When its getting dark, the trio made their way toward the capital.
When they reached the gates of the Royal Stay, two royal guards stepped forward, their armor catching the moon light. They gave a slight bow to Nyelle but cast skeptical glances at Arthur and Toren.
"Princess," one of them said curtly, "you took far too long. It's not advisable to roam around with commoners like—"
Nyelle's voice cut sharp and cold. "They are my friends. I won't hear something like that again."
The guard stiffened, lowering his gaze. Toren raised an eyebrow, impressed.
Nyelle turned toward them with a softer expression. "Will you both join me for dinner?" she asked.
Arthur opened his mouth, clearly about to decline politely.
But Toren was faster. "Yes, we'd love to," he blurted, throwing an arm around Arthur's shoulder. "We're starving, aren't we?"
Arthur gave him a glare, but it was already too late.
Nyelle smiled brightly and gestured for them to follow.
They stepped through the high gates into a large estate tucked between the nobler quarters of Valoria. The Royal Stay wasn't quite a palace, but it was close—columns lined the front, vines wound over delicate archways, and servants moved with quiet efficiency, lighting lanterns as the evening fell.
Toren whistled low. "Woah fancy."
Arthur said nothing, eyes scanning the surroundings. He felt out of place—but followed anyway.
Inside, they were led through polished hallways echoing with soft footsteps. A steward directed each of them to separate guest rooms with clean linens, wash basins, and fresh clothes already laid out.
A steward said, pausing at the corridor. "Dinner will be in the inner hall once you're ready."
Nyelle gave them a brief smile and disappeared around the corner to her own chambers.
Toren stared at the room's carved wooden bed and silk curtains. It felt like he had just walked into a different world.
Arthur with a faint smirk tugging at his lips, then turned toward the steam-filled sauna room at the far end of the chamber. The warmth seeped as he washed off the dust of the day.
After some time, both he and Toren returned to their quarters to find fine noble garments already laid out—silk-lined tunics, tailored vests, sashes, and polished boots.
Arthur inspected the outfit carefully. The cloth was rich, the stitching precise… but the size? Off. Too tight at the shoulders and chest, almost deliberately so. Toren had it worse—his outfit was loose and hanging awkwardly, one sleeve slipping off his shoulder as he tried to tighten the sash around his waist.
Toren grunted. "Did they measure us with their eyes closed?"
Arthur didn't answer at first. He glanced out the side of his eye at the hall, then back at the ill-fitting clothes. He wasn't naive—someone in the staff had made a statement. A quiet jab: Commoners don't belong in noble silk.
Still, Arthur said nothing.
Instead, he wear it and flexed his shoulders. A faint stretch, one sharp pull—rippp. The chest seam tore just enough at the front, the tightness giving way, and the cloth now clung to his form like it was tailored that way. His arms fit the sleeves snugly, the fabric settling perfectly over his physique.
Toren stared. "That's not fair."
Arthur smirked. "Wear it better."
Toren groaned and gave up trying to adjust his drooping sash,
Together, they walked down the golden-lit hallway toward the inner dining hall.
The room opened before them like a painting—long table, silver chandeliers dripping light, golden dishes already being arranged by silent servants. At the far end, Nyelle had just arrived, her royal robes exchanged for something more casual and refined—a soft silver and blue gown, her hair still damp from washing, flowing loosely over her shoulder.
She looked up—and froze.
Arthur entered first, the lantern light catching against the slight tear on his chest, the attire now framing him like it was made for his body. His sleeves rolled just above the forearms, dark vest fitting snug over the broad line of his shoulders and muscles.
Nyelle's breath hitched. She blinked rapidly, eyes darting away, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks.
"Evening," Arthur said casually.
Nyelle nodded, quickly taking her seat. "Y-yes. Please. Sit."
Toren took full advantage, flopping into the seat beside a golden bowl of steaming meat stew. "This smells divine."
The dinner began.
Nyelle spoke here and there, mostly to keep the conversation going, but every time she met Arthur's eyes, she faltered.
Arthur noticed, and thought, "What a weid girl".
When the meal ended, their plates were clean, their stomachs full. Servants cleared the dishes as Nyelle stood.
"Thank you," Arthur said, giving a slight bow.
"Yeah," Toren added, wiping his mouth.
Nyelle said, "You're both welcome here."
They were escorted back to the gate, where their own clothes had been cleaned and folded. Toren and Arthur switched into their old gear first, sighing with relief.
Toren turned to Nyelle. "So… are you coming back to train tomorrow?"
Nyelle's smile dimmed slightly. "Unfortunately not. My brother is arriving from Drakoria in the morning. And King Hedes has invited us for a formal lunch."
Arthur nodded once. "No problem. Thanks for the dinner." "We'll see you at the tests,".
Nyelle looked at Arthur one last time, lips parted as if to say something more… but instead, she just gave a small nod.
"Good night," she said softly, and turned back toward the estate.
Arthur and Toren stepped out into the cool Valorian night, the gates shutting quietly behind them.
The moon had long climbed over Valoria when Arthur and Toren led Veltron quietly through the back road to Sir Vale's horse yard. Lanterns hung low, flickering gently in the breeze. They moved in silence, careful not to disturb the man inside.
Veltron let out a soft whinny as Arthur removed the saddle, patting his side.
"Rest well," he whispered.
With the horse settled, the two made their way through the sleeping city streets, back to the humble motel. No guards. No silk. Just wooden cots and a cracked basin of water.
But it was enough.
The next morning came with golden light bleeding into their small room.
Arthur and Toren set out early, weaving through the bustling Valorian market, trying to find gigs or day jobs for spare coin. They moved sacks, unloaded carts, delivered bundles, fetched letters, and even helped an old vendor set up her fruit stall. The jobs kept their hands busy and pockets from running dry.
By midday, the sun was high and unforgiving. Arthur stood at the back of a merchant's cart, unloading crates, his shirt damp with sweat.
And then he saw her.
Across the market, on the stone steps of a private square, stood that same noble girl—the one he'd defended day ago when she nearly struck down a thief in rage. In front of her, a richly dressed nobleman maybe a high-ranking lord—shouted viciously.
She stood there, unmoving, eyes downward as if she just want to leave. But her fists were clenched, and her mouth tight. She didn't argue back.
Arthur's brows drew together. That doesn't seem like her character.
After a few more sharp words, the noble turned and walked off, leaving her at the top of the steps. For a second, she didn't move—then she blinked, turned, and walked off toward the stables.
Arthur saw her, riding a tall white mare, cantering through the city at a controlled pace.
The road curved, and it led her right past where Arthur was working, unloading the last set of heavy crates onto the cobblestone.
She rode steadily, her back straight.
As she approached, her gaze briefly flicked down at him—no emotion, just a cold glance.
Arthur didn't flinch. He looked up just as steadily.
The moment passed.
She rode on.
"What are you looking at?" Toren's voice came from behind, with a pouch of coins.
Arthur didn't reply.
Toren said anyway, "I made enough. Can we just take a rest?"
Arthur said, "Yeah, same here. Let's go and train—after all, tomorrow are the exams."
"Train? Come on, man," Toren groaned.
Arthur said. "You need to work on speed. You couldn't dodge a child's punch right now. What if tomorrow's exam demands flexibility?"
Toren grumbled under his breath but followed him anyway.
They returned to the open field. The air was cooler now, the grass damp under their boots. They trained harder this time—dueling with wooden staffs, sharp footwork, fast dodges. No talking. Just focus.
By the end, Toren was breathless and half-dead on his feet.
Back at the stables, Veltron gave a low snort. Arthur fed him—fourth time today—stroking his mane with a small nod.
They walked to the motel.
A dip in the hot spring behind the building brought some relief.
Toren leaned against the edge, eyes clouded. "Tomorrow's the real deal, huh?"
Arthur didn't answer. His eyes closed and relaxing in the hot spring.
He was determined.