Emperor's harem: Transmigrated with SSS mana talent
Chapter 93: [Dream Dance]

Chapter 93: [Dream Dance]

After reading the letter, Selvaris staggered back, her face paling as if she’d been struck. For a moment, she seemed on the verge of collapse.

Then fury ignited in her eyes.

"That bastard... he dares threaten me, the Duchess of the South? I will—"

Her maid hurried forward, placing a steadying hand on her arm.

"Ma’am, please. Calm yourself. Think clearly. Your daughter... she’s still trapped. We must act carefully."

Selvaris shuddered, swallowing hard.

Slowly, the fire in her eyes cooled to a sharp, calculating glint.

She looked down at the bloodstained letter once more, lips trembling.

"One hundred thousand gold coins... nearly my lifetime savings," she whispered bitterly.

"I saved it all... for Selina’s future. Her bright future."

Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks.

"What did she do wrong?"

The maid stifled a snort, her gaze flickering with silent judgment.

Who told you to send her there, greedy woman?

But she masked her thoughts behind a veil of concern.

Selvaris’s face hardened, a new resolve settling in.

"That brat," she muttered through clenched teeth.

"He thinks himself a big shot now... Ha. Tomorrow, I’ll meet him. After I get my daughter back... I’ll end him. And his entire house."

A slow, bitter laugh escaped her lips, echoing softly through the dim room as the storm outside raged on.

***

Kael sneezed, wondering who could be missing him—then smiled to himself.

Must be one of my admirers.

Now, he stood amidst the swirling mist of the dream realm, the hazy shadows dancing around him and across from him stood Yue—arms crossed, face unreadable.

"You know the king will find out," she said flatly. "He has spies watching your every move."

Kael nodded calmly.

"And you don’t care?"

He chuckled.

"As long as I remain useful to him—especially in reaching the Devil—he won’t touch me. This is a matter between dukes. He’ll turn a blind eye."

Yue narrowed her eyes.

"You really don’t care about playing dirty, do you?"

"I’m just quicker at it than most." Kael’s smirk faded into something colder.

She stared at him, expression deadpan.

"Why go this far? Why make another enemy?"

Kael’s eyes turned sharp.

"If you’re too afraid to make enemies, how will you ever grow in this cursed world?"

Silence stretched between them.

Then, slowly, Yue nodded.

"...Alright. Let’s set that aside. We have forty minutes left. Let’s begin your training."

Kael nodded, grounding himself.

Forty minutes.

That was all he had in this realm—his current limit as a Rank 2.

He turned to Yue, impatience flickering in his eyes.

"So," he said.

"What is this style called? You’ve kept me guessing long enough. Reveal it."

Yue chuckled softly, folding her arms with an amused glint in her eyes.

"Impatient, aren’t we?"

Kael said nothing, his gaze steady as he simply waited, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire.

Yue sighed, then slowly opened her arms, presenting them with deliberate care.

"This... is called the Dream Dance," she said quietly.

From the corner of her eye, she glanced at Kael, searching for any hint of his reaction — after all, she had named it herself.

Kael simply nodded, a small but sincere acceptance.

A soft breath escaped Yue’s lips, relief washing over her.

Kael’s lips twitched into a faint smirk.

"I thought you’d have a fancy name for it."

Yue forced a small smile, the corner of her mouth barely twitching.

"Names... don’t really matter, do they?"

Kael nodded, his gaze steady, unblinking.

She took a steady breath, eyes distant as if recalling something buried deep within her.

"The Dream Dance," she began slowly, her voice barely above a whisper, "is more than just a sword style. It’s a force that brings ruin—an unstoppable tide of destruction."

She looked up, meeting Kael’s eyes with a weight that pressed heavily between them.

"But its most terrifying power isn’t how it rends flesh or shatters bone."

Her fingers tightened briefly around the hilt of her sword, as if grounding herself in the present.

"It’s how it breaks the spirit—the will to fight. It doesn’t just wound the body; it seeps into the mind, planting doubt, fear... hesitation."

She paused, letting the silence stretch, then continued, voice low and steady.

"Before the enemy falls, part of them is already defeated. Their courage erodes, piece by piece, until all that’s left is emptiness."

Kael listened in silence, the gravity of her words settling deep in his thoughts.

"This is not a quick strike or a flashy move," Yue said finally. "It’s a slow, relentless dance with despair itself."

The mist around them seemed to grow heavier, as if the dream realm absorbed the weight of her confession.

Kael’s eyes sparkled with fascination, the weight of the moment barely touching his eagerness.

"Teach me. Quick," he said, voice steady but edged with urgency.

Yue gave a small nod, silent agreement passing between them.

With a quiet, fluid motion, both summoned their swords—blades materializing with a faint, ethereal gleam that caught the dim light of the dream realm.

Yue’s grip tightened around her hilt as she stepped forward, the air seeming to still with anticipation.

"Watch me," she said softly.

Her feet barely touched the ground, each step placed with quiet certainty, as though guided by music only she could hear.

The mists parted for her—not in fear, but in reverence.

Her sword rose like a ripple across still water, smooth, controlled, impossibly elegant.

It wasn’t a battle stance.

It was a beginning.

And then—she danced.

The blade cut no flesh, but it carved the air with grace that made even silence seem too loud.

Every movement was measured to perfection—no waste, no hesitation.

She spun, turned, stepped, the sword trailing behind her like a ribbon woven from starlight and sorrow.

Kael stood frozen.

He had seen knights spar, soldiers fight, assassins kill. But never this.

This was something other.

Something sacred.

The Dream Dance.

Her form was flawless.

Shoulders relaxed, arms fluid, balance unshakable.

The blade extended her will—not separate from her, but as much a part of her as breath.

Each slash whispered through the mist, not with violence, but with purpose.

Kael’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t move.

Even with his low-grade talent, he felt it—the decades of practice behind every step.

The weight of sleepless nights, of bloodied palms and trembling limbs that refused to yield.

Yue’s dance was not born of raw genius.

It was forged — in silence, in solitude, in sorrow.

She stepped forward, and the air trembled.

She turned, and the mist curled, following her rhythm.

Kael’s chest tightened. His fingers itched around the hilt of his sword, but he did not lift it. He couldn’t.

To interrupt would be profane.

She was beautiful—unreachably so—not in the way of painted faces or golden light, but in the way falling stars are beautiful: distant, fleeting, and far too powerful to hold.

When the dance ended, Yue lowered her sword with reverence.

The mists closed in again, quiet and unchanged, as if nothing had happened.

She turned to him, a quiet pride in her eyes.

"You see?"

But Kael wasn’t replying. He was just staring at her—completely still.

Yue blinked. "...What?"

A faint flush rose to her cheeks as his silence dragged.

Kael snapped back to reality, waving a hand.

"Yeah, yeah—you’re awesome."