Chapter 193: A dull encounter

Grimm's slow, deliberate strides echoed through the grand palace corridors, more agitated footsteps trailing behind him. The general did not spare a single glance over his shoulder, despite the persistence of his two unexpected shadows—Amaury and Emilia. The siblings, with vastly different demeanors yet equally stubborn persistence, followed close behind as though they had appointed themselves his personal escort. Or, in Emilia's case, his personal adversary.

With an exasperated sigh, Grimm finally broke the silence.

"Is there any reason as to why you're following me?" His voice was even, but there was an unmistakable edge of irritation laced within his tone.

Amaury, ever composed, offered a calm and measured response. "I am merely here to assure that Emilia does not do anything… stupid." Her words were accompanied by a sideways glance at her younger sister, who was already fuming at the implication.

"I'm not a child who doesn't know basic manners, you know!" Emilia huffed, her arms crossing as she shot her elder sister a glare. "I just want an apology from this oaf. He's a stupid idiot who disrespected royalty."

At that, Grimm exhaled sharply through his nose, as if already regretting engaging in conversation. "Were you not the one going on and on about how you wanted nothing to do with Vel'ryr anymore due to the experimentation?" He spoke as though reciting from memory, not even slowing his stride.

Emilia immediately sputtered, caught completely off guard. "That, uh—" She visibly scrambled for a response, her expression flashing between embarrassment and frustration, before settling on an unimpressed glare.

Amaury, however, had latched onto something far more interesting in Grimm's statement. She narrowed her sharp, crimson eyes slightly, scrutinizing the general with an intensity that made even someone of his stature feel vaguely scrutinized. "You know of the experimentations?"

Grimm clicked his tongue internally, cursing himself for the slip-up. He detested anything remotely troublesome, and this entire conversation was veering into that exact territory. He had hoped the siblings would lose interest and find someone else to pester, but it seemed fate was particularly cruel today. With a resigned shrug, he decided there was no point in denying it.

"I witnessed it upon returning to the capital," he admitted curtly, his words clipped and to the point. "Your older sister, Anuran, bid me to put a stop to Verdantis invaders. I was given the bare minimum of information, so I ended up stumbling upon a lab that was experimenting on humans and demi-humans, siphoning their mana and amplifying it." His voice remained impassive, as if recounting something as mundane as a morning patrol.

"Anuran?" Emilia echoed, the name rolling off her tongue with an odd weight. Her mind immediately flashed back to her previous conversation with her sister, recalling Anuran's sheer lack of interest when she had brought up the unethical experimentations. A grim realization began creeping into her thoughts, an unwelcome suspicion forming in the pit of her stomach. Could it be? Could her father, Avice, and Anuran have been involved?

"But why siphon mana from others?" Amaury interjected, bringing the discussion back to a more analytical front. "Would it not be more efficient to gather magical artifacts and accumulate mana that way?"

Grimm shook his head without hesitation. "I went over the records," he revealed. "Apparently, by abusing the bodies of those who possessed mana, it forced their mana to adapt in order to ensure survival. I've dabbled in science before, and it seems to function on the same principle as 'mana training'—straining it in order to strengthen it."

A heavy silence fell upon them.

Emilia looked downright horrified, a mix of revulsion and disbelief etched onto her face. "They would really go that far…?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

Amaury remained quiet, her expression unreadable, but her fingers twitched at her side. She wanted to reach out—to offer some sort of comfort to her younger sister—but she did not have that right. Not when she herself was no better than those who orchestrated such horrors. She hid her own cruelty behind a mask of loyalty, after all. That was a fact she could not deny, even to herself.

"That is simply the reality of this nation," Grimm stated flatly, with no sugarcoating. "And not only this nation—Galadriel, Verdantis, Terra, Zephyria—every nation holds its own secrets, its own atrocities. To believe the world is black and white is to deny the very nature of sentient beings."

Emilia scowled. "Tch, I don't believe that! I'm sure not all nations are as crappy as this one!" she countered, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Of course not as decrepit as this one," Grimm conceded, before adding, "but you must accept that not all in the world is well."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Had she truly been so ignorant? Had she been so… pampered? The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Her mind drifted again, back to Anuran. That favor her older sister had asked of her—it had seemed so simple, so harmless at the time. An older sibling asking for assistance. Never would she have imagined it had anything to do with something like this. If Anuran was truly involved, then… Emilia felt her stomach twist in disgust. But she could not reveal this to Amaury.

She stole a glance at her sister. Amaury was many things, but naïve was not one of them. She had done questionable things—no, she had done terrible things. But she never justified them. She knew what she was doing, and she knew she would pay for it one day.

Still…

Emilia didn't want to lose her. Not to the same decrepit darkness that had swallowed the rest of their siblings.

Amaury, meanwhile, was silently observing Emilia's downtrodden expression. She knew her sister well—beneath her pompous attitude, she was still innocent. And that innocence was something Amaury desperately wanted her to keep.

("I am already as bad as our siblings. But you, Emilia… you still have a life to lead. One without bloodshed. Hopefully.")

With that thought in mind, she hesitated for only a moment before reaching out, placing a gentle hand on Emilia's shoulder. The younger girl stiffened at the unexpected contact, her head snapping up to meet Amaury's gaze.

"Emilia, never change," Amaury said softly.

"Huh?" Emilia blurted out, her usual bravado momentarily crumbling.

Amaury let out a rare chuckle. "You're a prat sometimes—"

"Hey!"

"—but you're the best when it comes to us Von Auerswald's."

For a moment, Emilia simply stared, wide-eyed. Then, in a completely uncharacteristic display, she flushed.

"W-what!?" she sputtered, utterly caught off guard. "W-why'd you go saying that!? O-of course I know I'm the best!"

Amaury smirked. "But of course."

Grimm, who had been watching the exchange with mild disinterest, snorted. "How sappy."

"No one asked you, you big oaf!" Emilia shrieked.

"Uh-huh."

"Why you—"

Grimm promptly tuned out her impending rant, his sharp senses suddenly catching a distant conversation.

"You've got huge boobs. How'd you manage that?" A long, drawn-out silence followed.

Then: "I hardly think the size of my bosom is important."

"Eh, it probably serves a purpose in battle, no?"

"I doubt that."

Grimm sighed, rubbing his temples. He knew that dull, shameless voice. Knew it all too well. And it could only mean one thing—more trouble.

Grimm sighed heavily.

With an air of resignation, he stepped forward, pushing through heavy wooden doors of what he identified as a training facility.

They were greeted by an extraordinary sight. The training facility sprawled before them like a vast arena, one filled to the brim with a dizzying array of advanced training equipment — machines, sparring dummies, weights, and obstacle courses that could only be found in the rarefied halls of Vel'ryr. The sheer variety of tools was staggering, each piece meticulously arranged. Everything was in its place, despite the overwhelming quantity, and a neatness permeated the room that was almost unnerving in its precision.

But Grimm barely spared the surroundings a glance. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, were fixed on the two figures who occupied the space. He had already identified them before even crossing the threshold.

The first figure stood out like a towering monument. She was a veritable giant, muscles rippling under her skin, her tan complexion gleaming with the faintest sheen of sweat. Her long, wild, vibrant yellow-blonde hair flew outward in waves, each strand alive, framing a face as hard as stone. A one-eyed patch covered her left eye, but the other eye gleamed like a shard of burning ruby. There was an intensity to her presence that made the air itself seem to ripple. She wore a sleeveless, cropped white top, open at the front to reveal her defined, chiseled abs. The top, paired with a short, fitted black garment, emphasized the power that radiated from her. Over it, a layered, decorative belted jacket with bold black, gold, and orange accents clung to her form, the colors catching the light in flashes of brilliance. Her black shorts ended in thigh-high boots, the white stripes on them offering a stark contrast against the dark fabric. The boots, much like her outfit, were crafted for both function and intimidation.

Grimm knew this woman. She was one of the Ancestors—apparently an ancient race shrouded in mystery, whose power was nearly unmatched. Her imposing frame alone made that obvious. He'd only heard whispers of them, rumors of their strength, their origins, and their possible motives. The Ancestors had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, aligning themselves with Vel'ryr, offering their strength with no apparent strings attached. But their presence was unsettling, and Grimm knew that the woman standing before him was no mere mortal.

He was about to shift his gaze, but his attention was abruptly drawn elsewhere. Directly beside the towering figure, a second person stood with an almost incongruous air of casualness. She was smaller, far smaller in comparison, though still with an aura of capability. A young woman, with long, flowing light gray hair that cascaded past her shoulders, soft and unassuming at first glance, yet with an edge to it. Her striking green eyes, bright like emeralds, locked onto Grimm for a moment before shifting toward the Ancestor woman's chest, as though utterly transfixed. There was no hiding it—the girl was staring unabashedly, her lips slightly parted, her focus unwavering.

Her attire was starkly different from the towering woman's. She wore a Vel'ryr military-style uniform, a striking blend of black and red. The black cap perched atop her head had a red band with a silver emblem—a stylized rose with a small wing curling from its base. The cap was slightly askew, perhaps to match her laid-back demeanor. The rest of her uniform was meticulously detailed, with red accents on the collar, shoulders, and epaulets. The trousers fit her lower body snugly, black with delicate threads of red and gold, completed the look. But it wasn't just her outfit that caught attention—it was the distinct, almost rebellious energy she exuded.

"Ah, general." The smaller woman greeted, her voice flippant and almost sing-song.

Grimm's brows furrowed instantly, and his lips twisted into a scowl beneath his helm. "Don't 'ah, general' me, brat," he growled, the annoyance clear in his tone. He folded his arms, towering over her as he approached. The contrast between them couldn't have been more obvious—her small, youthful frame up against his tall mass. "I've been looking everywhere for you, dumbass."

The young woman, unfazed, shrugged and threw a thumbs-up in an almost exaggerated manner. "I was... uh... busy, yeah."

"Busy staring at someone else's tits?" Grimm gestured toward the Ancestor woman, who, for all her intimidating presence, merely raised an eyebrow at the remark.

"Yup!" The girl confirmed shamelessly, a grin spreading across her face. There was no remorse in her expression, just an air of unapologetic mischief.

Grimm didn't even give her a chance to finish the sentence before he reached forward and delivered a sharp chop to the top of her head. The sound echoed throughout the training room with a light but resounding thwack. Her cap tilted askew from the impact, and she let out a half-hearted "Ow..." rubbing the top of her head as she glared up at him.

Emilia, still standing behind Grimm, couldn't help but glance at the strange scene unfolding before her. Her eyes flicked from the bickering pair to the towering figure of the Ancestor. The massive woman seemed to loom over the room, casting a long shadow. Emilia's mind raced, trying to piece together the whispers she had heard of the Ancestors, a people of great power, but their true nature remained elusive.

Amaury, standing beside her, seemed equally intrigued, though her interest was more focused on the imposing warrior. While the large woman's size was impossible to ignore, it was the overwhelming sense of power that emanated from her that made it impossible to dismiss. Her strength wasn't just physical—it was in every movement, every subtle shift of her posture.

"If I may interject," the Ancestor woman's voice suddenly broke through the chatter. It was deep, rough, and yet there was something distinctly feminine about it. "Mallory was merely adamant on sparring with me. Though the Cursed Dragon resides over her, she is quite a capable Descendant." Her words were calm, even matter-of-fact, as if speaking about the most mundane of topics. But there was a sharpness to them.

Grimm turned to regard her properly now.

("She looks like that other Ancestor woman...") Grimm's mind flashed to another moment, recalling a haughty figure he had encountered before. A woman with golden-blonde hair, clad in gleaming armor of matching gold, her piercing red eyes full of arrogance. She had spoken of him with a tone dripping in self-importance, calling him 'worthy.' He shook his head, dispelling the thought. That woman's words were meaningless.

"And you are?" Grimm asked, his voice low but firm, eyes never leaving the Ancestor woman's face.

The woman tilted her head slightly, regarding Grimm with a strange mix of curiosity and respect. "Britha," she replied curtly, and though her answer was brief, there was a weight to it. She clearly wasn't one for unnecessary pleasantries. Grimm could at least appreciate that.

Before he could respond, Emilia, ever the curious one, interjected with an abruptness that immediately set Grimm's teeth on edge. "Hold on—you mentioned a Descendant," she began, jabbing a thumb at Mallory, who was still acting as if the world around her was some kind of joke. "This airhead?"

Mallory, without even a flicker of thought, turned her gaze toward Emilia. Her expression was devoid of emotion, and her eyes were completely unfocused, her gaze drifting lazily down toward the princesses chest.

Mallory made a loud 'tch' sound, clearly annoyed but saying nothing further. Emilia's eye twitched.

Grimm didn't want to be here for this nonsense, but it seemed like the day was destined to unfold in the most irritating manner possible.

"Well," Amaury, chimed in, "as is general Grimm." Emilia didn't seem particularly surprised by the revelation. Given Grimm was apparently stronger than Selwyn, it made sense.

"I am no airhead, little girl," Mallory spoke up again, her tone slow and lackluster. She was clearly uninterested in any of this, but somehow, she still managed to come off as somewhat assertive. "And I'm super strong."

Emilia's face flushed with barely contained rage. "Little girl!? You're not even that much taller!" She bellowed, her fists balling at her sides, as if the comment was some great personal affront.

"Uh-huh." Mallory barely responded, her gaze still far more interested in the Ancestor's chest than the argument at hand.

"Why you—" Emilia started, but the words were cut short by a sharp exhale from Grimm, who had clearly lost interest.

Grimm tuned out the bickering, his attention fully refocused on the towering Ancestor before him. With the brats squabbling amongst themselves, it was clear that the conversation had drifted too far off course.

"I'm surprised to find one of you so leisurely trouncing about," Grimm remarked, his voice steady but filled with the kind of blunt curiosity only a warrior could possess. He took in Britha's massive form, assessing her not just as an individual but as a potential threat. As a warrior, you learned to read people with a glance, and Grimm could tell immediately that this woman was not only strong, but dangerously so.

Britha didn't flinch under his scrutiny, her expression unreadable. "One of my brethren was on palace grounds and I was searching for them," she said, her voice unhurried and casual. "Worry not, I was given permission to wander it." There was a strange, almost endearing quality in the way she spoke, as though the idea of permission from someone else was a mere afterthought. Grimm raised an eyebrow beneath his helm, but before he could respond, she continued. "Unfortunately, my sense of direction is... abysmal. Ahem." She coughed awkwardly into her hand, her face betraying a hint of embarrassment, an unexpected softness in her demeanor. "As such, I happened upon Mallory and she seemed quite enthralled by my... uh... bosom."

At that, Grimm glanced back at Mallory, who was sticking out her tongue at Emilia as the younger girl fumed. "Checks out," 

"Indeed," Britha continued. "And you must be General Grimm. Your lieutenant has spoken a lot about you."

Grimm's eyes narrowed. He didn't like where this was going. "Forget anything that fool tells you," he growled. "Her words can be trusted as much as a clown's."

The ancient warrior's lips twitched slightly, but she didn't press the matter further. Instead, Grimm turned toward Mallory, who was still playing at being disinterested.

He grabbed her by the collar of her uniform and yanked her forward, dragging her off with the ease of someone used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.

"Hey, I was busy sticking it to that small sassy child." Mallory protested, pointing at Emilia, though her voice was more of a whine than a defense.

"We have business to attend to, you imp," Grimm growled. "This is our first festival, after all, and we need to get ready for the pointless celebration first."

"But I don't wanna," Mallory whined, pouting, though there was a defiant glint in her eyes.

"Too bad," Grimm muttered, his tone brooking no argument.

"Ugh," Mallory groaned as they exited the scene, leaving the three behind.

Emilia and Amaury were left standing there, staring after them with varying expressions of bewilderment and amusement.

"They're odd," Emilia muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she exchanged a glance with Amaury.