Vivian stepped down from the carriage first.

The air in Akron city felt different from the capital, calmer, but also full of the familiar weight of academy life.

He turned and offered his hand to Charlotte without thinking, as naturally as breathing.

She took it and stepped down, her boots touching the stone path in front of the academy gates.

The tall towers of the school stood ahead of them, quiet in the morning light.

"Will you meet the dean?" she asked, brushing a bit of dust from her skirt.

"No," Vivian said right away.

"He isn't here. He was sent somewhere for an important matter. That's why he didn't come to the emperor's conference either."

Charlotte nodded lightly. She didn't press the topic. If Vivian said it, then that was that.

They started walking toward the main courtyard together.

Students were scattered around, some carrying books, some dragging their luggage, some looking half-asleep after long travels.

The academy looked the same as always, strong walls, wide paths, and the faint noise of footsteps echoing from the halls.

The carriage behind them moved away, leaving the two of them alone with the familiar scenery of the place where they spent the last six months.

Charlotte let out a small breath. "Feels strange," she said softly.

"After everything that happened… to come back here like this."

Vivian understood her mood clearly.

They both had carried far too much in their heads these past months.

It had been almost impossible to focus on normal academy life while wondering if they could stop Professor Garhard and Kafrik, wondering if war would break out before they were ready.

Now that the danger had passed, at least for a while, the pressure around their hearts felt lighter. Not gone, but lighter.

They talked quietly as they walked, letting their steps guide them through the familiar paths of the academy.

After a few minutes they reached the dorm building.

"Alright," Vivian said, stopping in front of the split hallway. "I'll see you after I freshen up."

Charlotte nodded, but there was a small frown on her face as she turned toward her side of the dorms.

She didn't say anything, just walked inside with that faint crease between her brows.

Vivian watched her leave, wondering what she was thinking, then shook his head and headed to his own room.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The moment it closed behind him, he let out a long, tired breath.

"Haa…" He dropped his bag on the chair. "I think Father and Grandfather already left for the north."

He rubbed his face with both hands, sighing again.

Duke Sant, his grandfather from his mother's side, had been the first to agree to take charge of the northern front.

His father had joined him without hesitation.

They were both leaders of the march against the Tramplins, managing troops, plans, and countless risks.

By now, they would have already departed.

Vivian could picture them riding through snow-kissed roads, barking orders, dealing with shortages, preparing for the worst long before it arrived.

"They should be on the move already," he murmured.

"And right now… they're probably transporting supplies for the bridge."

The thought tightened something in his chest.

He wasn't there with them. He couldn't help. He could only wait and grow stronger.

The room felt quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made old worries echo louder.

Vivian leaned back against the wall, fingers curling slightly as that dark heat spread through his chest.

"I wish I was there…" he whispered.

The words came out low, almost swallowed by the stillness of the room.

His killing intent rose without warning, sharp, cold, and hungry.

He wanted to cut down every Tramplin he could find, grind their new kingdom into dust, and make Kafrik feel what true suffering tasted like.

But he couldn't. Not yet. And that helplessness stung more than any blade.

Just as his thoughts were sinking deeper into that murderous haze, a voice broke through him.

[I like this about you.]

The sword spirit's tone drifted into Vivian's mind for the first time since they had left the capital.

It wasn't its usual teasing or crude muttering. There was something steady in it.

"What do you like?" Vivian asked quietly.

[Yes… though you're a softie, sometimes your killing intent surprises even me.]

The spirit actually sounded thoughtful, rare for something that usually acted like a bored, perverted old man trapped in steel.

But when it wanted to, it had moments of clarity.

Vivian didn't reply at first.

He knew exactly why that killing intent bubbled up so easily. It wasn't random anger or blind rage.

It was simple. Too simple.

He wanted to kill Tramplins so Kafrik would drown in despair.

He wanted to tear away every last piece of the man's world until nothing was left.

But wanting and doing were two different things.

Right now, he couldn't do anything.

His father was right, he needed to reach Grandmaster before he could change anything on the battlefield.

Until then, he would just be another burden.

And the worst part… he still had no clue how to reach it.

The frustration pressed against his ribs like iron bands, but he stayed silent, letting the sword spirit's presence settle beside the storm in his chest.

But the spirit didn't stop talking, even though Vivian stayed silent.

[I wish I was a human,] it sighed, full of dramatic longing.

[If I had a body, I could have seduced so many women… a whole army of them.]

Vivian almost rolled his eyes.

'That's exactly why you aren't human,' he thought, but he kept that comment locked safely inside his head.

The last thing he needed was his sword throwing a tantrum.

The spirit clicked its tongue.

[If I were you, I would've already built a huge harem. Women everywhere. Kids everywhere. But nooo… you're too much of a softie to do anything fun.]

That annoyed tone made Vivian huff a small laugh under his breath.

The sword spirit, in its twisted, ridiculous way, reminded him of himself before he regressed, back when he thought a harem was the peak of happiness, when he chased every pretty girl with more enthusiasm than sense.

But that version of him had died with his old life.

Now he knew better. He couldn't love everyone.

Without real love, relationships were empty, just a bunch of fragile connections that broke the moment anything went wrong.

A harem wasn't romance; it was chaos wearing perfume.

And there was Charlotte too.

If this spirit ever got a human body and tried to live like him, someone just like her would appear sooner or later, a girl who could drag him down from his fantasy cloud with one serious stare.

Charlotte had done exactly that to him before he regressed.

She didn't even need magic to keep him in check; she only needed to exist.

Vivian shook his head with another faint chuckle.

"You say I'm a softie," he murmured, "but trust me… someone like Charlotte would crush you long before your harem even started."

The spirit made a questioning hum, clueless as always.

Vivian let himself sink into the quiet again, the edge of his killing intent dulled by the absurdity of the conversation.

Vivian sat on the edge of his bed, fingers loosely laced together, staring at nothing in particular.

The truth settled in his mind like a stone dropped into quiet water:

If he couldn't join the war now, then the chance he had to stand on that battlefield later was to reach Grandmaster before the fighting ended.

There was only one path left for him.

But he had no idea what that path was.

"How?" he whispered to himself.

'Revenge?'

It felt too small, too thin, like a flimsy rope that snapped the moment he tried to pull strength from it.

Revenge wasn't a path, it was just fire. Hot, bright, and gone too fast.

'Love?'

The love he had for his family, for Charlotte, strong, steady, warm.

But when he tried to imagine it as the core of his sword… nothing.

It didn't vibrate in his chest. It didn't spark anything inside him.

It wasn't wrong, but it didn't feel like his way either.

Something deeper pulled at him, something he couldn't see yet.

He felt as if his existence was tied to a direction he hadn't discovered, a purpose waiting in the dark, quiet and patient.

But he couldn't wait.

The war wouldn't wait.

He let out a long breath. "It took Father almost twenty years," he muttered.

"But I don't have twenty years. I can't wait that long."

His father had become enlightened after marrying his mother, after starting a family.

The thought made Vivian pause. 'Maybe… maybe if I marry Charlotte and have a few children…'

The idea tempted him for a heartbeat.

But then the moment passed.

"No." He shook his head firmly. "That won't work."

His father's words echoed in him, copying someone else's path never leads to enlightenment.

A swordmaster's way had to be born from their own soul, not borrowed from another person's life.

Vivian leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as if staring into the unseen thread pulling at him.

He didn't know what his path was.

But he knew it wasn't revenge.

It wasn't love.

It wasn't copying someone else's enlightenment.

It was something only he could uncover.

And that mystery, frustrating as it was, felt strangely alive in the quiet room, like the whisper of a blade just before it sings.

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