After further conversation and practice, Patriarch Valtherion and Darion finished their training for the day. The young man, his body exhausted but his mind restless, retreated to his room. He knew he had not yet reached his father's level, but every time he picked up his sword, he felt he was closer to discovering what was holding him back.
Before falling asleep, he sat in the center of his room, closed his eyes, and began to store life force and mana. His breathing became deep, and he soon lost track of time. Energy flowed through his body slowly, accumulating in every fiber of his muscles. Several hours passed like this, until he finally felt it was time to stop. He quickly dined with the castle maids, then retired to rest.
Night fell upon the empire, and Darion felt sleep enveloping him, but a strange sensation made him open his eyes immediately. His room was dark, but a shadow moved near the window. Instinctively, he rolled out of bed and grabbed his sword. A hooded figure slid out of the darkness, brandishing a dagger.
The assassin struck with speed, but Darion blocked the blow with his sword.
"Who are you?" Darion demanded, pushing his attacker back.
The hooded figure didn't respond. Instead, he spun the dagger and attacked with a quick, precise movement. Darion managed to narrowly dodge, but felt a slight cut on his arm. With his reflexes on fire, he counterattacked with a stab aimed at the enemy's chest. However, the assassin was agile and dodged the blow with ease.
Both combatants continued to exchange blows for several minutes. Darion, despite having improved, felt his body still responding clumsily. Every blow of his was dodged with ease, every defense barely avoiding the edge of the enemy's dagger.
Finally, he found an opening. The hooded man tried to stab his side, but Darion spun on his axis and, with a precise blow, disarmed the enemy. In one fluid movement, he placed the sword at the attacker's neck.
"Speak. Who sent you?" Darion demanded, breathing heavily.
The hooded man fell to his knees, panting.
"You... shouldn't have been able to defeat me..." he muttered.
"That doesn't answer my question."
The assassin raised his head, revealing a face weathered by the years.
"I was sent to watch over you... and to make sure you never improved."
Darion's eyes narrowed.
"How?"
The assassin let out a bitter laugh.
"For years, I have poisoned your body. Every year, in imperceptible doses, I administered a poison that suppressed your strength and swordsmanship. You were never weak, you were only made to be so."
Darion's heart pounded furiously. His theories were true. Something had been holding him back.
"Who gave you that order?" he asked, tightening his grip on the handle of his sword.
The assassin lowered his head.
"If I tell you, I'll be killed before dawn."
Darion frowned. Someone powerful had been orchestrating his failure. And now that he knew the truth, he couldn't stop until he found the source of his curse.