After realizing Mia had kissed him, Karl jolted as if electrocuted—springing straight off the bed and bolting for the door.

He frantically twisted the doorknob, desperate to escape.

Mia didn’t stop him. She simply sat on the bed, chin resting in her hands, and said with a mischievous smile,

"Brother-in-law, that was my first kiss. You have to take responsibility."

Karl didn’t dare reply. He yanked the door open and fled.

Damn! What the hell was that?!

Could his sister-in-law act normal for once?! Kissing him—seriously?!

And her *first* kiss?! If Freya found out, he’d get stabbed three times: head, heart… and a third somewhere *very* delicate.

Hurrying down the wide corridor, Karl’s mind churned with worry.

Today it was just a kiss. Tomorrow? Who knew what mischief she’d stir up.

If Mia actually dragged him into bed again… those death scenarios he’d witnessed wouldn’t stay fictional for long.

Wait… hadn’t she already dragged him into bed *twice*?

Damn it. He had to stay sharp around Mia. No more letting her lead him by the nose.

Just then, Freya appeared from the opposite end of the hall—glistening with sweat, clearly fresh from training.

"Darling, you’re back?"

Karl glanced at her, eyes flickering away for a split second. "Yeah… back."

Freya’s brows furrowed slightly. "Why won’t you look me in the eye? Did you do something wrong?"

Karl instantly widened his eyes, locking gazes. "I, Karl, stand upright and honest! What wrongdoing could I possibly have?!"

*(It was just a kiss from my sister-in-law! I didn’t kiss her back—I’m the victim!)*

Freya narrowed her crimson eyes. "Were you flirted with at the poetry gathering?"

Karl declared with mock solemnity, "Plenty tried! But I told them all: ‘Compared to my Freya, you’re not even fit to tie her shoes!’"

A faint smile tugged at Freya’s lips. "You’re full of nonsense. If you actually said that, Mother would scold you for poor manners."

Karl just chuckled sheepishly.

Then Freya stepped closer, gently pecking his cheek. "Nonsense or not… I like it."

"You don’t like my nonsense—you like *me*. Anyone else said that, your eyes would roll to the heavens."

"Naturally."

Karl gazed into her crimson eyes and softly pressed a kiss to her lips.

Freya savored it briefly. "I won’t linger here. Off for a bath. You should train more too—don’t fall so behind I can beat you."

She turned and walked away.

Karl took her words to heart. No more wasting time on Mia’s antics. He *needed* to train.

Who knew what death-defying crises awaited? Only strength could anchor him.

He headed to the garden to spend the rest of the afternoon honing swordsmanship and magic.

In this world, magic cultivation meant unblocking internal magical circuits. More circuits unblocked = stronger spells.

As a transmigrator, Karl had to unblock *both* magical circuits *and* meridians. He’d tried collateral meridians too—no noticeable effect.

Sitting cross-legged on the grass, his body shimmered with attributeless magic surging relentlessly against his circuits.

Meridians and circuits couldn’t be cleared at once—separate sessions slowed his progress.

But sharpening the axe never delays chopping wood. Slower growth, yes—but results were undeniable.

One hour on circuits. One hour on meridians.

By five o’clock, he rose, gripping his longsword. Lightning magic—his affinity—surged through his limbs.

In a flash, his figure darted across the garden, blade twirling, slicing arcs of light through the air.

Just as he stopped, a cold voice cut from behind:

"Your form isn’t bad… but the technique itself is trash."

Karl spun around. Calis stood there in her black-and-white maid outfit.

"Trash?!" Karl gaped. "This is the Lante Empire’s noble sword art! It’s above average!"

Calis smirked. "Generic noble fluff. Didn’t your family hire real masters?"

Karl sighed. "They tried. Their styles were worse. So—Empire’s Sword Art until university. Better techniques later."

Calis sighed lightly. "Honestly? Most *are* worse. You made the right call."

Karl’s eyes lit up. He stepped close with a grin. "Sister~ You *must* know something stronger! Teach me~~"

Calis shot him a withering look. "Don’t call me ‘Sister.’ It’s Calis."

"Aw, don’t be distant, *Sister*~~ If you wanna teach me, just say it!"

"Who said I’d teach you? I was just stating facts."

"Then show me what *good* looks like, Sister~~"

Calis sighed. "Fine. Since you insist—I’ll show once. Learn what you can." She held out a hand. "Sword."

Karl handed it over eagerly.

Calis walked to the garden’s center, scanned the area, then—

*Crackle!*

Lightning erupted across her body.

Karl’s pupils shrank. Wind magic. Dark magic. *Now lightning?!*

Triple affinity?! Was she Diamond-rank *at minimum*?!

Before he could process it, Calis raised the blade, voice sharp and clear:

"Watch closely. This is an S-rank lightning-affinity sword art—Thunderflash Blade!"