.
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Chapter 3: Dance of Blades and Laughter
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The sky was cloudless, washed in a warm afternoon glow. Light filtered through the trees that lined the training grounds behind the Elion estate, painting playful shadows over the pale stone tiles.
Roan tightened the grip on his wooden sword. At five years old, he was still small, but his balance had sharpened. His muscles, though slight, had begun to remember the weight of each swing. The system's quiet presence pulsed at the edge of his awareness—watching, calculating, guiding.
Across from him stood Lyria, barefoot in her sparring robe, her long purple hair pulled back with a silver clasp. Her violet eyes sparkled—not with seriousness today, but with something softer.
"Come at me," she said.
Roan hesitated. "Really?"
"You said you wanted to beat me one day, didn't you?"
His grip tightened. "I still do."
"Then show me."
With a grin tugging at his lips, Roan charged forward. His footsteps echoed lightly across the stone. He moved fast for his age, his blade cutting through the air with intent.
But Lyria was already sidestepping, her wooden sword tapping his gently to the side. She danced back, effortless, light on her feet.
"Too slow," she teased.
Roan huffed and spun, aiming for her waist. She dipped under it, spun on one heel, and flicked her blade forward, booping him lightly on the nose.
"Too predictable."
"Hey!"
Lyria chuckled as she stepped away. "You're improving. Truly. But strength alone doesn't win fights."
Roan wiped the sweat from his brow. "Then what does?"
"Control. Creativity. Patience."
She shifted her weight, crouched low, and winked. "Also—this."
Before Roan could react, she darted forward and tickled him.
"W-wait—! No fair!" he squeaked, nearly dropping his sword.
"Oh? You weren't prepared?" she said innocently, pinning him to the ground with a smile.
Roan squirmed, trying not to laugh. "You cheat!"
"It's not cheating if it works."
"That's not real swordplay!"
"It's tactical disruption," she said matter-of-factly. "An ancient technique."
Selene's voice called from the nearby fence. "She used that on me too once! It's terrifying!"
Lyria leaned down and whispered dramatically, "The secret Elion style."
Roan finally wriggled free, panting, red-faced and grinning. "You're ridiculous."
"But you're smiling," she said, brushing a blade of grass from his cheek.
Roan looked away quickly. "Maybe."
---
They resumed their spar, this time slower, more deliberate. Lyria began explaining as they moved.
"Feel the air," she said. "It tells you when someone shifts."
She parried his swing with a soft clang. "Watch my feet. Anticipate."
Roan did, and this time, when she moved left—he was ready. He stepped inward, angled his sword, and landed a soft tap on her shoulder.
"Yes!" he shouted. "I got you!"
Lyria blinked, then smiled wide. "So you did."
Roan's heart thudded with pride. "Does that mean I win?"
"You earned a draw," she said with mock seriousness. "But only because I wasn't trying to tickle you again."
Roan backed up quickly. "Stay back, villain!"
Lyria laughed, her voice echoing across the courtyard like bells.
---
Later, the two sat on the edge of the training grounds, sipping cooled peach water. Selene joined them, flopping down dramatically next to Roan.
"You look like a dying rabbit," she said, ruffling his purple hair.
"I almost beat Mom," he said proudly.
"Almost," Lyria echoed.
"'Almost' is better than you did at my age!" Roan retorted.
Selene gasped. "How dare you!"
Lyria raised a hand. "Both of you were terrible. I was clearly born perfect."
They all laughed.
For a moment, Roan let the peace settle into his bones. The old world, with its cold streets and cruel fists, felt distant—faded. Here, he wasn't broken or bullied.
Here, he was home.
> [System Log Updated]
Sparring Session: Mother – Completed
Progress: +3% Sword Path
Relationship Update: Lyria – +8 Affection
Tag Unlocked: "Playful Duelist"
> System Note: "Some strength grows in sweat. Some in laughter."
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Roan lay back, arms behind his head, watching white clouds drift across the blue sky.
He didn't need to rush.
He would get stronger.
Step by step, laugh by laugh, swing by swing.
And someday… he'd protect this warmth with everything he had.
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To Be Continued…
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