SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 362: Lines That Cannot Be Crossed

Lysandra did not flinch.

Her long, pale blade was already there, angled just enough to meet the incoming force head-on, its surface flooded with controlled mana that burned clean and steady. The impact came a heartbeat later.

Power collided.

The shockwave tore outward through the corridor, sharp and compressed, rattling the tall windows and sending a fine cascade of frost sliding down the stone. The floor vibrated underfoot, the air splitting with a sound like metal screaming against metal. Rivena was driven back two full steps, boots scraping hard as she caught herself, her posture breaking for the first time since the clash began.

The castle endured it without complaint.

Beyond the walls, the noise of the gathering never faltered. Laughter, voices, clinking glasses. Whatever had just happened here was too contained, too precise, to reach the celebration on the other side.

Lysandra stood unmoved at the center of it all, sword still raised, stance flawless.

Her green eyes locked onto Rivena’s.

Rivena straightened slowly, cyan gaze meeting hers with open irritation, the last traces of surprise still sharp beneath it. For a brief moment, the resemblance between them was impossible to miss. Same bearing. Same presence. Same refusal to yield.

Only the eyes betrayed the difference.

"Rivena," Lysandra said calmly, her voice cutting through the settling hum of mana. "What exactly do you think you’re doing?"

The corridor held its breath.

Behind her, Trafalgar remained where he was, the echo of the blocked strike still ringing through his bones. He watched the space between the two sisters narrow, not with fear, but with a clear understanding.

Rivena’s lips curved slowly, the irritation in her eyes smoothing into something lazy and sharp-edged.

"Relax," she said, tilting her head just enough to look bored. "We were talking." Her gaze flicked briefly toward Trafalgar, then back to Lysandra. "Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Lysandra didn’t lower her sword.

Her grip remained steady, mana humming faintly along the length of the blade. "You were warned," she said flatly. "By me." A pause. "And by Father." Her eyes never left Rivena’s. "I don’t think I need to explain what happens if you ignore that again."

For a moment, Rivena simply stared at her.

Then she sighed, long and exaggerated, as if the entire situation had inconvenienced her. "You’re so dull, sister." With a flick of her wrist, her curved blade dissolved into motes of light, dispersing without urgency. "Always ruining the fun."

The pressure in the corridor eased slightly.

Trafalgar dismissed Maledicta without comment, the blue glow fading as the mana withdrew. Lysandra followed a heartbeat later, her sword vanishing cleanly as she finally lowered her arm.

Rivena rolled her shoulders once, already turning away. "Honestly," she muttered, stepping past them, "you’ve both become unbearable."

She walked off down the corridor without another glance, unhurried, unbothered, her footsteps fading into the stone as if nothing of consequence had happened at all.

The corridor settled into quiet once Rivena was gone.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly, only then allowing the tension in his shoulders to loosen. "Thanks," he said, voice even. "For stepping in."

Lysandra had already turned toward him, green eyes scanning his posture, his breathing, the faint tightness at the edge of his expression. "You’re not fine," she said calmly.

He lifted a hand and ran it back through his hair, gathering it into place with practiced ease. "I am," he replied. "Just a headache. Nothing worth worrying about."

The words came easily. The dull pressure behind his eyes throbbed in quiet pulses, sharp enough to be distracting, deeper than pain alone. His thoughts felt slightly misaligned, as if something inside his head hadn’t settled back where it belonged.

Lysandra studied him for a moment longer, then straightened slightly.

"What did she try this time?" she asked.

Trafalgar lowered his hand from his hair and looked ahead, gaze unfocused on the stone wall. "The same as always," he said. "She wanted to see if it still worked." A brief pause followed. "It doesn’t. Not like before."

Lysandra’s eyes flicked, unbidden, to the image that hadn’t left her mind since the clash. Rivena’s cheek. The thin line of red cutting across pale skin.

"You hurt her," she said quietly. It wasn’t an accusation. "And you didn’t hesitate."

"I did what I had to," Trafalgar replied.

Lysandra nodded once. "You handled it well." Her tone shifted, more matter-of-fact. "And it won’t happen again. Not openly." She met his gaze. "Father revealed your talent to the family just now."

’That is really unexpected but it makes sense.’

"No one will touch you now," Lysandra continued. "If they do, it won’t be ignored. Armand, Valttair, anyone—there will be consequences."

Trafalgar absorbed that in silence.

’So that’s it,’ he thought. ’No more hiding.’ A beat. ’Today for the family. Soon... for the world.’

Trafalgar remained still for a moment longer, then turned his head slightly toward her.

"Tell me something," he said, his voice low but steady. "If one day I decide not to stop. If I kill her." He didn’t look at Lysandra when he asked it. "Would there be consequences?"

Lysandra didn’t answer right away. She watched him in silence, measuring the weight behind the question rather than the words themselves. When she spoke, her tone was calm, stripped of comfort or illusion.

"Yes," she said. "There would be."

He nodded once, accepting that much.

"You’re in a very high position now," Lysandra continued. "Higher than any of us were at your age. You’re one of the nine heirs, and your talent places you above the rest in terms of value to the house." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "That gives you protection. Influence. Leverage."

She paused, just long enough for the distinction to settle.

"But it doesn’t make you untouchable," she went on. "Not yet. Right now, you’re still weaker than us. Strong enough to hurt Rivena, clearly—but not strong enough to act without cost."

Trafalgar absorbed that, expression unchanged.

"The protection you have isn’t permanent," Lysandra added. "It lasts as long as your growth justifies it. As long as you’re more useful alive and advancing than restrained or removed."

A quiet truth, stated plainly.

"So choose your battles," she finished. "Power changes what you can do. It doesn’t erase consequences. It only postpones them."

Trafalgar let the silence stretch for a moment, then shifted the subject without ceremony.

"When do we move against the Thal’zar?" he asked. "How long before this stops being preparation and becomes action?"

Lysandra didn’t hesitate. "Soon," she said. "Father will meet with the Sylvanel matriarch first. Once that happens, the direction will be set and the pieces will start moving openly." Her gaze sharpened slightly. "The Thal’zar have already been losing ground. This war won’t drag on much longer."

He exhaled under his breath. "So before long."

"Yes," Lysandra confirmed. "Likely before you finish your first year at the academy."

That drew his attention back fully. "That’s a problem," Trafalgar said. "I’ve lost too much time already. This year. These last months." His jaw tightened. "I don’t intend to fall behind because of politics."

Lysandra looked at him, then allowed herself a faint, knowing smile. "You won’t," she said. "The family can intervene if necessary. It’s been done before." Her tone turned dry. "Nym is proof of that. Studying was never her strength, and it didn’t stop anything."

That eased something in his expression, if only slightly.

"But listen to me," Lysandra went on, her voice lowering. "Things are going to change now. People will try to approach you. The same ones who didn’t acknowledge you before. The same ones who looked away at Uncle Mordrek’s funeral." Her eyes hardened. "They’ll smile. They’ll offer support. None of it will be clean."

"I figured," Trafalgar said quietly.

"Don’t trust any of them," she added.

He turned toward her then, meeting her gaze directly. "I won’t," he said. "I only trust you."

Lysandra held his eyes for a long second, then nodded once. "Good," she replied. "Because I feel the same."