The lounge was quiet except for the faint hum of the magical screen displaying the fight. My gaze stayed fixed on the stage, watching as Valeria held her ground against Varen Drakov. She'd come far—much further than I'd expected. Each swing of her Zweihander carried more than strength; it carried resolve, purpose. Her movements had refined, her mana sharper, her determination unshakable even in the face of overwhelming force.
'She's really improved,' I thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Seeing her now, fighting with such clarity, it was hard not to feel… proud. Not that I'd tell her, of course. That would only inflate her already unbearable sense of self-worth.
