Chapter 188: The Empress’s Stance

For a moment, both remained in place, standing firmly atop the grassy ground, their senses fully heightened in anticipation of the next assault.

Well... that description applied to Albert alone.

Amelia, on the other hand, stood before him in a manner that conveyed no sense of gravity whatsoever. She hadn’t assumed a proper combat stance, nor had she lowered her center of gravity, nor had she even raised her hands before her body; rather, she stood completely naturally, as though she had come to this courtyard to idle away the time in play rather than to engage in a duel.

Indeed, even the expression on her face carried zero tension. She was calm—calm to an extent that left Albert thoroughly bewildered.

"Should I consider this a surrender on your part, Lady Amelia?"

The question left his mouth with absolute gravity.

Amelia blinked once. "Surrender?"

Albert nodded. "You aren’t even taking a combat stance."

He observed her briefly, then added an internal explanation that struck him as immensely logical.

Perhaps... perhaps Lady Amelia has already realized she cannot win. But her pride prevents her from declaring surrender directly. Thus, she chose to lose in a manner that preserves a measure of her dignity.

That explanation was the sole conclusion Albert’s young mind could arrive at. The possibility that Amelia hadn’t assumed a combat stance simply because she didn’t view him as an opponent worth preparing for never even crossed his mind.

To Albert, this was, in itself, a gesture of gentleness—he interpreted it as a concession on her part.

Consequently, he decided to initiate the assault himself.

Tightening his grip on the staff, he locked his focus onto the distance separating them. His eyes calculated Amelia’s feet, her shoulders, the posture of her body, and even the space behind her. In his mind, he formulated a rapid strategy: I won’t use my full strength. I won’t strike her in a way that causes harm, and I will attempt to conclude this as swiftly as possible.

He had already chosen the exact coordinate to end the confrontation.

Then... he lunged.

"Charge!"

His feet burst off the grass with momentum, propelling his body forward at a speed that erased the distance between them within moments. Upon reaching Amelia directly, he directed a low kick toward her small leg. However, the force he applied was exceedingly light; Albert feared injuring her.

The exact instant his foot approached her leg, Amelia smiled.

Then she leaped.

Her small body rose into the air with extraordinary lightness, clearing the kick entirely. She flipped backward smoothly in midair, her hair trailing behind her, before landing delicately on her feet with absolute grace.

The entire sequence took less than a split second.

"Good movement," Amelia commented with a calm smile. "Try again."

Albert froze for a second, then smiled. To him, those words acted as direct encouragement. Lady Amelia hadn’t mocked him; rather, she had asked him to try again.

Therefore... he still held a chance.

Tightening his grip on the staff, Albert lunged once more. This time, he resolved to utilize his weapon. Raising the staff, he swept it toward Amelia in a direct swing.

Yet Amelia’s eyes were tracking everything. Her legendary vision did not function as a mere tool to observe physical movement; she possessed the ability to perceive details invisible to ordinary fighters: the orientation of his shoulder, the angle of his elbow, the shift in his center of gravity, the alignment of his feet, and even the precise grip of his fingers on the wood. Every variable informed her of his execution before it physically transpired.

Thus, she shifted.

Just a single step.

The staff swept right past her, failing to make contact. In fact, Amelia flowed alongside the strike in a manner that resembled a dance.

Another swing! Albert shouted internally, renewing his assault.

He swung the staff again, attempted a quick pivot, adjusted his strike trajectory mid-motion, and finally thrust the staff forward in a piercing maneuver.

Yet Amelia evaded every motion with absolute ease. A step to the right, a subtle tilt of the head, a light arch of her torso, and a step back. She wasn’t moving at terrifying speeds; quite the contrary, her movements were slower than Albert anticipated.

And that was precisely what began to drive him insane.

Her stance appeared absurdly relaxed, as though she couldn’t care less. Had a bystander observed the match from afar, they might have assumed Albert could land a hit effortlessly.

Yet every single time he tried... he struck empty air.

Once. Twice. Ten times. Then twenty.

As time elapsed, Albert’s breathing grew progressively heavier. Yet Amelia remained completely unchanged, standing before him with the exact same tranquil composure, as though she hadn’t exerted herself at all.

"How...?" Albert couldn’t fathom it.

He accelerated, shifted his angles, attempted to flank her, and mounted an attack from behind. Yet she moved before his strike could ever reach her.

At one point, he truly believed he had cornered her. Advancing from the right, he suddenly altered his direction to the left, confident that this attempt would yield a different result.

Yet Amelia simply leaned her body slightly. The staff grazed past her face, and she executed a effortless turn. Zero visible effort, zero explosive force, zero shift in her calm expression—just a simple, fluid motion.

This plunged Albert into deeper frustration.

Why can’t I hit her?!

The question looped continuously in his mind. Amelia was not visibly faster than him, nor was she utilizing impossible techniques. It was simply as though she knew the exact destination of his strike before it ever arrived.

How? Albert had no answer.

After a prolonged series of attempts, he was finally forced to halt. Leaning over slightly with his hands resting on his knees, he panted heavily for air.

Amelia stood before him, landing lightly on the balls of her feet after evading his final strike. She looked down at him.

"Are you finished?"

Albert snapped his head up rapidly. "This isn’t fair!" he blurted out between gasps. "We aren’t playing a game of tag!"

Amelia raised an eyebrow.

Albert pressed on rapidly: "Attempt an attack at least, otherwise you’re just fleeing!"

For a few seconds, Amelia couldn’t even formulate a response. She placed a hand over her mouth, attempting to suppress a mocking smile, though she failed completely.

"Fleeing?" She laughed softly. "Very well..."

Lowering her hand, she fixed her eyes on him. "How about this: what if you manage to touch me just once?"

She paused momentarily. "Just a single touch." She pointed to herself. "If you manage that, I will concede defeat."

Albert’s eyes widened.

Amelia continued, "In exchange, I only need to knock you to the ground to claim victory."

Silence descended.

Albert looked at her, then down at the staff in his hand, then back up at her.

A single touch?

That was exceptionally easy—at least in theory. While he hadn’t managed to graze her thus far, the dynamic would shift if the requirement was reduced to a simple touch. Furthermore, she would need to close the distance herself to knock him down.

If she drew close... he could touch her.

Logical. Absolutely logical.

Confidence began flooding back into his features. Amelia observed this shift in silence, fully aware of the thoughts circulating in his head. She allowed him to process it; if this gave him an opportunity to realize the gulf between them, she had no objections.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Albert raised the staff once more.

"Oh..." he uttered, striving to regulate his breathing. "Well, it appears Lady Amelia is exceedingly confident." He smiled. "Good."

He anchored his feet securely onto the grass. "I hope this turns into a proper duel from here on."

Amelia offered no verbal response—she merely smiled. Yet this time, her smile carried a subtle shift.

She resolved to grant him what he requested: a genuine opportunity.

Finally, she raised her hand before her. For the very first time since the duel commenced, Amelia assumed a clear, defined combat stance.

The air surrounding her shifted instantaneously.

Albert’s smile vanished. He couldn’t comprehend why he suddenly felt as though the spatial distance between them had widened drastically compared to moments prior.

Yet his instincts communicated a singular truth: this time, Amelia was not playing.

She spoke softly, "Come."

Albert tightened his grip on the staff and charged directly toward Amelia, who stood fully prepared with a calm smile.

He raised the wooden staff with both hands, driving a direct strike toward her in an attempt to make contact with her body if only once. Yet Amelia evaded the strike as was her custom, stepping to the side at the precise moment while simultaneously manifesting a small sphere of Star Magic within the palm of her hand.

The sphere was neither massive nor destructive, yet it shot through the air instantly, ascending slightly before detonating directly in front of Albert’s face.

Boom!

Albert’s head snapped back from the detonation, forcing his body to recoil several paces. In that exact instant, Amelia retreated smoothly while the flash gradually dissipated from his field of vision.

Yet when the light cleared... Albert’s face was no longer entirely human.

Draconic scales had instinctively covered his skin within moments, while his eyes transformed into a far more feral state—his pupils constricting into narrow slits amidst an angry glow.

He glared at Amelia, then looked down at the cracked wooden staff in his hand.

In a surge of raw fury, he crushed his grip around it.

The staff shattered between his fingers, splintering into fragments that rained down onto the grass.

In place of his hands, long, razor-sharp draconic claws began to sprout, while a hazardous aura—absent moments prior—emitted from his entire vessel.

The countenance of the gentle child vanished in an instant, replaced by a far more ferocious pressure.

Albert anchored his feet into the earth and raised his head toward Amelia.

As for her smile... it had vanished as well.

The game was officially over.

The real battle had begun.