TINOT 30

Chapter: 30

It had happened two years ago, near the end of that summer.

The sun had been sharp enough to pierce the skin, the greenery so dense it stung the eyes. Even now, she could remember the suffocating heat that clogged her lungs with every breath, the feel of sweat trailing down her cheeks.

It might have been kinder if the memories had faded.

But for Lisithea, who could not forget the past, everything felt as vivid as yesterday.

As her blade cut cleanly through the air in a horizontal arc, leaves rained down in a flurry. Each swing sent the sweat gathered on her brow streaming down her face, dripping heavily to the ground.

Her breath climbed to the edge of her throat. Her head spun.

It was exhausting enough to feel like dying—

And yet, only then did she truly feel alive.

Ever since she first took up the sword, people had grown tired of calling her a genius.

For Lisithea, who had been treated as defective her entire life for being unable to use magic, it was praise that should have thrilled her. But it did not matter.

The dubious glances that suggested she must at least have inherited the blood of Rowen, one of the two great martial houses of the Kairos Empire—those looks all vanished the moment she swung her sword.

By that time, Lisithea had finally reached the point where her body moved exactly as her mind envisioned.

It had taken four years to reach that stage. People marveled at the unbelievable speed.

The swordsmanship instructors who had crossed blades with her said she would not fall behind even Hilda Maynard, the youngest to ever join the Imperial Knights.

But such words could not quench Lisithea’s thirst.

She longed for a higher realm.

When will I be able to slit the throats of those who call themselves Archmages?

It was common knowledge in this world that when a swordsman and a mage of equal level faced one another, the mage would win.

Then she would simply rise to a level beyond equal.

No one had ever set foot in that realm—but if she kept at it for a few more years, she felt certain she could reach it.

Back then, she had been full of that conviction.

Because every day, she could feel herself changing.

This body that moved as she willed—it had been built step by step over four long years.

It was nothing like the polished-on-the-surface lineage she had been born with, nor like the Cullinan Mine, over which people fought daily for control.

This—this was something no one could ever take from her.

It was an achievement forged entirely by her own effort, from beginning to end.

“Is that fun? Ugh, you smell like sweat.”

Celia approached in quick little steps, shuddering dramatically.

Lisithea glanced at her and began putting away her sword.

“It’s far more productive than entertaining your pointless provocations.”

It had already been two weeks since Marquis Aster and Edward had left the estate on an inspection tour of their territory.

Perhaps feeling the absence of the two, her half-sister—two years younger—had begun hovering around Lisithea more than usual.

Celia, the youngest daughter of the Aster marquisate and a mana practitioner, believed it was only natural for everyone to love her.

Whenever Lisithea looked at her, her stomach twisted unpleasantly.

She alone did not want to love that child.

“Hey, Sister. What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Why are you curious?”

“Can’t I just ask?”

Celia puffed out her cheeks in dissatisfaction and kicked at the ground, muttering.

“If you’re bored because no one will play with you, go play with dolls.”

“Am I a child?”

“From the way you act, there’s not much difference.”

Lisithea shrugged and walked past. Behind her, Celia stomped her feet irritably.

“Ugh! So annoying!”

The reaction was exactly as expected. Lisithea let out a small laugh.

“Where are you going? The library again? Seriously, is that actually fun? Why don’t you just learn from a tutor?”

Celia trailed close behind, chattering endlessly.

“It’s far more efficient to acquire knowledge from many authors’ books than from a single tutor.”

“…You know that sounded incredibly obnoxious, right?”

Celia frowned, and Lisithea ignored her as usual.

Looking back, that had been the most peaceful period of Lisithea’s life.

Moderately unhappy—wedged between half-siblings who disliked her and parents who found her uncomfortable.

“Seli? Seli?”

Just as they were leaving the training grounds, a voice called out.

It was Emma—the Marchioness of Aster and Lisithea’s stepmother.

“Oh, it’s Mother.”

Celia looked between Lisithea and the direction of the voice with an awkward expression.

Rustle.

Through the bushes emerged the tall figure of a woman.

Emma spotted Celia and broke into a bright smile, arms spreading wide.

“Seli, there you are. Why didn’t you answer when I called—”

Her face went pale as if she had seen a monster the moment she noticed Lisithea standing beside her daughter.

“Seli!”

Emma cried out and pulled Celia tightly into her arms, as though shielding her.

Celia struggled for a moment, then wrapped her arms around her mother in return.

Her small hand stroked Emma’s thin, frail back.

“Mother, I’m here. Your daughter’s right here.”

That was the only moment Celia, usually so childish for her age, seemed mature—when soothing her sick mother.

Emma, never robust to begin with, had grown weaker by the day.

Pain had sharpened her nerves to a blade’s edge.

Facing death, she had become obsessed with protecting her child.

“Seli, are you all right? My baby…”

Lisithea stepped away from the mother and daughter.

What had she even done to cause such a scene? It was laughable.

Sunlight filtered fiercely through the rustling leaves.

Back then, Lisithea still had a future.

The hope of it allowed her to endure the lukewarm unhappiness pressing upon her.

Time passed, and the day came when Marquis Aster and Edward returned to the capital estate.

They were arriving with Count Romwell, and the mansion bustled with preparations.

Having finished her own early, Lisithea sat on a garden bench, turning the pages of a book.

The summer garden, fresh after rain, shimmered—even the puddles gleamed brilliantly.

“Is that fun? Are you insane?”

Celia again.

She bent over to glance at the book and spoke as though disgusted.

The jewel at the end of the blue ribbon tying her hair brushed over the page.

No matter how much Lisithea pushed her away, Celia circled her tirelessly.

“Seli, are you all right? My baby…”

If Emma were to see them together again…

The thought alone was exhausting.

“Go away. I don’t have time for you.”

Lisithea answered flatly without lifting her eyes.

“But you have time to read?”

Feeling snubbed, Celia snatched the book from her hands.

“Give it back.”

“No. I won’t!”

As they struggled over the book, the jewel on Celia’s ribbon grazed dangerously close to her eye.

“Ah! My eye!”

At Celia’s shrill scream, people began gathering.

“Seli! My baby—”

Emma came rushing over and, seeing the swelling near Celia’s eye, glared at Lisithea.

“I knew it! I knew you would do this—Seli!”

“Mother, it’s not like that.”

Celia tried to stop her.

But she could not overcome a mother half-maddened by the urge to protect her child.

“Let go! I won’t let this stand. I—!”

Emma lunged at Lisithea.

With a sigh, Lisithea stepped lightly aside.

Her target suddenly gone, Emma lost her balance and stumbled straight into one of the rain puddles scattered through the garden.

It was a rare day—Emma, who seldom engaged in society, was to receive an important guest.

Count Romwell was a distinguished noble. She had been warned not to make mistakes.

Now she was drenched in muddy water.

As she hurried to rise—

“What is the meaning of this! What kind of behavior is this in front of a guest?”

Marquis Aster strode forward and draped his jacket over Emma’s shoulders.

Emma looked around in panic.

A strange gentleman inclined his head at her awkwardly.

It must be Count Romwell.

Terror gripped her at how she must appear in the eyes of such a renowned noble.

It was all because of that ill-omened stepdaughter.

“M-My lord… Lisithea threw a book at Seli. Look at her eye. What if she’d been seriously hurt…?”

“Is that true?”

“Look at me. Even on a day I’m unwell, I’ve been shoved into a puddle by your daughter.”

Emma burst into tears and clung to Marquis Aster.

He held her firmly. She felt both comfort and restraint.

But that comfort did not last.

Her stepdaughter’s cool, composed voice shattered her shield.

“Madam, you shouldn’t lie just because you’re in a difficult position. Celia was the one who took my book first. The scratch near her eye came from the jewel on her ribbon. And most importantly, you charged at me and fell on your own.”

Emma glanced at Count Romwell.

His expressionless face felt like silent mockery.

“N-No! That’s not true. Seli, say something. Your sister threw the book at you, didn’t she?”

“…Th-that is, well…”

Emma’s face was desperate as she looked at her daughter.

Celia hesitated.

“Seli, tell your father honestly. Why are you hurt?”

“My baby… my baby…”

Her father on the left, her mother on the right—both enveloped Celia in their arms.

Held between them, Celia looked at Lisithea, who stood apart.

Her half-sister looked as though clad in solid armor—untouchable.

But her mother was not.

Her mother was like a dragonfly’s wing—so fragile it would crumble at a touch.

“…S-Sister said I was annoying and threw the book at me. That’s how I got hurt.”

Lisithea let out a hollow laugh.

“Ha. Celia Aster, did I really throw a book at you? Push your mother, too?”

Celia hid in their father’s embrace and silently nodded.

“And you still refuse to admit your fault? You persist in lying?”

Marquis Aster roared.

Lisithea looked straight at the tightly clustered trio—father, mother, and daughter—and spoke.

“This is your last chance, Celia. Who is lying?”

Celia did not speak the truth.

The verdict was delivered by Marquis Aster.

“You will not drink a single drop of water until you sincerely repent.”

Repent? For what?

Locked inside the small attic room, Lisithea scoffed.

The lie would not last long anyway. More than one person had seen Emma fall by herself.

Though Lisithea was eventually released once her innocence became clear, the one who had lied was never locked inside that room.

That winter—

Lisithea lost even the future she had left.