-Swish
The sound of curtains being drawn echoed through the room, and soon enough, rays of sunlight spilled over my face, nudging me awake. "It's time to wake up, Young Lord," a familiar, gentle voice called out. I slowly opened my eyes to the sight of a beautiful girl standing by the window, her black hair gleaming under the morning light, her brown eyes warm and attentive. Her fair skin glowed softly, and a warm, gentle smile curved her lips. She was dressed in her usual maid attire.
"Good morning, Collete," I greeted, sitting up in bed.
"Good morning to you too, Young Lord," she replied, her smile never fading.
Dragging myself out of bed, I made my way to the bathroom adjacent to my room. Once inside, I washed my face and brushed my teeth, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. 'Damn, I'm handsome,' I almost said aloud, but kept it to myself. Instead, I quietly removed my clothes and slipped into the tub that Collete had prepared.
The warmth of the water enveloped me, instantly relaxing my muscles. Today was the day I'd officially begin training with the Knights of the Whiteclark. After almost a week in this world, I'd learned a few things about the previous owner of this body. Apparently, he wasn't much into physical activities or training. It made sense—this body was even skinnier than the one I had back on Earth.
Turns out, he spent most of his time reading, and learning about magic. Collete, who had served him since childhood, told me all about it. She was close in age to me, and I'd been able to get a lot of useful information from her—like how he was shy but kind, quite different from the typical noble children. He wasn't arrogant or cruel; instead, he dreamed of becoming a scholar and discovering different types of magic in this world.
And now... here I was, shattering all of that. I had taken over his body, inherited his life, and with it, all the dreams and ambitions he never got to fulfill. I knew it wasn't my fault, but that didn't stop the guilt from creeping in. I had to live as Lucian Whiteclark now, not Lucian Crawford.
"Sigh…"
I let out a heavy sigh and stood up from the tub, walking over to the mirror. With a flick of my fingers, I summoned a light breeze to dry my wet, dark auburn hair. Wind magic was the only element I could control for now, and I figured practicing it in small ways like this was a good way to improve my precision.
Once my hair was dry, I wrapped a towel around my waist and headed to the wardrobe. Collete had already laid out my clothes—a cream-white shirt and black trousers. After dressing, I called out, "Collete, I'm ready."
She entered the room, a polite smile on her face. "Breakfast is ready, Young Lord. The Duke and Duchess are waiting for you."
"I see," I nodded. "Let's go, then."
As we walked towards the door, Collete suddenly paused, her brow furrowed in concern. "Young Lord," she said, stepping closer, "your hair is a bit messy. Allow me to fix it." Without hesitation, she reached up and smoothed out the uneven strands of my hair.
"Thank you," I said, appreciating the gesture.
"It's my duty," she replied with a small smile as we headed towards the dining hall together.
*
Arriving in front of the dining hall, Collete slowly pushed open the grand double doors. I straightened my back and entered, immediately hit by the mouth-watering aroma of freshly prepared food. Inside the room, seated at the rectangular dining table, were two familiar figures: my mother, Liana Whiteclark, with her usual bright smile, and my father, Arin Whiteclark, who merely stared at me with his indifferent gaze.
I made my way toward them and greeted them with a slight bow. "Good morning, Father. Good morning, Mother," I said calmly.
"Good morning," my father responded, his voice as emotionless as his expression.
"Good morning, dear," my mother said, her voice warm and filled with cheer.
Taking a seat at the table, I watched as the servants efficiently brought in a trolley filled with a spread of food. They moved with precision as they served the dishes—bread, crispy bacon, and perfectly cooked eggs. Another servant poured red wine into the glasses, though I had no intention of drinking it this early. The sight and smell of the food were tempting, but I knew I had to maintain proper etiquette.
As we began eating, my parents engaged in light conversation with each other. My mother occasionally asked about my health and well-being, her tone always caring. Meanwhile, my father remained focused on his meal, speaking very little. I indulged in the delicious breakfast, savoring each bite, while keeping my manners in check.
"Lucian," my father's voice suddenly broke the quiet.
"Yes, Father?"
He paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. "About the request..." he began, then after a brief hesitation, continued, "I won't be able to train you."
Ah, there it was—the response I had been dreading. Arin Whiteclark, one of the Dukes, was renowned for his strength. During the war with the Orcs seven years ago, he had been a key figure on the battlefield. According to what I'd learned from Collete, my father had single-handedly massacred over a thousand orcs. Given that orcs are a warrior race, known for their relentless pursuit of strength and power, that feat was nothing short of legendary.
To them, my father had earned many fearsome titles, but the one that stuck was 'The Windblade Duke.' His mastery of wind magic and swordsmanship was the stuff of legends, and I had hoped to learn swordsmanship directly from him. But now... it seemed that option was off the table.
Before I could even muster a response, he spoke again.
"But I will provide you with a mentor who will oversee your training."
"Who might that be?" I asked, keeping my tone polite and curious.
"Someone important," Arin replied, his voice firm and leaving no room for further questioning. "You will meet him today at noon."
I didn't question him further. There was no point—whatever answer I might seek would be the same. In truth, I'd half-expected this outcome. My father was a Duke, burdened with responsibilities. Over the past few days, I'd noticed him buried in paperwork or involved in meetings, clearly too busy for personal training lessons.
Before I could dwell on it longer, Arin's voice broke through my thoughts, but this time he turned toward my mother.
"Liana," he said, his tone slightly softer. "I will be away again for a while."
"Again?" my mother's voice wavered with concern, the worry clear in her eyes.
"Yes," he replied, his expression unchanged. "There are many problems arising, and His Majesty has entrusted me with handling them."
At that, my mother fell silent. She knew as well as anyone that a Duke had to honor the King's orders. I watched their brief exchange, noting the way her face tightened with worry, but she said no more. It was something she'd long grown accustomed to. I remained quiet, focusing on finishing the last of my meal while observing them in silence.
*
It was noon, the sun high in the sky, casting its rays on the bustling training ground of the Whiteclark estate. Knights were engaged in rigorous sparring sessions, the metallic clashing of swords filling the air. Their conversations hummed in the background, the camaraderie evident as they exchanged strategies and banter. But then, almost like a wave, all activity ceased, and every gaze turned in one direction.
A man stood at the edge of the training ground, his presence commanding immediate attention. Dressed in sleeveless training attire that showed off his powerful, muscular arms, he radiated strength. A sword rested at his waist, sheathed but ever-present, his hand casually placed on its hilt. His long black hair, tinged with red at the tips, brushed his shoulders, and his sharp black eyes swept across the knights. For a brief moment, I felt his gaze land on me, heavy and intense, but it quickly shifted.
Though his aura was less imposing than my father's, it was undeniable—this man held authority.
"Everybody in line," he commanded, his voice firm and unwavering. Immediately, the knights scrambled into position, forming neat rows with practiced precision. I, however, remained standing apart, not yet part of their routine. His eyes flicked back to me, unreadable as ever, and then, without a word, he began walking toward me. The closer he got, the more palpable his presence became, making the air feel heavier around me.
When he finally stopped in front of me, we locked eyes. The man was towering, his stature alone enough to dwarf me. Every inch of him radiated discipline, and the unspoken power he carried was enough to make anyone nervous.
"I have received word from His Excellency," he began, his tone clipped, every syllable carrying the weight of military rigor.
"I am Christopher Heins, the Vice-Commander of the Whiteclark Knights," he introduced himself.
"I am Lucian Whiteclark," I responded, matching his formality as best I could. "I have also received word from my father."
Christopher's expression remained unchanged. "His Excellency has instructed me not to treat you as a Young Lord. So, please be prepared for that."
I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I understand. It's better this way."
Without wasting any more time, he motioned towards the estate's training ground exit. "Then let us begin," he ordered. "First, we will run laps around the estate."
"Yes, sir!" The knights shouted in unison, their postures rigid and ready. I quickly followed suit, adjusting my stance and joining the ranks.
The real training had begun.
*
"Huff… Huff…"
I was practically gasping for air, each breath searing my lungs and sending jolts of pain through my sides. 'Kill me, fuuuuck, this is hell.' My legs felt like they were on fire, screaming in agony with every step I took. I thought I might be able to handle the training the knights went through. Hell, maybe even surpass them. How wrong I was. The knights were far ahead, their forms steady, while I trailed behind, barely keeping up. A few of them glanced back at me with concern, but none of them said a word.
"Faster! Only two more laps remain!" Christopher's voice thundered across the grounds.
Two more? Two bloody more? The thought of running two more laps felt like a death sentence, but I didn't let myself stop. I gritted my teeth and pushed through the pain, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. After what felt like an eternity, we finally finished. I collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving, legs trembling. I gulped down the water, barely able to drink, my throat still parched and my body desperate for rest. But I knew it wasn't over yet.
"Stand in line!" Christopher's voice snapped me out of my daze, and I scrambled to my feet despite my exhaustion. "Now we will do stretching exercises before any muscle workouts!"
I stumbled into the line alongside the other knights, my legs shaking beneath me. As the knights started stretching their limbs, I followed along, though my movements were sluggish. Every stretch felt like a cruel test of my endurance, but I kept at it. No matter how tired I was, no matter how much my body screamed at me to stop, I knew I couldn't afford to fall behind.
After the stretching came the bodyweight exercises—pushups, sit-ups, squats. Each one was agony, and my muscles burned with every movement. By the time we moved to the weights inside the estate's training room, I was already drenched in sweat, barely able to lift the dumbbells. We did bicep curls, deadlifts, chest workouts—everything I'd seen in training manuals but never actually attempted. My body was protesting every lift, and at times, I even felt like gagging from the sheer exhaustion. But I swallowed it down, pushing forward.
Then came the sword training.
After the muscle workouts, we gathered again in lines. Christopher's voice was sharp as ever, "Now let us practice the sword. Take your wooden swords from the racks!"
I grabbed a wooden sword like the others, my body aching with every step. We lined up, spaced out from each other, and readied ourselves. I adopted the basic stance I had learned, gripping the hilt of the sword tightly. The pain from all the previous exercises was still coursing through me, but I ignored it and focused on the task ahead.
"Now, swing your swords vertically!" Christopher barked the order, and the knights immediately obeyed. I swung my sword, feeling the weight of it with each motion. My muscles screamed in protest, but I didn't stop. The more I swung, the more I felt the burn, but I kept going. After the vertical swings, we moved on to other directions—horizontal strikes, and stabs. I followed the instructions as best as I could, ignoring the growing discomfort.
As we continued, I noticed something strange—a slight smile tugging at the corner of Christopher's lips. 'Did he just smile?' I almost doubted my own eyes, but there it was, as faint as it may have been. Before I could dwell on it, though, he started walking toward me.
"Trainee No.47, Lucian Whiteclark," he called out. "Now, the knights here will spar amongst themselves, but as you are new today, you will spar with me."
My heart skipped a beat, but I managed to blurt out, "Yes, sir!"
A thousand questions raced through my mind, but I kept my mouth shut. I had read enough novels and played enough games in my past life to know what this was—he was assessing me, measuring my current strength. And, as far as I knew, I hadn't done anything wrong, so I didn't need to worry… right?
The other knights cleared the space, giving us room. Christopher stood across from me, his wooden sword in his right hand, left hand resting behind his back. His posture was casual, but his eyes were razor-focused, boring into me. The weight of his gaze alone was intimidating, but I took a deep breath and steadied myself. Gripping my sword tightly, I assumed a basic fighting stance, preparing myself for the spar.
"Shall we begin?" Christopher asked, his voice calm yet commanding.
"Yes," I replied, trying to sound confident even though my nerves were fraying at the edges.
"You may have the first strike," he said, giving me the initiative.
Nodding, I charged forward, sword raised, ready to make my move. But—
-Clunk.
Before I could even register it, my sword was effortlessly blocked. Christopher hadn't budged an inch. He was still as composed as ever, his sword perfectly in place to stop my attack. I knew he was strong, but not this strong. He didn't even flinch.
It stung my pride. But I wasn't done yet. I gritted my teeth, readying myself for the next move.
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A/N: Ah, I know I am late but yeah my practicals are going on and after some time exams will also start so, wish me luck.