The next morning, warm sunlight spilled through the window like honey on glass. Yumigawa Senki woke slowly and saw Yumigawa Nozomi and Yugong Jingyue asleep beside her, their faces calm as moonlit petals, and a quiet warmth washed through her like spring water.
That sisterly closeness had been a distant season, a lantern memory. Cradling that feeling, she slipped from bed, slid into her shoes, and carried the Sacred Life Sword into the courtyard, like a river taking to its old course.
“What a fine day,” she murmured, eyes lifting to a sky rinsed blue by the sun, and she stretched, bones clicking like bamboo in a breeze.
“I wonder how far I can go if I unleash everything now,” she thought, battle-thirst rising like fire under frost. “I want a real fight, a full storm.”
At Egisia Academy, Xinuo had often guided her, ever since Senki had challenged her with the rashness of lightning against a cliff.
Back then, Senki had been proud—sure she could learn from inherited sword tomes alone, like drinking from a well without the river. Talent carried her fast through the basics, bright as a comet.
But in that season at Egisia, her progress outpaced all the grind of ten long years, because Xinuo’s words cut like clean wind through fog.
Many times, Xinuo said only a line or two, yet her flaws stood naked like stones after a wave, and then a few moves fell into place.
Even in magic, Senki received no small guidance from Xinuo; to someone at Xinuo’s height, all cultivation was one mountain seen from above.
In other words, if Xinuo wished, she could become the strongest mage alive at any moment, like a star choosing where to burn.
Under her guidance, Senki’s outrageous gift ignited fully, a dry prairie catching a single spark, and each day of training leapt forward like a spring torrent.
Things once opaque cleared after Xinuo’s brief explanations, like ink thinning to reveal the paper’s grain, until Senki grasped them by feel.
That fight with Xinuo burned brightest; in the end, Xinuo’s “demonstration” of the World Sword opened Senki’s eyes like thunder splitting a night sky.
Once, she could draw only a tenth of the Sacred Life Sword’s strength; now she could call forty, even fifty percent, like a bow pulled to true crescent.
By now, whether in sword or in magic, she stood at a god-tier peak, sharp as ice and deep as sea, and her combined strength matched a mid-tier Lord God. Compared to the self who’d first left the Central Continent, the gap was heaven and earth, dawn and midnight. Hence her steadied confidence, hence her disdain for the Dark Demon, like a hawk ignoring crows.
“Having a mentor beats clawing forward alone,” she breathed, gratitude soft as rain.
She knew Xinuo had guided her out of idle ease, a goddess passing time; still, in Senki’s heart, Xinuo had long become her teacher, an old pine on the ridge.
“Eh? Isn’t that Qianji? You hardly come home, why not sleep in?” A pretty maid, a basket of freshly washed clothes on her arm like a woven moon, stopped and smiled.
“Good morning, Leihua.” Senki turned with an easy smile. “I saw the weather and sleep just blew away, like mist in sunlight.”
“I get that,” Yumigawa Leihua nodded, eyes bright as dew. “Mornings like this feel so kind on the skin. The view’s lovely, too.”
“I’ll hang these and start breakfast. Qianji, what do you want to eat?” Her voice was gentle as steam from a pot.
“Mm… something light,” Senki said, like choosing a clear broth over wine.
“Alright.”
They chatted a bit more, leaves brushing in passing, then Leihua took her leave. Senki decided to practice before washing and changing, steel calling like a bell.
Whether it was the air or her mood, her form today flowed clean as a mountain stream; new moves that once felt stiff turned silk-smooth.
Gradually, she let her eyes fall shut. Feeling came first, breath then blade, and she sank fully into practice, like ink soaking rice paper.
With time, her swings grew tighter, neater, distilled to essence, and a quiet cadence thrummed within them, a hidden string under the wind.
Half an hour slipped by like sand through a glass. Senki rose from the trance, eyes opening sharp as dawn, and she cut upward with the Sacred Life Sword.
A blade-wind roared forth, cold and keen as winter river, and it tore open the clouds above, scattering them like frightened birds.
“Ha—now I’m clear as the sky,” she exhaled, satisfaction warm as tea. “Wash up and change.”
She sheathed the Sacred Life Sword with a neat motion and returned to her room like a swallow to the eaves.
At nine, after breakfast, on Yugong Jingyue’s suggestion, their plan was to visit scenic places across the Central Continent, like beads on a string.
First stop: the Wind Valley where Elyar dwelled, not far from the clan estate, a green pocket in the vast map.
Riding the Aerucia Bird Nozomi summoned, they skimmed the air like arrows loosed from a quiet bow, and arrived in just over ten minutes.
The Wind Valley lay shrouded in countless teal breezes, a soft veil over stone, mystery coiling like incense. A few steps closer, coolness wrapped them like shade.
On the cliff walls lingered the weight of ages—weathered scars and faint inscriptions, lines like riverbeds carved into time.
Inside the valley, the eye met nothing but living green, fresh as new leaves. Tiny elemental sprites drifted in the air, glowing cyan, painting the wind with odd starlight.
“That Elyar really knows how to pick a spot,” Senki said, a small sigh like a reed flute. “No matter how many times, it feels new.”
“Right? Napping here would be bliss,” Yugong Jingyue half-squinted, laziness pooling like warm cat fur, and Senki could only sigh in defeat.
“Waa, so cute!” Yumigawa Nozomi beamed, hands out to pet the sprites—some puffballs, some kittens, some flowers—shapes dancing like dandelion seeds.
Because of Nozomi’s constitution, the sprites adored her; laughter and light tangled together like ribbons, and joy rang easy as chimes. Senki and Jingyue shared a glance and a smile, a silent toast.
“Why have you come?” The Wind Spirit King, Elyar, appeared, wrapped in azure wind like a cloak, curiosity bright in her eyes.
“Xiaoya, we came to play in the Wind Valley!” Nozomi answered, still cradling a sprite like a spark.
“I see. Then come to my Azure Breeze Court,” Elyar said, voice cool as shade. “I’ll give you proper hospitality.”
“That’s your place? Sounds fun,” Nozomi’s interest flared like a lantern newly lit.
“Yes. I just had the maids prepare tea and a spread of sweets,” Elyar added, the wind around her humming like strings.
“Maids? What’s that?” Nozomi tilted her head, innocent as a finch.
“Spirit maids who handle my daily needs,” Elyar replied, matter-of-fact as stone. “Hm? Yumigawa Senki, what’s with that face?”
“…I just want to know why, on this empty Central Continent, only maid culture has managed to thrive,” Senki said, bafflement creasing like ripples.
“…Isn’t it because that uncle of your Mizumi Clan keeps bringing back books, and every single one has maid themes stuffed in?” Elyar shot back, a breeze with bite.
