Chapter 407. I Know How to Kill With Magic, But Not How to Teach It
The evening air in their private chamber was thick with the scent of sandalwood and the fading heat of the day, but William couldn’t shake the phantom sting of the training yard.
His shoulder throbbed a dull, grinding ache where Kaela’s pommel had connected with his bone, and his mind was still caught in the vicious rhythm of steel on steel.
Catherine noticed. She always noticed.
She moved toward him with the silent grace of a predator turned protector, bringing a basin of warm water and clean linens. As she began to dab at the dried blood staining his pauldron, her touch was gentle, but her eyes were sharp, searching his face.
"You’re still out there, aren’t you?" she asked quietly, her voice cutting through the crackle of the hearth. "Your body is here, but your mind is still fighting that girl."
William let out a long, ragged exhale, leaning back against the carved headboard. "She’s getting faster, Catherine."
"Terrifyingly fast. But she’s also becoming more reckless."
"Every time she commits to a strike, she leaves a piece of herself exposed."
"If she faces a true assassin, someone who doesn’t fight for sport but for blood, that opening will be her grave."
He paused, watching the way the firelight danced in Catherine’s hair before continuing. "I’ve been thinking about elemental magic... specifically wind."
"I think it would complement Kaela’s fighting style considerably if I could find a way to properly incorporate it into her training."
Catherine paused mid-motion, the damp cloth hovering near his shoulder. She tilted her head, studying him with keen interest.
"Wind? That’s a volatile choice, William."
"Most practitioners struggle to contain it; it’s flighty, unpredictable... Why wind?"
"Because she fights like a storm," William said, his voice growing intense. "But she’s a storm without a center."
"She needs to be able to manipulate the air around her to turn her momentum into something she can control, something she can pivot on a dime."
"Wind would give her the agility to match her raw power."
Catherine set the basin aside and sat beside him, her expression shifting from curiosity to practical concern. "You’d need to learn it first, though, wouldn’t you?"
"Unless you expect her to simply imagine the wind into existence." She raised an eyebrow. "I don’t recall you ever mentioning formal magical training."
"That’s precisely the problem," William admitted, rubbing his jaw. "Everything I’ve built so far has been through brutal necessity combat techniques honed through blood, scars earned in survival, and whatever direct gifts the system has seen fit to grant me."
"I’ve never actually sat down to study the theoretical foundations of elemental manipulation."
"I know how to kill with magic, but I don’t know how to teach it."
"I wouldn’t even know where to begin with the proper incantations or mana flow theory."
’I can break a man’s neck with my bare hands, but I’m standing before a girl who needs the very air to breathe, and I’m powerless to teach her how to command it. ’William thought while exhaling. ’It’s infuriating.’
"You’d need a genuine instructor," Catherine said thoughtfully, her fingers tracing the edge of the blanket. "Someone who understands the theory behind the raw talent."
"Wind affinity requires a foundational understanding of pressure, temperature, and atmospheric flow."
"That’s not something you pick up by swinging a sword... It’s academy-level curriculum."
William let out a frustrated sound, half groan, half growl. "I know. But who?"
"The instructors I would actually trust men who wouldn’t try to exploit our position or Kaela’s potential are all back at the academy."
"And I can’t just leave her here, unsupervised, while I go hunting for tutors."
"With Delmore still lurking in the shadows like a vulture, leaving this palace feels like handing Kaela over to the wolves."
The room fell silent, save for the steady pop of the burning logs. William stared into the flames, feeling the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on his chest like iron plates.
He was a protector, a teacher, a soldier, but in this moment, he felt like a man standing at a locked door with no key.
Catherine watched him for a long moment. She saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled into fists against the bedding.
Then, something shifted. A spark of recognition lit up her eyes, followed by a slow, knowing smile that made William’s pulse quicken with sudden apprehension.
"You’re looking for a master of the air," she said softly.
"I’m looking for someone who won’t get her killed while trying to teach her," William corrected sternly.
Catherine leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well... I might actually know someone."
"Someone who has spent more time dancing with the wind than walking on solid ground."
William bolted upright, his eyes narrowing. "Who? Catherine, if you’re suggesting some retired court mage who spends his days drinking wine and reciting poetry, forget it."
"Kaela needs steel and discipline, not philosophy."
"Oh, I promise you, this person has plenty of both," Catherine replied, her smile widening.
The mystery in her expression was infuriating. "They are as dangerous as they are brilliant."
"Tell me now," William demanded, reaching for her hand. "No games."
"If we’re going to change her fate, I need to know what we’re dealing with."
Catherine pulled her hand away playfully, rising from the bed with an air of regal satisfaction. She walked toward the window, looking out over the moonlit gardens, leaving William suspended in uncertainty.
"Trust me on this one, William," she said over her shoulder, her silhouette framed by the silver moonlight. "You’ll see soon enough."
...
The following morning arrived with an unforgiving clarity. The sun rose not as a gentle herald of light, but as a searing blade that cut through the morning mist, exposing every crack in the palace cobblestones and every drop of dried blood on William’s training gear.
His shoulder still burned a deep, throbbing reminder of Kaela’s ferocity and his muscles felt like they had been stitched together with rusted wire.
As William, Catherine, and Kaela made their way across the expansive palace grounds toward the training yard, the atmosphere was unusually tense.
Kaela walked several paces ahead, her shoulders rigid, her movements precise and lethal even in her stride.
She was already mentally back in the fray, her mind replaying every missed parry and every overextended lunge. William watched the back of her head, his jaw tight.
He could feel the unspoken pressure between them the desperate need to close the gap between her raw talent and true mastery.
Catherine walked beside him, her presence a quiet comfort, but even she seemed attuned to the unspoken anxiety clinging to William like damp wool. The air was still, heavy with the promise of heat, until a sound shattered the morning’s fragile equilibrium.
"Well, well... If it isn’t Instructor Wade."
The voice was like silk pulled over steel teasing, melodic, but carrying an unmistakable edge of challenge. It cut through the quiet morning air from somewhere behind them, vibrating with a familiarity that made William’s entire body go rigid.
"Thoroughly domesticated and apparently traveling with an entourage now."
William stopped dead in his tracks. His hand instinctively twitched toward the hilt of his blade before he forced the motion to subside.
That voice. He hadn’t heard it in months, not since the chaos of the academy had scattered them like leaves in a hurricane, but it was burned into his memory.
Slowly, deliberately, William turned.
Striding toward them with the same infuriatingly easy, confident grace he remembered a predator who never needed to hurry because she knew the world would wait for her was Selena Ashbourne.
The morning light caught her pale blue hair, making it shimmer like sunlight reflecting off glacial ice. She looked exactly as he remembered: dangerous, beautiful, and utterly unimpressed by anything she deemed beneath her notice.
She was dressed in practical traveling clothes leather breeches and a fitted tunic that allowed for effortless movement suggesting she had crossed vast distances with little more than what she carried in the small satchel slung over one shoulder.
But it was her eyes that stopped his breath. Those sharp, analytical eyes that could dissect a spell’s structure or a man’s weakness in a single glance.
"Selena," William said, his voice rougher than he intended.
"You look terrible, William," she said without preamble, stopping just outside their personal space.
Her gaze swept over him with clinical detachment, lingering for half a second on the faint discoloration beneath his shirt where his shoulder was still bruised. "Blood loss, exhaustion, and... what is that?"
"Sentimentality? You’ve gone soft since you left the academy."
Kaela spun around at the sudden confrontation, her hand dropping to her sword hilt, her eyes blazing with defensive fire.
"Who is this?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.
Selena’s lips curled into a faint, amused smile as she turned her attention to the girl. "Ah, so this is the little stormcloud you’ve been babysitting."
"Tell me, Wade does she actually know how to fight, or does she just know how to make a mess?"