A Flat-Chest Believer Reincarnated in a World Where Women with Small Breasts Aren't Treated as Women ~ I Ended Up with a Flat-Chested Harem. - Chapter 12

Upon returning to the Gustique mansion after escorting Risty, I found five of the family’s mages training in offensive magic in the garden.

Perfect. There was still time before sunset, so I figured I would join them for some practice.

When I called out, “Hey!” they immediately stopped what they were doing, turned toward me, and straightened up.

“Welcome back, Lord Folca.”

“If you still have some mana left, I’d like to join you for a bit. Would you mind?”

“Of course. The usual routine, I assume. Would you like to change attire first?”

“I’ll stay like this; it should be fine for a five-person course.”

“Understood. Let’s begin, then.”

The mages lined up about 15 meters away from me.

“Go ahead; start when you’re ready,” I said.

At my signal, they began constructing their offensive magic and simultaneously launched their spells. Fire, water, and lightning magic derived from earth magic came flying toward me. Of course, the power was restrained enough that I wouldn’t die even if I got hit directly, but the spells still packed a punch and made for a thrilling sight.

I summoned water from beneath my feet and infused it with offensive holy magic, controlling it like a whip to intercept the incoming spells.

Holy magic is particularly good at disrupting other magical elements. With a crack of the water whip, I knocked down the entire first wave of attacks.

The mages didn’t hold back and continued casting offensive spells as quickly as they could. I increased the number of water whips to five, using them to block each attack coming my way.

I had plenty of room to maneuver. Even though I’d been slacking a bit in my training recently, my skills hadn’t dulled.

Alright, let’s try that as well.

While maintaining my defense, I summoned a small fireball with magic. Then I clenched it tightly in my left hand.

The skin on my hand sizzled, and the searing pain shot straight into my brain.

Ignoring the pain from the burn, I kept controlling my magic. I hate pain, but in battle, it’s critical to maintain precision even when injured. I don’t want to die in a real fight, so this kind of training is essential.

I continued to intercept the incoming spells. Gradually, fatigue began to set in, clouding my mind.

I hadn’t missed any spells yet, but there had been two close calls.

As my focus waned and the situation became increasingly challenging, the barrage of attacks finally stopped.

“Lord Folca, we’re running low on mana,” one of the mages informed me.

“Understood. Let’s call it a day. Thanks, everyone.”

I used healing magic to treat the burn on my left hand. The pain subsided, and I exhaled a relieved breath.

Rita hurried over and began wiping the sweat from my forehead with a handkerchief. Even though it was late autumn, I had broken into a cold sweat from the burn.

“Lord Folca, you shouldn’t push yourself so hard…”

“I’m fine. You know I do this kind of thing all the time,” I replied casually.

“Yes, but I’ll keep saying it. It’s not normal to burn your hands for training… Please don’t make your future children do something like this.”

Well, she had a point.

“I won’t make any future kids do it. It hurts, after all,” I said with a grin.

“…Lord Folca,” Rita sighed, a bit exasperated.

Yeah, I knew I was being reckless. I started doing this on my own when I was just seven.

But hey, wouldn’t anyone be excited to push themselves if they were reborn into a world with magic? I made the excuse to myself in my head.

“Folca, are you back? Come here for a moment,” a voice called out.

I turned around to see my father standing at the entrance, beckoning me. He looked a bit tired.

“I’m coming,” I replied, heading toward him.

He led me inside the mansion and down to the basement, stopping in front of a door. This was my father’s workshop.

“The necklace for Princess Risty is finished.”

Oh! Finally! I was genuinely excited.

My father had been carving out time, even before the “confirmation day,” to work on a necklace for Risty to wear at the wedding.

Don’t laugh—there’s nothing strange about the groom’s father making the jewelry. My father, Henrique Stola Gustique, is the best in the kingdom when it comes to magical processing of metals and gemstones.

He opened the door. On the workbench sat a pedestal, upon which the necklace was displayed.

It was an exquisite piece crafted from platinum and adorned with a large number of diamonds. When my father lightly tapped the pedestal, over 30 diamonds shimmered and swayed, scattering light in all directions.

Amazing. I assumed each diamond was suspended by tiny platinum rings, allowing them to sway. It must have taken an incredible amount of precision to create. Even for my father, it must have been a tough job. And the cost of the materials must have been astronomical.

“Thank you, Father. I’m sure it will suit her perfectly.”

“Naturally. After all, the daughter of that man is becoming your wife. There’s no way I would spare any effort or expense.”

My father smiled, though there were dark circles under his eyes from exhaustion.