The first light of dawn barely crept over the horizon when Lucius arrived at the training grounds. The air was crisp, carrying the distant clang of steel from knights already sparring. The stone-paved courtyard, reserved for the elite warriors of House Ardentis, felt vast and empty with only two figures standing at its center.
Marshal Reynard Ardentis was waiting.
Lucius had never been alone with his uncle before. He had seen him from afar, heard whispers of his cold, ruthless training methods, and witnessed the warriors he molded into legends. But standing before him now, under the piercing gaze of the Marshal, felt like standing in the eye of a storm—calm, but undeniably dangerous.
Lucius straightened his posture. His body still ached from the previous day's duels, but he did not falter. He knew what was at stake.
Reynard examined him, his expression unreadable. His presence alone was suffocating, a heavy force pressing down on the boy's shoulders. He finally spoke, his voice cutting through the morning silence like a blade.
"Drop the sword."
Lucius hesitated, gripping the hilt of his weapon instinctively.
Reynard's eyes narrowed slightly. "Did I stutter?"
Lucius slowly released the sword, letting it fall to the ground with a dull clatter.
The Marshal stepped forward. "From this moment on, forget everything you think you know about fighting. You are not a swordsman. You are not a noble. You are nothing."
Lucius clenched his fists. Nothing?
Reynard continued, circling him like a predator assessing prey. "Your body is weak. Your technique is sloppy. Your endurance is laughable. You rely too much on defencive magic, which—while it might work against children—will get you killed against real warriors."
Lucius bit the inside of his cheek but said nothing.
"Darius defeated you in an instant yesterday. If that had been a real battle, you would be a corpse." Reynard stopped in front of him, towering over him. "And yet, you dare to believe you deserve my training?"
Lucius forced himself to hold Reynard's gaze.
"I don't 'believe' anything," he said. "I will earn it."
A slow, amused breath left Reynard's lips. It wasn't a smile, but it was the closest thing Lucius had ever seen from him.
"Then we begin."
In the next instant—
Lucius's world flipped upside down.
Pain exploded across his chest as Reynard struck him with his palm, sending him skidding across the stone floor. The impact rattled his bones, knocking the air from his lungs.
Before he could recover—another strike.
Reynard moved with inhuman precision, striking Lucius's leg, his ribs, his shoulder—each blow knocking him off balance before he could even react.
Lucius gasped, his vision blurring.
He's not using a weapon… He's not even using his full strength… And yet—
He couldn't land a single hit.
Reynard's voice was cold. "Stand."
Lucius forced himself up, his body screaming in protest.
Another blow.
Back to the ground.
Again.
And again.
An hour passed.
Lucius had stopped counting how many times he had fallen. He tasted blood in his mouth. His hands were raw from scraping against the rough stone. His body felt as if it had been trampled by a warhorse.
Yet—
He still got up.
His vision swam, but he pushed himself onto his knees, then his feet.
Reynard watched him with an impassive gaze. He had seen countless warriors break under lesser training. Lucius should have collapsed by now. But instead—
He kept rising.
Slowly. Painfully. Stubbornly.
The boy's amber eyes burned with something feral—something dangerous.
Reynard finally spoke. "Good."
Lucius panted heavily, but he did not break eye contact.
He would not yield.
Reynard's gaze lingered on him, as if reassessing. Then, without another word, he turned away.
"Training is over for today."
Lucius almost collapsed from relief but forced himself to remain standing.
Reynard paused before walking off completely. "Tomorrow will be worse. If you cannot handle it, do not bother showing up."
Lucius wiped the blood from his lip.
He would be here.
No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much he had to endure.
He would be here.