---
The Diamond Kingdom's forward encampment sprawled across the mountainside like a scar carved into living rock. Tents of black and gold stretched in precise rows, their fabric snapping in the cold morning wind. Training grounds bustled with soldiers running drills. Supply depots stood heavy with crates of provisions and barrels of water. And beneath it all, saturating the soil and stone, was the metallic tang of mana—centuries of warfare had soaked this place in power until the very air tasted of iron and old blood.
Giovanni Rosenthal arrived at dawn.
He was seven years old, though he looked older. Tall for his age, with long limbs and composed features that belonged to someone who had never known childhood. His eyes were sharp—too sharp, perhaps—and they moved constantly, cataloging everything they touched. He wore the formal robes of House Rosenthal, deep blue with silver embroidery, the five-sided diamond of his house emblazoned on his chest. His grimoire hung at his hip, bound in dark leather, pulsing faintly with contained power.
His face was calm.
Soldiers glanced at him as he passed. Some frowned. Some whispered behind their hands. A child? Here, in a war camp? But then they looked closer. They saw the way he walked—measured, deliberate, each step placed with intention. They saw the way he held himself—straight-backed, shoulders squared, chin level. They saw the way his eyes scanned everything around him, missing nothing.
Elizabeth's voice drifted through his mind, soft and thoughtful. *"This is... bigger than I expected."*
He didn't respond. He was counting. Tents. Officers. Weapons. Mana signatures. Everything.
A young officer approached him—barely eighteen, nervous, clutching a clipboard like it might protect him from whatever was coming. "Representative of House Rosenthal?"
"Yes."
"This way, sir. The Commander wishes to see you before the briefing."
Giovanni followed without a word. Behind him, Elizabeth's voice held a note of wonder. *"Sir. They called you sir."*
"I noticed."
*"You're seven."*
"I'm a Deputy Commander. Age is irrelevant. Rank is not."
Elizabeth went quiet. She was learning that when Giovanni sounded like that, there was no point in arguing.
---
The main command tent was larger than the others, its black fabric reinforced with leather panels and stitched with protective runes that glowed faintly in the dim morning light. Inside, the weight of an entire war effort pressed down like a physical thing. Maps covered every available surface. Tables groaned under the weight of reports and strategic diagrams. Officers clustered in corners, speaking in low voices. And at the center of it all, seated at a long table, were two men.
The first was Alexander Greystone, Viscount of Greystone and one of the Eight Shining Generals—the Diamond Kingdom's most elite mages. He was in his mid-thirties, broad-shouldered and battle-scarred, with dark hair streaked with gray at the temples. His eyes were the kind that missed nothing, and they fixed on Giovanni the moment he entered. He wore the uniform of a Deputy Commander, practical and unadorned, but on his right hand gleamed a ring of polished obsidian. His grimoire rested at his hip, bound in dark leather with a mineral insignia—the mark of his Mineral Magic. He could shape weapons and armor from the earth itself, a complete fighter with close combat specialization and mid-to-long range capabilities. His reputation preceded him: dozens of military campaigns, victories that had turned the tide of wars, a man who shaped the battlefield like clay in his hands.
The second man was Andrew Diamant, the King's older brother.
He was in his mid-forties, lean and elegant, with sharp cheekbones and long fingers and a smile that never quite reached his eyes. He wore white and gold—the colors of the royal family—and his grimoire was bound in silver, gleaming like a captured star. His mana filled the room like perfume, thick and cloying and impossible to ignore. He had lost the throne to his younger brother. Everyone knew it. No one spoke of it.
He was known for many things. His mastery of steel magic. His ruthless efficiency. His lack of heirs. His preference for older men—a not-so-secret open secret that the court whispered about but never acknowledged. And he was known for being dangerous. Not just as a mage. As a man.
When Giovanni entered, the room went quiet.
Officers stared. Some openly. Some with barely concealed smirks. A child. They had sent a child.
But then they looked closer. He was tall. He was composed. He walked like he owned the room. And his eyes—those eyes weren't a child's eyes.
Alexander Greystone rose from his seat. He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He approached Giovanni with the measured gait of a man who had seen everything and was impressed by nothing.
"You are Giovanni Rosenthal?"
"I am."
Alexander looked at him. Really looked. Then he did something unexpected—he nodded. Slowly. Respectfully.
"Your reputation precedes you, Deputy Commander. House Rosenthal has sent a representative of remarkable... potential. The Viscount of Greystone has heard of your talents."
Giovanni inclined his head. "Thank you, Commander Greystone. I've heard of yours. The Eight Shining Generals are legendary."
Alexander's lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost. "Legends are for bedtime stories. What matters here is efficiency. Results. This is not a court. This is war. Can you handle that?"
"I wouldn't be here if I couldn't."
Alexander studied him for a long moment. Then nodded again. "Good."
And then—
"Well, well, well..."
Andrew Diamant rose from his seat. He moved like water—slow, deliberate, graceful. He crossed the room in a few steps and stopped in front of Giovanni, towering over him. He was tall. Very tall. He looked down at the child with something that might have been amusement. Might have been hunger.
"So this is the little Rosenthal heir." His voice was silk. Smooth. Warm in a way that made Giovanni's skin crawl. "I expected... less. But you're not what I imagined. You're tall. You carry yourself well. How old are you, exactly?"
"Seven, Your Highness."
Andrew's eyebrows rose. "Seven. And you look ten. Remarkable." His smile widened. His eyes drifted—just for a moment—to Alexander. "What a... promising little gem. Don't you think, Commander Greystone?"
Alexander's expression didn't change. But his jaw tightened. "He's a mage of House Rosenthal. His age is irrelevant. His performance is what matters."
"Of course. Of course." Andrew turned back to Giovanni. He leaned down—just slightly—so his face was closer to the boy's. "You know, little Rosenthal, I've always had an eye for talent. And you... you have something. I can feel it. Mana like a well. Deep. Dark. Waiting."
Giovanni met his gaze. Didn't blink. "I've been told I have potential."
"Potential." Andrew laughed. It was a soft sound. Almost musical. "Such a modest word. Potential is what people say when they're afraid to say 'power.' And you, little one, have *power*."
He straightened. Looked at Alexander again. "If you ever need help, little gem... seek shelter with me. I protect what's mine."
Giovanni bowed his head. "I'm grateful for the offer, Your Highness."
Elizabeth's voice was sharp in his mind. *"I don't like him."*
Giovanni didn't respond. But internally, he agreed. Andrew Diamant was dangerous. Not just as a mage. As a man.
---
The briefing began with Andrew at the head of the table, still smiling.
"Our scouts report that the Clover Kingdom has deployed a contingent to the eastern border. Led by the Steel War Princess herself."
A ripple ran through the room. Whispers. Even Giovanni's eyes flickered.
Acier Silva. The Steel War Princess. Undefeated in single combat. The strongest mage of her generation. A legend in her own right.
"Acier Silva is a monster," Andrew continued. "She's never lost. She's never retreated. She fights like a storm—relentless, overwhelming, absolute. Her steel magic is... problematic."
Alexander spoke, his voice calm and measured. "We've prepared for this. The 7th Company will hold the center. We'll draw her in, divide her forces, and flank from the north. It's a sound strategy."
"Sound," Andrew echoed. "But sound strategies require sound execution. Which brings us to our little deputy commander."
All eyes turned to Giovanni.
"House Rosenthal's spatial magic will be crucial. We need mages who can manipulate the battlefield, cut off retreats, reinforce lines. You'll be on the front lines, little gem. I hope you can keep up."
Giovanni's face didn't change. "I assure you, Your Highness, House Rosenthal does not send its representatives to war without reason. I will not drag you down."
Andrew's smile sharpened. "Bold words. I like bold. But words are wind. I want to see what you can do." He looked at Alexander. "Commander. Clear the training grounds. Let's have a demonstration."
Alexander's jaw tightened further. But he nodded. "As you wish."
---
The training grounds were a massive circular arena carved into the mountain itself. Walls of black stone rose on all sides, and the ground was etched with ancient runes designed to absorb mana and prevent collateral damage. Spectators gathered along the edges—officers, soldiers, mages. Everyone wanted to see the child fight.
Giovanni stood on one side. Andrew Diamant stood on the other. Alexander Greystone stood in the center, the referee.
"This is a demonstration," Alexander said. "Not a duel to the death. You will refrain from killing blows. You will yield when you are incapacitated. Do you understand?"
"Understood," Giovanni said.
"Oh, I understand perfectly." Andrew's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Little gem, I want you to show me what you've got. Don't hold back. I promise I won't."
Elizabeth's voice was urgent. *"Giovanni, he's going to try to hurt you. You know that, right? He's not going to go easy."*
Giovanni didn't respond. He was already calculating. The arena. The runes. The distance. The angles. Andrew's stance. The way he held his grimoire. Everything.
Alexander raised his hand. "Begin."
Andrew didn't hesitate. His grimoire floated open, and mana surged—vast, cold, metallic. The air itself seemed to harden.
"Steel Magic: Iron Rain."
From the sky, dozens of massive iron pillars materialized. Each one was the size of a small tower. They fell toward Giovanni like meteors—overwhelming, impossible to dodge.
Giovanni didn't move. Not physically.
"Spatial Displacement."
The air around him warped. In the instant before impact, he wasn't there anymore. He was behind Andrew. Then above. Then to the side. Then back where he started.
The pillars crashed into the ground. The arena shook. Dust billowed. When it cleared, Giovanni was standing in the exact same spot. Untouched.
Murmurs ran through the crowd. Some officers leaned forward.
"Did you see that?"
"He didn't even move his feet."
"Spatial magic... I've heard of it, but—"
Alexander said nothing. But his eyes were sharp. Watching. Evaluating.
Andrew laughed. Soft. Delighted. "Oh, wonderful. Elegant. Efficient. I'm impressed."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet."
He raised his hand. "Steel Magic: Iron Crucible."
The fallen pillars melted. Flowed. Reformed. A dozen massive blades hovered in the air around him—each one gleaming, razor-sharp, controlled by his will.
"Let's see if you can dodge all of them."
The blades flew. Giovanni didn't run. He didn't hide. He *moved*. But not physically. Every blade that came near him was displaced—swapped with a stone, a pebble, a speck of dust. The air around him shimmered with constant spatial distortions.
"Spatial Exchange." A blade flew at his chest. He swapped it with a rock behind Andrew. The blade embedded itself in the arena wall.
"Spatial Compression." Andrew launched another volley. Giovanni compressed the space between two points—the blades crashed into each other, shattering mid-air.
"Telekinesis." A fallen pillar rose. Giovanni hurled it at Andrew. Andrew sliced it in half with a gesture.
"Spatial Severance." A crescent of distorted space flew from Giovanni's hand. It cut through the air. Andrew dodged—barely. A lock of his hair floated to the ground.
Andrew's smile faded. Just a little. "You cut my hair."
"I was aiming for your neck."
A beat of silence. Then Andrew laughed again. "Oh, I *like* you."
Elizabeth was pulling mana from the atmosphere, channeling it into Giovanni. He didn't need to ask. He didn't need to say anything. She just... gave.
*"I've got you,"* she said. *"Keep going. I'll keep feeding you."*
He didn't respond. But his attacks became faster. Sharper. More precise.
Her mana signature was identical to his. No one sensed her. No one noticed a second source. She was invisible, undetectable—a ghost bound to his grimoire, her power flowing into him like an endless river.
Giovanni stopped moving. Stood still. Closed his eyes.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Giving up, little gem?"
"No." Giovanni opened his eyes. "I'm showing you what House Rosenthal can really do."
He raised his hand. His grimoire glowed. The air around him *bent*.
"Spatial Magic: Dominion."
A sphere of distorted space expanded from him. It covered the entire arena—a perfect dome of rippling, shimmering mana. Inside it, the world looked different. Colors were sharper. Sounds were muted. The air itself felt heavier.
Alexander Greystone's eyes widened. Just slightly. "A Mana Zone... no. Something similar. But different. He's created a personal field. His own space."
The other officers were stunned. A Mana Zone was a high-level technique. A mark of mastery. A child of seven should not have been capable of this.
Andrew's smile returned. But this time, it was different. Less amused. More interested. "Magnificent. You've made this entire space yours. In here, your magic is amplified. Your control is absolute."
"Yes."
"But this must drain mana. You can't maintain this forever."
"No." Giovanni tilted his head. "But I don't need forever."
He raised his hand. "Spatial Displacement." He was behind Andrew. Then in front. Then to the side. He moved faster than the eye could follow, displacing himself in short bursts, appearing and disappearing like a ghost.
"Spatial Lock." Andrew tried to swing his sword. It froze mid-swing. Locked in place. He couldn't move it.
"Spatial Compression." The distance between Andrew and the arena wall shrank. He slammed into it.
"Spatial Expansion." Andrew tried to close the distance. The space between them *stretched*. He ran but got nowhere.
"Spatial Partition." The arena split. Sections of space became separate. Andrew stepped forward and found himself walking in place—trapped in a loop of folded space.
"Spatial Severance." A crescent of distorted mana flew at Andrew. He broke free of the partition and dodged—just barely. Another lock of hair fell.
"Telekinesis." A dozen rocks rose. They hovered around Giovanni like orbiting moons. Then they flew. Andrew deflected them with a sweep of his hand, but he was being pushed back. For the first time in the fight, he was being pushed back.
The officers were on their feet. They weren't whispering anymore. They were shouting.
"He's matching a royal!"
"He's *pushing* him back!"
"Seven years old and he's—"
Alexander said nothing. But his hand rested on his grimoire. Ready. In case something went wrong.
Andrew stopped. Held up a hand. "Enough."
Giovanni froze. "...What?"
"I've seen enough. You're remarkable. Truly. But this is a demonstration, not a duel. Let's end it with one final exchange. One attack. One defense. Whoever's move overwhelms the other wins."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll assume you're afraid. And I'll be very disappointed."
Giovanni's eyes narrowed. He looked at Alexander. The referee nodded. Slowly.
"One exchange," Alexander said. "No killing blows. On my signal."
Andrew raised his hand. His grimoire glowed. The air filled with steel—massive, impossible, a colossal column of iron that stretched from the ground to the sky. It wasn't an attack. It was a *statement*. A declaration of absolute power.
"Steel Magic: Iron Cathedral."
The column was the size of a mountain. It moved toward Giovanni like a falling sky.
Elizabeth's voice was calm. *"Giovanni. I'm ready."*
"Good."
She pulled from the atmosphere. From the earth. From the mana saturating the battlefield. She drained everything within reach and channeled it into him. Her form didn't flicker. She didn't weaken. She was a conduit—endless, infinite, a river without end.
*"Whatever you're planning... do it now."*
He nodded. He raised his hand. His grimoire glowed brighter than it ever had. The spatial zone collapsed—all that mana, all that power, compressing into a single point at his fingertips.
"Spatial Magic: Detachment of the Primitive World."
A cone of distorted space formed at his fingertips. It was small at first—the size of a coin. Then it expanded. It wasn't an explosion. It wasn't a beam. It was a *cone*—a widening tunnel of absolute spatial destruction.
The cone met the column.
And the column *disintegrated*.
Not broke. Not shattered. *Disintegrated*. The iron didn't melt or crumble—it ceased to exist. Atom by atom. The cone expanded, swallowing more and more of the column, until there was nothing left.
The technique was called "Detachment of the Primitive World" for a reason. It was the ultimate expression of spatial magic. The ability to separate matter at the most fundamental level. To return something to the void from which it came.
Silence.
The column was gone.
Andrew Diamant stood at the far end of the arena. His grimoire was closed. His face was unreadable.
Giovanni stood at the other end. His arm was steady. His breath was calm. Elizabeth was beside him—invisible, silent, satisfied.
Alexander Greystone stepped forward. His voice carried across the silent arena.
"The match is over. Winner: Deputy Commander Giovanni Rosenthal of House Rosenthal."
The crowd erupted.
---
The crowd was still dispersing when Andrew approached. His smile was back. But it was different now. Less predatory. More... appreciative.
"Detachment of the Primitive World," he said. "I've never heard of it. A self-created technique. Huh. The ability to erase anything from existence. And you, a child, a *seven-year-old*, just performed it."
"I had help."
"Help?" Andrew's eyes narrowed. "From whom?"
"My house. My training. My resolve."
Andrew studied him. Then laughed. "You're full of surprises, little gem. Your reserves are extraordinary. It's like you have an endless well inside you. I'm glad you're on our side."
He turned. Walked away. Then stopped.
"One more thing."
"Yes?"
"Acier Silva is coming. She's not me. She won't hold back. She won't be interested in demonstrations. She will kill you if she can." He looked over his shoulder. "I hope you're ready."
Giovanni met his gaze. "I am."
Andrew smiled. "Good."
He left.
Alexander approached next. His expression was still unreadable. But there was something in his eyes. Something that might have been respect.
"You fought well."
"Thank you, Commander."
"Your spatial magic is... extraordinary. I've seen many mages. Many prodigies. But you are something else entirely."
"I had a good teacher."
"Fanzell Kruger." Alexander nodded. "I know him. A good man. A skilled mage. He taught you well."
"He did."
Alexander looked at him. Then, unexpectedly, he offered his hand. "I look forward to fighting alongside you, Deputy Commander."
Giovanni took it. "As do I, Commander."
They shook. A warrior's grip. A moment of mutual respect.
Elizabeth's voice was amused. *"You made a friend."*
Giovanni didn't respond. But internally, he allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction.
---
That night, Giovanni sat alone in his tent. His grimoire was open in his lap. Elizabeth was beside him—fully visible, solid, calm.
"You were amazing today," she said. "The way you handled Andrew. The way you handled everyone. You didn't flinch once."
"I couldn't afford to."
"I know." She paused. "But you don't have to be perfect all the time, you know. Not with me."
He looked at her. "You called me... a partner. Back then. When I first released you."
"I did."
"I didn't understand what that meant. Not really. But now..." He paused. "I think I do."
"Yeah?"
"It means... you're the only person who's ever seen me. Not the noble. Not the prodigy. Not the Deputy Commander. Just... me."
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out. Her hand rested on his. Solid. Warm.
"I see you, Giovanni. And I'm not going anywhere."
He nodded. "Tomorrow... we fight the Steel War Princess."
"You're scared."
"...Yes."
"Good. Only idiots aren't scared." She smiled. "But you'll win. You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because I'll be right here. Feeding you mana. Watching your back. And if anyone tries to hurt you..." Her eyes flashed. "They'll have to go through me."
He looked at her. For a long moment. Then—just for an instant—he smiled. A real smile. Small. But real.
"Thank you, Elizabeth."
"Anytime, partner."
He closed his grimoire. Lay down. Closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, the war would begin.
---
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