The world around him dissolved once again into bluish mist.
Aziz slowly opened his eyes in the dream space. The same dark stone clearing spread beneath his feet—silent and infinite, surrounded by a starless sky. The air there was dense, charged with purpose, as if the very atmosphere demanded complete focus.
He took a deep breath.
"System... resume the training of the 'Fundamental Essence of the Sword.'"
[Command accepted. Restarting practice environment.]
The system's feminine voice sounded smooth, with a teasing musicality that he was beginning to recognize. It wasn't a cold or indifferent presence. On the contrary—there was a lively curiosity in it, like someone watching a rare flower bloom.
The shadowy figure emerged once more from the mist.
Tall. Elegant. Impeccable.
Faceless, featureless, but with movements so precise they were hypnotic. The translucent sword in his hand shimmered with the same lightness as before, executing the sequence Aziz knew — but had not yet mastered.
Aziz watched in silence. Not with the eyes of a student trying to copy. But with the eyes of someone trying to understand.
The figure completed the sequence and dissipated like mist floating through the dark.
Aziz took the initial stance.
He closed his eyes.
'Breath. Center. Intention.'
The sword sliced the air. The first strike was clean. The second... hesitant. The transition into the third lost rhythm. He stopped.
"Again."
He tried once more. The same mistake. And then again.
With each error, Aziz corrected himself. Adjusted his grip, the angle, the timing. Sweat began to roll down his temple—even here, where his body was merely a projection. The effort was mental... but real.
[Still trying to master it through force? You are persistent, I'll give you that.]
The voice returned, this time with a note of amusement.
Aziz sighed. "If you're just going to make useless comments, keep them to yourself."
[Useless? Oh, I was about to compliment you… but now I'm not sure you deserve it.]
He smiled faintly, without stopping his movements.
"Say it anyway."
[You're different today. More... centered. You're not just trying to reproduce the gestures. You're trying to feel. That's good.]
Aziz said nothing, but a faint gleam flickered in his gaze.
The sword began to move more naturally in his hand. The strikes became more fluid. Still imperfect—but progress nonetheless. The gap between mind and body was narrowing.
Until, in the middle of a turn, the system's voice returned—oddly... playful.
[By the way... such an adorable little scene with your sleeping body out there. So cozy. So possessive, hehe.]
Aziz froze mid-movement.
"What?"
[Oh, nothing at all. Just a very intense display of maternal affection.]
Aziz narrowed his eyes. "You were watching?"
[I monitor everything, sweetheart. It's my job. After all, I have to take care of my host, don't I?]
"If you say so... So what exactly did you see?"
[Don't overthink it. It was just a demonstration of love… intense. From a mother to her son. But you've already noticed how your mother protects you? How she holds you, as if the whole world needed permission to come near you, right?]
Aziz fell silent for a moment.
The memory came rushing back—Astrid's fingers gently stroking his hair, the warm embrace of her body wrapped completely around him. It was comfort, it was affection... but also something more. Something that made his chest tighten in a strange, sweet, unsettling way.
"I... like it when she does that."
The words slipped out quietly, almost like an involuntary confession. His eyes remained fixed on the foggy training ground, but his mind was flooded with the image of his mother.
[Hm… how sweet.]
The system's voice softened, now almost teasing, with a hint of provocative charm.
[But feelings like that... they have hidden blades. Just saying.]
Aziz furrowed his brow slightly but didn't respond. He repositioned his feet and resumed the stance. He could still feel the warmth... but now he let it flow into the movement, not against it.
His sword sliced the air with a subtle sound.
[Focus, swordsman. You're close. Feel it—not with your body, but with the flow.]
Aziz inhaled slowly. Let the provocation fade.
And then... executed the sequence again.
This time, the first three movements flowed smoothly. The turn was clean. The thrust, precise. When he finished, the shadowy figure reappeared... and simply watched him, without repeating the gestures.
As if now, Aziz was the one teaching something to it.
He lowered his sword.
"That felt... different."
[It was. Now you're not just copying—you're letting the sword speak through you.]
Aziz nodded slowly, a faint smile on his lips.
'This is how you learn. A little at a time. No shortcuts.'
[And to think... just a few hours ago, you were blushing at the sight of your mother and Isis in nightgowns. And now here you are, a true warrior. What contrast.]
Aziz rolled his eyes.
"You never stop, do you?"
[I can't help it. Your life is just so... interesting. And the women around you are so... captivating. I can't resist.]
"Then just watch. But quietly."
[As you wish, my possessively beloved little swordsman.]
Aziz pretended not to hear. He lifted the sword once more.
And restarted.
The dream space filled with the subtle sound of the blade cutting the silence—steadier each time. More certain.
And out there... time passed as usual.
---
The distant sound of magical birds echoed through the open window, announcing the arrival of a new day. The golden light of dawn filtered gently through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm, peaceful glow. Slowly, the dream space faded, and Aziz emerged from unconsciousness like someone returning from a deep dive.
His eyes opened slowly.
The first thing he felt was the enveloping warmth of Astrid's body. Still lying beside him, she held him tightly against her, his face nestled between her breasts. Her long white hair spilled across the pillow like melted snow under the sun, and her breathing was calm, almost silent.
"Mmm..."
Astrid murmured something barely audible and raised her torso slightly. Her sky-blue eyes sparkled as they met Aziz's gaze—but quickly looked away, as if she had just remembered what she'd done the night before.
Her cheeks flushed.
Aziz blinked a few times.
"Are you... okay?" he asked softly, noticing the clear blush on his mother's face.
She brought a hand to her lips, as if to hide her embarrassment. Then she smiled gently and brushed her hair aside.
"It was just... a slightly cozier night than usual. Nothing more, darling."
Aziz raised an eyebrow slightly, still a little confused. Her body's warmth lingered on his skin, and the memory of how she'd held him—like something far too precious to ever let go—echoed within him.
But he didn't press the issue.
He simply nodded.
Astrid moved with graceful ease, sliding out of bed. Even in the simplest gestures, her movements were elegant. Isis stretched with lazy feline delight, covering her chest with the sheets before flashing a sleepy smile at Aziz.
"You two slept like rocks," she said playfully. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were in another world."
'In a way... I was,' thought Aziz, as he rose from bed.
Meanwhile, Astrid selected a light pearlescent dress that clung to her figure with ethereal elegance. Aziz dressed in a navy-blue tunic with silver accents and a high collar, adjusting the cuffs calmly while his mother watched with a different kind of gleam in her eyes.
The three of them prepared in silence.
Isis tied her hair with a silver ribbon, and Astrid smoothed her own with delicate fingers, as if composing herself after something too intimate to say aloud.
When they left the room—mother, son, and Isis—the hallway was bathed in a golden light from the embedded mana stones. A soft, complicit silence lingered between them.
---
In the dining hall, the aroma of breakfast floated in the air. Enchanted fruits, warm buttered bread, magically infused juices, and translucent slices of cheese filled the table, along with crystallized nectar.
Lady Stella was already seated at the head, with flawless posture and a calm, vulpine gaze. Sylvia sat nearby, hands folded over the table, watching attentively.
Sofia was there too.
The moment she saw Aziz enter, her eyes lit up—and a second later, her face flushed. She blushed discreetly, remembering how she'd fallen asleep in his lap. Her hands clutched her red dress, and she looked away briefly... but soon turned back toward him, a silent expectation in her gaze.
Aziz gave a faint smile, but before he could walk to his usual seat, he felt Astrid's hand on his arm.
"Today, you'll sit with me, darling," she said, her voice soft but firm.
Aziz hesitated for a second, then nodded and took the seat beside her. Isis settled just ahead in silence, while Astrid wore a restrained, almost teasing smile.
"I thought you'd take longer this morning," Lady Stella remarked gently. "Sylvia was about to go call you."
"We just sat down now," Sylvia added, with a brief nod.
Aziz sighed softly, relieved. He hated the idea of making them wait. Fortunately, this time, he wasn't late.
Sofia, however, watched everything quietly—but the discomfort in her eyes was impossible to miss. She shrank subtly when she saw Aziz sit beside his mother, as close as he used to sit with her in recent days.
But what really made her bite her lower lip... came moments later.
Astrid turned to her son with a small plate in hand. Without a word, she began to feed him naturally, as if it were a habit. She cut small pieces of fruit, dipped them in nectar, and brought them gently to his lips with maternal tenderness.
And he accepted them.
Without hesitation, without awkwardness. As if this was already part of their routine.
Sofia looked away. But she peeked again a second later—just in time to see Aziz pick a strawberry from the platter and, with equal care, offer it to his mother's lips. Astrid accepted it with a shy smile, savoring the fruit with a subtle sparkle in her eyes, as if it meant something deeper than words.
That small, silent moment made Sofia's chest tighten.
Not violently. But uncomfortably.
'He... feeds her too?' she thought, her heart sinking slightly.
It wasn't just their closeness. It was the gesture. The softness. The exclusivity of that moment—a quiet ritual she once thought belonged only to her and Aziz. In the past few days, she had been the one he fed... and in her mind, that was special.
But now, watching it between him and Astrid... she felt strange. Distant.
Small.
She blushed again, this time unsure why. She tried to focus on the plate before her, but her eyes kept drifting back. And the more she watched, the deeper the sting of jealousy grew.
Aziz noticed.
Even while gazing at Astrid, he felt Sofia's eyes. Felt her silence shift. But he said nothing. He simply remained there, feeding his mother, being fed by her—in a ritual that felt ancient, intimate, and unbreakable.
The atmosphere at the table was delicate, almost fragile. Everyone present seemed aware that something stirred beneath the surface. But for now, they pretended not to notice.
And so, breakfast continued.
Slow. Filled with unspoken meanings.
But soon... the silence would be broken.