Evelyn pov
Marcus and I were sparring in the clearing, trading clumsy blows with wooden sticks while Lina sat cross-legged nearby, her nose buried in a book her apprentice-knight brother had given her.
"You hear about the bandits?" Marcus asked between swings, his strikes heavy but unrefined. "They say a group of stage three to five fighters were caught raiding a village nearby. Some were captured, but a few escaped."
I parried his strike and frowned. "It's none of our concern. If they have any brains left, they'll avoid villages for a while. Even a single stage five is enough to crush them, and our village has at least one. My father's already at stage four, remember?"
Marcus hesitated, lowering his stick. "Yeah, but… what if—"
I froze. My senses pricked as a faint pressure brushed against me. Someone was approaching—someone strong. At least stage three.
A man stumbled into the clearing, his clothes torn, his steps uneven. Despite his limp, he raised a chipped sword toward us, his eyes gleaming with desperation.
Marcus stiffened. "Evelyn… is that—?"
I studied the man carefully. "A survivor," I said flatly. Then I glanced at Marcus. "Do you know the difference between a trained fighter and an amateur?"
He shook his head nervously.
I smiled and stepped forward.
The bandit sneered at first, but his grin faltered as golden armor shimmered into existence around me, the form of a lion etched across its surface. Before he could recover, I dashed forward, my fist arcing toward him.
He managed to raise his sword in time, blocking my blow—proof he wasn't a complete novice—but his body was weakened. The impact snapped his wrist, and my strike slammed into his stomach, forcing him back. I followed with a leaping left hook. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious.
I exhaled slowly, dissolving my armor as Marcus and I tore his cape into strips, binding his wrists and ankles. Together, we dragged him toward my home.
Father's eyes widened when he saw the limp body. "What have you—?!" He didn't wait for an answer, hoisting the man onto his shoulder with ease. "I'll take him to the village chief. Stay here." His tone was sharp, though his eyes betrayed relief that neither of us were hurt.
The moment he disappeared down the road, Marcus and Lina both turned to me.
"Evelyn," Marcus said, eyes wide. "That armor… where did it come from? And your strength—what was that?"
"Yeah," Lina added, closing her book for once. "It just vanished afterward. Was it magic?"
I hesitated, then decided to tell them. "It was mana. Fighters can forge weapons and armor with it. Normally, you'd need to reach stage four before even attempting that, but I… borrow from the atmosphere. I don't have reserves of my own yet, but I can pull in just enough to make it work."
Marcus gaped. "So you're already fighting like a stage three?"
I shrugged. "Close enough. But don't fool yourself—it only looked easy because he was injured. If he'd been fresh, it wouldn't have been so simple."
Silence hung between us, broken only by Marcus clenching his fists. His usual easy grin was gone, replaced by something harder, heavier.
"If danger like that can find us here," he muttered, more to himself than to us, "then nowhere's really safe. I can't just… sit around and take it easy anymore."
Lina glanced at him, startled. "Marcus…"
He looked at me, determination burning in his eyes. "I'm going to train harder. Not like you, Evelyn—you're insane—but harder than I've ever tried. Next time trouble comes, I don't want to just stand there watching."
For once, I didn't tease him. I just studied his expression, the raw seriousness there. Maybe, I thought, this encounter hadn't just been a lesson for me.