The heavy footsteps of his father and brother faded down the upstairs corridor. Silence reclaimed the grand living room, thick and suffocating. Lucian stood alone amidst the drapes and carved mahogany furniture, a sneer twisting his new lips.
I need to do some research.
Hiding in his room wouldn't give him answers. He turned on his heel, the tight fabric of his trousers tugging at his thighs, and made his way out of the living room. Each step echoed with his heavy breathing as he headed toward the main entrance hall. Passing a tall window, he slowed, then stopped, eyes widening slightly as he took in the view beyond the glass.
So… we're nobles. Nothing new there. But that doesn't explain why this place looks so damn horrendous.
His gaze traveled from the once-manicured gravel drive to the iron gates at the edge of the grounds, rust flaking from their joints. Servants crossed the courtyard below, their livery patched. Beyond the walls, the sky hung low and overcast, the air thick with a grey haze that blurred the horizon.
The estate felt… tired. At best.
The stone facade of the mansion was chipped and weathered, lacking even a hint of the pristine, magical sheen he would have expected from a high-ranking family in a fantasy world.
I see…
We're broke beyond belief!
Lucian turned away from the window, the grim reality of his surroundings sinking into his bones. The estate wasn't just neglected; it was decaying. If his family was this poor, his position was more precarious than he thought. And this body? It was a liability. A heart wrapped in layers of useless fat. It was no wonder the previous owner had snapped the neck.
He needed to move. To burn off the suffocating weight clinging to his hips and chest. He wasn't going to sit around waiting for… well nothing. He walked down a side hallway, his breathing already heavy from the exertion of just standing around. He saw a figure ahead, a woman on her knees, scrubbing the wooden floorboards with a rag.
He approached her, his shadow falling over her work. She paused, looking up, her gray hair tied back severely, her gray eyes widening slightly at the sight of the heir looming over her. She started to rise, but he waved a hand, though the gesture felt clumsy in his new, soft limbs.
"You," Lucian said. He kept his voice low. "You're a maid here, correct? I have a task for you. One that will require some exertion on your part."
Yelena remained kneeling, wiping her hands on her apron. She inclined her head, her expression neutral, betraying nothing of her inner thoughts. "I serve at the pleasure of the Kraus family, Young Master Lucian. How may I be of assistance?"
"I need to move, A lot," Lucian said, watching her face for a flicker of understanding. He didn't want to spell it out. "Meet me in the courtyard in five minutes. Wear something that can get dirty. And don't tell anyone." He turned and walked away before she could object. He felt the woman's gaze burning into his back, a mix of confusion and rising apprehension. She likely feared the worst, a demand for labor that bordered on abuse, or perhaps something darker given his reputation.
The courtyard air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth. Lucian stood beside a withered rose bush, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His own mass dragged at him, a constant, irritating resistance against gravity. In his hands, he gripped two rough branches snapped from a dead hedge. They were flimsy. Brittle. Barely weapons at all.
Footsteps crunched over the gravel.
The maid approached, gray eyes sweeping the empty grounds before settling on him. She stopped a few paces away, hands clasped loosely in front of her. Her gaze dropped to the sticks in his grip, her brow creasing slightly.
"Young Master Lucian," she said evenly. "You summoned me. Here I am."
He raised the branches. "Yeah, yeah, I did. We're going to work. I need to gauge my limits, and you're the most capable-looking person in this crumbling piece of decomposing house looking prison." He gestured vaguely at his own bulk with one stick. "And I think it's pretty obvious why that's necessary."
Her expression didn't change, though a flicker of apprehension passed through her eyes. She didn't understand the sudden shift, only that the usually vicious, slothful boy was behaving completely out of character.
"A spar, then?" she asked. "You wish for combat practice?" Her eyes flicked to the branches. "If that is truly your intent, the armory contains proper training weapons. Wooden swords. These would break on first impact."
Lucian looked down at the sticks, then back at her impassive face. He tossed them aside. They clattered uselessly against the stone.
"Yeah… figured as much," he exhaled, frustration tightening his chest. "Fine. Get the wooden swords. If we're doing this, let's do it properly."
Yelena disappeared into the manor, returning moments later with two wooden swords. The practice weapons had seen better days, nicked along the edges, handles wrapped in fraying leather, but they were balanced and serviceable. She handed one to Lucian and took several steps back, assuming a stance that spoke of formal training: feet shoulder-width apart, weight balanced on the balls of her feet, sword held at a diagonal across her body.
Lucian awkwardly mimicked her position, his body feeling cumbersome and unwieldy. The wooden sword felt foreign in his hand. He'd never held a weapon like this before, neither as Gyeong In nor, apparently, as the original Lucian. His arms already ached from holding the position.
The maid's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing him. She drew herself up formally, her demeanor shifting from servant to instructor in an instant.
"I, Yelena of Karsk, stand ready for this duel," she announced, the formality of her words juxtaposed against the severity of her stance.
Lucian blinked, suddenly realizing she expected the same from him. Combat etiquette? Was this some noble custom? He straightened as best he could, his breath already coming faster just from standing.
"Lucian..." He hesitated, his mind momentarily blank. What was his family name again? Kraus. Right. "I Lucian Kraus, stand ready for this duel."
Yelena nodded once, a curt acceptance of his introduction. Without another word, she lunged forward, her wooden sword slicing through the air with scary precision.
Time seemed to slow as Lucian's mind raced through his options. Block the attack? Deflect it sideways? Duck underneath? He'd seen enough movies to know the basics, but his body, this fat, sluggish vessel, couldn't translate thought into movement fast enough.
The wooden edge connected with his cheek before he'd committed to any defense.
Pain blossomed across his face, sharp and immediate. His head snapped sideways from the force of the blow. He staggered backward, nearly losing his footing as stars danced across his vision. The taste of copper filled his mouth where his teeth had cut into the inside of his cheek.
Yelena had already returned to her ready position, her face betraying nothing, no satisfaction, no remorse. Just the blank professionalism of someone who had struck precisely as intended.
"Your guard was non-existent, Young Master," she stated, her voice cool. "Shall we continue?"
"Yeah… just give me a moment."
He shifted his grip on the practice sword, sweat already stinging his eyes. Lucian lunged, a clumsy, heavy thrust aimed at the maid's chest. Yelena pivoted effortlessly, the wooden blade of her sword coming down in a sharp, controlled arc.
Crack.
The sound echoed in the quiet courtyard. The force of the blow vibrated up his arm, jarring his shoulder as she struck his wrist. Lucian hissed, dropping his sword as his fingers went numb. He clutched his throbbing wrist, glaring at the weapon lying in the dirt.
"Your stance is too wide," Yelena said, her voice devoid of pity. She didn't strike again. Instead, she pointed with her own sword. "You leave your entire center open. You're swinging with your arms, not your body. It lacks weight behind it."
"I'm trying, damn it," he muttered, bending to retrieve the sword. His lungs burned, his side ached, and the humiliation was a hot coal in his gut. He had a long, painful road ahead of him if he ever wanted to make it.