“Lackey, stay back.”

“Eep! Y-yes, Lord Maur!”

For years, no one in the entire Royal Capital had dared provoke Maur like this—except for that guy, Mavis.

After all, the nobles who’d once provoked Maur, only to be beaten publicly and relentlessly targeted afterward, were so numerous their line stretched from the Empress’s palace gates all the way to the Violet County Manor.

Why that route? Simple: after getting beaten, they’d rush to the Empress’s palace to complain—then scramble straight to the Violet County Manor to apologize.

Aside from Lilith, the Second Imperial Princess, and Mavis, the young master of Duke Fred’s house, every noble in the Royal Capital addressed him with deference: “Lord Maur.”

Even within the Imperial Grace Academy, an unwritten code quietly circulated among students—passed down eagerly by seniors to wide-eyed freshmen:

Rule One: *“Better to offend any noble than provoke young master Maur of the Violet County Manor.”*

Rule Two: *“If you spot young master Maur, avoid him. If unavoidable, keep at least ten meters away—and stay silent and humble the whole time.”*

Rule Three: *“If caught gossiping about young master Maur, apologize sincerely and flee before he memorizes your face. (Note: Just don’t gossip about him. Seriously.)”*

Rule Four: *“If you anger young master Maur—even for stepping into the academy with your left foot first—apologize. Immediately. Then…”*

*“Eat a good meal. Wear your finest clothes. And pray to the God of Light for mercy.”*

Maur hadn’t known about these rules before taking Tabitha as his lackey.

But he did notice: after the initial wave of provocations during enrollment, his formidable strength and gender-blind mindset quickly earned him a peaceful, leisurely campus life within half a semester.

These rules likely spread around then.

And Maur was fine with it. Even a swarm of buzzing mosquitoes gets irritating—no matter how easily you swat them.

“Annie Campbell.”

“Eight times the price! … Huh? What?”

Annie Campbell, hands on hips and eyes practically glittering with coin symbols moments ago, finally sensed the shift in atmosphere.

Maur’s earlier fury had vanished.

The young master of the Violet County Manor now stood before her, face eerily calm—yet thick with the tension of a storm about to break.

Maur cracked his knuckles.

Five fireballs, each the size of a human head, materialized around him and shot toward Annie at blinding speed.

*Boom!*

They slammed into the earth beside the red-haired astrologer, scorching the ground black.

Flames licked the hem of her mage robe. She yelped, frantically slapping at the fire.

“Eep!!! It’s burning! It’s burning!”

*Hehehehe.* A smirk curled Maur’s lips. “Just a greeting.”

“Draw your wand. I, Moir Elai Violet, formally challenge you to a duel.”

“If you win, today is forgotten. If you lose…” He flashed a textbook villain’s grin.

“Until semester’s end, I’ll duel you daily. Any time. Any place.

In class? Asleep? Whenever I’m in a foul mood—I’ll beat you to vent.”

“Eep!?” Annie, robe smoldering, stared in horror. “H-how is this fair?! You’re Level 3! I’m just a tiny Level 2! Aren’t you ashamed?!”

“Ashamed?” Maur hurled five more fireballs. This time, they grazed her arms and legs with pinpoint heat.

She yelped, jumping back.

“The weak should be ashamed of their weakness—not demand equality from the strong.”

“*You* should feel ashamed for such cowardly thoughts.”

In Maur’s view, strength on the Kachibia Continent came from many things: race, power, noble status.

As young master of the Violet County Manor alone? He’d be a “weakling” among Royal Capital elites.

But as Athena’s fiancé? Suddenly “stronger.”

Others called it bullying. He called it earned power. Why not use what you paid for?

Yet Athena’s name only made nobles step back. To make them *submit*, he needed his own crushing strength—like being a Level 3 mage.

Only raw power let him discipline whoever annoyed him.

A Level 1? Even as Athena’s fiancé, he’d be powerless.

Compared to Teacher Evelyn, Lilith, or even Mavis? He was still the “weakling.”

But a villainous young master would *never* stay bullied.

He’d train harder—until he could pound every smug face into the dirt.

Thanks to Evelyn’s notes, his spatial magic was progressing. Master Instant Teleportation? More power. More control.

And if other ways existed to make them suffer? He wouldn’t hesitate.

Five new fireballs ignited behind him.

Annie, Level 2 and trembling, burst into tears, collapsing to her knees.

“I’m sorry, Lord Maur! I was wrong! Spare me! I’ll give the info—half price! Aaaah!”

The fireballs swelled.

“Eep!!! A quarter! No—eighth! Tenth!!! Free! FREE!!!”

*BOOM—*

Maur fused the fireballs into one and slammed it down.

Tabitha, watching nearby, swiftly cast a low-tier water shield—her motion practiced, precise.

Combined with Annie’s own defense, it softened the blow.

Still, Annie’s skin flushed crimson, like a boiled shrimp.

“Hmph. *Free*?” Maur sneered.

“No. You’ll give me the *true* intel—and hand over *all* your savings as an apology gift.”

“Lie? Hide pocket money?”

“I’ll drag you to the infirmary… and ‘practice’ fire magic on you.”

“Don’t worry. The healers are excellent.”

“You won’t die. *Absolutely* not.”

“It’ll just… hurt a little.”

“Eep!!!”

Info was one thing—but her hard-earned coins?! Even secret savings?!

The red-haired astrologer’s eyes rolled back. She slumped to the ground, unconscious.