Chapter 331. Dropping Career Bombs in the Middle of a Picnic

William turned back to the field. His mind flashed briefly to the raw emotion in Lia’s eyes, the way she had looked when the truth finally landed.

’I saw her breaking,’ he thought bitterly. ’I saw the cracks forming in her soul, and I knew that if I didn’t speak, there wouldn’t be anything left to save.’

"I meant every word I said to them," William said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "Every accusation, every truth about their cruelty."

"I would say it again, even if it meant my career ended tomorrow."

"I could tell," Albert said, his tone almost reverent. "So could they, evidently, given how the evening ended."

"That’s rarer than you might think, Instructor Wade."

"In this world of nobles and posturing, most people speak ’truths’ that are nothing more than rehearsed performances."

"They say words that sound right, but they lack the marrow."

"Most people say true things without ever making the other person actually feel the weight, the sting, and the undeniable reality of that truth."

Albert placed a steadying hand on William’s shoulder, a gesture of genuine respect that bypassed all institutional protocol.

"You managed both. You spoke the truth, and you made it impossible for them to deny it."

"Tonight, Instructor William Wade, you didn’t just teach a student..."

"You reminded a family and this entire academy what it actually means to be human."

...

Several days had passed since that turbulent night, and the academy seemed to have settled into a gentler, more natural rhythm.

The oppressive tension that had hung over the training grounds like a gathering storm had dissipated, leaving behind an atmosphere that felt subtly altered lighter, almost as if the entire institution had finally exhaled a breath it had been holding for weeks.

The routines returned: the morning drills, the midday meals, and the evening studies, but the hollow echo that had once defined them was gone.

Lia’s training had undergone a transformation that was as visible as it was profound. William no longer had to scan her face for that telltale sign of hollow exhaustion, that specific, haunted look of a girl performing a duty she loathed, driven by the quiet dread of failing an impossible standard.

Now, when she stepped onto the field, there was a different kind of intensity in her movements. She trained hard, genuinely, and ferociously hard, often pushing herself far beyond what William required of her.

But the engine driving her wasn’t fear; it was something far more dangerous and beautiful: curiosity.

During her free moments between formal sessions, she became something of a scientist of violence. She would obsessively experiment with new variations of the Wavecleaver Arc, testing how minute shifts in her wrist rotation could alter the trajectory of her mana.

Occasionally, she would deliberately hunt William down after dinner, dragging him back onto the darkened training field just to test a minor adjustment she’d discovered.

When a strike landed true, she would grin with a radiant, unfiltered satisfaction; when she failed spectacularly, she would laugh genuine, unguarded laughter that startled the night air.

Three days after the confrontation, a letter arrived from Lady Valestria. It was brief, stripped of its usual aristocratic grandstanding, and carefully worded.

It asked for nothing—no apologies, no explanations, no promises of future compliance. It simply asked for permission to write again sometime, with no demands or expectations attached.

Lia read the parchment twice, her fingers lingering on the elegant script. She didn’t burn it, and she didn’t throw it away. Instead, she folded it with careful deliberation and tucked it into a private drawer.

William saw the gesture, and he understood. It wasn’t forgiveness not yet, but it was a truce.

It was a choice to leave a door cracked open.

Then there was Seraphina. The elder sister visited twice more before her royal duties called her away.

Each visit was noticeably warmer than the last, the icy distance between them melting like spring snow. On her final visit, Seraphina didn’t come to inspect or to lecture.

She came to spar. They spent an entire afternoon locked in combat, not as a prodigy and her shadow, but as two sisters testing each other’s mettle.

When they finally collapsed onto the grass, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, they weren’t crying or comparing scores. They were laughing, exhausted and breathless, laughter that spoke of a bond that was finally being rebuilt as equals.

It was against this backdrop of hard-won calm that William, Catherine, and the core training group found themselves gathered one warm afternoon.

They were sprawled comfortably across the sun-drenched grass on the academy’s lower lawns, the late afternoon sun casting long, golden shadows across the grounds.

Conversation drifted lazily between them, a talk of upcoming exams, rumors about faculty gossip, and shared complaints about the summer heat.

For once, there was no hidden agenda, no looming threat, just the simple, unguarded pleasure of good company.

Lia lay propped up on one elbow, watching the clouds drift by, when she suddenly broke a brief lull in the conversation. William felt her attention shift before she even spoke; he recognized the subtle change in her posture.

When she finally opened her mouth, her tone was deliberately casual, carrying a faintly smug edge that he knew was aimed directly at a specific target.

"I suppose I should mention," Lia said, breaking the comfortable silence with the casual precision of someone dropping a grenade into a peaceful pond.

She didn’t even look up, instead examining her fingernails with an air of exaggerated, almost theatrical nonchalance. "That I already have official employment secured for when I graduate."

"The Royal Greatsword Corps... Personally guaranteed by Commander Ardyn herself." She paused for maximum effect, letting the implication hang in the warm air. "No further evaluation required."

"And there’s more like no trials, no proving myself to some dusty council. Just... done."

The effect was instantaneous. Kaela’s head snapped up as if she’d been struck, her competitive instincts flaring with the heat of a struck match.

William watched with suppressed amusement; Lia had timed that perfectly. She knew exactly which nerve to pinch.

"Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?" Kaela demanded, her voice rising an octave. "We’re just dropping career bombs in the middle of a picnic now?"

"I’m simply stating a fact, Kaela," Lia replied, finally looking up with the picture of innocent, infuriating composure. "Why shouldn’t everyone be aware of the current landscape of our future prospects?"

"A fact you’re clearly using as a weapon to brag about," Kaela countered, sitting bolt upright, her fingers digging into the grass.

"I would never brag," Lia said, tilting her head with mock innocence.

"You’re doing it right now! I can practically hear the smugness dripping off you."

"I’m merely informing the group of relevant career developments that may affect our future alliances," Lia said smoothly.

Kaela crossed her arms over her chest, her shoulders squaring with fierce, wounded pride. "Well, fine. For the record, I am a princess."

"I could have any position in this entire kingdom the moment I set my mind to it."

"Commander of the Royal Guard, Head of the Celestial Military Academy, I could command whatever I feel like."

"I don’t even need to survive some flashy, blood-soaked duel to secure my future! My position is inherent!"

Ellie, who had been quietly listening while peeling an apple, couldn’t contain herself. A giggle escaped her, bright and teasing.

"But Kaela, you did prove yourself in those flashy duels."

"Multiple times, actually. We all saw the blood and the broken practice swords."

Kaela flushed crimson. "That’s completely different! That was... that was a tactical demonstration."

"How exactly is that different from securing a position?" Ellie asked, grinning wickedly.

"It just is!" Kaela snapped, waving a dismissive hand as she clearly began to scramble for higher ground. "The point is, my future is considerably more impressive than joining some Greatsword regiment."

"No offense, Lia, but you’re basically signing up to be a glorified shield for the infantry."

Lia didn’t flinch.

"None taken," she said sweetly, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I’m sure being handed a royal title purely through birthright is a very impressive personal accomplishment."

"Truly. A monumental feat of... existing."

The group went silent for a heartbeat. Kaela opened her mouth to launch a counterattack, then stopped mid-breath, visibly recalculating.

"Okay," she muttered, conceding grudgingly. "That one actually landed. That was a good one."

"Thank you," Lia said, the smugness softening into something almost genuine. "I’ve been practicing."

"Practicing what, exactly?" Kaela asked, though the venom had drained from her voice, replaced by reluctant respect. "Being insufferable?"

"Being confident," Lia said.

As she spoke, William noticed something beneath the teasing. There was a quiet, unshakable pride in her voice, a steeliness that hadn’t been there weeks ago.

It wasn’t the brittle confidence of someone trying to prove they weren’t broken; it was the solid confidence of someone who knew exactly who they were and exactly where they stood.

And that, more than any royal guarantee, was the real victory.