Obey Me Now

The soft sound of a razor scraping against skin resonated gently. Kate expertly trimmed the last stray hair from Belvan’s beard. He moved to prepare a mirror, but Belvan waved him off with a smile.

“No need. I’m sure you’ve done it perfectly, as always.”

“I wouldn’t dare say so, Your Grace. There is always room for improvement.”

Belvan ran a hand over his neatly trimmed beard and spoke, his tone light but his words serious.
“So, what is it you’ve been wanting to say?”

His gaze toward Kate was kind, but there was a weight behind it. Kate, noticing, stifled a sigh. Once again, he had failed to fully hide his emotions. A servant should never burden his master with such concerns, but time and time again, he found himself unable to suppress his worry for the man he served. Bowing deeply, Kate began.

“I beg your pardon.”

“I understand, Kate. You care for Fiore as much as I do, so of course you’re worried—about my decision to give Amelia this chance.”

Kate decided to forgo any pretense and spoke frankly.
“Your Grace, I understand your feelings. You cherished Lady Ailey deeply, and her passing caused you immense pain. But allowing Lady Amelia to take the headship trial… it’s too much.”

His voice was firm.
“If the sacred trial is tarnished, the other tiers won’t stand for it.”

“Particularly Isana. He refused to take the position himself because of how much he respects Fiore.”

“Without their trust, Fiore’s future is uncertain.”

“I trust Amelia,” Belvan replied, his voice steady. “She must have a plan. And this time, I want to be her grandfather—not just Fiore’s duke.”

Kate froze at the unexpected confession.
“Even if this choice damages my honor as Fiore, I want to give her this chance. I owe her that much.”

Belvan’s deeply etched eyes glistened with a trace of sorrow.
“Because of this title, I couldn’t protect my beloved daughter. I left that sick child alone.”

“Your Grace…”

“For just this once, for this fleeting moment in my life, I want to act as a grandfather. So, please, as my old friend, understand.”

Kate couldn’t bring himself to argue further. But there was one thing he couldn’t yield on.
“I hope Lady Amelia doesn’t betray your faith. As someone who serves you, I don’t want to see your honor tarnished—not even a little.”

Belvan chuckled heartily at that.
“Thank you, Kate.”

Though most doubted her, Belvan felt certain Amelia could achieve something remarkable. Her words and the determination in her eyes had been genuine.

The crack of gunfire echoed across the empty training ground. Though no presence could be felt, the sound of bullets slicing through the air shattered the stillness, obliterating the target in an instant. For thirty minutes, the sharp, methodical sound of gunfire continued. After fifteen rounds, Messarina emerged from the shadows, her breathing slightly labored.

Dressed in a figure-hugging velvet gown with a sleek black musket slung over her shoulder, she strode toward the target. Ten shots had struck true, while five veered slightly off. Despite the missed shots, Messarina’s satisfaction was evident.

“Fifteen rounds in thirty minutes. That’s more than sufficient,” she muttered to herself.

“As if I even need to try. She can’t even shoot. This trial will end in humiliation for her, anyway. With that failing heart, what could she possibly hope to accomplish?”

The Musketeers used their firearms as conduits for magic. By channeling mana into bullets—known as magic bullets—they became formidable marksmen capable of devastating precision and power. Creating magic bullets, however, required significant mana and time, limiting their use to sniping or stealth operations. In war, they were invaluable, capable of striking unseen and instilling fear in their enemies.

Messarina’s magic bullets, primarily wind-based, displayed impressive power. The average Musketeer could conjure ten bullets in thirty minutes, but she had managed fifteen—a testament to her skill.

“This is a guaranteed victory, but I’ll make sure to crush her completely. She won’t dare challenge me again.”

From a distance, Isana and Kallen observed her training. Kallen couldn’t hide his amazement.
“Wow. Lady Messarina is impressive. Fifteen bullets in thirty minutes, and she barely looks winded.”

Isana, chewing on a lollipop, remained unimpressed.
“But only ten hit the target.”

“Her main attribute is wind. The power is good, her stealth is excellent, and her accuracy is decent. Honestly, she’s the strongest contender. I mean, isn’t the result already clear?”

“You’re awfully confident for someone who hasn’t seen all the competitors.”

“There’s no one else with skills like Lady Messarina. The trial is tomorrow, and no one stands a chance.”

“What about Lady Amelia?”

Kallen’s face darkened.
“Lady Amelia… she’s the strangest of them all. She’s not even using a musket.”

“Not using a musket?” Isana’s curiosity was piqued. For a Musketeer, the musket was essential. Lacking rapid-fire capability and limited to long-range attacks, no other firearm was considered viable.

“She’s using a revolver.”

“A revolver?”

“Yes. And instead of shooting, she’s been fighting with a sword.”

“Hah… hah…”

Amelia stood on shaky legs, her hair damp and disheveled, her loose shirt and leather pants caked in dirt. A revolver rested in her hand, its grip worn but fitting her palm perfectly.

In front of her, Iclite held a wooden sword, his posture composed and unruffled. In stark contrast to Amelia’s exhaustion, he appeared calm, his attire immaculate.

“Let’s continue,” Amelia said, her voice strained.

With a nod, Iclite lunged, swinging the wooden sword with precision. Amelia dodged, raising her revolver and aiming at his head. Before she could steady her aim, he countered with another strike, forcing her to evade again. Their duel was a relentless back-and-forth of sword against revolver, neither relenting.

Iclite ended the exchange with a final thrust, which Amelia narrowly avoided, her revolver pointed squarely at his forehead. She stopped, her chest heaving as she fought for breath.

Iclite regarded her calmly, his own breathing steady.
“You missed a few attacks, but you did well.”

Amelia summoned her remaining strength, her voice steady despite her fatigue.
“I can’t afford to miss. Missing means I die. One more time.”

Iclite lowered the wooden sword as he glanced at Amelia’s hand.
“Let’s take a break.”

“No, I can keep going… The trial is tomorrow. I can’t rest now.”

“I’m the one who’s tired.”

Amelia’s breath caught at his unexpected response.
“Liar! Your Grace, you don’t look tired at all. It’s honestly annoying how composed you seem! You could’ve gone faster if you wanted, couldn’t you? You’ve been holding back!”

“Not at all.”

Before she could argue further, Iclite suddenly took her hand and placed it against his chest. The heat of his firm skin startled her, and she let out a gasp.
“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Can’t you feel it? My heart is racing.”

“What?”

His earnest gaze caught her off guard. Hesitant, she focused on the rhythm beneath her palm. Despite his outward calm, his heart was pounding so fiercely that she could feel the tremors in her fingertips.

“It… it is racing. A lot.”

Iclite took a subtle, tense breath, though his voice remained steady.
“See? I am tired.”

“That’s… surprising. You really don’t look like it.”

Amelia, fascinated, pressed her hand more firmly against his chest, noting how his heartbeat seemed to quicken.
“It feels like it’s beating even faster…”

“That’s why…”

Unable to take it any longer, Iclite gently removed her hand and said firmly, “We should rest.”

Something about his voice made her nod instinctively.
“Alright. Just for a little while.”

Amelia slumped to the ground, sitting carelessly. Iclite let out a controlled breath, then settled across from her, his expression unreadable.

“Do you have something to say?” she asked.

He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he reached for her hand, the one that had gripped the revolver.

“Wait, hold on—”

Before she could pull away, he tightened his grip. Amelia winced as he examined her palm.

“Ouch!”

Her hand, raw and reddened from the revolver’s grip, bore the signs of her relentless training. Iclite’s expression darkened as he retrieved a small tin of ointment from his coat.

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not fine. The trial is tomorrow. Even a minor injury can cost you dearly. Didn’t I say this before? Taking care of yourself is also part of your skill.”

His cold tone silenced her protests. With surprising gentleness, he applied the ointment, his fingers tracing over her hand with meticulous care. The warmth of his touch made her acutely aware of the moment, and she tried to focus her thoughts elsewhere.

“You really aren’t going to ask, are you?”

“Ask about what?”

“Why I’m doing all this,” she said, her voice softer now.

When Amelia had approached him, she’d requested his help for training. Specifically, she had asked him to fight her with a wooden sword. It must have seemed absurd for a Musketeer to train in such an unorthodox way, yet he had agreed without question, supporting her through every step of the grueling practice.

“You said you trusted me. But you trust me so completely it feels like you already know everything about me. Even people who know me well are worried.”

“Who are you referring to?”

“Mami. She’s really worried about all this.”

And she had every right to be. Amelia hadn’t fired a single shot in preparation for the trial—not once.

“Honestly,” Iclite said, “I just like seeing this.”

His sudden statement made Amelia tilt her head in confusion.
“Seeing what?”

“You. Pushing yourself. Running as hard as you can.”

“Pardon?”

Iclite lifted his gaze, looking at her intently. His striking blue eyes seemed to shimmer, and Amelia felt her heart skip again.

“There he goes again. Looking at me with those beautiful eyes…”

“And seeing you like this—completely disheveled—it’s a rare sight.”

“Wait, what do you mean, disheveled?”

Amelia’s eyes wavered, suddenly self-conscious. How do I look in those eyes right now? Surely, as a lady, I still have some dignity…

No, it didn’t matter! It was training. Things like appearance didn’t count during practice. But did he really have to point it out?

“I thought he didn’t know much about etiquette, but I assumed he had some manners!”

Her voice turned slightly petulant.
“I’m sorry I look such a mess. But honestly, that’s not fair. When I first met you, I didn’t judge you negatively—well, you were a little intimidating—but I didn’t dislike you…”

“I didn’t dislike you either,” he said softly, his gaze unwavering.

“I said I liked seeing this, didn’t I?”

His words carried a weight that lingered in the air, leaving Amelia speechless.

“Look at this. It’s really strange.”

“It is strange. Very strange.”

Isana and Kallen were hidden perfectly under the cover of stealth, observing Amelia’s training without making a sound.

“She’s quite agile and has good reflexes. Her stamina seems decent too.”

“What good is that for a Musketeer? Tiers are snipers; they attack from hiding. And they’re supposed to use muskets, not revolvers!”

“True. Revolvers are for short-range combat and have limited range compared to muskets. But they allow for more freedom of movement.”

Kallen groaned in frustration at Isana’s unorthodox reasoning.
“What’s the use of freedom? Revolvers are practically suicide weapons! Tiers only use them to die honorably if they’re caught by the enemy, rather than face torture.”

“Well, revolvers weren’t designed as suicide weapons. Tiers just haven’t figured out how to use them effectively.”

Isana thought back to how Amelia had dodged strikes from the wooden sword while targeting vital points with perfect precision.
“If you’re fighting head-on with a sword, a revolver can be extraordinary. It’s small, hard for the enemy to notice, and allows for agile movement. She could completely wipe out her opponent.”

“Wipe them out? You’re kidding, right? With a revolver? There wouldn’t be enough time to craft magic bullets. She’d be dead before she even got one shot off.”

“What if she could fire magic bullets in rapid succession?”

Isana’s question hung in the air, catching Kallen off guard. But he quickly dismissed it.
“No one’s ever done that. It’s impossible.”

“Of course, it’s impossible. Rapid-fire magic bullets would require an absurd amount of mana, not to mention the strain it would put on the heart. Unless you’re an ancient mage, no human could survive it. But if someone could do it…”

“What?”

“If someone could, no one would stand a chance against them.”

Isana’s gaze remained fixed on Amelia, his lips curling into a bright smile.
“You can’t beat a genius. A Musketeer with no weaknesses is unbeatable.”

Kallen frowned, baffled by Isana’s absurd speculations.
“You’re the strange one here, Captain. What are you even talking about?”

“It’s just… something feels off. Her stamina is incredible. She’s been moving non-stop, but isn’t she supposed to have a heart condition?”

Suddenly, Isana’s expression hardened. He grabbed Kallen and pulled them both behind a tree, just as Iclite turned and glared coldly in their direction.

Amelia, oblivious to the tension, rose to her feet.
“Shall we continue?”

Iclite turned his back to the onlookers, shielding Amelia with his body as he replied,
“Let’s begin.”

Kallen swallowed nervously and whispered to Isana,
“Do you think he noticed us?”

“Probably.”

Isana chuckled lightly, though his amusement didn’t mask the shiver running down his spine. Iclite’s glare had been so sharp, so intense, that even the air seemed heavier. It wasn’t just a look—it was pure killing intent.

“Did we mess up our stealth somehow? No way. We didn’t leave any trace, no presence at all…”

“That’s why he’s called the Monster Grand Duke.”

“What?”

“He’s never lost a war. And strangely, the weather always seemed to work in his favor—blizzards, winds, rains—all perfectly timed.”

Isana took a few steps back, deciding it wasn’t worth risking their necks any further by staying.
“Let’s leave it at that. Staying any longer might really cost us.”

As he walked away, Kallen frowned and muttered,
“What about tomorrow’s weather?”

The sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the world in twilight. A new dawn awaited, though no one knew what it would bring.

One thing was certain: a new flower would bloom tomorrow.

“I’m looking forward to the trial,” Isana said, a glint of intrigue in his eyes.