Duke Rosenwald's eyes widened in sheer disbelief as he saw his eldest daughter standing there.
"Minerva?! What are you doing here?!"
He had never expected her to come. She wasn't supposed to be here.
Minerva, however, remained stoic. Her expression was calm, serious—determined.
"I'm sorry, Father," she said, already nocking an arrow onto her bowstring. "But as expected... I can't just leave you behind."
Without hesitation, she pulled back, pouring even more mana into the arrow before releasing it with deadly precision.
The projectile tore through the air, its speed incredible, a gust of wind howling in its wake. But Mikhail didn't flinch. He didn't even take a step back. Instead, he caught the arrow easily with his bare hand, snuffing out the force behind it as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze.
His lips curled into an amused smirk.