“Grr…”
Xiadam was firmly flattened by the Fat Little Dragon, clutching her stomach and curling up on the bed.
“Screech…”
Having done something wrong, the Fat Little Dragon lay beside her, full of guilt, nuzzling her cheek.
“Where’s your Gravity Magic? Are you sick?” Xiadam didn’t blame it, but instead grew worried.
“It’s in perfect health, it’s just that all its Mana has been drained by Shapeshifting Magic. It can only maintain a human form for a short time, it’s still inexperienced,” Sheffield sat up, giving her evaluation.
“Why is it like this?” Xiadam rolled the Fat Little Dragon around on the bed, checking its belly, her breathing calming.
“I’ve already told you, haven’t I? The Black Dragon is an ancient Dragon adept at close combat, not at using Magic,” Sheffield said.
“Isn’t it pretty good at Gravity Magic?”
“That’s its innate ability. Gravity Magic is probably the only one it excels at; everything else is third-rate.”
“Then why did it turn into me?”
By now, the Fat Little Dragon was once again covered with a spell to lighten its gravity, and Xiadam was finally able to pick it up from the bed.
“The two of us were cursed into these forms, so it secretly learned Shapeshifting Magic from us. Of course, when it changes shape, it picks someone nearby to imitate,” Sheffield explained.
“Then why doesn’t it turn into you?” Xiadam retorted.
“Black Dragons and White Dragons have never gotten along. If it changed into me, that would be strange,” Sheffield replied emotionlessly.
“Get up. And put on some clothes.”
“I… want to sleep a bit longer.”
Sheffield reverted to her usual lazy self, wanting to nap a while more.
Xiadam covered her with the blanket, hugged the Fat Little Dragon, and went to wash up, then returned to continue researching the Sword of Divine Edge.
Every day, she analyzed the structure of her Broad Sword and infused it with Mana—this was a form of Magic training as well.
The more she practiced Magic, the more Mana she consumed, and the faster her meditation and Mana condensation would progress.
It was a rather fascinating cycle.
Because Mages meditate daily to absorb Mana, but what matters isn’t the amount of Mana itself. What truly needs to be increased is [Mana Maximum].
(If you explain it in game terms, the blue in the Magic bar isn’t important. What’s important is the length of the bar—the longer, the better. Only with a long enough Mana bar can you use stronger and more powerful Magic.)
So using up all your Mana actually helps increase your Mana Maximum.
But a Mage can’t just blindly use up their Mana and expect to gain a faster increase. They still have to use their Mana with care.
In short, there’s no shortcut in Magic cultivation.
Except for some of the Chosen Ones, that’s why Family Mages—who have trained since birth—are always stronger than Wild Mages.
“Buzz buzz buzz~ buzz buzz buzz~”
Early in the morning, Xiadam placed her Broad Sword on the tea table, her small hand resting on the blade.
A faint white mist drifted from her palm, permeating the steel of the sword to reinforce it.
Although it hadn’t reached the level of a divine weapon that sends waves with every swing, it had advanced into a fine sword that could cut through iron like mud.
A cup of tea, a sword, a small hand resting on it—she would sit like that for half a day.
If nothing else, since becoming a Mage, every day had been very fulfilling. There was no such thing as wasting time—she wished she could be meditating every moment.
By noon, Sheffield finally got up—because it was time for lunch.
Several maids took care of their daily meals.
They were all wives of Defensive Knights, none of them very old.
“Let us handle it ourselves.”
Their status made Xiadam a little uneasy.
“Honored Mage, both of you have shown boundless kindness to our Defensive City—we can’t neglect you,” the maids insisted even more firmly, wishing they could feed Xiadam and Sheffield themselves.
In front of these two stunning Mages, the maids weren’t nearly as restrained as the men. The men had to avoid suspicion, couldn’t be too obvious.
But in the eyes of the maids, they were just two girls to be cared for attentively and diligently.
“Ah~” Sheffield, for one, thoroughly enjoyed being fed by the maids.
“Really, you’re so unseemly,” Xiadam shook her head helplessly, elegantly sipping soup with a small spoon.
After the meal, the two left the guest room for a walk.
The maids followed closely, introducing them to the local sights and chatting as they went.
Xiadam noticed that everyone in the Defensive City was busy moving food supplies, but only from the south of the city to the north.
It wasn’t like they were transporting goods, more like preparing for something.
“Elder sister, are you preparing for some Festival?” Xiadam asked.
“In a few days, it’s the Old Lord’s hundredth birthday,” the maid replied.
“Osiris’s birthday, I almost forgot,” Xiadam muttered.
Thinking back, as Campaign Knights, we never bothered with such things—every day could be a death anniversary.
Now, in peaceful times, the old Campaign Knight had become a Lord, loved by the people, and could celebrate a grand birthday.
For a Knight to live to a hundred—it’s nothing short of a miracle.
It seems my thirty years of putting an end to war has been rewarded.
Xiadam felt deeply moved and quietly satisfied.
After the stroll, everyone returned to the Lord’s Mansion.
Xiadam handed the Fat Little Dragon to Sheffield, then went alone to visit the Old Lord Osiris for a chat.
The old man’s health was even better than the last time they met; he could already walk around the room holding his Knight Sword.
“Vice Commander, welcome,” Osiris said with a gentle smile.
“I hear you’re about to celebrate your hundredth birthday. Congratulations—living this long is no easy feat,” Xiadam sat down, joking unreservedly.
“All thanks to you,” Osiris replied, not the least bit annoyed, smiling in response.
“What do you want for your present?” Xiadam asked.
Upon hearing this, Osiris suddenly fell into a bout of reminiscence.
“What’s the matter?” Xiadam asked.
“Do you remember when you first joined the Order of War Knights? None of us accepted you. You were just a hero, after all—a brat with yellow hair. What right did you have to join us?” Osiris recalled the old days.
“Of course I remember! I went and fought every Company Commander one by one, beat everyone until they yielded before I could join the Order of War Knights,” Xiadam slapped her thigh, laughing.
“Hmph, the truth is we still didn’t accept you. We just couldn’t beat you,” Osiris snorted.
“To think thirty years have passed in the blink of an eye…” Xiadam sighed.
“Vice Commander, I have one more wish,” Osiris suddenly grew solemn.
“Go ahead.”
“I want to spar with you once more—just like back then.”
“No problem. At your hundredth birthday banquet, let’s have a public spar, just like thirty years ago,” Xiadam agreed without hesitation.
“Thank you, Vice Commander, thank you,” Osiris was deeply moved, thanking her again and again.