Our training with the tutors soon reached the one-week mark, a week I'd found thoroughly satisfying as I began to dip my feet into the art of wielding the spear.
"Well done," Baron Toren remarked, nodding approvingly as we concluded the day's session.
"Thank you," I replied, catching my breath, my arms feeling the familiar weight of exhaustion tempered with accomplishment.
For a moment, he simply watched me as I drank from my water flask, his silence lingering in a way that made me pause. There was a hint of something unspoken in his gaze.
"Is something on your mind?" I asked, lowering the flask and meeting his eyes.
He hesitated, a brief flicker of uncertainty crossing his otherwise steady expression. "It may be a needless concern," he began slowly, "but I find it difficult to understand why that man was chosen as Lady Celia's tutor."
My brows furrowed, and I felt a prickle of alarm rise at his words.
"What do you mean?" My voice came out harsher than I'd intended.
Toren's expression remained guarded. "Forgive me if I am overstepping, and I have no doubt the Grand Duchess's staff conducted the usual background checks. But Baron Cedric—" he paused, his gaze darkening slightly, "—is a man with… less than favorable rumors following him throughout the Empire."
A chill settled in my chest. Without another word, I turned and made for the training ground's exit, my pace quickening with each step. Toren's words rang in my ears as I raced down the corridor, his warning sparking a sense of urgency I couldn't ignore.
I swept past a few knights with a swift burst of mana, barely sparing a nod as I hurried toward the indoor training hall. My heart pounded as I flung the doors open, catching sight of Celia and Baron Cedric inside.
The scene that met my eyes froze me for a brief moment.
They weren't sparring.
It was a beatdown.
"Lady Celia, you cannot attack like that!" Baron Cedric sneered, sidestepping her thrust with disdainful ease. With a sharp flick, he brought his wooden sword down hard on her wrist.
The crack of the blow echoed in the hall.
"Ah!" Celia gasped, her face tightening in pain as she collapsed to her knees, her breathing ragged and labored.
"Lady Celia, how many times must I tell you to improve your endurance?" Baron Cedric drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "Running out of breath in the middle of a fight is disgraceful. Or perhaps," he continued with a sigh, casting a disdainful look at her attire, "the Lady's clothing was unsuited for such rigorous training?"
I stepped forward, infusing mana into my foot as I slammed it down onto the floor. The entire hall shuddered beneath the force, a resounding crack filling the air.
Baron Cedric turned slowly, his expression a careful mask of disdain. "Ah, Lord Lancelot," he drawled, "perhaps you're unaware of the significance of interrupting a training session?"
"You call that training?" I kept my voice steady, though the effort to remain calm was mounting.
"But of course," he replied with a shrug. "After all, the Grand Duchess herself appointed me to oversee Lady Celia's training."
Now it all made sense. Why Celia's energy had waned, why she no longer looked forward to her lessons. This was what she'd been enduring day after day.
"Then why not extend your tutelage to me as well, Baron?" I said, crossing to the weapons stand and selecting a wooden sword.
"Lance," Celia's voice was soft behind me. "I'm fine. This is just… part of the training."
"Baron Toren," I said, glancing back, my voice steady and firm. "Please escort my sister out."
Baron Cedric's lips curled into a mockery of a smile. "It seems Lord Lancelot is in need of a lesson in proper conduct. But I must confess," he continued, a gleam of arrogance in his eyes, "I am unsure what qualifications I could have for such… discipline."
I raised the wooden sword, meeting his gaze. "I promise you this, Baron, by the name of Lancelot von Silvaria," I said, my voice unwavering. "Should you defeat me, I will take no action against you, nor will I allow my mother to do so."
The hall was silent, my words hanging heavily in the air.
"Well then, I trust the Young Master will honor his word," Baron Cedric said with a smirk before he sprang forward, his wooden sword slicing through the air like a serpent poised to strike.
He had every reason for his confidence—older, taller, with the strength of an experienced body and a more advanced mana core. By any measure, this should have been an easy win for him.
Or so it would seem, under ordinary circumstances.
As his sword came down toward me, a single thought flickered through my mind.
'How weak.'
I shifted to the side, letting his sword whistle past as I lifted my own in a smooth, practiced arc, catching his strike and dispersing the force into the air. A perfect parry, executed with minimal effort.
So what if my mana was still developing, my body still growing? I'd lived a lifetime of battles before this one, fighting against creatures more ruthless and forces more powerful than anything he could wield. My sword had carved through alien flesh, cut through warships, and shattered the Towers themselves.
This wasn't merely skill.
My swordsmanship had long ago reached its peak—and then moved beyond it.
I could see Cedric's confidence waver for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he realized the difference in our understanding of combat.
And so, we began.
Baron Cedric recovered quickly, his momentary surprise hardening into a scowl. He swung again, this time with more force, his blade arcing down like a hammer.
I met his strike with a measured calm, deflecting the blow effortlessly and stepping aside. The force of his swing carried him off-balance for a fraction of a second, and I couldn't help but smile—a smile that only widened when I saw the faint flush of irritation coloring his face.
"Is that the best you can manage, Baron?" I asked lightly, echoing his earlier tone with Celia.
The words struck their mark. With a growl, he lunged at me, his swings wild but backed by raw strength. Yet strength alone was nothing without control. I sidestepped each clumsy assault, parrying the worst of his blows and redirecting his force back at him, making him stumble. It was a dance, an almost too-simple display of control versus brute force, and I was playing him like an instrument.
"Focus, Baron," I taunted, sidestepping another heavy swing. "A real warrior doesn't lose his footing so easily."
He snarled, his frustration bubbling over as he struck again, overcompensating in an effort to overpower me. I let him think he had the upper hand, ducking just enough to dodge his attack and then tapping his sword arm with my own blade. It wasn't a hard blow—barely more than a flick—but it disrupted his stance, sending him reeling back.
"You were saying something about proper training, weren't you?" I asked with a raised brow.
His face was a mask of fury now, all pretense of professionalism gone. With a roar, he came at me again, bringing his sword down in a vicious arc. But his anger only served to widen the gaps in his technique, making it easier for me to slip past his guard.
I waited until he overextended himself in yet another attempt at a powerful strike, then stepped forward, sweeping his legs out from under him in a single, smooth movement. He crashed to the ground, his weapon clattering away as he sprawled on his back, momentarily stunned.
"You might want to work on your stamina, Baron," I remarked, my voice carrying a mockery of concern. "One simply cannot run out of breath mid-battle, can they?"
He scrambled to his feet, face red with humiliation, but I was already there, disarming him with a quick, precise flick of my blade. His wooden sword flew from his grasp, landing far out of reach. He looked at me, fury and disbelief mingling in his eyes, as though he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.
"Was that… enough discipline for you?" I asked quietly, leveling my gaze with his.
Baron Cedric's face twisted, his pride shattered. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he cast a quick, furious glance around, perhaps to see if anyone else had witnessed his humiliation.
Satisfied that I had made my point, I stepped back, lowering my sword. "Consider this a lesson," I said, my tone unyielding. "The same one you were so eager to teach my sister. But unlike you, I won't resort to cruelty to make a point."
As the echoes of the clash faded, I turned and saw Celia standing just beyond the doorway, her eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. The proud, composed sister I knew looked suddenly small and vulnerable, clutching the edge of the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
"Lance…" she whispered, her voice trembling. The single word was filled with a mix of awe, relief, and something else—an unspoken worry that only a sister could feel after seeing her brother fight on her behalf.
I stepped toward her, the hard edge of battle softening into a gentler expression. "Celia, are you alright?" My voice came out low, steady, a stark contrast to the anger that had coursed through me moments ago.
Her gaze flicked from me to the stunned and disarmed Baron Cedric, then back to me. She nodded, biting her lip to hold back the emotion threatening to spill over. "I didn't know…" she began, but the words caught in her throat. She swallowed, trying again. "I didn't know he was—"
"It's over now," I said, cutting her off gently. I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, feeling the slight shiver that ran through her frame. "No one will treat you that way again."
A tear slipped free, trailing down her cheek, but she dashed it away with a swift, defiant motion. "Thank you, Lance," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her gaze, filled with admiration and guilt, met mine. "I didn't want to worry you. I thought I could handle it."
"I know," I replied, my tone softening as I met her eyes. "You're strong, Celia. But you don't have to face everything alone."
Her small hand found mine, squeezing it tightly. In that moment, with the training hall's tension still thick in the air and the defeated Baron Cedric forgotten behind us, we stood as siblings bound by more than blood. We were a team, forged by shared trials and unspoken promises.
Baron Cedric's quiet groan as he pushed himself up broke the silence, reminding us both that the scene wasn't over. Celia glanced at him, then back at me, her eyes narrowing with a newfound determination. She wasn't just relieved; she was angry. The timid fear that had clouded her features moments before had been replaced by the spark of defiance.
"He deserved that," she said, not quite a question, more a statement of conviction.
"He did," I confirmed, my voice steady as steel. "And now he knows better."