Chapter 9: Curse of the Bloodline

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

Caera took a defensive stance, as both she and Sevren stepped back to create some distance between them. Sevren, however, stood firm, his posture casual, almost relaxed. "Are you ready?" he asked with an easy smile.

Caera hesitated for a moment, confused by his laid-back demeanor. It didn't match the intensity she was expecting. Despite this, she nodded. She knew he was much stronger than he appeared. The pressure he had released when scolding Lauden was proof enough of his power, but she could also tell he was still holding back, suppressing his aura.

Caera shifted her weight, her sword poised, eyes narrowing at Sevren's relaxed posture. "I won't move from this spot, so take your shot," he said with a playful grin, almost too casually. His overconfidence irked her. She had been trained by Scythe Seris herself, and the way Sevren was underestimating her made her all the more determined.

"Alright," Caera responded, her voice steady as she adjusted her stance. She focused on her mana, feeling it pulse through her veins as she prepared to strike.

Without warning, she launched forward with a burst of speed, her sword slicing through the air with precision, aiming for Sevren's torso. The blow was swift, clean, and infused with just enough mana to show she wasn't holding back.

But, as if moving on instinct, Sevren tilted his body slightly, allowing her blade to pass mere inches from his side. He hadn't even lifted his sword. "Hmm, not bad," he commented, still standing firmly in place as promised, "but you'll need more than that to make me move."

Frustration sparked in Caera's chest, but she kept her composure. She spun on her heel, gathering fire mana into her sword. This time, flames licked the blade's edge as she swung again, determined to wipe that grin off his face.

Yet, again, Sevren effortlessly sidestepped, the flames harmlessly dissipating into the air. "Are you holding back on purpose?" he teased, clearly enjoying himself.

Caera bit her lip in frustration. It was clear now—he was leagues above her. She concentrated more mana into her Emblem, intensifying the flames that now crackled along her sword. She focused just like she had during practice, pouring her energy into the blade. The heat surged, and she swung the sword with a powerful arc, sending a wave of flames hurtling toward Sevren.

The flames were fierce—lethal if they struck someone unprepared. But Caera knew Sevren was no ordinary opponent. She expected him to dodge, to break his promise of not moving from his spot. If he did, she'd gain a small victory, using the distraction to her advantage.

But once again, her expectations were shattered. The arc of flames dissipated mid-air, fizzling out as though they had hit an invisible wall. Her eyes widened in shock. 

A series of mana shields had appeared before Sevren, effortlessly absorbing the force of her attack.

"What?!" Caera exclaimed, bewildered. "How did you do that?"

Sevren, still grinning, shrugged with a playful smirk. "Do what?"

"How did you create a shield? You said you were an Instiller and somewhat of a Striker, right?" Caera asked, her mind racing to make sense of the situation.

Sevren chuckled, clearly enjoying her confusion. "Hmm, maybe I'm also a shield—," he teased, pulling out a small black rod from his dimensional ring. It was about the size of his palm, with a green stone embedded at the bottom. He concentrated for a brief moment, then pointed it toward Caera.

Before she could react, a small wind bullet shot out from the rod. It wasn't anything overwhelming, and Caera easily dodged it by leaping to the side. But the revelation stunned her.

"—Or maybe I'm also a Caster," Sevren said with a wink.

Caera's eyes widened. "You... have multiple roles?"

Sevren grinned mischievously. "Who knows? Maybe I'll tell you if you can manage to make me move from this spot~" His playful tone only fueled her growing determination.

Caera, despite being a child, had an insatiable curiosity. She had always been drawn to solving mysteries, and Sevren was proving to be full of them. She knew from her readings and Seris's teachings that some powerful mages, with enough experience and mastery of rune forms, could take on multiple roles. But Sevren's apparent ability to handle four different roles, all at just fifteen years old, was extraordinary. She couldn't resist the urge to uncover his secret.

Determined, Caera activated her Crest: Frost Nova, reinforcing her defenses by creating patches of ice across her body, concentrating around vital areas. Her entire arm became encased in ice as a protective layer formed around it. If he was a caster, she needed all the defense she could muster, in addition to her mana reinforcement.

This time, Sevren took the initiative. With a flick of his wand, he launched a series of wind bullets in rapid succession. Caera darted to the side, dodging as best she could, but his casting speed was overwhelming. She couldn't avoid every attack and was hit a few times. Each strike dented the ice protecting her arm, and she could feel the growing pressure with each blow.

Despite the relentless barrage, Caera gritted her teeth and pushed forward, determined to close the distance. She weaved and sidestepped, managing to get close enough for a counterattack.

But just as she was about to strike, a voice suddenly cut through the air, filled with authority and barely restrained anger.

"Caera! Sevren!"

Both of them froze mid-motion, turning toward the source of the voice. There, standing at the entrance to the garden, was Lenora Denoir. Her steady gaze held a simmering anger beneath the surface.

"What is going on here?" Lenora demanded, her voice echoing through the quiet garden.

"I—we were just—" Caera started, but her words faltered under Lenora's intense gaze.

"We were just sparring, Mom. I thought it'd be a good way for Caera to get some training in."

"Sparring?" Lenora's brow furrowed, clearly displeased. "This looked less like a friendly spar and more like a reckless battle. What were you thinking, Sevren?" 

Sevren opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Lenora turned her sharp gaze toward Caera. "And you, Caera. Do you realize what could have happened if you were injured? There's an important event tonight! Would you attend with bruises and injuries?"

Caera lowered her head, feeling a wave of embarrassment. She hadn't thought that far ahead. This would be the first formal event she'd ever attend. Her previous birthdays had been small, private affairs with only Seris, Nessa, Cylrit, and a few servants present. It suddenly dawned on her that she knew almost nothing about proper etiquette for such gatherings. She made a mental note to ask Nessa for guidance when they met later.

"Caera!" Lenora's stern voice snapped her out of her thoughts, and she realized she had missed whatever Lenora had just said.

"Were you zoning out in the middle of a conversation?" Lenora asked, her voice firm.

Caera's cheeks flushed as she quickly replied, "I'm sorry. I just realized… I don't know anything about social etiquette for tonight's event."

Lenora's stern expression softened slightly, though her disapproval remained. "That is something we'll have to remedy immediately. Nessa should be able to help you, but this is no excuse for recklessness. Both of you need to be more mindful of your actions, especially in moments like these." She paused, giving them a final, sharp look. "Now, as I was saying, you are not to practice unless Sycthe Seris is here to train you, is that understood?"

"Huh? Why?" Caera asked, taken aback by Lenora's words. Training had become such a natural part of her life, as essential as breathing. The idea of not being able to practice freely felt like being told she couldn't walk anymore.

Lenora's expression darkened as she replied, "Do you understand the consequences if something were to happen to you? If a Vritra-blood child like you is harmed, the entire Denoir family—every generation, regardless of their status—would be executed. High blood or not, no one would be spared."

Caera's heart sank as the full reality of her situation began to settle in. She had heard whispers about the consequences of her heritage but had never really let them sink in. Training was her solace, her way of feeling strong and in control. The idea of not practicing freely felt like a prison.

"But... what if I need to defend myself?" Caera's voice trembled slightly, struggling to keep her composure.

Lenora's voice remained firm, but not unkind. "You bear the Denoir name now, and as Scythe Seris's disciple, no one would dare challenge you. That is the reality of your position. This is the end of the discussion."

Lenora's final words left no room for argument. "Go to your room, Caera. Ask Nessa to teach you the proper etiquette after you've bathed. And you, Sevren," she added, her tone sharp, "follow me."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, Sevren trailing behind her. His eyes lingered on Caera for a moment, as if wanting to offer her some comfort, but Lenora's commanding presence left him no choice but to obey.

Caera stood alone in the garden, watching them disappear into the distance, a hollow feeling growing in her chest. The weight of her responsibilities, her bloodline—which felt like a curse now, and the limits placed upon her freedom were becoming all too real.

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A/N: Short chapter and could have probably been written better, but it is what it is, just wait for 3 or 4 more chapters since the Central Academy arc starts. Anyway, vote if you enjoyed it.