you.”
Of course, Winter didn’t place much trust in his words.
Soon, Aisel left, and Winter was alone.
“…Should I tell Mother to start saving money now?”
The cost of the medicine Aisel prescribed in one go alone was equal to a commoner’s entire yearly living expenses.
No matter how the Vladimir ducal house was said to possess half the empire’s gold, such astronomical costs piling up continuously would surely be a burden.
Ruffling her already messy hair, Winter lay back down on the bed.
The gloom lingered for days.
At least the spells and medicine helped somewhat—she no longer felt that crushing tightness in her chest or the ringing in her ears as often.
After visiting the reception hall blown wide open by her mana, Winter headed outside.
At her instruction, Maydillian had begun receiving private sword training after the knights’ morning drills.
His instructor was none other than Eustace Hanger—the knight who had taken Tyge’s wrist before.
Leaning against a tree, Winter watched events unfold much like she remembered.
Just like in the original story, Eustace became Maydillian’s teacher.
When Maydillian noticed Winter, his face lit up.
After saying something to Eustace, he ran over quickly.
“My lady!”
Training had hardened Maydillian’s body noticeably.
He had once been smaller than her, but now their eye levels were gradually aligning.
Seeing that, Winter felt oddly proud.
“Hi, May.”
“I heard you collapsed again not long ago. Are you okay today?”
“Of course. Naturally.”
Winter smiled gently. The wind stirred, her black hair swaying softly.
Maydillian averted his gaze slightly before speaking.
“J-just a moment, please.”
He hurried off somewhere and soon returned with a blanket.
Worried the cold wind might affect Winter’s poor health, he carefully wrapped it around her.
“It might feel a bit stuffy, but please keep it on.”
As he tucked the blanket up to her neck, Winter let out a low chuckle.
“Thank you.”
“A-and… um…”
“Yes?”
“And when you’re feeling better, run around the training grounds with me again.”
Her smile deepened at those words.
Unable to hold back her affection, Winter suddenly pulled Maydillian into a tight hug.
“M-my lady!”
Maydillian yelped in shock, his ears turning bright red.
But afraid he might hurt her, he didn’t dare push her away and just stayed still.
Soon, Winter released him.
“May, could you do me a favor after training later?”
“Yes! I will!”
Not even knowing what the favor was, Maydillian nodded eagerly.
At that moment, unable to watch the two children’s sweetness any longer, Eustace approached.
“My lady. Please stop teasing the poor kid and let him go.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not teasing.”
“Then shall I call it puppy love?”
“Sir Hanger, is that something you say to a ten-year-old?”
“Well… lately, you don’t really seem like an ordinary ten-year-old.”
For an instant, the always-lazy Eustace’s eyes sharpened.
Winter avoided his gaze and muttered,
“…What are you even saying.”
“What ten-year-old blows a perfectly fine mansion to pieces like that?”
Eustace grinned, pointing at the ducal residence with its gaping black hole.
“Who knew it’d turn out like that.”
Watching Winter grumble softly, Eustace adjusted the blanket that had slipped and playfully ruffled her hair.
“Get well soon and cause another big incident.”
“I was planning to.”
Lowering his head, Eustace added quietly,
“And pick out a wrist you don’t like in advance.”
At that, Winter smiled wickedly out of habit.
“Hm, that is tempting.”
“Uh—S-sir Knight!”
Just then, Maydillian, who had been watching their conversation, called out to Eustace.
He tilted his head and swung his wooden sword clumsily.
“Is… is this how you do a frontal slash?”
Eustace looked down at him with a meaningful expression.
“That posture is a mess. What happened to everything you learned? Try again.”
Before long, the two of them returned to the training grounds together.
Strangely enough, no matter how many times Eustace corrected him, Maydillian couldn’t get the frontal slash right.
“Huh. He’s usually such a fast learner—what’s gotten into him today?”
Eustace said loudly, clearly intending someone to hear.
Suspecting it was because someone was watching, Winter turned her gaze away.
She took out a neatly folded piece of letter paper from her small handbag and looked toward the ducal estate’s main gate.
It was time to move on to the next stage.
