Chapter 7: Shadows and Sparks

Previously, on what was supposed to be a "simple training session"…

I sparred with Mariette.

My new personal maid.

Yes, the ten-year-old who looks like she should be sipping tea and correcting your posture — instead of flipping you into the grass like a seasoned mercenary.

What started as a friendly warm-up spiraled into a magic-infused, high-speed dance of shadows and elemental chaos. I hadn't meant to unleash everything I had, but when she showed off that unnervingly smooth combat skill — definitely not from etiquette class — I had no choice but to get serious.

The world didn't explode, but it felt like it could have.

We clashed.

My mana surged in a spiral of heat, mist, wind, and stone. Her shadows lashed out in every direction like dagger-tipped ribbons. It was terrifying — and thrilling.

Black met flame. Wind clashed with shadowed fang.

The garden trembled.

And then—

We broke apart, panting, standing in the wreckage of what used to be a nice patch of grass. A flower pot smoldered nearby. A squirrel had fainted.

The fight was over.

But something more dangerous had taken its place: honesty.

I doubled over, hands on my knees. "Okay… okay. Pause. Time-out. Mercy. I'm out of breath and out of dignity."

Mariette straightened, not even winded. Unfair.

"You're better than I expected," she said calmly.

"Gee, thanks," I wheezed.

Then I paused. Frowned. Pointed at her.

"…That move you pulled earlier — the one where you spun behind me and nearly broke my arm?"

"Yes?"

"That's not noble family curriculum. That's an assassin move."

Her fingers curled slightly. She didn't deny it. Not right away.

Then she nodded.

"…I was trained as one," she said, voice quiet but firm.

I froze.

"Wait, what?"

"I'm technically what they call a dormant asset. The training was part of my family's… obligations."

"Dormant asset?" I echoed.

"A weapon kept on the shelf until needed. I'm not active. But… I was prepared to be."

My jaw dropped. "You're ten."

Her fingers twitched — almost nervously — before she gave a small, almost sad smile. "And so are you."

I blinked. Then raised a hand, finger shaking at her. "You—you're secretly the protagonist, aren't you? Or worse — a hidden boss character! With a tragic backstory and stylish battle animations!"

"Not that I'm aware of," she said, amused.

I flopped dramatically onto the grass. "This is fine. This is all fine. Just me and my extremely suspicious murder-maid. Nothing unusual here."

Mariette looked up at the sky. "I'm not currently an active assassin."

"That's even worse!"

A moment passed in silence.

I watched her carefully. She didn't look dangerous — not right now. But something about the way she moved, the cool precision, the discipline in her every gesture… it wasn't normal. Not for a maid. Not even for a noble.

Part of me wanted to take a step back.

The other part wanted to step forward and ask if she was okay.

Then the narrator in me stirred.

---

:: Narrator Voice Activated ::

In this world, power often came with roles — structured paths carved into fate itself.

There were Heroes, chosen by prophecy and loved by the masses. Demon Kings, feared and fated for destruction. Knights and Mages, whose skill and soul determined their purity and path.

Some were Pure Knights, those who mastered physical combat to the peak of human skill. Others were Pure Mages, dedicated entirely to one element, often to terrifying effect.

The rest were hybrids — Magic-Knights, Battle-Mages, versatile but unfocused.

And then… there were the Assassins.

Not officially sanctioned. Not taught in academies. But always present. Always hidden.

They served from the shadows — for kings, guilds, nobles, and coin. They wore no medals. They sang no songs.

They were weapons with names.

And Mariette had been raised as one.

Not by choice. Not for glory. But by duty. By legacy.

---

I sat up slowly, brushing dirt from my hair. "So… are you going to kill me in my sleep?"

She blinked. "Of course not."

"…Would you tell me if you were going to kill me in my sleep?"

"Probably not."

"…Fair."

She offered a hand.

I took it.

"You're not afraid?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm terrified," I said with a tight smile. "But I've been scared of worse. Besides, I think you like me too much to stab me. Probably."

She actually laughed at that. Quiet and brief, but real.

We stood there, silent, shadowed by secrets and sunlight.

Somewhere in the distance, a butler gasped.

I didn't even try to explain.

Let him wonder.