Our steps echoed through the gargantuan hallways of House Ainsworth. I was simultaneously awestruck and disgusted. It was no different from my old world, really. Here was wealth so immense it could barely be spent in a lifetime, while in another part of the city, people were starving.

  Sighing, I focused back on the woman walking beside me. “Can I ask you something?”

  Lady Ainsworth didn’t stop her brisk pace, but she turned her head slightly, her dark eyes blinking in momentary surprise. “Yes, of course. And Grim? A word of advice before we reach the salon. You might not officially be the Adept of House Ainsworth yet, but you have earned the right to carry yourself with pride. You didn't just win; you dominated. When you speak to my father, be strong. Project certainty. But,” she added, her voice dropping an octave as we passed a row of silent, armored statues, “do not be arrogant. Life in the Spire is a constant siege, whether the weapons are swords, magic, or the sharp edge of a well-placed word. Especially in our circles…”

  She trailed off, a hint of regret coloring her words. She had told me before that she was weary of the hollow pleasantries and etiquette of the nobility, but was it truly that stifling? I suppose no matter the station in life, everyone has their burdens. I shook my head in silent exhaustion.

  The rest of the way passed quickly and in silence. We soon stood before a set of double doors that Lady Ainsworth pushed open with nonchalant ease.

  The swinging doors revealed a private salon. From floor to ceiling, everything was crafted from the finest materials. Before a softly crackling fireplace sat Patriarch Ainsworth in a heavy wingback chair. He was swirling a glass of what looked like sinfully expensive liquor, staring into the flames with a… wistful expression. He didn't even acknowledge our entrance.

  Lady Ainsworth entered the room and steered directly toward a small bar. She rummaged through the bottles until she found what she was looking for, uncorking it with a soft pop before filling an elegant crystal glass. The other bottles rattled as she set hers back down with unnecessary force.

  When she was finished, she walked over to her father and sat in the armchair beside him. His concentration remained unbroken—or perhaps he was just ignoring her. Lady Ainsworth did the same. She stared into the fire, swirling her drink carefully before draining the entire contents in one long swallow.

  I almost had to laugh at the sight. What is it with these people? Instead of standing there like an idiot, an idea came to me.

  I walked across the polished parquet floor to the fireplace and sat in the armchair directly opposite the Patriarch and Lady Ainsworth. Oh gods, this chair was soft. If I wasn't careful, I’d fall asleep right then and there.

  I took a deep breath, raised my right arm, and aimed at one of the crystal glasses on the minibar. Mana flooded my hand and surged outward. With a precise gravity pulse, a glass flew across the room and landed with a soft clack in my palm.

  Apparently, that did the trick. Both the crazy old geezer and Lady Ainsworth were now staring at me in astonishment. I ignored them, switching the glass to my left hand and aiming at the minibar again.

  After a second pulse, a bottle filled with amber liquid flew into my right hand. Under the curious gaze of the two nobles, I gathered mana in my left hand and performed my latest magic trick: I placed the glass in the air before me, as if setting it on an invisible table.

  The Patriarch looked flabbergasted as he saw the floating glass. I ignored him, uncorked the bottle, and filled the hovering glass about a third of the way. I pressed the cork back in and set the bottle in the air right next to the glass.

  Crossing my legs, I leaned deep into the plush chair and plucked the glass from the air. I swirled the amber liquid, watching the light dance through the heavy crystal, and took a slow, deep breath of its aroma.

  The scent was intoxicating—a rich, complex bouquet of sun-ripened tropical fruits, dark vanilla, and a hint of smoky oak that lingered in the nose. It was smooth, heavy, and smelled like pure luxury.

  A bitter memory surfaced. For my twenty-first birthday, an old man for whom I did small chores had given me a bottle of cheap swill that smelled of nothing but harsh industrial alcohol. I had been grateful for the gesture nonetheless. I could still remember Pip wrinkling her nose as I opened it. That evening, I had cried for a long time over the lost chance of ever sharing a drink with my father.

  A single tear traced a path down my cheek as I raised the glass to my lips and took a cautious sip. The sweet, fruity, non-burning flavor flooded my tongue, but I didn't care. I swallowed it and downed the rest in one go. With a sigh, I placed the glass back into the air and stared into the fire.

  The wood crackled, small sparks dancing into the air before vanishing into nothingness. My thoughts lost themselves in the warm embers. Even if I lived here for the rest of my life, eating the finest food and wearing the finest silks… it would be a hollow, lonely existence.

  Though I had managed to suppress it over the last few months, now that I was one step closer to my goal, my heart ached bitterly. I was so angry at Pip. Angry that she was so selfishly selfless. I had crossed worlds to be reunited with her, and then she went and left me again. But no matter how angry I was, I missed her terribly.

  I exhaled heavily and reached for the bottle again.

  “Tell me… aren’t you a bit young to be drinking?” the Patriarch asked, his voice cautious but curious. My gaze shifted from the fire to the old man, who was still eyeing the floating glass with fascination. Lady Ainsworth, on the other hand, looked… worried?

  “If anything, I am far too old not to,” I replied cryptically, uncorking the bottle once more. The liquid gold flowed into my glass with a steady, rhythmic glug.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Patriarch Ainsworth, I do not wish to appear ungrateful or disrespectful, but I would appreciate it if we didn't drag out the unspoken for much longer,” I said, taking another sip. “I am in no mood for a banquet, and I am doing everything in my power not to collapse from exhaustion. So, will you do me the honor of allowing me to compete as the Adept for House Ainsworth?”

  The Patriarch looked at me with a deadly serious expression. He was either deciding whether to name me Adept or have me executed for my insolence.

  Then, his deep, gravelly voice rang out. “On one condition…”

  Exhausted, I fell face-first into the impossibly soft bed and let out a genuine laugh. The old man might be crazy, but he seemed like a decent sort. Sighing, I rolled over and pulled the heavy covers over me. It felt strange not sleeping at the orphanage, but after today, I was glad I didn't have to travel across half the city. Lady Ainsworth had sent a messenger to explain my absence, so I could focus entirely on sleep and the start of my training tomorrow.

  But excitement kept the sleep I so desperately needed at bay. The Patriarch had explained that the security measures in this district were so strict that training here was impractical. That explained why Corbin had trained my predecessor at Lord Shitsworth’s estate instead.

  The Patriarch couldn't tell me where the training would take place, only that Sir Crownfield would surely come up with something. What amazed me most, however, was the framework of our agreement. Lady Ainsworth had explained to her father why I wanted to compete—to save my cat. When he heard it, he looked surprised, but he didn't say anything derogatory about it.

  The Patriarch agreed to the conditions, insofar as it was in his power. He would immediately initiate the search for the Phoenix Ember Root and, if possible, buy it. However, he wanted to pay me a salary in the meantime. He said that as long as he couldn't guarantee he could procure the root, he didn't want me to go empty-handed.

  It was a noble gesture, though perhaps just another game of the nobility. Who knew how these people truly ticked.

  A massive yawn escaped my throat, and my eyelids grew heavy. My consciousness slowly drifted into the dark, and finally, I found the sleep that had eluded me for so long.

  “GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE!”

  A voice tore me unceremoniously from my slumber. I could barely get my eyes open when I heard the curtains being ripped back, flooding the room with blinding light. Ow…

  With a heavy groan, I pulled the blanket over my nose. I reached my right hand toward the curtain and, with a sharp tug of my gravity magic, the room was blissfully dark again. My eyes snapped shut and I let out a satisfied smack of my lips. Oh yeah, just like that.

  “Ohoho, that’s a nice trick. I see you haven't been idle these past months. My respect. But what do you do now?!”

  RIIIIIP.

  The sound of tearing fabric and splintering wood made me bolt upright in shock. I blinked away the stars in my eyes and saw a dark silhouette standing by the window, holding the entire curtain rod like a trophy.

  Corbin Fucking Crownfield.

  A heavy sigh escaped me. “Was that necessary? Could you not have let me sleep in for once?” I muttered miserably, falling back into the pillow.

  His loud throat-clearing told me that was a 'no.' I looked up, annoyed, and saw Corbin’s mocking grin. “Sorry, Princess, but you’ve been out for two whole days. And let me tell you something: if you want a real chance at winning this tournament, you need to get off your ass. Your opponents have a massive head start, and you have no time to waste.”

  “What? Two days?” I groaned. I knew he was right, but I felt so weak. With immense effort, I fought the lingering fatigue. It was no use. I kicked the covers aside and swung my legs out of bed. “Satisfied?” I grumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

  “Grim, listen to me. That spell you used against Tristan was… breathtaking. But given how wrecked you were afterward, I assume it was your trump card. And if you hadn't had that, you would have been in serious trouble.” His tone left no room for doubt.

  Corbin took a deep breath, looking at me intently while gesturing with his hands. “In three years, we might manage to teach you a spell that can defeat any Adept—provided you hit. But then what? The next fight won't wait. You don't get time to rest until the round of sixteen. Until then, it's one fight after another. If the backlash of your own magic knocks you out for days… you're out.”

  A heavy feeling settled in my stomach. I had trained hard alongside my research, but I had to admit that my options against someone like Tristan—who wore a stone golem like a suit—were limited. Fire wouldn't do much to rock, and neither would water. And gravity? I could only make things lighter or heavier.

  But let's be honest. That wouldn't have worked well. If I made Tristan so heavy he couldn't move, I would have run out of stamina before he gave up. If I made that 1,000kg golem lighter, he would have just hit me even faster.

  I shook my head. “You’re right. The spell takes everything out of me, and that’s not enough. If I miss, or if the enemy survives one shot, I’m screwed. I’m painfully aware of that…”

  I looked at the floor. Don’t forget why you’re doing this, Grim…

  “Don’t sweat it. We’ll figure it out. But it’s going to be grueling and painful; you’d better be ready for that. Now, get ready. We’re leaving soon, and don’t worry, we’ll eat on the way. I’m not letting you get your ass kicked on an empty stomach.” Corbin laughed and turned to leave, but tripped over the curtain rod he had destroyed.

  With a low curse, he left the room and slammed the door.

  Freshly washed, dressed, and semi-ready for whatever awaited me, I left the room. A strange feeling settled in my gut as my steps echoed through the long corridor. With every step, I realized more and more that I had no idea where I was going.

  I paused and looked over my shoulder. I had no clue which way I’d come from. Shrugging, I continued down the hallway, hoping to run into someone. Eventually, I reached a grand staircase leading to the main entrance. Well, I’ll just wait outside. Corbin has to head that way eventually.

  As I descended the stairs, my thoughts wandered to the books and games I’d loved as a kid. Fantastic worlds full of danger, adventure, and magic. How did the mages there fight again? They threw fireballs, ice lances, lightning bolts, stone bullets, wind blades, and magic missiles at their enemies.

  I couldn't help but chuckle. Those powerful mages could survive their adventures using the simplest, well-practiced basics. And me? I barely had the basics down, yet I thought I could win a tournament with nothing but "ultra finishers." I didn't lack imagination, but Corbin was right. I wouldn't survive two fights in a row if one spell left me incapacitated.

  I urgently needed to expand my repertoire. Simple, effective spells. But where to start? A fireba—

  My train of thought was abruptly cut off.

  “Don’t dawdle. The carriage is waiting, Princess.” Corbin chirped as he descended the stairs beside me. How? I had been so lost in thought I hadn't even heard him.

  “Before you ask: Lady Ainsworth and the Patriarch have been gone for hours. So we’re heading to the orphanage as fast as possible.”

  “Orphanage? You aren't planning to hold my training there, are you?” I called down the stairs, catching up to him as he swung open the massive double doors.

  “No. But you’re going to say your goodbyes, kid,” he explained boredly, walking toward the carriage waiting in front of the estate.

  A servant held the door for him. As he was about to step in, I asked, “Why say goodbye, Corbin?!”

  He turned his head slowly toward me. When I saw that wicked grin, I knew I wasn't going to like the answer.

  “We’re leaving Aegis.”