Louis woke as the first hints of morning light crept into the room.
For a brief moment, he lay still, staring at the ceiling, registering the unfamiliar sensation in his body. He felt… refreshed. No lingering fatigue. No dull ache in his muscles. Even his mind felt clear, almost light.
He let out a slow sigh.
No point thinking too deeply about it, he told himself. Some things don't need answers right away.
Pushing himself up, Louis went through his usual routine. Nothing felt off, and soon enough, the day carried him forward.
The mornings and afternoons passed in steady rhythm. He worked on the greenhouse alongside Natasha, the labor grounding him in something simple and tangible. The soil, the herbs, the quiet exchanges between them—it was a routine he had grown accustomed to.
When evening fell, his focus shifted.
As night settled in, Belia took over his time. Training followed training, night after night. She drilled him relentlessly in hand-to-hand combat—stance, balance, footwork, timing. Each correction was precise, each spar brief but punishing.
And Louis learned.
Far faster than Belia had expected.
This pattern continued for a full week.
That night, under the dim glow of lantern light, Louis finally dropped into a squat, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Sweat rolled down his temples, his breathing heavy but controlled.
Belia approached him, arms crossed as she studied him for a moment.
"You've learned faster than I anticipated," she said plainly. "All the basics I intended to teach you—you've already grasped them."
Louis looked up at her, surprised, then smiled faintly. "Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you."
Before either of them could say more, footsteps approached from the path leading into the clearing.
Natasha emerged, a knowing grin on her face as her gaze flicked between the two of them.
"Getting along well, I see," she said lightly.
Belia snorted, while Louis shook his head, amused.
Natasha's expression shifted soon after. "I have information."
Louis straightened slightly. "Let's hear it."
She nodded. "The reply has arrived."
Louis' attention sharpened instantly.
"The request we sent—to have the noble respond and come to the Imperial Palace—has been answered," Natasha continued. "He'll be arriving in a few days. About a week, at most."
At that, Louis felt his mood lift.
This was progress. Real progress.
One step closer to the Beast Path.
The thought alone filled him with a quiet satisfaction. He had reached a conclusion he could accept—one that finally pointed forward rather than leaving him stagnant.
But Natasha wasn't finished.
"There's more," she said. "Final news."
Louis' expression turned serious again. "Go on."
"In the coming weeks," Natasha said, "it will be decided that the heroes are to be sent to the border domains. The purpose is training—real combat experience. Leveling up."
The words settled heavily in the air.
Before Louis could respond, Natasha added one last thing, her tone shifting subtly.
"And there's something else you should know."
She hesitated, then continued, "None of the noble women who harvested your seed… became pregnant."
Louis froze.
For a moment, nothing else seemed to reach him.
Then, as he stood there, the noise of the night faded into the background, and his focus narrowed inward.
His mind went back to the first week.
To the first night.
He remembered the maid stepping into his room, only to stop short when she saw him awake. The surprise on her face. The brief hesitation. Then her quiet retreat, closing the door behind her without a word.
After that night, the pattern had changed.
He never saw anyone enter again.
Only the presence outside the door. Someone standing there. Waiting. Then leaving.
Nothing more.
No gaps in his memory. No lingering sensations. Nothing out of place.
His attention returned to Natasha's words.
None of the noble women became pregnant.
That didn't make sense.
There was no chance they would have sent those women without certainty. Nobles were not chosen at random. They would have been vetted—ripe, ready, fertile.
Which meant the problem could only lie with him.
Louis looked down at his own body.
At himself.
Strangely, the thought didn't shock him.
If anything, it felt like confirmation.
He had already suspected it—faintly, instinctively—that it wouldn't work. That the outcome would be the same no matter how many times it was attempted.
His mind caught on something deeper.
No… that's not it.
His brow furrowed slightly.
My body doesn't reject things at random, he thought. It seemed to choose outcomes based on my will and intent.
Before he could chase that thought any further, Natasha's voice cut in.
"If you're worried," she said casually, "I can run a few tests. I'd just need a small extract."
Louis looked up at her slowly, suspicion written plainly across his face.
At the same moment—
Belia choked.
She coughed hard, nearly spitting out the water she'd been drinking from a worn leather flask. Lowering it quickly, she turned toward Natasha, eyes sharp.
"I thought you'd mellowed," Belia said flatly. "But it seems you haven't changed at all since the academy."
She shook her head slightly.
"It brings back memories. Unfortunate ones."
Louis frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
Belia lowered the leather sack from her lips.
"Nothing," she said. "It doesn't concern you."
Louis held her gaze for a second, then slowly turned to Natasha.
"And you?" he asked. "What does she mean?"
Natasha blinked, then smiled as if he had asked about the weather.
"He kept undermining the exercise," she said. "Endangering everyone else while hiding behind procedure. So I removed him from the group and placed him where his decisions would finally matter."
She smiled faintly.
"It happened to be a goblin den."
Louis froze.
"…What?"
Belia clicked her tongue.
"You left out the part where you did it without anyone's consent," she said sharply.
Natasha waved a hand. "Irrelevant."
Belia exhaled through her nose, irritation clear but restrained.
"A professor intervened," she said. "Before it went further."
Louis stared at Natasha, then slowly dragged a hand down his face.
"And you're saying this like it's normal."
"It was an academy," Natasha replied. "People experimented. Some just… experimented more creatively."
Belia shot her a look.
"That creativity nearly got someone killed."
"And yet," Natasha said calmly, "no one did."
The tension lingered for a moment before Natasha's attention returned fully to Louis.
"If you're worried," she continued, as if nothing had happened, "I can check your condition properly. Just need a sample."
Louis narrowed his eyes at her.
"A sample," he repeated.
Belia coughed, turning away as she resealed the leather sack.
"I thought time would have tempered you," she muttered.
Natasha smiled faintly.
"It did," she said. "I learned which rules enforced themselves."
Louis said nothing, but the air felt heavier than before—as though he had just learned something important, and deeply unsettling, about the people standing beside him.