Edess Academy, Training Grounds.
A golden-haired girl in an orange-red dress stood beneath a shaded canopy, gazing at a rock in the distance. She raised her hand, and fiery particles materialized in midair, gathering to form a swirling vortex of flames.
The heatwaves stirred her hair and dress as a compressed fireball emerged at the vortex’s center. Moments later, the fireball shot out, striking the rock hundreds of meters away. The explosion scattered fire across the debris and scorched the ground, sending a wave of heat even to the shaded area.
“Amazing, Evony!”
“You’re incredible!”
The girl’s companions behind her cheered, but their praise didn’t bring her any joy.
Evony merely gave a polite smile to thank them, then quietly returned to her seat, lost in thought.
Indeed, her abilities were exceptional, and few among her peers could rival her. Yet, this brought her little satisfaction.
Her natural talent made such feats effortless. Compared to historical figures with “Perfect-Grade” abilities, her progress felt lacking. She knew of a boy her age with a similarly rated gift—he had reached Sequence 4 almost a year ago and was now advancing toward Sequence 5. By comparison, her achievements felt inadequate.
Her friends’ compliments stemmed from ignorance of her true potential. In the company of equally gifted individuals, her pace was slow.
She sighed lightly. The frustration lingered, but she refrained from sharing it.
Her father was a high-ranking official, and her mother worked in government; thus, she was constantly mindful of her words and actions. From a young age, she had been surrounded by sycophants and opportunists, leading her to despise social interactions. Most of her admirers either sought her father’s favor or had ulterior motives.
The only person she could truly confide in was her childhood friend, who, unfortunately, had gone to a different school.
As Evony sat, lost in thought, a group of footsteps approached, pulling her attention back. She looked up to see the boys from yesterday’s basketball incident.
“Hello, Evony. About yesterday—our apologies. We brought you a gift to make amends,” one of them said, bowing and presenting a crystal box.
Inside the box was a rotating fire core, a finely crafted artificial core for demonstration and decoration purposes.
Sequence 4: Stellar Flame’s Vortex (Perfect-Grade)
The core could serve as a model for condensing one’s own transcendent core, paving the way to the Stellar Flame’s Vortex pathway—a tool superior to traditional memory cards for passing down transcendent secrets.
Even within Edess Academy, this was a rare and valuable gift, worth millions of federation credits. Such cores were handcrafted by masters in the field, each a unique creation.
Receiving such an extravagant gift irritated Evony. She didn’t lack such items; accepting it would only invite trouble. She could already imagine her father’s lectures.
“Who asked you to do this? Acting on your own, so annoyingly presumptuous,” she snapped coldly.
With that, she turned on her heel and left, her companions following, leaving the boys stunned.
“Evony really is as difficult as the rumors say,” murmured one of the onlookers.
“So arrogant…”
“She doesn’t even try to spare her classmates’ feelings.”
The bystanders whispered, while the boys awkwardly retrieved the box. Their plan to pool resources for a group gift now seemed like a mistake.
“Why? It was such a good gift,” one muttered in confusion.
“Guess we misjudged her. She’s just cold and hard to get along with.”
“Sigh, we really didn’t want to offend her. My family’s business is in energy too. If her father blocks us, we’d lose a lot of money.”
Reluctantly, they left the training grounds, hoping to salvage their dignity.
…
Elsewhere in the training facility, Hestia practiced swordsmanship with Annelie. The two wielded different types of swords—Annelie’s rapier favored speed and precision, while Hestia’s was a formal longsword, its blade slender and its crossguard ornate, exuding elegance in her hands.
Today, Hestia wore a black dress with matching long stockings and a black hairclip, accented by blue rose embellishments. Her crystal-blue eyes and delicate frame radiated a mix of innocence and allure, creating a captivating contrast.
Thankfully, they were practicing in a private room; otherwise, photos of Hestia would undoubtedly circulate across campus the next day.
Having shed her previous timidity, the black-haired, blue-eyed girl’s charisma was beginning to shine.
Annelie, dressed in a navy-blue skirt and white blouse, with gray stockings outlining her graceful legs, moved swiftly across the floor. Her rapier traced silver arcs in the air, striking at Hestia from various angles.
From the start, Annelie gave it her all. This wasn’t their first match, and she had initially underestimated Hestia, assuming her lack of exposure to swordsmanship given her modest upbringing.
However, after their first bout, Annelie realized how wrong she was.
In their past 16 matches, Hestia had defeated her every time—effortlessly. This was despite their agreement to refrain from using transcendent abilities.
In the dimly lit room, their blades clashed repeatedly. Annelie fought with intensity, but Hestia’s movements were fluid and composed. Her longsword, despite its size, danced through the air with surprising agility, as if an extension of her will.
Hestia frequently changed her technique, sometimes adopting unfamiliar styles as if testing and incorporating them into her repertoire.
After another exchange of blows, Annelie stepped back, panting heavily.
“That’s it—I’m exhausted,” the silver-haired girl admitted, sweat glistening on her brow.
Though Hestia’s unfamiliarity with some techniques created occasional openings, she always adjusted just in time to counter Annelie’s strikes, maintaining her dominance.
Annelie paused, but Hestia remained deep in thought, her blade occasionally slicing through the air in graceful arcs, spinning deftly between her fingers.
If one were to closely compare her swordplay with the techniques exhibited by Themisia at the Winter Festival, they would notice many similar details. Yet, their styles diverged in distinct ways.
Themisia’s swordsmanship leaned toward offense, full of flourish and nimble movement—a spectacle of dazzling artistry. In contrast, Hestia’s was introspective and defensive, emanating a quiet yet immovable elegance, like a serene mountain, steadfast and unyielding.
After a moment, Hestia sheathed her sword and approached Annelie, offering guidance on her earlier missteps and areas for improvement.
Having inherited Themisia’s memories and the Azure Lotus Sword Palace’s legacy, Hestia’s understanding of swordsmanship far surpassed even some seasoned masters. However, limited by her current sequence rank and time, she could not yet fully manifest the intricate techniques and secret arts.
By the time the lesson ended, it was already late. The two left the dimly lit training room.
The practice field was mostly empty, with only a few students lingering.
As Hestia passed by, the remaining students couldn’t help but be captivated by her presence. Her outfit—black flowing hair, black stockings, black shoes, and a black dress accented with a few blue roses—was a striking sight. It was hard not to marvel at her appearance.
In the interstellar age, advancements in genetic engineering and cosmetic technology meant that attractive people were more common, and anyone with wealth could enhance their looks. Yet individuals with a distinct, natural aura were rare, and Hestia was one such person.
As she walked past, even without meeting their gazes, she could sense the eyes fixed on her, making her feel slightly self-conscious. This outfit was her first time wearing such attire, a choice recently suggested by her head maid, Pranley.
The outfit’s design and tailoring came from a master in the Central Star Region. After it was delivered to the academy, Pranley insisted Hestia wear it during her daily activities, whether for meals, sword practice, or other routines. In the evenings, the maid would inspect the outfit meticulously for signs of wear or damage.
“Dressing appropriately is an essential part of etiquette,” Pranley had explained that morning. “Creating beautiful clothing is one thing, but showcasing its elegance and maintaining poise in it is another challenge entirely.”
Many wore formal attire poorly, like apes in crowns—mismatched, awkward, and clashing with the intended aesthetic. This mismatch resulted in a 1+1<1 effect, diminishing their overall presence.
These lessons were challenging for Hestia, who had undergone etiquette training but had no idea how to bring out the beauty of this outfit. Her innate purity seemed at odds with the dark style of the dress.
Yet, paradoxically, her natural charm did not conflict with the dress’s design. Instead, it harmonized unexpectedly well. Even Pranley struggled to articulate this.
“It seems you’re just… unique,” Pranley eventually conceded. “This effortless authenticity is much better than forced sophistication.”
Some people are simply captivating by nature. Just sitting still, they draw others in. Despite encountering many noble young ladies, Pranley had to admit that Hestia Thilan was truly exceptional.
At first glance, she appeared ordinary, but with time, her charm became irresistibly magnetic—innocent yet tenacious, soft on the outside but unyielding within.
Etiquette training is rarely pleasant. It’s tedious and requires repetitive practice to perfect every movement. By the end of a day, most noble young women would complain of exhaustion, unable to endure even half a day of such discipline.
But Hestia never voiced a single complaint. Patient and calm, she not only accepted the lessons but also put genuine effort into understanding and refining herself. Her determination made Pranley’s job considerably easier.
Many students would merely go through the motions during training, their minds disengaged while their bodies performed. But Hestia gave her full attention to every detail, a trait that even her instructors found remarkable.
“Although I’m not someone of great stature, I believe Miss Hestia’s future holds boundless possibilities,” Pranley once remarked after observing her progress.
Over time, Pranley developed a quiet respect for the girl. She was not the frail and pampered heiress one might expect, but someone far more resilient.
One evening, after a particularly rigorous session, Pranley asked, “Why is it that you never seem to complain or harbor resentment? My training is strict and often unforgiving, and I’ve made many cry in the past.”
“Perhaps because I’ve experienced hardship before,” Hestia replied softly, seated on a walnut chair, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders.
“In school, I was unremarkable. The teachers were always busy, swarmed by students seeking their guidance. Opportunities to ask questions or receive help were rare and precious to me.”
“Education was one of the few ways I could escape my circumstances. I cherished every chance I got, no matter how small.”
“The teachers had no obligation to explain everything in detail or provide patient guidance. It didn’t affect their income if a single student fell behind. I had nothing to offer them in return, so the only way I could show my gratitude was by listening intently and making the most of their limited time.”
“I deeply appreciated their teaching because they didn’t have to give it. They could have easily dismissed me. But they didn’t, and that meant everything.”
Perhaps it was this mindset that shaped her.
For any teacher, having such a sincere and diligent student would be irresistible. Hestia’s success wasn’t mere luck, it was a result of her relentless effort.
Sitting quietly on her chair, the dark-haired girl was like an unassuming flower blooming in a hidden corner. Her softness and strength coexisted in perfect harmony.