The air between us was still awkward. Even as I looked at him, I could see the hatred in his eyes—hatred for Gustav—though he was trying his best to suppress it.
"I heard that the royal library was burned down. Do you still keep so of the books?" I asked carefully.
This ti, he stayed silent for a long while, long enough to make panic. For a mont, I feared he might truly be lost to dentia.
"I don't know," he finally said. "But you can look in that room. There are still many books there."
He pointed toward a dim room, its hinges nearly detached from the doorfra.
"That door?" I asked.
He nodded, grabbed a handful of peanuts from the table, and popped them into his mouth. I turned toward the old, decaying door to take a better look, then glanced back at him—only to find that he was gone.
He was now outside, digging the soil near a tree. I was startled and hurried toward him, trying to place a hand on his shoulder. But before I could touch him, he suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled down.
"Are you trying to buy my house?" he shouted, his eyes wide with anger.
I froze. A mont ago, he was talking about books—why was he now shouting about his house?
"Do you… know who I am?" I asked cautiously.
"Aren't you one of those rchants trying to buy my ho?" he snapped.
"I told you—I won't sell this place! Even if it's old and broken, I'll never sell it!" He stood with hands on his hips, glaring at with restrained fury.
I scratched my head, pulling a candy from my pocket. "I'm not here to buy your house. I just wanted to et you," I explained. "Um… but could you let enter that room for a mont?"
I pointed toward the door with its rusted hinges barely hanging on.
"You shaless thief! Get out, you bastard!" he yelled, swinging a broom and striking my backside hard. His shouting echoed through the trees—thankfully, we were deep in the forest, far from anyone's ears.
"Ow! That hurts! Ow!" I muttered, rubbing my back. In the end, I had no choice but to retreat for now. At least I knew where the book was kept.
Weary and sore, I mounted my horse and headed back to the palace. At the gate, Arvan was already waiting with a sharp, disapproving stare.
"I thought I told you—you can't co and go from the palace as you please," he said coldly.
I dismounted, handing the reins to a guard. "I just needed a bit of a break," I replied. "Maybe then, my ancient fla will be easier to control."
Arvan snorted. "What kind of fool believes that nonsense?"
He turned around and dragged toward the training grounds.
"I'll forgive you this ti. But next ti, I won't. You'd better focus on controlling that fire inside you."
Several soldiers were already assembled in the open arena, thousands of them preparing for battle against the demons.
Farrel was practicing his swordsmanship gracefully. I could see pride and joy in his movents—perhaps because he was finally wielding his dream weapon.
"How long do we have to keep training like this?" I asked, glancing up at the night sky. The sun was gone, replaced by a faint, silvery moonlight.
"We don't know when the enemy will co," Arvan replied flatly. "So do your best."
"Do you want to fight ?" he asked suddenly, raising his blade.
"What do you an? I don't want to fight you," I said, surprised.
He chuckled. "Co on. I need to see how far you've improved."
I smiled faintly, taking a sword from a nearby soldier. "Fine. But if I win, don't report this to the king."
He nodded slightly and took his stance.
The sound of clashing steel filled the air.
Crash! Srengg! Crash! Srengg!
"You lose. Don't tell anyone," I said, pressing my blade to his neck.
Arvan laughed softly and pushed my sword aside. "I'll admit—you're fast and skillful."
"Call Captain George," he ordered suddenly.
Monts later, a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared, bowing deeply. "Yes, Lord Arvan. What is it?"
"George, train Xanders. Make him stronger. He still lacks control over his sword."
"Yes, my lord. I'll take care of it," George replied.
"What? You're saying I can't handle my sword yet?" I protested, but Arvan was already walking away.
"You're talented, but not a master. George will guide you," he said firmly before disappearing under the pale moonlight.
Five hours passed. I trained relentlessly with George until my body felt as if it could collapse at any mont.
"So it's just the two of us left in the field, huh?" I muttered.
George, a man around thirty-five, remained silent. He taught patiently, his movents sharp and precise, but there was sothing in his eyes—resentnt, perhaps.
"You should train harder and longer than anyone else," he said.
I rolled my eyes but followed his lead.
"This is the Shadow Technique," he continued. "A skill that allows you to create multiple shadows. But when your real body is struck, the pain will be unbearable."
He turned gracefully, lifting his sword high before striking it into the ground. Instantly, his shadow split into several forms within the darkness.
I slashed one—gone. I counted again. There were ten now.
"Feel your opponent's heartbeat," he instructed. "Listen to it. Once you do, you'll know which one is real."
I closed my eyes, letting the wind and the faint cries of night birds blend in my mind. My heartbeat slowed. Then I opened my eyes and threw my sword toward the shadow that felt the most alive.
Srak!
George caught the blade, a faint smile on his lips. "Impressive. You learned quickly."
"If you've mastered this much, training's over for today. We'll continue tomorrow," he said, turning away.
Before I could say anything, he was gone.
"Arvan and he are the sa," I muttered. "Always leaving right after giving orders."
Wiping sweat from my face and neck, I headed to the bathhouse not far from my chamber.
A strange, sharp sll reached my nose. It grew stronger as I passed the sorcerers' quarters.
"What's she doing at this hour?" I murmured, but ignored it—too tired to care.
"Maybe she sleeps at different hours… she is a witch after all," I thought.
I bathed for a while, letting the water calm my aching body.
When I passed her room again, the sll was even stronger—so strong that it made cover my nose. Nausea rose in my throat; my head spun violently.
I staggered, clutching my forehead. That's when I heard Farrel's voice.
"Xanders… what's happening to you?"
My vision blurred.
"Co on, I'll take you to your room," he said softly.
He supported , guiding to my bed—and soon, everything went dark.
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