After discussing the young duke's future education, Slowe and Conner concluded that the issue was almost as critical as Slowe's resignation from the Nightmare Corps. They decided to temporarily set the matter aside and revisit it with trusted advisors once they returned to the estate.
Ideally, the young duke should receive the best education in the best environment to smoothly inherit his father's title when the time came. This would prepare him to deal with the cunning cabinet ministers in the capital and the predatory noble neighbors bordering the estate. However, as Conner had admitted, the young duke was far from ready for such a responsibility. While he lacked any real ability, he had thoroughly absorbed the royal court's indulgent and decadent habits.
"Shiu, 23 years old, currently studying classical political science and new poetry at the Royal Academy's Faculty of Humanities." Slowe gestured, and a projection of a young man appeared on the white oak-paneled wall. "The future Nightmare Duke, for now, just another… literary poseur."
The young man bore the same blonde hair and blue eyes as Conner, but at first glance, it was hard to associate the two. His long, soft blonde hair was tied loosely behind his head with a black ribbon, an elegant yet effortless look. He wore a dark green plaid coat barely reaching his thighs, paired with tall brown-black leather boots. His exposed legs revealed toned calves and bare thighs above the knees.
A gray-green scarf matching his coat covered most of his sharp, strikingly beautiful face. His upturned eyes radiated a cold aloofness, entirely devoid of his father's warmth. With hands tucked casually in his pockets and his slightly tilted head framed by tousled hair, he exuded a languid superiority that combined decadence with a hint of disdainful observation.
Amora observed for a while and concluded, "He's probably the popular type."
"If you look at him from behind, you'd never know if he was a man or a woman," Amora said, glancing at Slowe. "Actually, I think the same applies to you."
Slowe froze momentarily before frowning. "Do you only judge gender by hair length?"
"No, also by clothing," Amora replied, her eyes flicking back to Shiu's bare thighs. "And this outfit is definitely women's clothing."
"Fine, forget what's trendy in the capital. I just wanted to give you a glimpse of your future sole classmate. Got it?" Slowe snapped his fingers, and the image of Shiu's legs and handsome face vanished from the wall.
Earlier, Slowe had briefly explained Conner's significance to Amora, making it clear that he was a major figure in the Ploman Empire and that his only son would soon be her peer.
Amora swiftly repeated, "Shiu, 23 years old, studying classical political science and new poetry at the Royal Academy. An academic literary poseur, destined to inherit the Nightmare Duchy. Got it."
"You haven't 'got it.' You just have a good memory," Slowe said, massaging his temples in frustration. The challenges ahead seemed endless, and even he felt unsure where to begin. "I'm still figuring out how to teach both of you. Your personalities probably won't mesh well."
"It's fine. I think I can adapt," Amora said confidently. After all, she had tolerated Menger for over a decade. "You could focus on teaching me the theoretical aspects while providing experimental materials and reference books. I don't want to take up too much of your time."
"Alright, I'll likely remain on the Duke's estate after my resignation. You could stay at my house…" Slowe noticed Amora's evident reluctance and added, "Or somewhere nearby."
"Thank you," Amora nodded.
Slowe thought Amora's independence was almost excessive. If she could occasionally act like a typical child and show vulnerability, she might be more likable. Amora, however, made no effort to feign innocence or use her age to her advantage. She was unapologetically upfront about her advanced knowledge and capabilities, rejecting pity or charity.
It was hard for Slowe to imagine how someone like Menger managed to raise a fragile girl like Amora. This was a man responsible for the deaths of enough children to fill the Grand Canal, and yet Amora seemed as delicate as a shelled egg.
After some thought, Slowe explained, "Honestly, under imperial law, minors cannot live alone. You need an adult guardian. If you don't want to go to an orphanage, you'll have to find one."
"Are you volunteering?" Amora asked directly, blinking innocently. "If it wouldn't disrupt your personal life, I wouldn't mind."
Slowe chuckled wryly. "I don't have much of a personal life for you to disrupt."
It was a common fate for military mages. Many never married or had children, and some never left the Sky Fortress once they stepped aboard. Their lives were consumed by their duties to the magical corps, and they were often deployed to battlefields where death was a constant risk. Their lives were devoted to the empire, building an unshakable defense with their will and spirit.
Amora paused, surprised. "I thought someone of your rank would be in high demand."
Slowe replied earnestly, "Military ranks aren't hereditary. Compared to marrying an officer who's away 360 days a year and might die at any moment, women today tend to prefer nobles with inherited titles."
"That sounds… challenging."
Amora found it hard to understand such preferences. The empire had only so many nobles, but an overwhelming number of eligible women. Were they all vying to be duchesses or mistresses to counts? Surely they could use that time and effort to educate themselves and become equals to nobility through their own merits.
"It's not as hard as it sounds. After the harmful effects of inbreeding were proven, the emperor started encouraging nobles to marry commoners. Opportunities abound," Slowe replied, though he personally believed the emperor was merely diluting noble bloodlines to prevent them from forming strong alliances through marriage. He refrained from discussing such politics with Amora.
Instead, he remarked briefly, "You're not at an age where marriage should concern you. Focus on how to get along with your new classmate."
Amora coughed lightly. "I'll focus on studying and ignore everything else."
"Good. The young duke has neither power nor brains, so there's no need to curry favor with him," Slowe said bluntly, his fingers interlocked as he smiled. "Focus on your own growth. He's irrelevant to you. As mages often say, focus makes you strong. Remember, if you encounter any problems while studying, come to me."
"I understand." Amora nodded, grasping Slowe's stance.
Nightmare Duke Conner was still in his prime, and his son had a long way to go before inheriting the title. Amora saw no need to forge a tenuous friendship during his frivolous years. Instead, she resolved to focus on her studies and absorb as much knowledge as possible from Slowe. By elevating herself to a high position, any "classmate bond" with the young duke would become valuable only when the time was right.
"Oh, one more thing." Slowe was about to leave but stopped at the bedroom door. Turning back, he asked, "What's your real name, anyway?"
Amora recalled that she had once told the Duke her name was "An," but she couldn't fabricate such an obvious lie for Slowe. She answered, "A name Menger gave me?"
"Yes. What did he call you?"
"Amora," she replied, her pronunciation slightly different from how the name would typically be rendered in the Pranman language. "It's from an ancient magical language. Menger transliterated it into standard Pranman."
Slowe was a little surprised. He repeated the name and speculated, "Magicians of the Root System tend to be more traditional. They believe names can grant extraordinary power."
"That's correct," Amora agreed, tracing characters from the ancient magical language into the air. They glowed faintly for a moment before fading away.
Slowe recited the characters aloud, "Immortal, unfading… goddess."
"Yes." Amora lowered her head, her chestnut hair shimmering warmly in the dim light. "Everlasting, imperishable, the eternal goddess."
"…" Slowe was silent for a moment before commenting, "I think he was quite fond of you."
If the meaning of Amora's name were taken literally, Menger had spent years addressing her as his goddess—always in a posture of reverent admiration.
"Perhaps," Amora acknowledged. He liked her enough to want to kill her.
"He even built you a God's Domain," Slowe noted, observing her carefully. But Amora kept her head lowered, avoiding his gaze. "Yet, you and your father weren't close."
"…Don't call him my father," Amora said, her profile hardening into a cold mask.
Slowe decided to avoid the subject. Bringing up Menger seemed unwise; she appeared determined to distance herself from that part of her life. Instead, he said, "Fine. Well, now you have a new name."
"What?" Amora looked up in surprise. In just a few sentences, she had apparently gained another name.
Slowe took a few seconds to recall the name he had casually invented earlier. "Ernir. Yes, that's it."
"You gave it to me?" Amora asked. Knowing that Slowe was a mage of the Root System, she wondered if the name might carry some meaningful blessing. Her curiosity piqued, she asked, "Does it have any special meaning?"
"It does… a little," Slowe hesitated before continuing, "Ernir is a sea monster from Orcish legends. It's said to be a world-destroying beast that looks like a giant octopus."
Amora: "…"
Slowe, realizing he shouldn't have shared that detail: "…"
Amora looked up at him, her expression icy. "Thank you for the name. You may leave now."
Slowe remained silent as he politely exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Finally able to relax, Amora leaned back in her wheelchair, hugged the soft velvet pillow, and managed to read three or four pages from her book. Just as she was about to rest her eyes, a knock came at the door.
"Miss Ernir, we've arrived," came Slowe's serious voice.