CHAPTER 7: The Mark of the Unroyal
Louisa's eyes shot open, the simulated defeat vanishing from her expression as if it had never been there. She stopped in her tracks, her boots skidding slightly on the gravel, and turned around. A collective gasp, sharp and sudden, rippled through the gathered crowd of nobles like a gust of wind through dry wheat.
Standing near the center of the range, framed by the arched shadows of the ancient oaks, was a girl who seemed to radiate a soft, internal luminescence. She was breathtakingly beautiful, possessing a quiet, ethereal grace that commanded the air around her. Her hair was a cascading waterfall of shimmering silver-white that fell past her waist, and her eyes—a piercing, crystalline blue—held the clarity of a frozen mountain lake. This was Azest, a name that carried a weight of its own within the hallowed halls of Aethelgard.
"Azest..." Christy stammered, the word catching in her throat like a burr.
The haughty confidence that had defined Seraphina and Christy only moments ago evaporated instantly. In a synchronized, almost mechanical motion, they and their companions immediately bowed their heads. It was a fearful, practiced symbol of respect, the kind reserved for those whose power was not just inherited, but indisputable.
"Azest... but she's just a Commoner," Christy whispered under her breath, her eyes darting toward the grass, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and suppressed spite.
"This is a school," Azest said, her voice smooth and cool, possessing the weight of a mountain stream. She stepped toward the noble trio, her boots clicking with predatory precision against the stone. Her gaze lingered on Seraphina, who looked as though she wanted to melt into the shadows.
". Everyone here should be given the chance to train without the interference of those who think their blood is a substitute for manners. Unless, Lady Seraphina, your family has purchased the academy's grounds since the sun went down last night?"
Seraphina bit her lip so hard it turned white, unable to meet Azest's gaze. Azest was a level higher than them—a star pupil who had not only dominated the archery rankings in the previous semester but had done so with a record that had remained unbroken. In the meritocracy of the range, Azest's word was absolute law.
"We... we apologize, Lady Azest," Christy muttered, her voice small and brittle.
The trio gathered their expensive, sapphire-encrusted bows and hurried toward the far end of the range, their movements hurried and clumsy, their heads still bowed like shamed hounds.
"Thank you, Azest," Louisa said, walking back to her table with a renewed, light-footed energy. She bowed her head, this time with a genuine, quick respect that lacked the exaggerated theatrics she had used on the bullies.
"Don't thank me yet," Azest said, a small, encouraging smile playing on her lips. She reached for her own bow—a masterpiece of white weirwood and silver thread that hummed with a faint, celestial mana. "Aethelgard is a place of noise. The only way to silence it is with a better sound. Show them why you're here."
Louisa reclaimed her equipment. She felt the weight of the dark wood bow in her hand, the grain of the wood familiar and grounding. Beside her, Azest began her own practice. The older girl was a blur of practiced perfection; she moved with a fluidity that made the act of shooting look as natural as breathing. Each of Azest's arrows found the mark with a soft *thrum* and followed by soft mana release, a testament to her high-tier mana control.
But the peace of the range was a thin veil. Even with Azest's protective presence, the whispers from the other side of the range—where the "Royals" had congregated—didn't stop. They simply became more venomous.
"Pfft, look at her. An unroyal," Louisa heard Christy mutter from the distance, her voice carrying across the grass. "Let's watch how she'll fail. She probably doesn't even know how to properly hook the string. It's a waste of a good bow."
Azest stopped her own draw, the silver arrow still nocked. She glanced over at Louisa, her crystalline eyes searching the younger girl's face. "So," she asked softly, "have you ever used a bow and arrow before? "
Louisa nodded slowly, She nocked the arrow, the silver string clicking into place with a satisfying, metallic snap.
"It's been some time," Louisa murmured. Suddenly, her yellow pupils sharpened, the "innocent" look vanishing like mist in the sun. In its place was the cold, predatory focus of a master hunter.
"But I can do this."
Azest stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest, her curiosity piqued. The entire training compound seemed to hold its collective breath. The noble students stopped their own practice, turning their heads to watch the "Commoner" who had been saved by a legend. All eyes—hostile, skeptical, and mocking—were fixed on the girl with the golden ponytail.
Louisa took a deep, centering breath. She didn't just aim with her eyes; she felt the wind tugging at her hair, sensed the humidity in the air, and timed her heartbeat to the rhythmic hum of the mana around her. The red bullseye fifty yards away seemed to expand in her vision until it was the only thing that existed in the universe.
She drew the string back, her elbow high and steady as a mountain ridge. She held the draw... one heartbeat... two... three.
Then, she released.
The "twang" of the string was a sharp, musical note that echoed off the stone walls of the main spire. The arrow didn't just fly; it hissed through the air, a blur of motion that defied the eye's ability to track.
**THWACK.**
The sound was violent. The arrow buried itself so deeply into the center of the red bullseye that the entire wooden target stand groaned and rocked backward on its heels. The shaft was still vibrating with a high-pitched hum, the fletching a blur of motion in the very dead-center of the crimson paint.
A stunned, suffocating silence followed. Not a single noble spoke. Even Christy's mouth hung open in a silent 'O' of disbelief.
Louisa didn't wait for their reaction. Before the first arrow had even stopped vibrating, she reached back, pulled a second arrow from her quiver, and fired again in one continuous, blurred motion. Then a third.
**THWACK. THWACK.**
The precision was terrifying. The second arrow struck the nock of the first, splitting the shaft clean down the middle. The third arrow followed suit, splitting the second. Three arrows were now stacked into one single, impossible hole, perfectly dead-center. It was a display of skill that bypassed mere talent and entered the realm of the supernatural.
Louisa lowered her bow, her yellow hair fluttering in the breeze as she exhaled a long, slow breath. She turned to look at the stunned crowd, her "innocent" smile returning—the one that looked sweet but didn't quite reach her predatory yellow eyes.
"I think I remember how it works now," she said, her voice carrying clearly through the silence.
Azest let out a low, melodic whistle of genuine approval, her blue eyes wide with a new kind of respect.
"That... that's a masterpiece," she breathed, looking at the target. "I've seen Masters of the King's Guard struggle to pull off a double under pressure, let alone a triple-split."
"I prefer results over souls and bloodlines," Louisa replied with a sharp, knowing smile. She glanced toward the pale-faced Seraphina and the trembling Christy, who were staring at the target as if it were a ghost.
"Don't you?"
Louisa's words hung in the air, a direct challenge to the hierarchy that had tried to crush her.