It wasn't going easily, but it wasn't difficult either.
It was unfolding almost exactly as Bell had predicted the clash with Mr. Alfonsi would go, given the personnel he'd brought along. Every exchange, every shift in momentum, aligned well with his expectations, and as the battle continued on further and more information was pouring into his brain, the more precise his predictions became.
If anything, it was progressing more smoothly than anticipated.
And one of the rules you have to learn early on is that when something is going well, too well, something bad is bound to happen to compensate for it.
Despite his dire physical condition, Mason was still contributing meaningfully to the battle, which was an unexpected pleasant surprise, as in the novel, he never had the opportunity to help out as opposed to now.
The few abilities he had awakened along his skill tree were support-oriented; they were simple buffs, but in a fight that was this close, even a slight edge could make the difference between victory and defeat, death and life.
You would think that Mr. Alfonsi would prioritize eliminating him.
A support who could buff their team members was typically the first problem that you're supposed to deal with, as every second of combat became more taxing than it had to be.
But compared to his group members, who were confused about it, Bell knew the reason behind it.
Mr. Alfonsi had a code.
A rule that he wouldn't kill anybody underage.
That didn't mean he wouldn't harm minors. It didn't mean he wouldn't maim them or cripple them if necessary. It simply meant that he wouldn't kill them with his own hands.
And if he could kill them using someone else's hand, he would, as long as it proved to be a necessary choice that could benefit him.
And in a battle like this, where he was fighting without holding back and no margin for error, trying to "subdue" Mason without killing him would require restraint he couldn't afford. One miscalculated swing, one ability activated at the wrong angle, and Mason would die on the spot.
So instead, Mr. Alfonsi avoided him.
And even if he didn't, Bell was positioned to intervene.
Bell himself wasn't fighting at the front.
Rather than engaging head-on, he remained at the rear with his bow and arrow; his eyes were constantly scanning the battlefield. And only when necessary, he released his arrows. Unlike what you might imagine, like in a novel, an archer only has so many arrows at their disposal.
It was best that he only shot when he wouldn't intervene with his allies, when an opening appeared, when someone needed breathing room, or when pressure had to be redirected.
It wasn't like he was going to deal the finishing blow with an arrow. Not when his enemy was of Mr. Alfonsi's caliber.
One thing that caught Bell off guard, as he was observing the battlefield almost like a third party at times, was Ernit's silence.
The man who was usually talkative, borderline irritating in situations where everyone wanted him to be quiet, had barely said a word since the fighting began.
'I suppose driving and guarding aren't where his real discipline lies,' Bell thought. He didn't take those tasks that seriously. However, 'When it comes to killing… he becomes a true Facold.'
Ernit moved with cold efficiency, knives flying with precise aim. He never wasted a step or a breath.
'In some aspects, he's even better than his brother.'
Bell also used this opportunity to observe Quinn and his training partner more closely.
If the others could only read his mind and realize that it was split between the fight itself and an analytical dissection of everyone involved, friend and foe alike, their jaws might have dropped, making a loud thud as it hit the floor.
How could one have that much brain power to process all of that?
Quinn was powerful. As expected of someone who had once served in the Black Hawk, a unit that played a huge role during the Iron March.
Though its roster had changed over the years, the Black Hawk unit remained active, constantly cycling in new blood to replace the fallen and the retired.
Quinn wasn't overwhelmingly powerful, but he was very solid. Reliable enough for you to trust him with your back. Strong enough that, for the most part, he was able to match Mr. Alfonsi "evenly".
And that alone was impressive. Even if he was working with others to gang up on a single person.
The most dangerous thing about fighting a starwalker wasn't how strong they were, particularly; it was uncertainty.
Heading into a battle without knowing what abilities your opponent had hidden along their skill tree was a death sentence for the unprepared.
Thankfully, that uncertainty cut both ways.
Both Quinn and Mr. Alfonsi were seasoned veterans. They'd climbed high along their respective trees, accumulating a broad arsenal of star abilities, but that didn't mean they could use them recklessly.
Star energy wasn't infinite.
You had to take into consideration the energy cost of the abilities, their cooldown time, and whether or not using the ability was better than not using it at all.
Combat like this wasn't brute force. It was an intricate game of chess where one wrong move could equal checkmate.
Quinn wielded a massive sword, so large it looked impractical at first glance. Something made to be displayed, not swung.
But as he fought, it became clear why he favored it.
He didn't just attack with it; he also defended with it. The broad flat sides of the sword caught strikes as if he were wielding a shield. Its long length allowed him to control space, forcing Mr. Alfonsi to reposition constantly.
Still, the sheer strength required to maneuver it so fluidly was staggering, and based on how Quinn was swinging it around so effortlessly, you wouldn't have been able to guess that he had been on the brink of death not long ago before Bell's interference.
"Judging by your voice," Mr. Alfonsi remarked casually as he flipped backward to avoid a knife thrown by Ernit, "you must be getting up there in age."
He landed lightly, arms spreading outward as though grasping the air itself. His hands closed, pulling inward, and two swords materialized mid-motion, intercepting Quinn's incoming strike.
TINK!
The weapons vanished the moment he released his grip.
Seizing the opening he'd created, Mr. Alfonsi surged forward. His arm raised, fingers curling around empty space — then he brought it down.
A blade formed instantly, mirroring the arc of his swing.
That was his primary fighting style, which relied on his star ability to make possible; it was also only possible to function within his pocket dimension.
Quinn twisted aside just in time, but the blade still grazed his shoulder, slicing through fabric and flesh alike. His shirt tore, and a thin line of blood began to trickle down his arm.
"I am getting up there in age," Quinn admitted.
"Then shouldn't you be retired, sir?" Mr. Alfonsi asked. "Doesn't the countryside sound more appealing than a dangerous fight like this? I doubt your grandchildren would like to see you putting your body on the line like this."
"Ah, no, no," Quinn chuckled. "My body might be aging, but my mind is sharper than it's been in years. If anything, I've only just returned to my prime. I need to keep these bones moving before they lose their spark entirely. Don't want them to stiffen up on me."
"That's a shame."
"Oh?" Quinn raised a brow. "And why is that?"
"Because I'll be sending you to the retirement home sooner than you'd like," Mr. Alfonsi said, tilting his head as an arrow narrowly missed his temple, instead nicking his ear.
Blood dotted the floor.
"That's a pleasant dream you have there, young man," Quinn replied calmly. "But dreams don't often survive reality."
Mr. Alfonsi wanted to be more aggressive. If he were, someone would already be dead.
But he moved cautiously, deliberately, because there was someone in the room who kept vanishing entirely. Not just their figure but their presence entirely.
Maya.
Her ability prevented her from turning invisible while actively being focused on, but how was Mr. Alfonsi supposed to maintain focus on her when he was being attacked from multiple directions at once?
Each time she reappeared to strike, dangerously close to landing a blow that could deal some serious damage, before he could get his hands on her, someone else intercepted the strike, and his attention was forcibly pulled away.
It was, by all measures, a losing battle.
And yet—
Mr. Alfonsi smiled; a sight that made Mason uneasy.
Despite the fear crawling along his skin like spiders, Mason continued refreshing buffs whenever his cooldowns allowed, his trembling hands betraying just how exhausted he was.
Bell couldn't read minds, but he knew exactly why Mr. Alfonsi was smiling.
After years of teaching at the academy, he'd grown bored.
This was entertainment.
True entertainment.
The first real challenge he'd faced since arriving in Valdonia.
And as Mr. Alfonsi smiled while being pushed back, Bell also knew better than to believe this advantage of theirs would last.
Mr. Alfonsi had an ability that could turn the tide instantly.
The only reason Mr. Alfonsi had been holding back from using it was that it consumed an enormous amount of star energy. So rather than using it early on, it was better to activate it when his enemies had also drained some of their energy so that once the ability was activated, they'd have a harder time dealing with it.
There was also the issue of how long it lasted. Spoilers, not very long.
Only one minute.
A minute that was both terrifyingly short and catastrophically long. Once activated, one mistake would be all it took for someone to die.
While Bell analyzed the battlefield, someone else was doing the same.
The retainer.
Kevin. That was his name. He looked like a Kevin. He had the personality of a Kevin. He was Kevin through and through.
When he'd first been assigned to train Bell, he hadn't known whether to be happy and honored or annoyed. Recognition from the Agnus family was rare, and it made him special compared to the rest of his peers. But it came at the cost of unpaid extra labor.
His workload had increased.
His paycheck hadn't.
A fact that gave him nightmares whenever he went to sleep.
When Bell told him he'd be accompanying him into the city to deal with trouble, Kevin reported it to his captain immediately. The chain of command made its way up to Godfrey himself, who ultimately chose to trust his grandson's judgment and not send any secret reinforcement that Bell hadn't asked for.
Kevin thought it was madness because, based on what Bell had told him, they would be potentially in a lot of danger, so he couldn't let his guard down for one second when they got there.
He was loyal, as loyal as could be, but loyalty didn't mean stupidity.
Dying for House Agnus wasn't the issue.
Dying unnecessarily was.
A hundred guards could've ended this in minutes and made light work of the problem, just like the previous time that Bell had them raid the Droselmire estate.
Instead, it was just him.
Well, he and Quinn, but Quinn was more like a semi-guard than a true guard who was born and raised to serve House Agnus.
'Young Master,' Kevin sighed internally as he raised his shield to block another sword, 'forget a hundred. This would already be over if you'd brought one or two more guards.'
He countered, spear thrusting toward Mr. Alfonsi's chest.
'And that girl, your friend Maya, she's terrifying. Disappearing into thin air then reappearing out of nowhere… gulp. If she were any stronger, people wouldn't be able to sleep at night. I'd better not make an enemy out of her in the future, or else I might wake up with my neck slit before I can ever realize it.'
Just like the rest of the estate, he knew about Maya, her friendship with the young master, the orphans that he had brought in along with her, but he hadn't known about her abilities.
Once he returned to the estate, if he returned that is, Kevin knew he would have to report what he'd seen.
He would tell his captain about the girl. About her ability. About how effortlessly she turned invisible along with her presence. His captain would then likely pass that information upward, as protocol demanded, until it eventually reached Godfrey's ears.
'Hopefully, that means I get a promotion. She could be dangerous to have around the young master so casually. They'll appreciate me relaying this information to them.' If it wasn't for the fight, he would've nodded his head, satisfied with himself.
What Kevin didn't know was that the chain had already been completed.
He didn't know that Bell had informed his grandfather the very day he requested permission to involve the Facold family in the search for Emily. He didn't know that Godfrey and the captain were already aware of just how dangerous Maya's existence was.
There was a lot Kevin didn't know.
But there were also things he did know.
The one thing he knew the most was that when he returned home, again, if he returned home, he was going to sit down with his wife and tell her that they should start trying for a baby. He hadn't felt ready before. There had always been reasons to wait: duty, danger, and being unprepared for another life.
But now?
Now, he understood something with painful clarity.
If he kept waiting until he felt "ready," that moment might never come.
If he died tomorrow, he didn't want his last excuse to be hesitation.
It was becoming painfully obvious to him that the closer he grew to Bell, the closer he was getting to danger itself. Trouble followed the young master, or rather, the young master followed trouble.
Perhaps it would be best to enjoy whatever days he had left, short or long, to the fullest rather than leaving with regrets.
The pessimistic Kevin couldn't have known that while his thoughts spiraled in that direction, someone else was watching him closely.
Bell.
Bell knew Kevin had been holding back during their spars. He'd always suspected it because if Keven didn't restrain himself, he might leave Bell with a serious injury, and he would be reprimanded greatly.
But he hadn't realized just how much Kevin had been suppressing his true capability.
'He was holding back that much?' Bell thought. 'I'll have to have him try harder during our spars.'
It was no wonder that, out of all the guards who could have been selected, Kevin had been chosen to train him. Strength, discipline, restraint, qualities like that didn't go unnoticed, especially not by House Agnus.
Kevin suddenly felt a chill crawl down his spine.
The sensation was unmistakable.
Almost as if fate itself had just whispered that his workload was about to increase.
Without a raise.
Almost.