Will lunged first. His steps were too fast for a normal eye to follow, his bracers clashing against the butler's blade in a ringing strike. Sparks danced as steel and metal ground together.
"Good—again!" the butler parised.
Will pressed forward, punches and forearm strikes flowing like a stream, each blow backed by raw strength that would've shattered stone. The butler parried perfectly, sword flashing as sparks scattered everywhich way, never wasting a movement
A sharp feint. A heavy kick. Will drove his heel toward the butler's ribs, but the old man pivoted, letting the blow cut through empty air. In the same breath, the sword's flat smacked against Will's side.
"Too wide. Your balance drops when you throw your hips like that."
"Tch—" Will gritted his teeth, sliding back a step, sweat already beading his brow. "Slippery!"
The butler chuckled. "Slippery? I'll take that as a compliment young master."
They clashed again. The courtyard rang with the speed of their exchanges. Will ducked under a slash, closed the distance, and slammed his bracer up into the butler's wrist. The blade jolted upward, and Will's fist shot forward, grazing the man's chin.
"Better!" the butler said sharply, regaining his stance with a flourish of the sword. "But don't chase the strike. Anticipate what comes after."
He rushed again, faster this time. The ground cracked under his sprint, and his fists blurred. The butler blocked, deflected, redirected—until Will finally caught him with a sudden low sweep.
The butler stumbled half a step.
Will grinned. "Got you—"
In the same instant, the butler twisted his blade, catching the morning sun on its polished surface. The flash struck Will's eyes, blinding him just long enough. Steel darted past his guard and tapped his chest.
A heartbeat later, the boy found himself thrown over the old man's shoulder, landing flat on his back with the sword's point hovering at his throat.
The fight was over.
Will let out a long sigh, chest slowly rising and falling. "Damn it."
The butler chuckled softly, lowering the blade. "Thats was quite the match young master. You've improved again. Your aggression is sharper, and your instincts are finally catching up to your strength."
"Didn't win, though," Will muttered, rolling back to his feet.
The butler sheathed the sword with a clean click. "Victory isn't everything, young master. Learning is. Even I've lost countless times before I could do what I do now."
Will dusted himself off, breathing heavier than he wanted to show. "…Still lost."
"Then use that feeling," the butler said firmly. "Channel it into your next fight. One day, you will best me. And when that day comes, I'll retire with pride."
Will looked at him, and for the faintest second, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"That's the spirit." The butler glanced at his watch. His eyes widened slightly. "Ah, speaking of, we've lost track of time. Your flight is scheduled soon."
Will exhaled through his nose, shrugging. The butler sighed, he never was much for words.
---
The two walked through the corridors of the mansion, as conversations echoed through the halls. Staff lined the front hall, maids, footmen, cooks, and guards, all waiting to bid farewell. Some bowed, others smiled, a few held back tears.
At the front, the butler stopped and turned to Will. "The mistress and lord… regretfully could not see you off. But they asked me to give you these."
He handed over two sealed letters. One bore a golden sun seal, his mother's. The other, black with a Stallion insignia, belonged to his father.
Will held them carefully, then stepped forward and hugged the old man tightly. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "Thank you."
The butler returned the embrace, and chocked "Good luck, young master. Make sure to eat thrice a day, and massage me when you arrive in America. And make lots of friends, gods only know how much your mother worry's...and do come back in one peice."
Will gave a small nod, stepping back. He turned to the rest of the staff, raising a hand farewell before sliding into the bullet proof black Maybach.
As the car pulled away, the butler stood with the others, watching until the boy was out of sight. His chest rose in a sigh. Around him, the servants dabbed at their eyes, waving their goodbyes.
"Alright, back to work," he said firmly, coughing once to clear the mood.
They dispersed reluctantly. The butler lingered a moment longer, tilting his gaze toward the bright, cloudless sky.
"Good luck at Nevermore young master."
He slipped his phone from his pocket, tapping out a message to the lord and lady. [The boy has departed.]
Then, with a final glance toward the empty driveway, he turned back inside the manor.
----------[Break]
Vermont USA - Jericho - Late August
The black Rolls-Royce Phantom hummed smoothly down a winding road through the Vermont woods. The trees were endless—green, yellow, and orange leaves stretching as far as Will could see, each branch still dripping from last night's rain. The morning mist clung low to the ground, curling like ghosts between the trunks.
Will sat slouched in the back seat, one leg stretched out, head tilted against the window. His headphones pressed tight over his ears, flattening his afro in awkward dents, but he didn't care.
The beat of NF's voice ran through him, the kind of music that didn't sugarcoat anything. He'd found the artist in a VIP lounge while killing time. A quick Shazam later, half the guy's discography had been downloaded straight into his gym playlist.
"Not bad," Will murmured under his breath, bobbing his head.
The driver up front had his own thing going on. A thick-shouldered Ukrainian chain smoker, he puffed on his third cigarette of the drive, cracked window letting the smoke trail out.
Some traditional Ukrainian ballad played faintly from the car radio, the kind of thing that sounded equal parts funeral march and party tune.
Between puffs, he barked into his phone in rapid-fire Ukrainian, arguing with his wife about divorce proceedings.