III. In the dead of night,no one was inclined to be merciful.
“Was that a strike? Don’t make me laugh, little princess,” the man snickered, his malicious amusement echoing in the vast, empty Training Hall full of silent and stoic remembrances of dead knights from forgotten past.
Sevrin Astergarden lay sprawled by his feet, her clothes almost in shreds, with only her protective armor intact. Her katana, lying useless on the cold marble floor, was thrown off a few good feet away from her, struck from her hand painfully by her opponent’s rapier.
She spat out blood, which left cruel streaks of red on her cheeks and her hair as she wiped it away from her lips with the back of her gloved hand. “I am just…warming up,” Sevrin muttered between deep, labored breaths. It was a lie, of course. There was no such thing as a warm-up that lasted for three hours, and leaving Sevrin with scant clothing. Hesper always liked to take a go at her clothing first. For him, torturing his little novice was a game of sorts.
Shivering, the cold of the hard floor seeping into her bones, Sevrin let herself relax for a few moments to regain her strength as Hesper’s foot tapped near her face. Sevrin lifted her face to look straight into his smirking face.
Her glazed eyes were passive, apathetic. If Hesper happened to take pleasure in his victim’s agony, he wouldn’t get a smidgen of pleasure from this particular prey.
She could not fathom how someone as respected as Hesper Silberhof, one of the few distinguished Knights of Prontera who took up the Instructor’s Staff, could be inwardly perverted as this. His green eyes sparkled mischievously down at her. The rapier he held in his hand effortlessly and perfectly traced her lips with its wicked tip, stained with blood. Sevrin flinched at the cold, sharp steel and recoiled; yet she was too tired to feel any emotion anymore.
“I am waiting, Venris.” Hesper seemed to take much pleasure in mentioning her forgotten name. “Do not keep your mentor waiting.”
“I know.” Sevrin, with much effort, pushed herself off the floor with shuddering arms, and shuffled across the black-and-white tiled floors to pick up her heavy two-handed sword. But before she could bend to pick it up, however, she felt Hesper’s cold hands tracing her body. She winced, and froze on the spot. Sevrin knew what would happen next. It always happened night after night after night, and yet again after night.
“I could have given you back to your father, you know, and collected the ten million zeny reward,” Hesper whispered hotly into her ear. “I could have told the whole of Midgard Academy about who you really are, Sevrin. Did you not know that?”
“Oh, I know that,” answered Sevrin coolly, seeing that she would not have to use her katana again…for the meantime. She remained in her crouched position as her mentor bent over her from behind, kissing her cheek. “We’ve been through this for over a year already, Master Silberhof.”
If only she didn’t go against Leo von Frisch’s advice of enrolling into the normal swordsmastery course along with the others, Sevrin knew, she wouldn’t have to endure this particular triviality of an over-eager instructor who always wanted to get into her heavy canvas skirts each and every night. Scowling, Sevrin bit back a gasp as she felt Hesper’s lips touch the back of her neck.
“You know what, Sevrin? I really am lucky you decided to play stupid and ran away from your cozy little villa,” Hesper remarked nastily. “did Diradem Tarkis get bored of you so soon? How many times did he get to do you before he stood you up at your wedding day?”
