The next morning, the manor was quiet. Servants cleared trays and swept the halls, and a few ribbons still hung in the corners.
I waited in the front hallway near the entrance, glancing at the gates, until Belle came over, calm and unbothered, like last night hadn't earned a second thought.
"You did pretty well last night," she said, folding her arms with a smirk. "Even if you almost got flattened by Ceil."
I chuckled softly, rubbing my sore side. "Yeah, thanks to you. That punch saved me."
Belle shrugged, grinning wider. "Don't get used to it. Next time, I might just let you handle it yourself."
I gave her a look. "You say that, but you didn't hesitate."
Belle scoffed. "He was about to crash into my table. I was protecting my dessert."
"Sure," I said, not buying it.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Besides, if you lose too badly, people start looking at our family differently."
That landed harder than her teasing. I glanced toward the main house. "So, you were thinking about reputation?"
Belle shrugged again, but her grin softened. "Of course, your too weak."
I opened my mouth to reply, but voices near the entrance caught our attention.
Father and Duke Lukas were standing by the gates, deep in conversation. The early sunlight made the duke's sharp features stand out, while Ceil stood on the back quietly.
As we got closer, Father turned to the duke. "Thank you for coming, brother," he said warmly.
The duke nodded faintly. "It was necessary. Next time, you should visit the main house. It's been a while since you visited."
"We will," Father replied with a smile. "It really has been too long since I visited."
The duke glanced at Belle and me, a small grin appearing. "I hope you two come to join the main house."
Belle blinked, visibly confused by the sudden suggestion, her lips parting slightly as if unsure how to respond.
Ceil's gaze shifted to me, studying me for a moment before he spoke in a calm but firm voice. "Next time, I want a fair fight."
I twitched slightly, caught off guard by his change in tone, but I nodded silently.
Then he turned to Belle and gave a polite nod. "Goodbye, my lady."
Belle raised an eyebrow but said. "See you later."
The duke's carriage waited just beyond the gates. The horses were restless, pawing at the ground. With a final nod from Father, the gates creaked open. The Duke and Ceil climbed inside, the doors closing softly behind them as the wheels began rolling down the winding road out of the estate.
…
At breakfast, Father sat at the head of the table with several documents spread before him. His expression was calm, but serious enough that Belle noticed right away.
"What was the Duke talking about?" she asked.
"It's not a big deal," Father said. "We can talk about it after breakfast."
Belle frowned, then asked again with curiosity. "So, Father. What happened with the mission?".
Father set down his teacup carefully and leaned forward. "The Red Corps returned early this morning," he began. "The operation was a success. We recovered several stolen goods, and the pirate ships have been neutralized."
Belle's eyes lit up, but she stayed quiet, sensing there was more.
"As for the Demon Faction," Father continued, tapping one of the scrolls, "our intelligence confirms they tried to set up a base near Linberg. They were likely preparing to summon reinforcements and expand their influence. Luckily, we disrupted their plans and shut the operation down before it could grow."
Belle frowned. "Demon Faction?" She looked between Father and the papers. "What is that?"
Father's voice lowered a little. "One of the three organizations that operate from the shadows," he said. "Their origin dates back to ancient times. And from what our information says, their primary goal is to bring the Chaos God into this world."
Belle let out a short laugh like she didn't mean to. "You're serious?"
"Yes," Father said. No warmth this time. "That's why we moved quickly."
"You said three groups," I asked. "What are the other two?"
Father exhaled once, quietly. "The second is called the Desire Lunatics."
Belle frowned. "That's a real name?"
"It's what people call them," Father said. "They are not a cult like the Demon Faction. They don't worship, their scattered organizations, which makes them difficult to track and even harder to eliminate. They chase their urges, so you can't predict them. They do whatever they want, and they don't care who gets hurt."
"The last is the Sinners. The most dangerous," Father said. "Most of them work alone and hide in plain sight. They could be a merchant, a teacher, even a servant in a noble family. They claim they hear the voice of an Ancient God. Once they start listening, it gets inside them. Little by little, it corrupts them."
Belle stared at her bowl for a second. Her fingers tightened around the spoon. "So, they could be anyone…"
Father seemed to notice the tension at the table. His tone eased just a little. "And Lucian," he said, "your notes helped more than you think. They gave us an advantage and kept casualties low."
I blinked, caught off guard by the praise. "It wasn't that serious."
Father's eyes narrowed a little. "Still," he said, "even as a warrior, I wouldn't have seen it coming. How did you know?"
"Just from reading books," I said.
Father laughed, the sound lightening the atmosphere. "Books, huh? Belle, maybe you should start reading more. You'll need both strength and knowledge when you start at the academy this year."
Belle glanced at me, then back at Father, grinning. "This food is delicious," she said, dodging the subject.
Father chuckled, shaking his head. "Avoiding the question won't work forever, Belle."
After that, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Small things like upcoming events, issues at the ports, and the arrival of new transportation. Belle asked a few questions about the academy, mostly about dorms and classes, while I stayed quiet, listening and observing.
…
A week passed, and the cold breeze began to settle over Linberg. The mornings were crisp, and the skies held that soft gray hue that hinted at an early winter. The trees in the manor garden had started shedding their leaves, and frost clung to the edges of the stone fence behind the training ground.
Belle and I had been training every morning for the past few days. Mostly running laps around the manor, then repeating the same basic sword swings until my shoulders burned.
My arms were sore. My legs felt heavy.
Belle still looked like she could go another round without even breathing harder.
This morning was no different, except Sir Roswell stood waiting for us in the training yard. His arms were crossed, his expression as unreadable as always.
We bowed. "Good morning, Master."
He nodded once. "Today, I'll show you the Eastern Sword Technique. It also originated from your ancestors."
Belle's eyes lit up. "Wait, really? That sounds awesome!"
Roswell stepped forward. A wooden sword rested in his right hand, his left tucked neatly behind his back. Then, without warning, he moved.
Two slashes cut through the air so fast I almost missed them. The strikes landed with a dry hiss, leaving clean, deep marks in the sand at our feet. For a second, I wondered if my tired mind was lagging what my eyes had seen.
I frowned. "Master… how did you do that with a wooden sword?"
Roswell glanced at the grooves, then back at me. "Because the weapon isn't the point. Footwork. Timing. Angle. If your body is aligned, even wood can be a weapon. Aura makes it sharper, but the technique make it better."
He turned the practice blade once in his grip, as if weighing an invisible edge.
"This technique was designed to end a fight quickly," he continued. "Power and speed. One to three strikes. If used properly, it can kill a monster in a single move. It's for destruction, for finishing things before they start."
Roswell stepped closer and pulled off his glove. A faint bluish mist rose from his hand like smoke. The haze thickened, tightening around his fingers until it looked sharper, almost like a thin blade wrapped around skin.
"This is called aura," he said. "It can protect you like a shield or cut like a sword, depending on how you shape it."
He rolled up his sleeve and revealed a faint glowing rune symbol wrapped around his forearm. It pulsed lightly beneath his skin.
"If you become Warrior Class, a priest will give you a rune stone," he continued. "If your body accepts it, a similar symbol will appear. That's the beginning of your path as Awakened. Over time, you refine it until it becomes powerful."
Belle leaned in, staring like she might blink and miss it. "Woah…"
I asked, "I read there are more classes than just Warrior."
"You're right," Roswell said, nodding. "From what I can tell, there are six orthodox classes: Warrior, Professor, Hunter, Enforcer, Sorcerer, and Phantom. Each develops differently, and I don't fully understand them all. Some rely on items, others on intellect, others on powers that don't use aura like us. It depends on the class you choose."
Belle tapped her wooden sword against her palm, eager in that restless way she got. "Master, could we do light sparring?"
Roswell looked at her for a moment, then glanced at me, silent but clearly asking the same question.
I shook my head fast. "No."
Belle huffed. "We've been training for a week, but we haven't sparred even once."
"We can't beat him," I said. "We're just kids."
"I know," Belle replied, then paused, tapping the sword again like she was working something out. "What if he doesn't use his aura? If he does, he loses."
Roswell's brow rose slightly. Then he nodded, calm as ever. "Alright. I won't use aura."
He lifted the wooden sword into a ready position. "But remember, this isn't a real match. Light sparring."
Belle grinned. "Sounds good to me."
I gave a small shrug, "Okay. I'll try too. Just don't expect much."
Roswell's gaze settled on us, steady and unreadable. "Good. This is about what you're capable of," he said.