My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 95

Chapter : 189

Bathelham Academy, Lloyd remembered his father’s pronouncements. The rigorous training. The demanding curriculum. Jothi, striving to restore the family honor, pushing herself, perhaps too hard. The image of her earlier cool dismissal of him, her fierce pride in her own accomplishments, suddenly took on a different, more poignant light. It wasn’t just arrogance; it was the brittle defense of someone carrying an immense burden, someone perhaps stretched to their very limits.

He looked at his sister, truly looked at her, for the first time in years. And he saw not the confident prodigy, not the dismissive younger sibling, but a tired, fiercely proud, incredibly lonely young woman who had just suffered a crushing, public defeat.

The Summit, Lloyd realized with a sudden, chilling clarity, wasn’t just a stage for his own unexpected rise. It was a crucible, testing them all, exposing weaknesses, forging new strengths, and perhaps, just perhaps, offering a chance for connections, however unexpected, to be reforged. Even between a ‘disappointing’ older brother and his fiercely proud, suddenly vulnerable, little sister.

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The Ferrum Family Summit tournament, a chaotic tapestry woven from unexpected victories, bitter defeats, and enough simmering familial resentment to power a small siege engine, ground relentlessly onwards. The initial shock of Jothi’s defeat at the hands of a gloating, if slightly bewildered, Rayan Ferrum had slowly given way to a new, even more perplexing, focal point of discussion: Lloyd Ferrum.

The ‘drab duckling’, the ‘sausage-obsessed heir’, the ‘kid who probably still needed help tying his own bootlaces’, was, improbably, inexplicably, still in the tournament. Not just surviving, but… winning. His matches, after the initial, almost contemptuous, dismissal of Kenta and the equally effortless takedown of the brawling Mike, had followed a disturbingly similar pattern. Opponents, brimming with confidence, eager to expose the ‘fluke’, would charge in, spirits blazing, Void powers flaring. And Lloyd… Lloyd would just stand there, looking vaguely bored, perhaps offer a dry comment about the weather or the questionable quality of the pre-tournament canapés. Then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, an invisible wire would snap taut, an opponent would execute an involuntary, undignified face-plant, and Fang (who was now radiating an aura of smug, lightning-infused wolfish superiority) would thoughtfully place a very large, very solid paw on their chest until they conceded. Or, if they were particularly stubborn, until they started smelling faintly of ozone and regret.

He hadn’t broken a sweat. He hadn’t drawn a weapon. He hadn’t even bothered to summon Fang for more than a few seconds in most matches, relying almost entirely on those impossibly fine, terrifyingly strong, unseen steel wires. The whispers in the Grand Hall had shifted from mockery to bewildered awe, then to a kind of fearful, almost superstitious, respect. They didn’t understand it. They couldn’t see it. But they could see the results. And the results were… deeply unsettling.

“He’s toying with them.” “Did you see that? Young Marcus just… tripped. Over nothing!” “It’s like he has invisible hands!” “The Steel Blood… it’s more than just strong metal… it’s… something else.”

Lloyd, of course, was oblivious to the finer points of their fearful speculation, or perhaps just chose to ignore it. He was too busy calculating the optimal trajectory for a non-lethal ankle-trip wire while simultaneously trying to remember if he’d left the lye solution properly sealed back in the smokehouse. Priorities.

And now, impossibly, almost ludicrously, he found himself in the semi-finals. Lloyd Ferrum. The youth everyone, including probably himself, had expected to be the first casualty, the comedic warm-up act, was one match away from the final. The Grand Hall buzzed with a tension so thick you could spread it on toast (though, given the quality of the ducal catering, Lloyd suspected the toast would probably taste better).

His opponent for the semi-final bout was announced, and a new ripple of surprise, this one tinged with a different kind of anticipation, went through the crowd.

“Semi-final match! Lord Lloyd Ferrum versus… Lady Riva Ferrum of the Silverstream Ferrums!”

Riva Ferrum. Lloyd felt a flicker of genuine surprise, quickly followed by a strange, almost reluctant, warmth. Riva. He actually remembered Riva. Not from his first life’s hazy, disconnected memories, but from these past few weeks, since his reawakening. She was a cousin, a few years younger than him, from one of the more distant, less politically ambitious, branch families. And she was, as far as he could recall, the only Ferrum youth who hadn’t treated him with either outright disdain, fearful avoidance, or that particularly grating brand of condescending pity reserved for hopeless cases.

Chapter : 190

She was… nice. A genuinely pleasant, intelligent young woman with bright, curious eyes, a quick smile, and a refreshing lack of overt Ferrum ambition. She’d actually spoken to him, on several occasions, at meals or in the gardens, asking polite, if slightly bewildered, questions about his… unusual interests. She’d listened, actually listened, without judgment, without mockery. She’d treated him like… well, like a person. A slightly odd, possibly demon-eyed person, perhaps, but a person nonetheless. It was a novel experience.

He watched as Riva stepped into the sparring circle. She was slender, almost willowy, with long, sun-streaked blonde hair tied back in a practical braid, her movements graceful, almost bird-like. She wore simple, well-maintained training leathers, and her expression, as she looked across the circle at him, was not one of fear, or arrogance, or predatory anticipation. It was a mixture of surprise, rueful amusement, and a hint of genuine, almost apologetic, regret.

“Well, Cousin Lloyd,” Riva said, her voice clear, melodic, carrying easily across the suddenly quiet hall. She offered him a small, wry smile. “This is… unexpected. I confess, when the lots were drawn, I never imagined I’d be facing you at this stage. Or,” she added, her eyes twinkling with a humor that was refreshingly devoid of malice, “at any stage, if I’m being perfectly honest. You’ve been… rather full of surprises today.”

Lloyd felt a genuine smile touch his own lips, a rare occurrence in this den of vipers and simmering resentments. “The sentiment is mutual, Cousin Riva,” he replied, his voice warm. “I believe ‘full of surprises’ is rapidly becoming my new family motto. Right after ‘questionable tea and a hereditary predisposition to brooding’.”

A ripple of surprised laughter went through the crowd. Actual laughter. Not derisive snickers, but genuine amusement. The tension in the hall seemed to ease fractionally. Riva’s open, friendly demeanor, her lack of overt hostility towards Lloyd, was a refreshing change.

“I… I’ve never fought you before, Lloyd,” Riva continued, her smile fading slightly, replaced by a look of thoughtful assessment. “I’ve seen your matches today. Your control… it’s remarkable. Unlike anything I’ve witnessed.” She paused, then added, her voice dropping slightly, a hint of genuine curiosity in her tone, “You’ve hidden your strength well, Cousin. For a very long time.”

“Perhaps I was merely… waiting for the right moment to unpack it,” Lloyd replied cryptically, offering a slight shrug. “Or maybe I just misplaced the instruction manual for a few decades.”

Riva chuckled again, a light, pleasant sound. “Well, misplaced or not, you’ve certainly found it now.” She drew her practice sword, a slender, well-balanced blade, its surface gleaming. “I won’t underestimate you, Lloyd. I may not possess the… raw power… of some of our cousins,” (a subtle, pointed glance towards the still-fuming Rayan Ferrum did not go unnoticed) “but I have a few surprises of my own.”

“I would expect nothing less, Riva,” Lloyd said, inclining his head respectfully. He liked her. Genuinely. He didn’t want to humiliate her, or trip her into an undignified face-plant. This match… this one felt different.

Riva closed her eyes for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her Spirit Stone, a pale, almost translucent crystal embedded in the crossguard of her sword, pulsed with a soft, silvery light. “Aria!” she called, her voice clear, ringing.

With a rush of wind and a piercing, melodic cry, her spirit materialized. It was a magnificent eagle, its plumage the color of polished silver, its wingspan easily twice Riva’s height. Its eyes were like molten gold, sharp, intelligent, and fiercely loyal. It circled once above Riva’s head, its cry echoing through the hall, then settled onto her outstretched, gauntleted arm, its talons gripping lightly, its gaze fixed, with unnerving intensity, on Lloyd.

“An Aetherspear Eagle,” Lloyd murmured, impressed. Manifestation level, but a powerful one. Known for their incredible eyesight, their speed, their aerial maneuverability, and their ability to channel and project blasts of concussive force, or ‘Aether Bolts’. A formidable opponent.

He glanced at Fang, who was sitting patiently beside him, his tail thumping a slow, rhythmic beat on the stone floor, his golden eyes fixed on the Aetherspear Eagle with a look of intense, almost professional, curiosity. Ready for another lightning-fast takedown, Lloyd? Fang seemed to be asking. Or are we going to try something… different… this time?

Lloyd considered. He could win this quickly, easily. A focused Thousand Chirp Strike, Fang’s speed would overwhelm the eagle before it could even launch an Aether Bolt. Or another subtle steel wire trip, followed by the ‘paw of doom’ maneuver. But against Riva… it felt wrong. Disrespectful, somehow. She deserved better than a humiliating, sub-one-minute defeat. She deserved a proper fight. Or at least, the illusion of one.