Jacob tightened the last strap on his greaves and stood in front of the tiny scrap of mirror nailed to the wall.
The brigandine coat hugged his shoulders, plates hidden under dark fabric. Bracers wrapped his forearms, greaves his shins. His festival shirt covered most of it, making him look more like a boy bundled for winter than someone heading to a duel.
The sword at his hip changed that.
He rested his hand on the hilt for a moment, feeling the quiet answers in the back of his mind. Coat. Greaves. Bracers. Sword. All ready.
The floorboard behind him creaked.
"So that is what a poor farmer sends his son to market in now," Arthur said, leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded and a smile that did not quite hide the worry in his eyes. "I remember when a good shirt and clean boots were enough."
Jacob turned.
"I told you last night," he said. "If I want them to take me seriously about the dungeon, I have to prove I am not going to get turned into paste the moment something swings at me."
Arthur's gaze ran over the gear, measuring. He had watched Jacob enchant almost every piece. He knew exactly how much work sat in this room.
"Carlos agreed to this?" Arthur asked.
Jacob nodded.
"Training field behind the tavern at first light. I'll fight his scout. If I fold in one hit, then I come home. If I do well enough, he will talk about the favor."
Arthur snorted softly.
"Adventurers and their games."
He stepped in and adjusted Jacob's collar, fingers checking the straps at his shoulders, the way he checked the harness on an ox.
"Listen," Arthur said, voice quieter. "This is your Trial Year. So yes, you get to make your own mistakes. You also get to learn without dying over something foolish. If that scout is more than you can handle, you step back. You yield. You do not push past the point your body can pay for."
Jacob held his father's gaze.
"I am not trying to win," he said. "I am trying to show them that what I made actually works."
Arthur's mouth twitched.
"Oh, I know you are trying to win," he said. "You are my son . . . just remember, there is more than one kind of victory. If they have to admit your armor laughs at their best blows, that counts even if you land on your backside."
The knot in Jacob's chest eased a little.
"I will be careful," he said.
Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, then winced and shook his hand out.
"Fine," he muttered. "Too many plates. Come on, your mother will flay both of us if you go to a fight without breakfast."
They ate quickly. May tried once to ask what exactly he was doing in town. Arthur gave her a look that said, very clearly, Trial Year. She pressed her lips together, then stacked more food on Jacob's plate and kissed the top of his head on his way out the door.
Outside, the air bit at his face. The warmth runes in his clothes turned the bite into a polite tap.
Jacob walked toward town with his hand resting lightly on his sword, feeling every piece of gear settle. With each step, his nerves untangled into a simple, steady thought.
Prove it.
The training field behind the tavern was a packed dirt rectangle scarred by old bootmarks and weapon cuts. A few straw dummies leaned at odd angles along one side. Frost clung to the shaded edges where the sun had not yet reached.
Carlos and his party were already there.
The C rank stood with his hands on his hips, breath puffing in the cold. The dwarf, fully armored, leaned on his shield like a wall someone had mislaid. The elf had her hat low over her eyes, cloak wrapped close, wand visible at her hip. The gnome scout, Tamsin, bounced a knife in one hand with lazy precision, flipping it and catching it without looking.
A few villagers had drifted over to watch. Not a crowd, but enough that Jacob felt their eyes.
Carlos spotted him and waved him closer. But the familiar robotic voice of the system caused him a bit of surprise.
Combat Insight Triggered
More powerful sword from unknown enchanter detected.
Suggested action: Identify source. Maintain favorable relations.
Carlos felt the familiar prickle at the back of his eyes and almost clicked his tongue. The skill had gone off the first time he tested Jacob's shovel and again when he swung the boy's sword in the dungeon. Seeing it light up just because the kid walked onto a practice field was not comforting.
He buried the irritation and the unease together. Whatever the skill thought it saw, he was not about to start treating a farmer's son like a roaming calamity. Not where the boy or the villagers could see it, anyway.
He shook his head and put the thought aside as Jacob approached.
"Right on time," he said. "Good. I told Tamsin you were serious. He thought I was pulling his leg."
Tamsin gave Jacob a once-over, taking in the proportions, the coat, the bare head.
"You brought real steel?" the gnome asked, nodding at the sword.
"Yes," Jacob said.
"You planning to use it?" Tamsin's tone was mild, but there was interest under it.
"If you are testing whether I can keep up, then I am not doing it with a stick."
Carlos clapped his hands once.
"Rules," he said. "No killing. No blinding. No permanent damage. Tamsin will keep his blades to your armor as much as he can. If I say stop, we stop. If either of you yields, we stop. Are we clear?"
"Clear," Tamsin said.
"Clear," Jacob echoed.
The dwarf grunted.
"Boy is going to get flattened," he muttered, but he was watching closely.
The elf folded her arms, lips pressed thin, eyes sharp under the hat brim.
Carlos stepped back to the edge of the field.
"Take positions," he said.
Jacob drew his sword. The metal felt steady in his hands, the balance just where he wanted it. He took a simple guard, blade angled across his body, weight on the balls of his feet. His heart was loud, but his grip stayed sure.
Tamsin rolled his shoulders and walked to the opposite side. He drew two short blades, one reverse-gripped, one forward, both dull silver in the weak light. For a moment, he simply stood, loose and relaxed, then his whole posture shifted. The lazy air vanished, and a coiled, silent readiness took its place.
Jacob swallowed.
'Good,' he told himself. 'If he holds back, none of this means anything.'
Carlos raised his arm.
"Begin."