Chapter 177: Obedience Tasks

For now, I just kept wandering around the estate, looking for something—anything—else to do, all while getting odd looks from the guards and servants.

Still, they didn’t seem all that bothered, funnily enough. To them, it was just another one of their lady’s quirks when it came to pawns—especially one as close to her as me.

Somehow, that made the whole situation feel a little less awkward.

Even if they did start watching me a little more closely, I doubted I’d really mind.

For now, I settled into the D’Arclight library. It wasn’t as grand as the Imperial Library, but it was still useful and packed with knowledge. Besides, it’s not like I could just leave again to visit the better option, could I?

“This should work.”

I picked up a fire-attunement spellbook. I probably wouldn’t use it much, considering my special attunements, but having a few basic fire spells would help when I needed to stay discreet.

Unlike Profaned’s easy-to-explain purple magic, black flames—shadows of fire that were nearly impossible to extinguish—were much harder to justify.

With Profaned, I could pass it off as strange lighting or leverage my eyes’ abilities. I couldn’t really do the same for Black Flames.

[Photographic Memory]

I skimmed through the book as fast as I could, cramming all the information into my head to sort out later that night. For now, I had to focus on Evelina’s treasure hunt while still getting stronger.

I bit my lower lip.

I still couldn’t believe I’d traded away such a powerful artifact…

Well, no use crying over it.

If anything, it was a miracle I’d walked away from that mess alive.

I flipped another page.

Basic spells—sparks, ignition, small bursts of flame. Apprentice-level. Safe, simple, and very familiar. Nothing that screamed demonic assassin who shouldn’t exist.

I finished the last page and shut the book.

“Done.”

The door creaked open.

A servant stepped in, froze when she saw me, then lowered her gaze. “My lord.”

I waved a hand. “At ease.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She moved quickly through the shelves, gathered a stack of books, and slipped out again.

I leaned back.

…Huh.

Like I thought. No screaming, no panic, not even confusion. Apparently, wandering the estate in whatever strange thing Evelina left me, really was normal here.

“Yeah, that checks out,” I muttered.

I stretched, stood, and slid the fire spellbook back into place.

Something caught my eye—a folded scrap of paper wedged between two books.

“…Really?”

I pulled it free. Another note.

You’re still following along, good. I was worried you’d get distracted by the library. Predicting that you’ll grab this specific book was a stretch even for me…

Anyways, here’s your next clue: training yard.

I stared at the neat handwriting, then laughed under my breath.

She’d actually planned this out. Not some grand, perfect puzzle—but something she genuinely believed I would do while she was gone.

And I absolutely loved it. The fact that she’d paid so much attention to me that she could recognize my patterns was incredible. It even made me let out a quiet, manic laugh under my breath.

And she was right.

I tucked the note into my pocket and left the library.

A pair of guards straightened as I passed.

“My lord… are you looking for something?” one asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Fresh air.”

Not entirely a lie.

The afternoon sun spilled over the training yard. Weapon racks lined the walls. Several D’Arclight trainees were already sparring in the sand.

Despite being trainees, I could tell they were deadly—far more deadly than the average rank-and-file member of the now-collapsed Shadow Society. I could even see them incorporating dirty tricks into their fighting style.

I guess Evelina wasn’t lying when she said she would restructure their training after I so easily beat one of them before.

The moment they noticed me, everything slowed.

Not from fear.

Curiosity.

I could feel the stares.

“…What?” I muttered.

One trainee quickly looked away.

Right.

The collar.

I’d almost forgotten.

I rubbed the back of my neck, fingers brushing smooth metal.

“It’s quite comfortable…”

Something glinted on a weapon rack—a small wooden box.

This one was definitely more obvious than the library one. It didn’t help that I couldn’t remember it ever being there the whole time I’d been here.

[Photographic Memory]

Another note.

Good. Still obedient. Now pick a weapon and practice for fifteen minutes. Don’t slack off.

I stared at the paper.

“…That’s it?”

It really was just a random pile of commands. I guess she really did just want to train me into obedience again. I can’t blame her—there’s definitely something appealing about that.

Even better, being treated like that by her again would be amazing.

It’s been too long since I’ve been the target of her sadistic nature.

Sigh.

I wish she’d just come back already.

“Alright then,” I muttered, stepping toward the weapon rack.

Swords, spears, axes—standard training gear, well-maintained but clearly used. My hand drifted past them until something further down the rack caught my eye.

A steam pistol.

Compact, with a brass frame, dark steel barrel, and a pressure chamber built into the grip. Thin pipes ran along the side into a thumb-sized gauge that ticked softly with stored pressure.

Simple, practical—the kind of weapon you didn’t notice until it was already pointed at you.

Been a while since I’ve used a classic firearm.

I picked it up. The weight settled comfortably in my hand, heavier than a dagger but balanced for quick draws. A few trainees paused mid-spar. One—a broad-shouldered man—nudged the person beside him.

I ignored them.

Fifteen minutes.

I stepped into the open sand and exhaled. The world narrowed. I checked the chamber out of habit, spun the pistol once around my finger, and caught it again.

Pressure gauge: stable. Safety: off. Good enough.

I raised the pistol and moved.

Step, draw, aim—click.

A sharp hiss escaped the chamber as the valves snapped open and shut. The pistol jerked slightly in my grip, and a metal training plate on the far wall rang out with a loud clang.

I shifted immediately into a different stance for the second draw. Another hiss. Another clang.

Not flashy—efficient. Precise.

By now, the trainees had stopped sparring entirely. All eyes were on me. They were surprised that a noble heir with magic could be that skilled with a pistol; no sane noble family would bother handing their child a gun when he could use magic.

But I seemed to be different, they thought.

I sighed and kept going.

Draw, then fire.

Adjust, then fire again.

Each shot was smooth and controlled, the pistol’s mechanisms clicking and hissing in rhythm as the chamber vented small bursts of steam.

Eventually, I lowered the weapon and checked the gauge. Pressure nearly spent.

“That felt really good, actually…”

I chuckled. Man, I still love how recoil felt in my hand; it really did feel satisfying in a way that magic could never achieve.

I wonder how many times I’ve said that now?

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