The morning sun crept over the Deylamir estate, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The clang of steel rang out, punctuated by grunts and barked commands as the guards sparred under the watchful eye of their captain. For Aydin, it was another day of toil. He'd been tasked with hauling crates of practice weapons from the armory to the grounds—a monotonous chore that left his hands splintered and his back aching.
As he was about to set down the last crate, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Aydin!"
He turned to see Veyna, her practice sword resting against her shoulder. She strode toward him with her usual confidence, her gray eyes gleaming with challenge. "You're done with that," she said. "You and I have a match."
Aydin blinked. "A match, my lady?" At that moment, he suddenly remembered all the talks he heard of how the elder daughter of the house liked to beat up the male servants in the name of practice. Truthfully, it was something he'd rather avoid, but not only did he not have a choice in the matter at this time, he also thought it a good opportunity to train and learn how to use the sword. If he was going to survive and one day escape, he'd have to know how to defend himself.
"You've got ears, don't you? I said a match. The others are not here to bruise up today, so you're my replacement." She smirked, gesturing to the weapon rack. "Pick something."
Aydin hesitated, 'the others are not here, she says…' glancing toward the servants working nearby. None of them met his gaze, their heads lowered as they diverted their gazes and attention elsewhere. The guards, however, watched with amusement, some nudging each other and whispering. The new boy had fallen into the cub's paws after all. Kael, who stood leaning against a post, looked relieved, his usual grin stretched a bit wider.
"But my lady," Aydin said carefully, "I've never been trained to fight. It wouldn't be a fair—"
"I'm not asking you to win," Veyna interrupted, rolling her shoulders. "I'm asking you to defend yourself. Or are you too afraid to try?"
'Afraid? Do I even have a choice…'
The challenge in her tone left him little choice. With a resigned sigh, he selected a wooden practice sword from the rack. The weight was unfamiliar in his hand, he was sure to collect a fair beating.
…
The match began with a sharp crack of wood as Veyna struck first, her blade cutting through the air with precision. Aydin barely managed to block, the force of her swing reverberating up his arm, almost numbing his fingers and causing his sword to drop before him. The onlookers chuckled dryly, clearly expecting a quick and humiliating defeat.
But as the match went on, the laughter faded. Aydin's movements were clumsy, but his reflexes were unnaturally sharp. He dodged Veyna's strikes by a hair's breadth, his body moving before his mind could fully process her attacks. It was more than strange to him that he could conduct himself in such a way, but this was not the time to doubt his ability. The fluidity of his defense caught Veyna off guard, her strikes growing more aggressive as frustration crept into her expression.
"You're quick," she admitted, lunging toward him. Aydin sidestepped the blow, his sword rising instinctively to deflect her follow-up strike. "Quicker than you should be!"
Aydin's heart pounded. He could feel the eyes of the guards on him, their murmurs growing louder. He knew what would happen if he stood out too much. After all, slaves weren't supposed to fight, weren't supposed to show skill that could be perceived as a threat.
Deliberately, he stumbled on his next step, leaving himself open. Veyna's sword struck him hard in the side, knocking him off balance. He winced, clutching his ribs as he staggered back.
'Damn, did she break my ribs?'
"Come on, Aydin," Veyna taunted, though her tone carried less derision and more curiosity. "Don't tell me that's all you've got."
In fact, she was a bit worried, since her last strike was hard and she expected him to block it like he had been doing. 'Did he fake it?' She thought to herself, glancing briefly at the audience around, gaining a tacit understanding.
From that moment, Aydin made sure to falter just enough, missing blocks. Veyna rushed at him, knocking him backwards to his butt, ending the match as everyone expected.
"That's enough." Veyna said.
As she extended a hand to help him up, her smirk returned. "Not bad for a first time," she said, though her tone hinted at something deeper. "But don't think I didn't notice you holding back." She said in a quieter tone that only him could hear.
Aydin's blood ran cold. "My lady, I—"
"Relax." She waved him off, glancing around to make sure the guards weren't paying too much attention. "I'm not going to report you. I've seen enough slaves whipped for less. But you're good, Aydin. Too good for someone who's never held a sword before."
He lowered his gaze, unsure how to respond. 'Could it be that she has mistaken something? What does she mean?'
"Don't worry," she added, slinging her sword over her shoulder. "Your secret's safe with me. In fact, I think I've found myself a new sparring partner."
With that, she walked away, leaving Aydin to wonder what she truly meant. He caught Kael's relieved expression as the other servant approached, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Welcome, Aydin. You are fully a servant of this great house now, ahahah." One of his fellow servants said.
"Looks like you've earned yourself some bruises, friend," Kael said with a grin. "Better you than me, hahaha."
'These guys…'
…
Later that day, as Aydin carried a bucket of water through the estate's eastern wing, he crossed paths with Lysha in the corridor. Her delicate features brightened with a hint of concern as she noticed his bruised face and the stiffness in his movements.
"What happened to you?" she asked, stepping closer. "Did someone hurt you?"
Aydin hesitated, unused to such direct attention. "It was nothing, my lady. Just... a sparring match."
Lysha's brow furrowed. "A sparring match? With who?"
"Lady Veyna," he admitted, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.
Lysha sighed, shaking her head. "Of course it was." She gestured to her personal maid, who stood nearby. "Fetch the salve and bandages. And bring them here."
The maid hesitated, glancing between Lysha and Aydin. "My lady, he's just a—"
"I said bring them," Lysha interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. The maid bowed and hurried away, returning moments later with a small box of supplies.
'So this is the young lady's kindness, huh?' Aydin couldn't decipher how pure her nature was, but he was glad he would be receiving some form of treatment.
Lysha took the box herself, motioning for Aydin to sit on a nearby bench. "Let me see," she said, her tone gentle but insistent.
"My lady, there's no need—"
"Sit." Lysha said.
Reluctantly, Aydin obeyed, flinching slightly as Lysha dabbed a cool salve onto the bruises on his arms and shoulders. Her hands were careful, practiced, as though she'd done this many times before. "You're stronger than you look," she remarked, a hint of admiration in her voice. "Most servants wouldn't last a minute against my sister."
"I just got lucky," Aydin said, his tone cautious. He looked at the maid standing behind Lysha, not even making a motion to offer help to her Lady.
'Slaves are truly the lowest, huh?' After all, not all servants were once slaves, so their reputation was higher even as servants.
When she finished, Lysha handed the salve back to her maid and stood. "Try not to get into any more fights," she said lightly. "At least not with Veyna. She doesn't know when to stop."
"I'll try, my lady. Thank you for your kindness," Aydin replied, inclining his head as she walked away.
…
With nothing much to do, Aydin returned to his duties, dreading the rest of the day as he had to work with his new injuries.