Idol Admiration and Preparation

The noble ladies stood in silent awe, their delicate fans forgotten in hand as their gazes fixated on the lone figure dominating the training grounds.

From their vantage point on the elevated stone corridor, they saw her—Darkness.

Dressed in simple, black training attire, her long hair tied back, she cut a figure of effortless grace and power. Draped across her shoulders was an iron pole as thick as a grown man's thigh, its sheer weight defied by the fluidity of her movements. Each step was precise, each breath controlled. The pole, despite its mass, seemed like an extension of her body, moving as if bound by her will.

Beads of sweat clung to her skin, glistening under the afternoon sun. The hard lines of her muscles flexed and relaxed in a rhythm so perfect it seemed almost inhuman. Every droplet that traced down her jawline caught the light, adding a surreal glow to her already breathtaking figure.

"She's not human… she's a vision," murmured a Baron's daughter, breathless.

"I've never seen strength look so beautiful…" whispered another.

"She's not just a woman—she's a legend," a third admitted, her voice tinged with awe and sorrow.

Bittersweet emotions filled the hearts of these noble daughters. They had been raised amidst velvet halls and golden cages—taught to smile, to flatter, to dance in the strict choreography of noble expectations. Many of them had once dreamt of wielding swords, of standing under open skies as warriors. But tradition had bound their dreams, their families had clipped their wings.

Yet here stood a woman who had defied it all. A woman of noble grace, clad in a butler's uniform, but radiating the dignity of a sovereign.

Darkness.

And she didn't even glance their way.

Among them, Rubina stood stiff, fists clenched tightly by her sides. Her polished nails dug into her palms, but she didn't care. Her heart simmered with a cocktail of admiration and burning jealousy.

"Why… why is she always ahead of me? Why do I feel so small next to her?"

Yet, Rubina knew. Darkness had never sought to overshadow her. She had always been there, subtly guiding her, refining her, elevating her in ways Rubina couldn't admit aloud. But the gap between them—the gap of willpower, of inner freedom—felt immeasurable.

Darkness had never desired Rubina's position as the Elfred heir. She had only sought the power House Elfred could provide to shape her own path. And when the day came, she would leave it behind, walking away with the unshakable dignity of a lion returning to its wild domain.

That freedom—that independence—was what Rubina envied the most.

Around her, the noble ladies watched in silence, their minds consumed by the same burning thoughts.

"I want to be more."

"I will grow stronger."

"Even if my family doesn't understand me, I will make them see."

Their admiration was not fleeting fandom—it was a rekindling of buried desires. Seeing Darkness wasn't just witnessing beauty or strength; it was facing a reflection of what they once dreamed to become.

Lady Meliora, her keen eyes always observing, let out a soft sigh.

"She won't come to us," she said, breaking the heavy silence. "She's not someone you summon with status."

Another noble girl, smiling wistfully, added, "She's a star. You admire her from afar."

The words stung, but no one could deny their truth.

Even Rubina, burning with pride, had to grit her teeth and accept it.

One by one, the noble ladies began to turn away, their hearts brimming with silent resolve. They had come seeking an audience with Darkness, but now they realized that a mere conversation wasn't what they needed.

What they had seen—what they had felt—was far more profound.

The tea party concluded not with lively chatter, but with introspective hearts. Each noble daughter left carrying a spark of newfound determination, an ember that had been reignited by the mere sight of the untouchable idol.

Rubina remained standing alone at the corridor's edge, her voice barely a whisper, laced with frustration and ambition.

"One day, I'll stand beside you—not as a shadow, but as your equal. No… I will surpass you. With authority, with influence, with everything House Elfred can provide me… I will rise above you."

Far across the training grounds, Darkness, amidst her relentless rhythm of motion, paused ever so briefly. Perhaps she sensed Rubina's fierce gaze piercing through the distance. But she never turned around.

As the noble daughters dispersed, returning to their carriages, Darkness finished her grueling session. The sky had begun to mellow into a golden dusk.

She checked the time.

'The party must have ended by now. I should go meet Lady Rubina,' she thought.

Near the edge of the grounds, Chris, resting after his own training, noticed her approach. Darkness called out casually, "Chris, I'm heading back. Keep an eye on the recruits. Drill them harder tomorrow."

"Yes, Master. Your teaching methods are always… effective," Chris replied, swallowing his nervousness.

Darkness smirked, half amused. "If you weren't one of my students, I'd have punished you for that smug tone."

"A-Ah, my apologies, Master!" Chris bowed hastily.

With a dismissive wave, Darkness transformed her sweat-drenched clothes into a clean butler's uniform using her own spellcraft and briskly made her way towards the secluded garden.

The garden was quiet—emptied of guests, now a haven of serenity.

She walked among the herb patches, whispering softly as she plucked leaves and flowers. The plants responded, their stems bending towards her hands as if greeting an old friend.

"Thanks for the help," she said with a rare softness. The leaves shimmered in response.

Gathering her ingredients, Darkness retreated into the kitchen. It was empty; everyone knew better than to intrude during her personal crafting time. They had witnessed once—when a careless servant disturbed her—that even Darkness had limits to her calm.

The kitchen transformed under her presence into a stage of controlled chaos. Ingredients floated mid-air, spinning and transforming under the precise choreography of her magic.

Her control was absolute.

Herbs dried and crumbled into powder, fruits pulped into jewel-toned jams, floral essences distilled and fused into aromatic infusions. Darkness layered Time Magic upon her meticulous alchemy, fusing each element into a state of perfection.

This was no simple preparation of tea or preserves—this was art, a flawless symphony of magic and mastery. A display of control that blurred the line between craftsmanship and miracle.

When she finished, the shelves gleamed with glass jars and silver-topped containers, each holding her latest creations. She exhaled slowly, satisfied.

A familiar pulse echoed in her mind—an incoming magical communication.

[Internal Shift]

"Why are you contacting me? I told you I'll come tomorrow night." The voice that projected was not hers; it was a male's, altered by the spell to protect her identity.

["I understand, Lord. But your gift is ready."]

"Oh? So, you've broken it already?"

["No, we played a little. It begged for mercy."]

"Trash like that always does."

["We are awaiting your presence."]

"I'll come at night."

The link severed.

Darkness's gaze hardened. 'That little b*stard. It took me months to corner him, and he breaks so easily. No matter—tonight, I'll show him true justice.'

But before her inner smirk could deepen, the kitchen staff timidly entered. They knew her time of her preparation ending.