The next morning, the mountain village was buzzing faintly with gossip No one had seen the duel between Nero and Rhyka, Emmet had kept it out of sight, but rumors spread like wildfire anyway The strange noble who had appeared days before, the "magicless" boy who had somehow built a dojo outside the village, and the way both of them were seen returning late into the evening with dust still clinging to their clothes Everyone wanted to know what had happened
Rhyka, however, was unconcerned He sat in the yard outside his dojo sharpening the edge of his curved blade with a piece of whetstone, golden eyes calm, movements precise He didn't need to explain himself to the villagers, they weren't the ones who mattered
The crunch of boots on dirt drew his attention
