I tapped my fingers against the table, thinking. "So, how many of these 'pests' have there been?"
My mother exhaled softly, setting her teacup down with a quiet clink. "More than there should be."
I raised a brow. "That's not an answer."
She tilted her head, watching me with a faint smile. "Clever boy." Then she glanced toward the doors, as if checking to see if anyone else was listening. "There have been… a few. This one was the least competent."
"A few?" I repeated, frowning. "And when exactly were you planning on telling me that people keep breaking into our home?"
She chuckled. "If they had been a real threat, you would have noticed."
"Mother, I've been noticing," I said dryly. "I just assumed you were handling them before they got close."
Her smile didn't fade. "And was I wrong?"
I sighed. "Fine. Who are they? Thieves? Assassins?"
She hummed in thought. "Some are simple opportunists, hoping to get lucky. Others…" She trailed off, swirling the remaining tea in her cup. "Others have been sent."
"By who?"
She studied me for a moment before answering. "Different parties. Some political, some personal."
That made sense. We were an influential family, and power always came with enemies. "And the stronger ones?"
Her gaze sharpened. "Handled before they reached you."
I leaned back in my chair. "So, what you're saying is… our security is terrible."
A soft laugh escaped her lips. "No, darling. Our security is the best in the Calren. But when people truly want someone dead, walls are just an inconvenience."
"That's comforting."
She reached out, brushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. "You're growing up too fast."
"Someone has to."
She sighed, then stood, smoothing out her dress. "Enough talk of pests. You're still too young to concern yourself with such things."
"Yet old enough to have someone try to kill me?"
She gave me a knowing smile. "Yes."
I watched her leave, my mind racing. If this was just the least competent of the people after us, then what about the ones I hadn't seen?
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the place of the unconscious—or possibly dead—intruder who was recently pinned to the wall. My mother hadn't even batted an eye. Just a flick of her wrist, and it was over.
It made me wonder… just how strong was she?
Before I could think too much about it, I shot up from my seat and yelled, "Mother! When can I learn how to fight?"
She didn't stop walking, but I caught the way her shoulders lifted in amusement. "Oh? And what brought this on, my dear?"
I motioned toward the stain—where the man's blood hadn't yet dried."Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that people keep trying to kill us? I'd rather not just sit here waiting for you to handle everything."
She turned her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips. "A noble reason. But tell me, what kind of fighting are you asking about?"
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
She faced me fully this time, her dark eyes gleaming. "Do you want to wield a sword? A spear? Magic?" She took a step closer. "Or are you asking to be taught how to kill?"
The way she said it sent a shiver down my spine. I frowned. "I don't want to just sit around while you and Father handle everything. If people are after us, I want to be able to protect myself."
She studied me for a moment before sighing. "You're still too young to worry about such things."
"Too young?" I scoffed. "You've literally been dealing with assassins since before I could talk."
Her lips twitched. "And that is precisely why I've been dealing with them. So you wouldn't have to."
I clenched my fists. "That's not enough."
She watched me for a long moment before finally nodding. "Very well. If you are truly so eager to begin… I will consider it."
"Consider?" I echoed, narrowing my eyes.
She turned away, gracefully stepping over the blood pooling on the floor. "Prove to me that you're ready, and we'll see."
I stared after her, frustration simmering beneath my skin. Prove it? Fine. If that's what it took, I'd prove it.
I didn't hesitate. The moment she turned her back, I focused inward, drawing on my qi. The energy within me stirred, flowing through my limbs. It wasn't much—not yet—but it was enough.
I channeled it into my legs, feeling the strength surge through me. Then, without warning, I thrust upward, launching myself toward her with a kick aimed straight at her back.
Before I could even process what happened, my vision blurred.
The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling. My chest ached, and my breath came out in a sharp gasp.
Mother stood over me, her teacup still in hand, not a single drop spilled. She looked down at me with a raised brow, amusement flickering in her dark eyes. "Oh? You're using your core already? How ambitious."
I groaned, pushing myself up onto my elbows. "How did you—?"
She took a slow sip of tea before answering. "You're still too slow, my dear. And predictable."
I scowled, rubbing my chest. "You could've gone easy on me."
She smirked. "That was easy."
I let out a huff and flopped back onto the floor. "Unbelievable."
"You're not entirely hopeless," she mused. "You strengthened your legs well enough. But power is meaningless without control. And you left yourself wide open."
I clenched my fists. I knew she was right, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. "Then teach me."
She studied me for a moment before humming thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But not today."
I groaned again, throwing an arm over my eyes. This was going to be harder than I thought.
I propped myself up on my elbows, still feeling the lingering ache from being effortlessly countered. "Then can I fight with the knights?"
Mother raised a brow, swirling the tea in her cup. "With the knights?" she echoed, as if testing the words on her tongue.
I nodded eagerly. "Yes! If you won't train me yet, then at least let me train with them. I need to get stronger."
She sighed, placing her cup down on the table with a soft clink. "You're impatient."
I frowned. "And?"
"And," she continued, standing gracefully, "impatience leads to recklessness. The knights are not training dummies, nor are they instructors for spoiled noble children who want to play warrior."
I scowled. "I'm not playing."
She tilted her head, studying me. "No, I don't suppose you are."
There was a long pause before she finally turned toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling estate below. "Our knights serve a purpose. They are warriors, protectors, enforcers. But they are not for you."
I blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She looked back at me, her expression unreadable. "It means you are not meant to be just another sword in the ranks."
That only confused me further. "Then what am I meant to be?"
She smiled, but there was something sharp beneath it. "You'll find out soon enough."
That didn't sit well with me. I hated vague answers. But I knew better than to push her when she spoke like that. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that she was keeping something from me.
But I refused to sit idly by.
The moment she turned to leave, I pushed myself off the ground, flipping acrobatically back onto my feet. My muscles burned from the effort, but I ignored it. Without hesitation, I sprinted toward the entrance, my steps light and controlled. As I reached the door, I threw it open, stepping out into the crisp evening air.
The knights stationed outside turned to me, their eyes filled with curiosity—and mild amusement.
"I want to fight," I announced.
The knight closest to me, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running across his jaw, arched his brow. "Oh? And why's that, young master?"
"I need to get stronger." I crossed my arms. "And since my mother won't train me yet, I'll learn from you."
The knights exchanged glances. A few chuckled under their breath. One of them, a younger knight with messy dark hair, smirked. "You hear that? The little lord wants to fight."
I frowned. "I'm serious."
Scar-Jaw Knight—who I now recognized as Sir Varian, one of our senior knights—studied me for a long moment. Then, with a slow nod, he stepped forward. "Very well," he said. "But strength isn't just about swinging a sword. If you want to train, you start from the basics."
I scowled. "I already know the basics."
"Do you now?" He gestured toward the courtyard. "Then prove it."
I didn't hesitate. This was my chance.
I extended my hand. "Then give me a sword."
Sir Varian's lips twitched, barely suppressing a smirk. "A sword, huh? And what exactly do you plan to do with it?"
"Fight," I said simply.
A few of the knights chuckled again, clearly entertained. One of them, the younger knight with messy hair, nudged his companion. "Bold one, isn't he?"
Sir Varian glanced at me for a long moment before sighing. "Fine." He turned to a nearby weapons rack, pulling a training sword free. It was a simple wooden blade—light, balanced, but far from the real thing. He tossed it toward me.
I caught it with ease, rolling it in my palm to get a feel for its weight. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't what I wanted.
"A real one," I clarified, holding the wooden blade up with mild disappointment.
Sir Varian outright laughed at that. "You think we'd hand a real blade to a child?"
"I'm not a child."
"You're not a knight either," he countered, arms crossed. "A real sword is earned. If you want one, prove you can handle it."
I tightened my grip on the wooden blade. Fine. If that's what it takes. "Then let's fight."
Sir Varian raised an eyebrow as I took my stance. His amused smirk faded slightly, replaced by something more calculating.
"That's… peculiar," he muttered, eyes narrowing as he studied me. "Not a knight's stance. Not even a duelist's. Where did you learn to stand like that?"
I didn't answer. My feet were light, my body coiled—ready to strike. It wasn't the stance of a swordsman from this world. It was mine. A stance honed through battles in a life long past.
Sir Varian tapped his wooden sword against his shoulder. "Alright then, let's see what you can do, little lord."