Owen Phillips was a renowned Grand Magus of the Capadovia Empire, whose strength nearly reached that of a demigod.
He stood among the finest of Legends, and was one of the very pillars supporting the Capadovia Empire.
The Capadovia Empire was famed as the Empire of Magic.
Owen was born and raised there. Like many other magi, he revered the elegance of magic and abhorred the crude art of swordsmanship.
If there was anything he detested most, it would have to be the longsword.
Within his villa, there was a collection room he took immense pride in, displaying all his greatest masterpieces: the Wand of Radiant Light, the Robe of Arcane Runes…
For Aixi before the age of seven, this place was the most sacred of Sanctums.
She would stand on tiptoe, gazing up reverently at those achievements she couldn’t understand, yet felt so proud of—because they were her father’s glory.
But after she turned seven, she never set foot in that collection room again.
Because, at the age of seven, she was found to have no talent for magic whatsoever.
On that day, she didn’t dare turn back to look at her father’s expression.
All she remembered was the deathly silence inside the carriage on the way home.
From that moment on, the door of her father’s study was closed to her, replaced by papers covered with complicated magical diagrams.
Aixi’s journeys to and from the Noble Academy were henceforth attended to by the Butler.
Her birthday parties became increasingly perfunctory.
When she tried to show her father her drawings as she always did, he merely gave a perfunctory “Mm,” his eyes never leaving those intricate magic diagrams.
Very soon, Aixi faced the second blow of her seventh year—her mother’s passing.
The only time she saw her father shed tears was at her mother’s funeral. After that, he grew even more taciturn, throwing himself entirely into his work.
It was as though, in that house, she was the only living soul left.
In her childish heart, she blamed herself for everything.
“If I could use magic, maybe Father would look at me the way he looks at his wand?”
So on many nights, she wept as she practiced with borrowed Magic Crystals, continuing until she collapsed from exhaustion, still murmuring in her sleep:
“Father, please wait a little longer for me… I know I can do it…”
Until she turned ten.
At the Family Magic Test, Aixi’s Magic Crystal once again showed no reaction. The whispers and pitying looks from her relatives left her wishing she could disappear.
Three years of pent-up grievance, loneliness, and confusion crashed through her defenses in that moment.
Upon returning home, she summoned the greatest courage of her young life, burst into her father’s study, and cried out to the figure forever hunched over his desk:
“Father! I hate magic! I’ll never be able to learn it! Can’t we… just talk like other fathers and daughters do?”
Owen finally lifted his head from his complicated arrays.
His gaze held no anger, no disappointment, not even emotion at all. It was a hollow stare, more hurtful than blame.
And a trace of weariness that had nothing to do with her.
He looked at her for a few seconds, as if dealing with an inconsequential matter, then calmly lowered his head, immersing himself once more in his research, leaving only a single line behind:
“Emotions cannot solve problems. If you have no talent, then don’t waste energy on meaningless things.”
In that moment, Aixi felt her whole world lose all sound and color.
At the same time, a new fire was kindled deep within her heart.
She wanted to prove to her father that there were things in this world besides magic—things that could accomplish what magic never could!
From then on, she picked up the longsword her father hated most.
Yet, in an empire where magic reigned supreme, no one would teach her swordsmanship.
What was most laughable was that her talent for swordsmanship was just as mediocre as her talent for magic.
In her duel with her rival Kaelan, she lost without suspense. The title of “Disgrace of Magic” spread like a cruel curse throughout the city.
Covered in dust and bruises, she returned home, yearning for a scrap of comfort—even a word of reproach.
But there was nothing. Her father hadn’t even noticed she had left, nor that she had come back.
The coldness of home, the pity of relatives, the mockery of enemies—all of it together drove her to decide to leave home.
When she shouldered her pack and departed, she cast one last look at the cold, resplendent “home.”
The Butler silently handed her a pouch of coins.
No one else tried to keep her.
From beginning to end, that man never appeared, never tried to stop her or hold her back.
In his eyes, whether she stayed or left meant nothing at all.
She was the “Disgrace of Magic,” and the disgrace of the Phillips Family.
Later, her father passed away from overwork. Far away from home, she had no way of returning.
That night, she tried alcohol for the first time—and for the first time, became thoroughly drunk.
In her drunken stupor, she dreamed. She dreamed she was born again, that her father loved her.
On her birthday, he would prepare gifts just for her.
She dreamed that even though she couldn’t use magic, her father still loved her, and softly whispered in her ear that magic was not the only thing that mattered.
In that dream, she truly felt happy—so, so happy.
But then she woke up, her pillow soaked in tears. That supreme happiness turned into a sharp blade, cutting deeply into her heart.
So another two or three years passed, until people from the Aos Empire found her.
That man was very polite. He took off his hat and stood before her, sincerely extending an invitation.
“Are you Mistress Aixi Phillips? We come by Oracle’s command to invite you to join the Rose Knights.”
Thus, she, Aixi Phillips, joined the Rose Knights.
……
Leaning against Selis’s shoulder, Aixi choked out, “I’ve hated my father since I was little… All he ever saw was magic. He never saw me.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Selis gently patted her back, her voice as soft as a feather.
“A child’s longing for a father’s love and attention is perfectly natural. When he met you with silence and a turned back, of course you felt anger, hurt—even resentment…”
“Aixi, these are all real and legitimate feelings. You need not be ashamed of them.”
As she spoke, Selis cupped Aixi’s tear-streaked cheeks, wiping away her tears.
“But, Aixi, have you ever thought that the ‘strength’ your father pursued may have been the most fragile kind of strength?”
Aixi lifted her bewildered eyes.
“He locked himself away in the Tower of Magic because it was the only way he knew to interact with the world. He couldn’t cope with the loss of his wife, couldn’t face an ‘imperfect’ daughter, and perhaps… he didn’t even know how to express love.”
“But you, Aixi, you chose the longsword he most despised. In the darkness where no one taught you, amid all the laughter and ridicule, you fell again and again—only to rise each time.”
“The courage that takes is far greater than casting a Forbidden Curse.”