Seeing Ivette's calm expression and hearing her humble words, Aimon's mouth twitched. Understanding means understanding, and not understanding means not understanding. What does "a little understanding" even mean? Why does it sound so irritating?
But matters concerning strength were, after all, someone else's private affairs. He said nothing more, merely glanced at Lucia again. "All right—let's go home for dinner."
Lucia lowered her head and let out a dejected "Oh." She looked as though she might burst into tears at any moment. Still, no one could blame her for feeling wronged and upset. She had prepared for two years, only for it to end like this. No one would be in a good mood.
"Miss Ivette, we'll be leaving first." Aimon looked quite upset as well. Under normal circumstances, he would certainly have invited Ivette over for dinner, but the shock of seeing his proud swordsmanship lose to his own daughter had hit him too hard. His mind was entirely occupied with replaying the battle, and he walked absentmindedly.
Ivette gave a soft acknowledgment and watched the father and daughter leave in a daze, disappearing into the depths of the dim forest. Then she shook her head slightly.
The plan she had prepared for Lucia had already offered the greatest possible chance of success. But just as they had planned to catch Aimon off guard by exploiting an information gap, Aimon had also concealed his true abilities and kept a trump card in reserve.
There was nothing to be done about that. It was clearly an exceptionally powerful spell. Combined with the intensity of Aimon's magical pressure, even if Lucia went all out, she could not break through his defenses with a single strike. She would need to attack four or five times in succession at minimum, which was more