He blinked in disbelief, his heart racing. He hadn't expected this. Shin had always been more of a thinker than a fighter—well, more of a lazy couch potato, if he was being honest with himself.
Yet here he was, handling the wooden sword as if he'd been training for years. His arms moved with surprising fluidity, striking the training dummies with the precision of a seasoned warrior.
Slash—
His hands moved again, as if on autopilot, launching into a series of perfectly executed strikes. Each one landed with such force and accuracy that it felt like he was watching someone else control his body. The dummies didn't stand a chance. One after another, they fell to the ground, defeated.
Okay, am I secretly a sword prodigy? Or is this just Arlon's muscle memory kicking in?
Huff— Huff—
He paused for a moment, panting slightly as he looked around at the wreckage of dummies scattered on the ground. His gaze flickered over to the golden screen, hovering like a silent observer in the corner of his vision.
["He swung to the left —then forward—step to the side and forward again."]
Is this thing... guiding me? Recording me? Or am I just that amazing?,Arlon couldn't tell. He glanced at the screen again, hoping for some kind of clue, but all it did was flicker, showing nothing but his own actions. It wasn't making things any clearer.
Dimitri, of course, watched from the sidelines without so much as a raised eyebrow. Of course he's not surprised. Arlon probably does this every morning before breakfast, while I, meanwhile, feel like I've just unlocked the swordsmanship version of cheat codes.
"..."
He paused, panting slightly as he wiped sweat from his brow.
"Who knew pretending to be a nobleman with killer sword skills would be this exhausting?!"
Arlon shook his head, trying to focus. After a while, he called it quits, not wanting to push his luck.
"Alright, that's enough for today," he said, trying to sound cool and casual, though inside he was still freaking out a little about what just happened.
Dimitri stepped forward. "Very well, my Lord. Your study awaits."
Arlon's stomach sank. Study session? Of course. Being a noble meant you couldn't just fight with swords all day. Nope, there had to be books involved. Always with the books. Arlon sighed inwardly but kept his cool demeanor, still processing his weirdly successful training session as they made their way to the study room.
His legs felt a little shaky—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer weirdness of it all.
If I keep this up, I might actually fool everyone. Or, you know, trip over my own feet tomorrow and blow the whole thing.
"Lead the way," he said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.
When they arrived at the study, Dimitri excused himself for a moment, leaving Arlon alone in the massive room lined with books. He wandered over to the shelves, scanning the spines without any real interest. His mind was still half-stuck on the golden screen and his newfound sword skills.
He pulled a random book off the shelf, hoping to distract himself. The title read The Wolf and the Sheep. He raised an eyebrow. Children's stories? Really?
Shrugging, Arlon sat down and opened the book. As he read, the story unfolded about a wolf who wanted to eat sheep but couldn't because of a shepherd who kept protecting them.
[—"The wolf then disguised himself as a sheep, sneaked into the flock, and ate as many as he could until he became so fat and bloated that the shepherd mistook him for a sheep and cooked him for dinner."]
Arlon closed the book and sighed. Well, that ended exactly how I thought it would. No surprises there. He chuckled to himself. The wolf thought he was clever, but in the end, he got himself roasted. Kind of feels like me right now, pretending to be Arlon Throndsen.
Only, I hope I don't end up cooked by the nobles.
He glanced around the room, still waiting for Dimitri to return. The study was quiet, peaceful even, but Arlon couldn't shake the growing feeling that the more he faked being Arlon, the more tangled he was going to get in this web.
"Note to self," he muttered under his breath. "Don't end up like that wolf."
He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, the weight of Arlon's world pressing down on him. Sword training was hard enough, but now he had to survive a study session—and whatever else this insane schedule threw at him.
Please let it be something easy, like napping.
———
Night had draped the villa in a heavy cloak of stillness, the only light spilling from the study's grand chandelier. Outside, shadows stretched across the estate, wrapping the world in deep indigo as a crisp chill crept through the air.
Arlon sat upright in a high-backed chair, posture regal and composed—everything a noble heir should be. Yet beneath the calm mask, Arlon was fighting a losing battle against the tide of boredom crashing over him.
Across the room, Dimitri, ever the loyal butler, stood by a towering bookshelf, gesturing to an ancient scroll detailing the genealogy of noble families tied to the Throndsen line.
"The House of Valenmore has long served as our most steadfast ally," Dimitri explained, his tone sharp with precision. "Their contributions to the estate's military expansion have been invaluable, particularly during—"
Original Arlon might've soaked in every word. Arlon, however, was suffocating.
Oh great. More noble names and alliances. Just what I need to make my night thrilling.
He nodded in all the right places, the perfect picture of attentiveness, but his thoughts drifted far from Dimitri's meticulous lecture. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye brought his attention back to the golden screen floating just above Dimitri's head.
["Dimitri explains the long-standing alliances between the Throndsen family and the House of Valenmore. Arlon listens intently, his expression unreadable."]
Arlon bit back a groan. Unreadable? Try dead inside.
Dimitri, perhaps sensing the need for a break, turned to a silver tea set on the table. With the same precision he brought to every task, he poured a steaming cup of tea and placed it before Arlon.
The aroma hit first—earthy, bitter, and faintly floral. Arlon eyed the cup with suspicion.
"I've prepared a blend of Eldeflower and Ceylroot, my lord," Dimitri said with a subtle bow. "Its properties are known to invigorate the mind and body, particularly during late-night studies."
Arlon barely held back a grimace. Invigorate the mind? This smells like a garden died in the pot.
The golden screen flickered again:
["Arlon calmly sips the tea, savoring the unique flavor."]
Oh no. Savor? I know what that means, and I already don't trust this.
He lifted the cup, forcing himself to channel the elegance of a noble. The liquid touched his tongue, and it took everything he had not to choke. It was like drinking liquefied bark with a sprinkle of regret.
His face remained composed—a picture of noble serenity—but inwardly, Arlon was screaming.
What the hell is this?! Who willingly drinks this? Did the original Arlon like tasting dirt?
Clutching the cup like it was a weapon, Arlon endured. Sip by agonizing sip, he drained the cup, resisting the urge to hurl it across the room.
"Thank you, Dimitri," he said smoothly, his voice betraying nothing.
Thank you for the torture, you cruel, tea-loving sadist.
Dimitri nodded, clearly pleased. "Shall we continue?"
Arlon bit back a sigh. Sure, why not? Let's add "more boredom" to the list of tonight's tortures.
He was doing everything he could to look the part of an attentive noble, but internally, he was plotting ways to never drink that tea again.
Arlon shot a quick glance at the golden screen, which had now gone suspiciously quiet. Of course. It only jumps in when it thinks I need direction. You, if you're going to do something, at least be helpful.
Sigh—
Later, Dimitri led Arlon through the grand halls of the villa, introducing various maids, guards, and staff. Each name flew past him, barely registering as he nodded politely, all the while wondering how anyone could remember so many faces.
The golden screen chimed in:
["Arlon acknowledges each servant with dignity, his commanding presence unshaken."]
Commanding presence, my ass. I've already forgotten half their names.
["Arlon nods respectfully to each of the villa's staff, acknowledging their service."]
Well, at least the screen isn't judging me for forgetting their names.
After dinner—mercifully free of any more questionable beverages—Arlon was treated to a luxurious bath. Arlon couldn't help but marvel at how over-the-top everything was. From the softest towels to the shimmering water that practically sparkled in the candlelight, it was all so... decadent.
"If I wasn't stuck pretending to be a murderous noble, I might actually enjoy this lifestyle."
Finally, he collapsed onto the lavish bed, the silken sheets practically hugging him in a cocoon of comfort. For a moment, Arlon let out a deep, satisfied sigh.
"Okay, I admit, this is kind of nice. At least I get to sleep in style."