Totally screwed.
Mission failed.
That was the only thought left in Xing Yue’s head.
Learn the sword?
Flanya wanted to learn the sword from her?
But she was a mage!
The cheat-level Xiao Fenmao was also a mage!
Give her a break—how was she supposed to teach someone swordplay?!
Xing Yue felt her temple throbbing.
If you added up all the swordsmanship the two of them knew between them, they probably couldn’t even fill a single page of a sword manual.
She couldn’t show weakness.
But under Flanya’s eager, expectant gaze, could she?
If she did, where would the face of this “Demon Lord” go?
She had just said she’d help her, and if she immediately turned around and said, “I don’t know this”—
Then what would happen to her authority as a teacher?
Xing Yue took a deep breath, her expression steady as an old dog.
She gave a light cough.
“Cough…”
Flanya nodded seriously.
“Flan, are you sure you want to learn the sword from me?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Her voice was calm, yet carried an unquestionable resolve.
“All these years of magical training have made me understand one thing.”
“Magic ultimately has its limits.”
“It depends on elemental spirits, on external power.”
“Once those things abandon you, you have nothing left.”
“I don’t want to experience that feeling again.”
She lowered her head, looking at her own hands.
Those hands had once been able to summon world-destroying magic, but now they could do nothing.
“Since the elemental spirits abandoned me, I’ve resolved to abandon that kind of power as well.”
Damn.
A fifth-rank mage’s power, and she was willing to throw it away just like that.
Listening to these words, Xing Yue couldn’t help but click her tongue inwardly.
“I want to learn the sword too.”
“Even if I have to start from zero.”
Damn, worthy of being an Empire princess.
That kind of resolve—worthy of being an Empire princess.
But admiration aside, the problem was—
She really didn’t know the sword!
Xing Yue felt bitter inside, but Xing Yue didn’t say it.
She could only grit her teeth and keep up the act.
“Mm… that’s some spirit.”
She nodded, offering a word of praise, and tried to make her tone sound like that of an experienced teacher.
“However, before I teach you, I need to see your current level first.”
“Do you have a sword?”
Flanya was briefly stunned, then nodded.
“I do.”
She turned and walked toward the ornate cabinet in the corner of the room.
The cabinet door opened, revealing a dazzling array—jewels, accessories, various exquisite ornaments, and a little plush bear brimming with girlish charm.
Flanya’s gaze swept over those things without the slightest pause.
She reached out and took a longsword from the rack inside the cabinet.
The scabbard was dark brown leather, inlaid with a few dark gemstones, looking antique and understated.
And beside that sword, a staff lay casually in the cabinet as well.
An exquisite staff, its body carved with intricate patterns, a large mana crystal embedded at its tip.
That had once been her pride, a comrade who had accompanied her through countless battles.
But now, Flanya didn’t even glance at it.
She picked up the sword, shut the cabinet door directly, and walked back to Xing Yue.
“My lord.”
She held the sword with both hands and offered it to Xing Yue.
“Please inspect it.”
Xing Yue waved a hand dismissively.
“No need to show me.”
“Hold it yourself.”
“First, use whatever swordsmanship you’re best at so I can see your foundation.”
Flanya nodded.
Then she stepped back a few paces, clearing an area in the room.
Flanya steadied herself again, took a deep breath, gripped the sword tightly, and her gaze sharpened.
“My lord, then I’ll begin.”
Xing Yue nodded.
And in the very next moment, Flanya moved.
She gripped the sword with both hands, adopting a standard Imperial court swordsmanship opening stance.
And then—
She swung.
Cleaved.
Thrust.
Lifted.
Parried.
Every movement was impeccable to the point of flawlessness.
Every posture was precise as though traced from a textbook.
Flanya’s expression was serious, her movements on point, even her breathing rhythm perfectly controlled.
This was her best—and only fully mastered—swordsmanship.
Though she was a mage, as a member of the royal family, excelling in both academics and martial arts was inevitable.
Court swordsmanship had been the mandatory course her father arranged for her and her sister since childhood.
Before long, Flanya completed the entire court swordsmanship set, her movements flowing smoothly and seamlessly.
If an outsider watched, they would surely think this girl’s swordsmanship was quite good, very polished.
Yes, very polished.
But Xing Yue’s brows furrowed tighter and tighter.
On the contrary, she was doing too well.
It wasn’t that Flanya was doing badly.
She was doing too well.
Every movement was like a pre-set program, mechanically executed.
When to cleave, when to slash, when to withdraw the sword—all step by step, rigidly by the book.
It was as though whatever the swordsmanship teacher had taught back then, she replicated exactly, flawlessly standard.
One could even say it was identical, without any variation.
And without anything of her own.
As Xing Yue watched, she suddenly had a strange feeling.
That feeling was hard to articulate, but it made her feel—
Something’s wrong.
This isn’t right.
She had never learned the sword.
By all logic, she had no right to judge anyone’s swordsmanship.
But Xing Yue had an inexplicable intuition.
Flanya’s sword…
Had no soul.
Too rigid.
Too stiff.
Like an exquisite puppet, pulled by strings to make various movements.
The movements were beautiful, the postures were standard.
But that was a puppet’s dance, not a person’s sword.
After completing the entire set of court swordsmanship, Flanya withdrew her sword, steadied herself again, and panted slightly.
She looked at Xing Yue, a trace of expectation in her eyes.
“My lord, how was it?”
Xing Yue fell silent.
By her intuition, she felt Flanya had no talent for swordsmanship whatsoever.
What could she say?
What could she say?
But those discouraging words—she found it a bit hard to say them out loud.
Yet to praise “very good” against her conscience?
She couldn’t do that either.
She was silent for a few seconds.
Xing Yue finally spoke.
She paused, weighing her words.
“Your sword…”
“Is very standard.”
“Every movement is impeccable to the point of flawlessness.”
Flanya’s eyes lit up for a moment.
“But—”
Xing Yue looked at her, a trace of complexity in those heterochromatic eyes.
“Too standard.”
“I can tell you’ve been consistently reviewing this set of swordsmanship in your spare time, so you’re very proficient.”
“But your sword has no you in it.”
Flanya was stunned.
“No… no me?”
Xing Yue nodded.
“That’s right.”
“Your sword is the sword your teacher taught you.”
“Not Flanya’s sword.”
“You’re merely repeating what others taught you, repeating movements etched into your muscles, without injecting your own will into it, without anything of your own.”
“That sword in your hand is nothing more than a tool for imitation and learning to you, not your most tacit understanding partner.”
Xing Yue paused, her gaze falling on the longsword trembling faintly in Flanya’s hand.
“Your sword has no soul.”
Her voice was calm, yet every word struck Flanya’s heart like a heavy hammer.