Chapter 16: She will not back down

After she finished speaking, Freya ignored Lyra and sat directly on the chair.

Lyra blinked, watching Freya sit down.

Like an obedient puppy, she carried her high heels and plopped down on the bench.

She even proactively lifted her two dirty feet and stretched them out in front of Freya.

Under the moonlight and the hazy glow from the distant banquet hall, those feet certainly couldn’t be called pretty.

There were thick calluses on the soles, along with some old, small scars.

Her ankles and the tops of her feet were covered in fresh red marks and tiny wounds rubbed raw by the rough ground.

There were even a few blisters, clearly the “masterpieces” of those exquisite but completely ill-fitting high heels.

Freya said nothing.

She simply extended a finger, a faint purple glimmer of mana swirling at her fingertip, and began to chant a short, ancient incantation in a low voice.

It wasn’t a fierce and rapid chant like that of an attack spell, but rather soothing syllables, like the whispering of a stream.

As she finished her chant, one small ball of clear water appeared out of thin air, gently enveloping Lyra’s feet.

Healing glimmers flickered within the water, softly washing away the dust and stains while bringing a cool, comfortable sensation.

The red marks on Lyra’s feet faded at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The small, rubbed-raw wounds healed rapidly, and even those few blisters flattened out, leaving only faint pink marks behind.

“Wow…”

Lyra watched with curiosity as her feet became clean, and the original burning sting and discomfort disappeared.

She wiggled her toes, surprised to find that not only were the wounds healed, but even the sense of fatigue had lessened significantly.

“Boss, I didn’t expect you to know Healing Magic too!”

She looked up, her heterochromatic eyes sparkling with novelty.

“I thought you only knew those ‘pew-pew’ and ‘boom-boom’ attack spells!”

As she spoke, she even gestured with her hands, mimicking the motions of a Wind Blade cutting and a Lightning Explosion.

Several black lines slid down Freya’s forehead.

Her expression, which had softened slightly from using Healing Magic, instantly threatened to crumble.

‘What on earth are these “pew-pew” and “boom-boom” sounds…’

‘What a mess of onomatopoeia and descriptions!’

“Magic is a form of power — “

Freya withdrew her hand, and the water dissipated into the air. Her tone was somewhat helpless.

“Its essence is understanding rules and applying them. Attack, defense, support, and healing are simply different directions of application. As a student of the Central Magic Academy, mastering basic Healing Magic is a compulsory course.”

Although she specialized in Energy Magic and Elemental Magic, with her talent and comprehension, touching upon the field of healing was not difficult.

She simply rarely used it in front of others.

After all, the image Freya Christo Dale projected to the outside world was more that of a genius mage with powerful offensive capabilities.

“Oh — “

Lyra drew out the sound, nodding as if she understood, but her attention quickly returned to her clean feet.

She shook her toes.

“Regardless, it’s amazing! It’s way better than those quacks in the Black Market who only know how to use low-quality herbal salves!”

She smiled lightheartedly.

Freya looked at her cloudless smile.

The resentment that had accumulated in her heart because of her father, Ross, and Irina seemed to be diluted slightly by the clear moonlight and the pure — or perhaps simple-minded — joy of the person before her.

“Put your shoes on. Although the wounds are healed, it’s not appropriate to walk barefoot.”

Freya reminded her.

Lyra stuck out her tongue and obediently slipped those “torture devices” back onto her feet.

This time they felt slightly better, but she clearly still disliked them.

“Boss, are we going straight back to sleep now?”

“Yes.”

Freya stood up, the night wind brushing against her long hair and the hem of her dress.

“There’s serious business tomorrow.”

Lyra also jumped up and followed beside her.

After walking a few steps, she suddenly whispered.

“Boss… thank you.”

It wasn’t just for healing her feet, but for clearly defending her in front of her father, calling her an “assistant,” and acknowledging her abilities.

Freya didn’t stop her pace; she only glanced at her sideways.

Under the moonlight, Lyra’s white hair seemed to glow.

The smile on her face was still reckless, but there was a rare hint of seriousness in her eyes.

“You are the one I chose, Lyra.”

Freya’s voice was calm as usual, yet it reached Lyra’s ears more clearly than the evening breeze.

“At least during the contract period, your value is determined by me, not others.”

Lyra was dazed for a moment, then her smile deepened, her red eyes curving into crescents.

“Understood, Boss!”

The two stopped talking and walked quietly on the path back to their quarters.

After tonight’s commotion, tomorrow’s Exchange Competition was destined not to be peaceful.

But at this moment, with the moonlight clear and the night breeze cool, they at least obtained a brief moment of tranquility and an… indescribable rapport before the storm arrived.

In the distance, the banquet hall of the Royal Academy of Magic was still brightly lit, and the music continued to drift through the air.

The hypocrisy, calculation, and undercurrents unfolding there seemed temporarily unrelated to the two people on this moonlit path.

But they both knew that after this short rest, the true contest was about to begin under the sunlight.

After returning to the room the academy had arranged for them, Freya took a bath.

The warm water washed away the fatigue of the banquet and the lingering scent of powder and perfume, but it could not wash away the heaviness in her heart.

Freya changed into a soft silk nightgown and sat by the bed.

She held a brief file on her opponents for tomorrow’s competition, but her gaze could not focus on the text for a long time.

Only one magic bedside lamp was lit in the room.

The warm yellow glow outlined her calm profile and reflected the dark waves churning deep within her light purple eyes.

‘Irina…’

Tonight at the banquet, Irina’s act of “bravely” standing up, “thoughtfully” speaking for Hezdi, and then “obediently” apologizing was like a key that unexpectedly opened a long-sealed gate in Freya’s memory.

In her past life, there had been a similar scene.

Back then, she was proud and naive, yet she had already begun to vaguely sense the conflict between her father’s forceful planning for her future and her own desires.

Unpleasant conversations, gradually escalating arguments, accumulated resentment, and rebellion…

After one particularly heated argument with Hezdi, she had slammed the door and left, only to encounter Irina at the corner of the corridor.

Irina had “happened” to be passing by, her face full of worry and timidity.

“Freya, are you alright? I thought I heard you and Uncle arguing… Don’t be sad. Uncle… he must care about you too much. It’s just that his way might… might be a bit upsetting.”

In those days, Irina had also used such a soft voice, saying things that seemed to comfort her but were actually excuses for Hezdi in every sentence.

Her pink eyes were filled with “sincere” sympathy, easily lowering Freya’s guard and even giving her the illusion that ‘perhaps she understands my troubles.’

Later, when the relationship between Freya and her father reached a freezing point and she simply stayed at her grandfather’s house to avoid him, she heard that Irina had “proactively” visited Hezdi.

Exactly what was said was unknown, but the news that came back was that Irina was “patiently persuasive” and “well-behaved.”

She had made the furious Hezdi “deeply gratified,” and he even publicly sighed, ‘If only I could have such a thoughtful and sensible daughter.’

And then…

Freya’s fingers suddenly tightened, and the edges of the soft parchment file were squeezed into deep wrinkles.

On the eve of her being imprisoned by Ross and having her Mana Heart Crystal stripped away, a piece of news that shocked the high society of the Royal Capital arrived —

Hezdi, Earl Elwin, had officially announced that he was adopting Irina Ewell as his daughter, granting her the Elwin surname, and promising to provide her with the same treatment and resources as his biological daughter.

The reason was that Irina was “extraordinarily talented, pure in character, gentle, and filial, truly after my own heart.”

At that time, the true eldest young lady of House Elwin was being held in a dark, sunless dungeon, enduring day after day of torture and approaching death.

Loss of face?

No, that was no longer important.

It was a cold despair — a complete denial and abandonment of her identity and existence by her closest kin.

When she was in the most pain and needed her family’s protection the most, her father had not only failed to find or save her, but he had personally elevated the venomous snake who had framed her and coveted everything she owned to the position that originally belonged to her!

Did she hate them?

Of course she did.

Toward Ross and Irina, it was a bone-deep killing intent.

But toward her father, Hezdi…

That emotion was more complex, mixed with the pain of betrayal, deep-seated disappointment, and an almost absurd sense of sorrow.

Perhaps he had never truly understood her, his daughter.

In his eyes, family interests, personal authority, and a “well-behaved puppet” who met his expectations were far more important than a biological daughter who had her own thoughts and might even “disobey” him.

Moonlight filtered through the gauze curtains, falling coldly on the floor.

Freya slowly loosened her hand, smoothing the wrinkles on the file, but her eyes were colder than the moonlight.

In her past life, Irina had used this seemingly harmless camouflage — which in reality catered to Hezdi’s psychology at every turn — to step-by-step gain her father’s trust and favor, eventually usurping her place.

And Freya herself, through repeated arguments, confrontations, and estrangement, had pushed her father further and further away, even giving him a “reason” to seek a “more agreeable” daughter.

In this life, Irina was clearly starting to repeat her old tricks.

Wasn’t that performance at the banquet tonight a perfect display?

When Hezdi was furious and she herself responded coldly, Irina appeared at the right time, playing the role of the “sensible,” “thoughtful,” and “brave” perfect mediator.

She easily harvested Hezdi’s goodwill and perhaps even planted the seed of comparison in his heart —

‘Look, other people’s daughters are so “well-behaved”!’

‘Fine. Very well.’

The corners of Freya’s lips curled into a cold arc.

‘Since one of you likes to play the strict father controlling everything and the other is keen on pretending to be a little white flower to seize benefits, then I will play along with you.’

‘Only, the script will no longer follow what you’re familiar with.’

‘Father, do you not value family reputation and “obedience”? Then I will let you see what the style and ability of a true family heir should be, rather than a substitute who only knows how to cry and coax.’

‘Irina, do you not like to pretend to be weak and innocent, always “thinking” of me?’