"Lord Misaro, General Misaro, my old brother... Could you please show a little restraint? I really do hope you'll at least take up a position as a knight commander in the order. But you can't give the Heraldry Court anything to hold against you!"
"I only became a noble in this generation. Why should I fear the Heraldry Court?" General Misaro's mouth curled in a faintly mocking smile. "Your Highness, in the heat of battle, the easiest way for Saints to break a stalemate is to take the field themselves and invoke the divine. Yet they rarely do. Do you know why?"
"Because... it simply isn't worth it. Superhumans are born when the essence of the universe resonates with life, and only those who possess talent, perseverance, and luck can become Saints. They should be emissaries of the spirit of the universe, guiding humanity and civilization. But on the battlefield, a single main-fleet orbital shell that costs just a thousand gold dragons to make could wipe out a Saint's life—and even the future of part of a civilization." Duchess Garibeyan murmured, "Powerful psychics should cherish their lives. We don't belong to ourselves alone."
General Misaro only tilted the corner of his mouth, his smile turning more derisive. "That theory is far too abstract for me to understand, Your Highness. But that certainly isn't what he thinks, which is why he can dance so freely with death. Ahaha! That's what it truly means to be a psychic. Your Highness, at our level, isn't every ring ascension a chance to break free of fate's shackles? Isn't every one a brush with death?"
They were both "brushes with death," but the degree made all the difference! Duchess Garibeyan wanted to say as much, but she had no answer. Of course, she could never