Half a month later, it was already the end of June!
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the newly planted sparse trees in the courtyard, casting dappled light and shadow on the compacted dirt ground.
In the training field in the front yard of Luke's estate, the sharp "crack" of wooden swords clashing and slightly breathless shouts could be heard.
Luke held a practice hardwood longsword. Sweat soaked his new dark gray training clothes, clinging to his now well-proportioned and firm body thanks to the Constitution upgrade.
His opponent was Bronn, who also used a wooden sword but looked far more relaxed. His footwork was agile, and his blocks and counterattacks were effortless.
"Hey! Left side!"
Bronn easily parried Luke's diagonal slash. His wooden sword flicked upward, tapping Luke's wrist. Though he didn't use much force, it still made Luke's arm go numb.
"Speed's decent, but your angles are too rigid!"
Luke gritted his teeth, adjusted his stance, and attacked again.
Straight thrust, horizontal sweep, upward cut… He gave it everything, using the basic moves he'd learned from Bronn and the guards these past few days, along with so power-generation techniques he'd figured out himself.
His physical foundation was truly excellent — reaction speed and endurance far surpassed ordinary people.
Especially with his Constitution at 11 points, even after nearly half an hour of high-intensity sparring, he was only breathing a little heavily and sweating more.
But in front of a battle-hardened realist like Bronn, who had fought for his life on the streets and battlefields since childhood, Luke's techniques still looked immature and clumsy.
Every attack was predicted, every defense left openings.
"Stop!"
Bronn's wooden sword once again slipped through Luke's defense like a viper. The tip stopped right in front of his throat.
Bronn withdrew his sword and shook his wrist. His face, full of streetwise charm, showed undisguised teasing:
"Luke, seriously, your body foundation is really good. Coordination, reaction speed, even strength — better than many people who've trained for years. Unfortunately… you started too late with the sword."
"When I was your age… well, no, when I was fifteen, I could already use a rusty dagger to kill two adult vagrants who tried to rob of half a loaf of black bread."
Luke panted, casually tossed his wooden sword to a young servant who was watching and learning, wiped the sweat from his face, and said irritably: "Enough practice, I'm tired. What's so glorious about your record?"
He walked up to Bronn, lowered his voice with a stubborn tone: "Back when I was still a 'kidney-deficient fragile pretty boy', I single-handedly killed four bastards who tried to kidnap — using a waterlon knife."
Bronn clicked his tongue, his face clearly saying "I believe you, dumbass."
He had long gotten used to Luke occasionally spitting out words he didn't understand, like "kidney-deficient fragile pretty boy" or "waterlon knife," and automatically classified them as part of Luke's "Heavenly Dragon" mysterious act.
At this mont, Annie, who had been waiting nearby, quickly trotted over with prepared clear water and a towel.
She carefully handed Luke a beautifully shaped ceramic cup filled with cooled warm water.
Luke took it and gulped it down with loud "glug glug" sounds, his Adam's apple bobbing. Sweat beads slid down his sharp jawline.
Emma stood at his side, looking up with her little face. Her blue eyes were filled with undisguised concern and… sothing else.
She held a soft linen towel and gently wiped the sweat from Luke's forehead and neck, her movents careful and gentle.
Her gaze was so focused it almost seed to draw silk.
This master wasn't just mysterious and rich, tall and handso, and gentle toward her and her sister — now he was also diligently practicing martial arts…
In her young heart, which had suffered so much and was only just beginning to feel warmth, Luke's image almost overlapped with the legendary heroic knights.
Bronn, watching from the side, felt his teeth ache. He happened to see Arthur's wife, Carola, gracefully walking out from the inner courtyard moon gate, seemingly heading to the kitchen.
Carola was wearing a slightly tight-fitting Myr-style long dress today, which outlined her voluptuous and mature figure in a breathtaking way. Her every step was full of charm.
Bronn imdiately whistled loudly, his gaze brazenly following that alluring back, clicking his tongue:
"Tsk tsk, what a woman who can steal a man's soul! I say that old Arthur with his white hair at such a young age must have had all his essence sucked dry by this Myr vixen! Don't you all agree?"
He turned to the nearby guards and servants, drawing a wave of suppressed laughter and agreeing glances.
Indeed, Carola's beauty and mature, seductive charm were an undeniable sight in this estate.
Whenever she walked by, almost all the n — whether guards or young servants — couldn't help but cast hot gazes at her.
Privately, rumors had long spread that Carola must have been a high-class courtesan in Myr. Only such a place could cultivate such soul-stirring eyes and aura.
Bronn's words made the Waters sisters blush. They lowered their heads.
Bronn, however, was completely unaware. He pulled his gaze back from Carola's back, looked at Luke who was enjoying Annie's service, and with a twinkle in his eye, suddenly dropped a bombshell:
"I say, Luke, looking at your little expressions toward the opposite sex… you wouldn't still be… a virgin, would you? Do you 'Heavenly Dragons' keep such strict control over this? Or maybe…"
He deliberately dragged out his tone, winking suggestively.
"Pfft—!"
Luke spat out the second mouthful of water he had just drunk, choking and coughing repeatedly. His face instantly turned bright red.
Annie also let out a startled cry and hurriedly patted his back. Her own cheeks were red as if about to drip blood.
"Bronn! Shut your fucking mouth!"
Luke finally caught his breath and glared fiercely at Bronn, his eyes wishing they could sew that cheap mouth shut.
Being a 26-year-old virgin was Luke's deepest pain!
Bronn laughed heartily, not afraid at all. Instead, he found it amusing.
The guards were also secretly laughing. The atmosphere instantly shifted from the seriousness of sword practice to sothing relaxed and even… cheerful.
After a round of joking and cursing, Luke couldn't help laughing himself. He chased Bronn around the yard and symbolically kicked him a couple of tis.
This kind of interaction — without any airs, where they could tease each other crudely and even share so private feelings — gave Luke a long-lost, genuine feeling of… ease.
His personality was actually quite special. He had never been very sociable since childhood and didn't have many friends.
As he grew older, especially after entering society, life pressure and various realities had turned him into a lone wolf.
He didn't even take the initiative to contact his family much…
Those vague friendships from before university had long faded with ti and distance.
After university, he had no good friends he could really hang out with at all!
Being able to banter without restraint, roughhouse, and even share so secrets like this felt strange yet precious to him.
Bronn might have a cheap mouth and act recklessly, but in a way, he had beco the first person in this strange world whom Luke could call a "companion" or even a "friend."
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