"Farrimond is an exceptional knight.
No, not exceptional.
The impeccable knight I have ever known."
Clank!
The harsh clash of swords echoed, resonating against the heat-scorched ground.
The sun's unyielding rays bore down on the circular training ground, its surface shimmering in the midday heat.
Surrounding the arena, hundreds of knights crowded the space, their boots stomping in restless excitement.
Shouts and cheers erupted as they placed their bets, some confident and eager, others shifting nervously, unsure of their choices.
Swoosh!
"Well," someone muttered from the crowd, voice tinged with admiration, "of course, he isn't as good as his master. But they do say the student surpasses the master at some point."
All eyes were glued to the duel at the center of the arena.
Two figures locked in combat, their swords sparking as steel met steel.
One of them—a tall, muscular boy with auburn hair—was momentarily thrown off balance by a heavy strike.
Gritting his teeth, he braced himself, digging his heels into the ground to stop his fall.
But as soon as his footing stabilized, the boy surged forward with explosive speed, his sword arcing through the air as he hurled it with incredible precision.
The blade spun, catching the light, and his opponent's eyes reflexively followed its flight.
And in that fleeting moment, the auburn-haired boy vanished.
A sudden breeze swept across the training ground.
The opponent stiffened, sensing movement behind him.
He spun, sword raised in defense, only to freeze as his eyes locked onto his adversary's.
The weapon he'd been holding only moments earlier now rested in his opponent's hand.
Without hesitation, the auburn-haired boy used the blunt edge of the blade to deliver a decisive blow to the back of his opponent's head.
Bam!
The unfortunate knight collapsed to the ground, blood trickling from the side of his head, staining the dirt beneath him.
The weapon clattered to the ground beside his fallen form.
The arena fell deathly silent.
The knights, who had been roaring only moments earlier, stared in stunned disbelief.
And then, as if breaking a spell, the silence gave way to thunderous cheers.
The crowd erupted in celebration, their voices carrying across the training grounds.
The victor stood tall amidst the chaos, his broad chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.
His auburn hair clung to his face, damp with sweat, and his gray eyes scanned the crowd, cool and unflinching.
In the midst of the chaos, two men watched the scene.
"He won, again.
That kid never fails to amaze me.
Where did you find such beast?"
A towering man with fiery red hair tied in a low bun, observed with quiet intensity, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
Tension flickered in his sharp eyes as he studied the last boy standing.
He led out a sigh before responding.
"The Farrimonds are known for their great skills.
Lancaster happened to be the greatest out of the Farrimonds relatives of his age, so I chose him to be trained under my unit."
The man besides him smirked, though there was no humor in it.
"Sure.
But I wonder... Why does he stand out more than the other Farrimonds?
Is it because he's good at beating the hell out of his fellow knights?
Or is it because he enjoys it?"
"What are you trying to say." Exios's words carried an unspoken warning.
"Families tend to share their quirks," he said lightly.
"Traits passed down through the generations.
Lancaster has the typical Farrimond look—gray eyes, dark orange hair.
But the way he fights? That's something else."
Exios stiffened, his eyes flashing with a glimmer of unease.
The man's grin deepened as if he'd confirmed a suspicion.
"Hoho, you know!
Of course you would have known.
A man creating a version of himself—identical in every way."
Exios's brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line.
The man leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Then again, 'man' might not be the right word.
He's not even human, is he?
After all, Lancaster takes a little too much after his father.
You know who I mean—the most wanted serial killer in this Empire."
"What are you here for?" Exios instantly cuts him off.
"Me?
Oh, you already know.
When the time comes, I'll be back for him.
Until then... you should be careful Einar."
His gaze shifted to Lancaster, who stood in the center of the arena, his gray eyes meeting theirs with a menacing intensity.
"Blood is thicker than water."
-----
Crimson's gaze locked onto Lancaster
Crimson felt like she was being threatened for some reason but kept her eyes intact with Lancaster.
She felt that same feeling of danger around him, but not only that.
'Why is his presence so familiar and strong?' She didn't flinch, though, refusing to show any weakness.
Exios took a glance at Crimson, before waving casually at Lancaster.
Lancaster's gaze shifted into Exios, who returned the gesture with a slight bow.
"Come on, Crim." Exios said, motioning for her to follow.
Crimson hesitated for a moment before moving forward, shaking off the heavy feeling that lingered.
They stopped a short distance from Lancaster, though Crimson instinctively stayed behind Exios.
The young knight was drenched in sweat, his white shirt clinging to his frame.
He wiped his face with his hand, his breathing steady despite the brutal training.
"You have been taking good care of yourself.
Though overworking is quite exaggerated, it doesn't help on your physical and mental health.
Oh but look at you, doing harsh trainings alone, even after I left." Exios looked around the training field before looking at Lancaster, who was smiling at him.
"What should I do?
Knights are supposed to train all day.
It's better to train during breaks, too." Lancaster smiled faintly.
Lancaster felt a presence behind Exios, as if someone was looking at him the whole entire time.
He took a quick glance and caught Crimson staring at him.
Lancaster's eyebrows raised a bit by looking at Crimson, as if he was confused to why she kept staring at him in a hideous way.
Crimson was unaware of the situation, kept looking at him silently.
Though in the middle between the two was Exios who was awkwardly moving his eyes between the two.
"…This is Crimson.
A friend of mine.
You probably know her as Clarkson's twin." Exios said as he moved a bit to show Crimson, rather than hiding her.
Lancaster scratched his neck as he felt a bit awkward.
"Yeah.
It's nice to officially meet Clarkson's sister."
Another moment of silence was felt, Exios couldn't resist but look intensely at Crimson.
He was trying to figure her out.
"Crimson, would you please- uh- present yourself?"
"Crimson." She said stiffly, staring at him.
"Lancaster, yeah." He said as he avoided her eyes, uncomfortable with the situation he was in.
"Right, I wanted to give Crimson a tour and ended up here as she was immensely interested about this particular place." Exios coughed before continuing his sentence.
"Too bad she won't be able to duel me, though she was excited to do so." He smiled, trying to lighten up the mood.
Crimson's eyes twitched and went to Exios, finally snapping back from her thoughts.
She looked surprised and flustered by Exios's statement.
"What?!
I never said that to begin with!
Why are you making things up?"
"Oh, I know this place makes you want to punch some living punching bags." Exios finally felt the tension between the two lifting up.
"If only there were any actual living punching shit heads who would want to duel me.
Not you though.
I don't want my ass to disappear in a second.
But that doesn't mean that what you said earlier was true!
I only wanted to see-"
"I can be your opponent." Lancaster said, with his gray eyes boring into Crimson's.
The latter, who had been trying to lighten the mood, now found himself caught in the growing tension.
His earlier attempt to defuse the situation seemed utterly pointless in the face of Lancaster's resolute tone.
"What?" Crimson asked, her voice laced with confusion.
Lancaster put his sword down and started to remove all the tension from his neck as he slightly moved it.
"A duel is what you wanted, no?" he said, his voice calm yet edged with a challenge.
"Here I am, your living punching bag.
It's been a while since I last dueled with someone.
The last time... well, it didn't end so well for him."
Crimson continued to stare at him, her mind racing. Exios tried to step in, raising a hand.
"All right, hold on. I was joking—Crimson didn't actually—"
But his words trailed off as he glanced at her.
Crimson wasn't paying him any attention. Her gaze remained locked on Lancaster, and Exios could almost sense the turbulent thoughts swirling in her head.
He didn't know what she was thinking, but he knew that something kept bothering her.
And that something was the man in front of her.
But he guessed that it might have something to do with a familiar face.
A familiar face that would really bother her a lot.
And Exios knew that he couldn't really do anything about it, other than accepting whatever would come after this duel between them.
Other than getting prepared for the truth that she was about to unveil.
Crimson's lips twitched into a faint smirk.
"I guess it won't end well for you this time," she said, her voice steady but sharp.
"And don't underestimate me just because I'm a woman."
"Oh, I won't.
I treat everyone equally." Lancaster's lips curled into a subtle smile.
"It won't be bad doing a quick fighting lesson.
Whenever you're ready, I'm ready."
"Lesson?
I guess I should be teaching you not to cry after this, huh?"
Crimson scoffed at his remarks.
"You should probably focus more on your surroundings," she said, tilting her head slightly.
"Rather than mumbling weird shits."
Crimson's left hand was carrying something unnoticed by the two men.
Lancaster looked at his sword, which was supposed to be laying on the ground, but instead it was on Crimson's hand.
"Ah, it started." He sighed as he started walking away from the two.
"Sly as a fox." He smirked at Crimson.
"Focus."
Whooosh!
The sword flew from Crimson's hand, cutting through the air like a streak of silver.
Lancaster sidestepped with almost preternatural precision, the blade narrowly missing him as it flew past.
He didn't even flinch.
But in the same heartbeat, Crimson vanished.
A subtle breeze stirred behind Lancaster.
He reacted instantly, raising his elbow and spinning on his heel to deliver a swift strike behind him.
His fist sliced through the air.
Swish!
She dodged, her movements quick and deliberate, and retreated several paces with a powerful leap.
Her feet hit the dirt hard, kicking up a cloud of dust as she steadied herself.
Lancaster didn't give her a moment to recover.
The instant her feet touched the ground, he was on her.
His speed was incredible, closing the distance between them in a blink.
Crimson's eyes widened as he closed in, his hand reaching for her face.
'Fuck!' Her mind screamed as she crouched low, pivoting her entire body with practiced precision.
With one swift motion, she swung her leg in an attempt to trip him.
Or so she thought.
-----
Tack tack tack
The sound of Ms. Vesta's heels clicking against the polished stone echoed through the hallway.
We went back inside the palace, as soon as sir Denver left.
She briefly told me about a meeting with this professor, just as sir Denver told.
A professor that would explain me everything that I need to know.
'A professor who could explain everything I need to know,' I mused.
But I doubted it.
If sir Denver hadn't answered my questions, what were the chances this so-called professor would be any different?
As we walked, a strange sensation pricked at the back of my neck.
It felt as though someone was watching me, their gaze fleeting but deliberate.
My eyes darted to Ms. Vesta first, but she appeared focused on the path ahead.
"I witnessed lady Liliana's uneasiness with his highness, prince Denver Achlys." Ms. Vesta said suddenly, her voice calm and measured.
'Oh, so it is her gaze then.' I wondered briefly, but dismissed the thought.
The sensation I felt didn't seem to come from Ms. Vesta.
Ms. Vesta continued, her tone softening.
"It must have been distressing for a young lady like yourself, waking up in an unknown place and being questioned so abruptly.
To have no memory of who you are..." She trailed off, her voice tinged with sympathy.
We stopped before a door adorned with intricate gold floral designs.
Ms. Vesta kept her eyes on the door.
"It is a lot to take in, especially for someone as the lady's age.
But please, do not hesitate to express your feelings.
If the lady needs someone to confide in, I am here for the lady.
If the lady needs someone to vent her anger on, I will gladly oblige."
Warmth blossomed in my chest at Ms. Vesta's words, her sincerity striking a chord I wasn't prepared for.
Everything about her tone felt genuine.
Yet, doubt lingered, coiling tightly around my trust.
Could I really confide in her? After all, she was someone who worked for Sir Denver—a man whose intentions I couldn't fully discern.
The door creaked open as Ms. Vesta stepped inside, her movements as composed and deliberate as ever.
I remained rooted in place, my feet refusing to follow her.
Hesitation gnawed at me, my mind racing with indecision.
'Should I say something?' I thought, but the words caught in my throat.
And then it came again—that fleeting gaze, the prickling sensation of being watched.
This time, I was certain of its direction.
My head snapped to the right, my eyes scanning the hallway we had just come from.
The faint echoes of our footsteps still hung in the air, but no one else was there.
I narrowed my gaze, searching the shadowed corners and hidden recesses, but the corridor was eerily still.
But after a few tense moments, the feeling dissipated, leaving only silence.
Whatever—or whoever—it was, they were gone.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I stepped forward, pushing the unnerving thought aside.
The door closed slowly behind me, the faint click echoing in the otherwise quiet space.
The room was bathed in sunlight streaming through three large windows, their golden rays illuminating every detail.
Shelves lined the walls on either side, brimming with thick tomes and curious artifacts that gleamed faintly in the light.
At the center of the room sat a small circular table flanked by two chairs, one of which was occupied.
The person sitting in the chair faced away from me, their back straight and confident.
As the door clicked shut, they turned at once, swiveling their head to glance at me.
In their hand, they held a steaming cup of tea.
"Oh! Pardon my mannerism!" The voice was rich and smooth, carrying a refined accent that immediately caught my attention.
The man placed the cup down on the table, stood, and adjusted his shirt in one rapid motion before turning fully to face me.
His tall figure radiated a kind of magnetic energy, his presence both inviting and enigmatic.
"Well, you must be Lady Liliana!" he declared with enthusiasm. "Pleasure to meet you. The name is Sagra Yesun—the most interesting, sophisticated, outstanding, and wittiest professor you will ever have!" The accent matched his uplifting humor and bright image of the man.'
He had thick, fluffy curls of black hair, which seemed to shimmer faintly in the sunlight, framing a face full of life and energy.
His almond-toned skin carried a warm, golden glow under the light, and his white shirt—loose and slightly oversized—gave him the air of an artist or a poet.
It was tucked neatly into black pants, emphasizing his tall, well-defined frame.
'A poet's shirt.' I thought absently, the peculiar image sticking in my mind.
"I guess you've never met a black man in your life, huh? Haha!" he chuckled, his laugh deep and hearty.
"Huh?
What?"
"You looked so startled!" he said, clearly amused.
"And I absolutely get it. It is the first time for everything, eh?"
"No, uh..." I stammered, glancing down.
"I was concentrating on the white shirt you have on.
It... stuck with me somehow."
"Oh, my shirt?" He glanced down at himself in mock surprise, then began hastily inspecting it, pulling at the fabric as though looking for a stain.
"Does it have something on it? Is there any dirt?"
His exaggerated movements were so comical I couldn't help but smile.
There was something undeniably peculiar about the way he carried himself, but it was oddly comforting, in a way I couldn't quite explain.
"Professor Sagra," Ms. Vesta interjected from behind me, her tone formal but polite, "we must remind you to use proper etiquette. Lady Liliana should be referred to as 'her,' not 'you.'"
"Ah, of course, I know how the etiquette works in this empire.
It is quite rude of me not asking the lady if she prefers using a formal or an informal etiquette."
He turned back to me, his expression earnest despite the playful glint in his eye.
"And, Lady, keep in mind, I am perfectly fine with both.
I grew up in a civilization where etiquette didn't exist.
It's much more fun, if you ask me!
You can hear folks cursing at each other freely, without any hatred! Haha!" He laughed reminiscing about something in his mind.
I tilted my head, unsure whether to laugh with him or stay silent.
"I'm more comfortable with informal etiquette... with you," I admitted, my voice soft. "Everyone in this palace keeps calling me 'Lady.' I wasn't used to it before."
He looked at me with warmth in his eyes.
His smile was something that you couldn't get out from him.
"And yes, I also know about your story.
That is why they called me.
When I first received the letter, I instantly packed up my bags and went my way here!
I couldn't miss out such an opportunity, it is something rare and unique what you have.
Due to the confidentiality I signed, I couldn't even share my excitement with my family and loved ones.
I wanted to tell them about this new discovery, but oh well, it's better to keep it to myself than losing the opportunity to learn something new."
'Family and loved ones…" I thought.
"Well, what about we start off by sitting on the comfy chairs and drink some good hot tea!
Do you like tea, Liliana?" He asked me.
"Tea?" I repeated his question.
Remembering the iced teas that I crafted in that old, warm, oak like tavern.
The iced teas that I learned from sir Exios.
The old man who saved me from falling.
An old man to whom I felt safe to be with.
'I miss sir Exios.' I thought, as I stepped forward.
I sat in the chair across from professor Sagra, the untouched tea in front of me catching my eye.
The delicate porcelain cup was adorned with tiny white flowers, the steam curling up invitingly.
"Yes, I love tea." I said as I smiled.