Her crimson silk gown brushed against his dark coat with every turn, creating a faint static electricity between them.
Her curls of red hair flowed with the motion. Her rich perfume, which smelled of sharp wine and something deeply floral, filled his senses.
Her breasts gently touched his chest. He gulped down his saliva at the soft feeling against his chest. His heart beat slightly faster.
They were really big and soft.
He felt the unexpected, subtle heat of her hand resting against his back.
As they spun, her head tilted back, her long, elegant neck exposed. Their eyes met. Arista's violet gaze was no longer simply curious. There was a hint of excitement. She was enjoying this dance.
He was no longer just the weak Azael, relying on memory. Ethan, took over the lead, responding to her movements with an instinctive, confident press of his palm against her back.
He dipped her low and pulled her back up in a smooth, elegant motion that drew a slight, almost a small intake of breath from her.
The contact was a subtle. He could feel the strong, toned muscles beneath the expensive silk of her gown, a testament to her life as the family heir and crown envoy. She was physically formidable. No wonder she was heir to the Ignivar Family.
'She might have abs, considering her physique.' He thought feeling her subtle muscles.
Azael could tell she had trained very hard for years. She must be very strong. Maybe she could help him for training.
When the music reached its peak, Azael held her firmly, their chests brushing as they executed a swift rotation. Arista's eyes flashed with a momentary spark. A mix of surprise and curiosity.
While Azael thought only one thing at that moment. 'Damn! My time with this woman is going to be very hard.'
Poor him. Not only was he weak now, he also needed to work hard at controlling his emotions around such beauties.
It was quite cruel for him to be their family. If he was not, he really had made move on her. Flirt with her. But he could not do it.
The music ended with a flourish, leaving a brief, charged silence around them. Azael, still caught in the momentum of the performance, kept Arista's hand in his.
As much as he tried to control his young man's energy. He could still try few light things.
He brought it smoothly to his lips and pressed a feather-light kiss to the back of her gloved hand.
"Thank you for the dance, my sister," he said, his smile genuine, his voice soft but carrying some kind of triumph.
The effect was instantaneous and profound. Arista was visibly shocked. More so than when he'd first asked.
This time, the surprise was not just at his confidence, but at the sheer, almost sensual grace of the gesture. A formal, elegant, and deeply personal move that the old Azael would have considered doing it. Kissing back of her hand? Honestly not many men do this gesture.
In truth this was one of the lines and move he had practiced in past life. It was very hard for him. To show his gentlemen side to high profile ladies. No matter how wild and reckless he might be, to have good impressions on ladies he needed to act liked good man in fron of them.
Arista had been away for a year, and her "little brother" had changed into someone unrecognizable. Forcing a smile, she managed, "Me too. Thanks for the dance."
Across the hall, both Liana and Aeliana had witnessed the entire scene. Liana's eyes were wide with a mix of astonishment and mischief, while the Duchess's cold expression held a sliver of genuine, complicated surprise. A silent acknowledgment that her son was no longer the fading boy she remembered.
Slowly, the atmosphere of the gathering slowly get down. Azael, satisfied with the evening's performance, didn't remained there for too much longer.
'That happened instinctively. Tch!'
He felt a slight, unexpected fluster. The result of kissing Arista's hand had been purely instinctive, a response to her breathtaking beauty and the intimate flow of the dance.
Even though he kept telling she was his sister. He still did that thing. Something he learned for impressing ladies.
Even Cedric was surprised at his actions.
Azael get away from the center and walked over to table, arranged with lot of food items. Different dishes.
'Okay now I won't hold back.' Azael started to try eating differnt different dishes.
"This are good! Hehe~" he chuckled lightly. A cheerful wide smile appeared on his face. His normal smile. Not the one he does while acting.
He didn't hold back in eating.
'Guess there was some use of this gathering ro banquet. I made good impression on Arista. She looked pleased. Also Cedric...Eternum Academy. Nice! Now I need to focused on training.' He thought while eating.
After that he talked with some other nobles. Getting them with forced smile.
"I need to go now. I can't take it anymore." He muttered to himself.
He bowed curtly to the Duchess and Liana, muttered a simple farewell, and left the Levarin estate. Climbing into his carriage, he sank into the plush seats as it pulled away, heading back toward the Ignivar manor.
The political dance was over. The real work was about to begin. Soon after he left the gathering also came to end.
---
The Next Morning
The sun had barely crested the horizon when Azael was awake.
He dressed in simple training clothes. A coarse linen shirt and dark breeches. He walked immediately toward the back grounds of the estate.
Every muscle in his body ached. a
A deep, fiery protest from the unaccustomed strain of yesterday's exercise.
'The real pain starts now,' he thought, gritting his teeth.
He began by running laps around the perimeter of the sprawling manor grounds. The physical weakness of the body was undeniable; his lungs burned, his legs felt like heavy weights, and sweat poured from his temples before he'd even completed the first round.
"Hah… hah… hah…"
He could hear the desperate, uneven cadence of his own breathing.
'Dammit! I won't give up so easily. I need to worked hard. More and more.'
He didn't stop. He pushed through the pain, focusing on the rhythmic thud of his feet hitting the dirt path. A relentless rhythm that silenced the screams of his failing body. He ran until his vision tunneled slightly and his shirt was drenched.
Next, he headed to the training hall.
The knights were already there, engaged in their morning routine. The moment Azael entered, their sparring paused.
Unlike yesterday, however, there was no surprise, and no one rushed to question him. There was only silent observation. They had already seen the frail young master push himself to collapse, and they knew better than to interfere with this new, terrifying resolve.
'Alright, let's train now.' Azael didn't notice their eyes on him. He was more focus for training.
He walked past the weapon racks and the sparring pits, heading straight for the corner with the gym equipment. He grabbed the small dumbbells from yesterday and began his routine. Presses, curls, and lunges.
The pain was immediate and excruciating this time. His muscles were torn, demanding rest, but Azael forced them to move. His face was a mask of concentration, his jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack.
'I need strength. There is new world out there. Lot of beautiful ladies waiting for me. Many enemies waiting for me to wreck havoc in their world. For that I need strength.'
His reason for strength was straight forward. To enjoy his life to fullest.
He completed the set, then moved to the floor, pushing through agonizing sets of push-ups, each one a tremor of pure willpower.
When he was done, he collapsed onto the cold stone, panting, his body shaking uncontrollably.
He lay there for several long minutes, allowing the pain to wash over him. Then, slowly and carefully, he climbed back to his feet.
The knights watched. No one spoke. They saw the relentless, driven fire in the young master's eyes.
A look that spoke of battlefields, not ballrooms. They saw a man willingly tearing his body down, only to rebuild it.
Too bad those knights don't know the true reason for his determination. It was nothing like a true warrior.
Azael knew this phase would be the hardest. He had three months. Every day had to count.
He finished his routine by picking up a wooden sword and began slow, careful practice swings, testing the flexibility and balance of his weak limbs, integrating the deep muscle memory of the warrior Ethan with the new frame of Azael Ignivar.
Azael was lost in the slow, painstaking motions of the wooden sword. His form was shaky. He already have experienced and memories of past life.
He executed a slow horizontal cut, his arms trembling, and his focus was instantly broken by the sound of the training hall doors sliding open with a soft, decisive thud.
'Who came now?' Azael thought.