In late May, after the midterm exams, Morgana, who had disappeared for a long time, returned, and brought back the news that Duchamp did not find strange in the slightest—she had broken through.

But then Morgana did not return to her normal routine, and was often nowhere to be seen.

The classmates began to whisper, and there was conclusive news that after Morgana's breakthrough, she would end her studies early and return to the territory, and then officially inherit the title.

Duchamp curiously asked Teacher Remur for tutoring and training, and took the opportunity to find out the news, but he was shocked.

With the help of the masters, although Morgana broke through to the eighth order normally, and her strength was much higher than that of the ordinary eighth order, her physically active yao power did not stabilize with it, and she might have to hit the holy order in one go.

"Eighteen-year-old Holy Order, it's really emotional!" Teacher Remur sat on the steps of the rest area and sighed.

Duchamp, who was throwing his fists like a rain, heard this, his arm sank, and he almost lost his strength.

Teacher Remur took the opportunity to yell and vent: "Idiot, what is it about you that others break through, can't you even lift your arms?" ”

Affected by this unwarranted disaster, Duchamp was full of anger and could not vent, and the other fist that was ready to be launched smashed towards the target fiercely, with a loud bang, the value of the sensor instantly rose to the top of the red area, and the target connected to the sensor was smashed.

Duchamp came back to his senses and found a mess beneath his feet.

Oops, damaged property!

Duchamp looked at Teacher Remel pitifully, and the subtext in his eyes was, you provoked me, and I can't be blamed for this!

Mr. Remur stepped over the two rows of chairs, ignoring the pile of trash on the floor, and reached out and flicked the sensor a few times to make sure it was dead. A satisfied look appeared on his face, and he said to Duchamp: "After practicing for two whole months, I finally threw a punch with all my strength, which is very good, remember this feeling, and at least give me another punch tomorrow." ”

The muscles on Duchamp's face were torn fiercely, and his left hand was trembling violently, causing the muscles of his whole body to contract, and he couldn't stop at all. He was tempted to strike back at Remell with something like his left hand was crippled, only to find that his tongue couldn't pronounce properly. After a while, the Phantom Flare finally gathered in his left hand and began to work, and a coolness gradually spread, and the sourness penetrated the cranial nerves. Duchamp sighed in enjoyment, supported his left hand with his right hand, and slowly returned to the dormitory, fell on the bed, and fell asleep.

The next day, when he woke up, it was nearly noon, and if it hadn't woken him up with an empty stomach, he might have slept for many more hours.

Fang brought him food back for the first time, and told him that Teacher Remur didn't think he needed to practice the basic pose for so long in the future, and that he should concentrate on finding the feeling of yesterday's punch and stabilizing it.

How did that punch feel yesterday?

Duchamp thought about it carefully, and felt that after he punched, he felt that the strength of his whole body was instantly drained. If such a move is used in actual combat, and if you can't defeat the enemy with one move, you will not be asking for your own death.

But if Mr. Remur says so, then there must be a reason for him.

The sword master's phoenix blazing wave instantly swept through his mind.

"If you put them to death in such a terrible situation, a full blow may be the way to survive."

He struggled to his feet, tried to throw a few punches, and felt that he was not sharp enough, not as he had hoped for. He picked up his knife and walked towards the back mountain.

Since then, Duchamp has swung his knife in the back mountains every morning.

It didn't take long for Morgana to take a leave of absence to go home to inherit the title. Morgana officially took a leave of absence from Professor Ashley to the end of the semester.

Earl Wen is in the prime of life, why is he in a hurry to pass on the title to the next generation? Duchamp didn't understand and went to ask Lilmuel.

"If it weren't for the fact that the heir hadn't grown up yet, Count Wen would have done it four or five years ago." Lilmu stroked his chin and told him deeply.

As a fiefdom nobleman with real power, he commanded an entire army of the Imperial Wehrmacht at the same time, which is extremely rare among emperors. As a result, the lord had to be separated from the territory, and it was difficult to govern the territory well. On the other hand, the lord also leads an army, which has the hidden danger of public and private ownership. Normally, noble soldiers can only choose one of the following roles: lord or general.

However, due to the fact that Count Wen played an important role in the smooth formation of the new cabinet at a difficult time for the empire a few years ago, he was exceptionally awarded the rank of admiral and the important responsibility of commander of the Western Sea Fleet.

And now, in order to show loyalty to the empire, it is the duty of a soldier to pass on the title to the next generation, which means that "from now on I will only focus on the country".

When Liermu talked about this, his tone revealed a rare appreciation.

Duchamp scratched his scalp.

"But doesn't Morgana have a brother who is much older than her? Why not pass it on to the firstborn, but to her? ”

"This is someone's family affair, think about it, the 18-year-old martial saint, who else is in the empire? If you don't pass it on to her, then it's called having eyes and no beads! Learmour covered his face exaggeratedly, and his facial muscles twitched and rolled on the bed, expressing his excitement, envy and helplessness.

"Well, I think it's bad, it seems that this world is not patriarchal, but bigger than whose fist!" Duchamp reluctantly spread his hands.

Many students thought that this semester's intersection with Morgana would end here, but unexpectedly, in the last class of the next afternoon, Morgana appeared in class again and patiently listened to the last class. At the end of class, she loudly announced that she would take a break from school, and before leaving, she was going to invite everyone to a meal, at the Wigginson tavern, of course.

The classroom erupted in cheers. Everyone knows that Morgana will become a powerful figure in the empire when she goes, and she is willing to invite everyone to dinner, which can only be called an honor.

Eisenberg lingered in the classroom for the end, and his mind was entangled for a long time, but under the admonition of Mark and Isaac, he still followed everyone.

"Count Wen has publicly apologized to you before, in front of us, which is a big man who took the initiative to send a signal of reconciliation. Eisenberg, you are not a child anymore, no matter how much conflict you had before, for the sake of your family name and the future of your family, you can only accept his kindness. Isaac tugged at his wrist and admonished him with the utmost seriousness of tones.

Eisenberg gritted his teeth and went anyway. In order to ease the expression on his face, Mark told several jokes in quick succession.

Duchamp, who was already paying attention to this matter, hurriedly found a remote table and beckoned Eisenberg to sit inside, so as not to let Morgana see Eisenberg's expression.

Morgana was so high-spirited that whoever came to congratulate her happily accepted it, and whoever came to toast she would kill it in one gulp. All around her was a flattering voice. Unconsciously, the affection of classmates has been transformed into social relations, and social relations have always been subordinate and subordinate.

The future countess put her social talents to good use, maneuvering left and right among her classmates, quietly rejecting some confessions and requests that were too explicit without making people feel disgusted. Duchamp felt that on this day Morgana not only became more beautiful than before, but also suddenly matured generously.

A lady stood in the tavern, unconcerned, glass after glass, which made all the men feel that the male hormones were rising, and they approached one by one with full wine glasses, and even the Duchamp table was eager to try.

Fang's words interrupted their imagination. "Don't be stupid, with her current state, you may not be able to drink one of her if you all go."

The boys who did not believe in evil still put moths to the fire one after another, and Duchamp rolled his eyes when he saw it. In the end, Fang really couldn't stand it anymore, and finally got up and went up with a huge rye wine glass full of fighting spirit, but Morgana just politely drank with him and moved on to other places.

To Duchamp's surprise, Morgana came to his table.

Could it be that she wants to challenge her own drinking?

Duchamp thought to himself, and there was a little excitement in his heart. Purification skills, but they can dissolve toxins in the body. What about breaking through the eighth order, brother will let you know what it means to be outside the human world, and there are people outside the sky!

Duchamp ignited twelve points of fighting spirit, but he never expected that Morgana would start like this:

"Styry, before I leave the school, I'd like to talk to you alone, and when we're done here, how about we meet at the little flower stand next to the library?"

Alone, meet, small flower table! Omaka!

Duchamp's hand grasping the rye wine glass suddenly trembled.

Wait, what do you mean by so many pairs of eyes staring maliciously behind Morgana's back? Could it be that you have misunderstood something?

Duchamp cleared his voice and said solemnly: "Why can't you say anything here alone, or do you have to be 'alone'?" ”

Morgana heard the teasing meaning of this, and said with three points of annoyance: "This is my last chance for you, I will wait at the door of the library, it is up to you to choose whether to come or not." ”

After speaking, she muttered in a low voice: "If you don't come, you will definitely regret it!" He turned and walked out.

Duchamp suddenly felt that the style of painting had taken a turn for the worse, and the expressions of other boys looking at him had changed from envy to sympathy, and some people could even read mourning in their eyes. He tilted his head and muttered to himself: "What a big breath, and give me one last chance, who is the master, can fall for you!" ”

After speaking, he suddenly felt a little weak in his heart. This is the first time that a girl has taken the initiative to ask him out, for this meaning, even if there is a mountain of swords and a sea of fire in front of him, he can't just be so empty.

He turned his head to look at the ten brothers, hoping for some hint or encouragement.

The ten brothers didn't speak, and their red eyes glared at him, staring at him so badly.

(PS: I came home very late yesterday, turned on the computer and looked, and received a number of tips and encouragement, as well as criticism and comments.) Since the book was opened, the name of the tipper has never been singled out like other authors, which may disappoint these supportive readers, but the lie is sincerely remembered, and in addition to the fact that every reader who left an opinion comment and footprint in the book review section is great. Sincere thanks are not spoken. Ten thousand thanks, only such a shallow promise as not entering the palace can be reciprocated, and the lie is done. ）