Catgirls And Dungeons (Yuri)

"So, want to learn it?"

Princess Felicia grins—fangs glinting, eyes still ablaze from the high of combat. Her expression is wild, feral, and absolutely radiant in the aftermath of carnage.

And of course—

"YES! YES!!" I practically scream.

There's no hesitation. None at all.

After witnessing that madness… that beauty… that unchained destruction—how could I not fall completely in love with her sword style?

However—

"Well, you'll need to master the first style first," she adds far too casually, brushing gore from her cheek like it's nothing.

And just like that, my excitement dips.

Just a little.

"Right… Di Ventaria Sword Waltz…" I murmur, trying my best to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

Haah…

Yeah, it makes sense. Of course it does. Chaos Tempest didn't come out of nowhere. It was built—forged on top of something solid.

And that foundation… is the Di Ventaria Sword Style.

Which means—

If I want to reach the storm…

I have to learn the waltz first.

Without the steps, the rhythm, the precision—there's no way I could ever dance through the battlefield like she does.

Still…

It's not that I don't like the Di Ventaria style.

It's stunning, it's elegant, it's a literal masterpiece of movement and form! And when I first witnessed it, I even wanted to learn it so badly!

But after watching Chaos Tempest—that explosive, chaotic, hypnotic storm of spinning blades and blood—

The waltz now feels… tame.

Like a whisper next to a thunderclap.

Even so… the thought of eventually being able to master Chaos Tempest lights a fire in me again.

That goal alone is enough to fuel my resolve.

"And… teacher," I ask, "how long would it take me to learn those skills?"

Felicia raises an eyebrow.

"Hoh? You're calling me teacher now? Fufufufu." She lets out a teasing little laugh, tapping a bloodstained finger against her chin.

"Yeah! Teacher!" I say.

"Well," she begins, voice slipping into something more serious, more grounded, "that depends entirely on you, my dear student."

"Depends… on me?"

"That's right," she nods. "It depends on how much you're willing to give. How much you practice. How much you bleed. Are you determined enough? Disciplined enough? How deep is your desire to become strong? How far are you willing to go?"

She pauses, letting the words sink in.

"There's no getting strong without effort, you know?" she continues. "If you don't practice every damn day—if you don't train with every ounce of willpower you've got—then you won't get anywhere. Not even with talent. Not even with my cursed demonic blood pumping through your veins!"

Right…

That answer she gave me, it's so simple, so brutal, but so honest.

And yeah, I get it.

Push yourself, bleed for it, fight with everything you've got!

That's literally the thing I must do if I want to succeed in anything.

But now, as I think about it deeper…

More questions arise.

After all…

Desire.

Conviction.

What is desire, really?

What does it truly even mean to have a strong enough reason to fight, to keep going?

I find myself hesitating, the question slipping from my lips before I can stop it.

"Princess Felicia… why do you train?"

"Huh?"

She laughs, her voice sharp, amused, like I've just asked something painfully obvious, like why the hell the sky is blue.

"What kind of silly question is that?"

"I mean… why do you want to be strong?" I press. "What's your real reason? Your true motivation?"

"Haha, are you serious now?" she laughs, spinning slowly in place.

Her heels pivot across the blood-slick ground, red droplets dancing around her like petals in the wind. The tattered edges of her dress flutter behind her, like a flower blooming in the midst of ruin.

"I thought you already knew?" she adds, her voice lilting, teasing.

She's not wrong.

After all, I've seen her memories—fragments of her past, echoes of her thoughts.

I know some things about her.

But still…

"Well, I think I do," I admit softly, watching the world spinning through her eyes, "but I want to hear it from you."

She halts mid-turn.

Her smile falters—just barely—a crack in the performance.

Then she shrugs.

"What else can it be?" she says with a grin that's just a little too sharp.

"If you are strong, no one can bully you, no one can talk shit to you. You can trample on everyone, you can make them shut their goddamn mouth and grovel and tremble beneath your feet like insects with just a gaze if you have power! NYAHAHAHA!"

Her laughter rings out—wild, unrestrained, almost too loud for the silence that surrounds us.

Almost convincing.

But…

"That's not your real reason, is it?" I ask quietly.

And just like that, everything stops.

Her laughter. The air around us.

Even the shadows seem to pause.

She doesn't reply right away.

Her eyes narrow. Her jaw tightens.

Then, silence—thick and heavy—settles over us like a weighted shroud.

Her gaze lowers, looking at her palms, now bloody and cold.

"You're right…" she murmurs at last.

I wait.

The wind brushes past us in a faint, breathless whisper.

Then, in a voice barely louder than the breeze—

"At first… I just wanted to fight fate.

"I wanted to find a way to erase this curse. To free myself from it—forever.

"But as I grew stronger… stronger than I ever imagined I could be… I realized something.

"This curse, this power… it's not something I have to erase.

"It became something I could use.

"I wanted to use it to protect… what I had. Not just myself, but my kingdom, my people, my followers...

"But most importantly... I wanted to protect her…"

Hearing that, my chest tightens.

There's something in her voice now. A raw, unpolished voice, shaking with wounds that haven't healed.

And suddenly, a face rises in my mind—unbidden.

Soft silver-blue hair, with pure, innocent blue eyes and the face of an angel.

The person that Princess Felicia cherished the most.

"Morvena…"

I whisper—

At the exact same time Felicia does.