Chapter 6: A Scroll, a Maid, and Muscle Fatigue

I woke up and nearly died.

Not because of a magical curse or a collapsing ceiling—no, I nearly perished on the spot because someone was just standing there beside my bed like a silent statue from a horror novel.

When my eyes opened, I was greeted not by morning sunlight or the gentle chirping of birds, but by the perfectly polite, mildly concerned expression of my new maid.

"Mariette!" I wheezed, clutching my chest. "Don't just hover over sleeping people like a graveyard ghost! That's how heart attacks happen!"

She blinked. "I did knock. Twice."

"That doesn't count if I'm unconscious!"

"Duly noted, Lady Celia."

I groaned and dragged myself into a sitting position. My hair was probably a bird's nest, and my face had that delightful just-woke-up puffiness that not even nobility could escape.

"Why are you here this early?" I asked, squinting suspiciously.

Mariette held up a rolled scroll, bound in silver ribbon and stamped with my father's seal.

"A message from the Duke," she said, then added with a hint of amusement, "And technically, it's already late morning."

I took the scroll with caution, as if it might explode in glitter. I unrolled it.

> Lady Celia,

Your new tutor's arrival has been delayed by one to two weeks due to complications. Use this time wisely. Prepare yourself before they arrive.

—Your Father

I stared at the parchment.

"Complications?" I muttered aloud. "What kind of mysterious tutor gets delayed by vague complications? Is she riding in on a thunderstorm?"

Mariette tilted her head. "Perhaps it's code for something suspicious."

I gave her a narrow look. "That's not comforting, Mariette."

She smiled with perfect grace. "It wasn't meant to be."

I flopped back onto my pillow dramatically. "Ugh. Fine. Two more weeks. That means two more weeks to impress everyone with my extremely advanced skills... and also two more weeks to avoid tripping over my own magic."

---

After breakfast and a short reading session, I headed outside for my usual training routine. The Averna estate gardens were enormous, well-trimmed, and, more importantly, empty this time of day.

I stretched, sprinted a few laps, climbed a tree or two (for upper body strength, not fun, obviously), then moved on to practice my mana flow exercises. Shadow manipulation remained my strongest affinity, but I was still trying to keep it under control. One time I accidentally animated a teacup. It screamed.

All the while, Mariette sat nearby on a stone bench, watching with the calm gaze of a seasoned nanny. She didn't interrupt, didn't fidget—just observed.

Which, frankly, was unnerving.

After nearly an hour, while I was mid-squat, she finally spoke.

"You do all this every morning?" she asked.

"Of course," I puffed. "The old Celia didn't train, and look how that turned out for her."

Mariette didn't respond immediately. She walked toward me, hands neatly clasped behind her back.

"I understand the intent," she said slowly, "but your training seems to emphasize strength without structure. It's more... survival than strategy."

I blinked. "It keeps me alive."

"Barely."

"Hey!"

She smiled faintly, then tilted her head. "Would you like some help?"

I froze mid-stretch. "Help? From you?"

"Yes."

I frowned. "You're ten."

Mariette arched an eyebrow. "So are you."

Touché.

I squinted at her. "What could you possibly know about training?"

She gave a dainty curtsy. "I come from a fallen noble family. I've had... rigorous education, both academic and practical. Physical training was part of my curriculum."

That sounded suspiciously serious.

I rubbed the back of my neck. "You're full of surprises."

Mariette gave a tiny shrug. "You'll find I'm quite efficient, Lady Celia."

"Alright then." I stood straighter and grinned. "Surprise me."

Mariette didn't move at first. She simply looked me over—assessing, calculating. Then, with a graceful motion that made her skirt flutter, she stepped back and straightened her posture.

"Very well," she said. "Let's spar."

I blinked. "Wait. Spar? Like, actually spar?"

"You said to surprise you."

"I thought you meant technique demonstration or a helpful stretch!"

"I can do that too. After."

I opened my mouth to object, but Mariette had already begun to tie back her hair with a ribbon from her sleeve, her expression unreadable.

"Well then," I muttered, stretching out my arms with a dramatic sigh. "Don't cry when you lose."

Mariette's lips curved in a soft smile. "I won't."

We faced each other on the grassy patch of the garden, a few meters apart. I took a stance—low, balanced, ready to dart or dodge. I hadn't trained this long just to be shown up by my new maid.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Born ready."

She moved first.

Her steps were quiet but swift, deceptively light. I dodged to the side, barely avoiding a tap aimed at my shoulder. I countered with a kick that would've swept her legs if she hadn't leapt back like a cat.

"Not bad," I said, grinning. "For someone who looks like she should be sipping tea."

"Likewise," she replied smoothly, already circling me.

The exchange began to heat up. I switched between physical movements and small bursts of mana. A flicker of shadow curled beneath my feet, and I summoned a tendril to reach for her ankle. She noticed it just in time and flipped over it, landing with an almost dancer-like precision.

"You've been training for a long time, haven't you?" she said between exchanges.

I huffed. "You could say that."

We clashed again—faster, sharper. I let more magic seep into my moves, projecting small bursts of pressure and reinforcing my limbs. Mariette, for all her elegance, was no slouch. She read my motions too easily, countered with swift redirections and well-placed footwork. She wasn't stronger, but she was cleaner.

After a particularly narrow dodge, I conjured a burst of shadow to blind her temporarily and surged forward for the finishing strike.

And then something changed.

Mariette's calm expression faded into focus. Her movements became suddenly... sharper. Colder. She slid low, twisted out of my strike with a grace that felt too trained, and in one fluid movement, pinned my arm behind my back and nearly tripped me.

"Wha—?!"

She let go just before I hit the grass, giving me room to tumble and recover.

"What was that?" I panted.

She tilted her head. "Just a skill I picked up."

"That wasn't 'picked up.' That was a full-on assassin move!"

Mariette simply brushed the grass from her skirt. "You said to surprise you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Right. Then don't blame me for this next part."

I flared my mana.

It surged through me like a dam breaking—raw, brilliant, unstable. Fire licked up my arms, water condensed and spun at my sides, wind roared around me, and the ground cracked faintly beneath my feet. The elements twisted and tangled in a wild storm of color and pressure, too vast to fully control, but mine all the same.

All except lightning.

For a moment, even I froze. I didn't know I could do that. Was this really me? My mana felt like it was tearing at the world—and I hadn't even used lightning.

Across from me, Mariette stood completely still. Then the air around her turned cold—shadows coiling beneath her like living ink.

"You're a shadow user?" I said, stunned.

She met my gaze, calm and unwavering.

"You never asked."

A heartbeat passed.

Then her shadows exploded outward—sleek, fast, and terrifyingly precise. A wave of bloodlust crashed over me like an icy tide. This wasn't a beginner's fear. It was old, honed, and intentional.

"You're seriously scary for a ten-year-old," I muttered, bracing myself.

"You too, Lady Celia."

We moved at the same time.

My elemental mana burst forward in a spiral of heat, mist, wind, and stone. Her shadows struck like daggers from every angle, cold and fluid.

Black met flame. Wind clashed with fang.

The garden trembled.

And just before everything collided—

The world went white and dark at once.

To be continued.