The entire dining hall was buzzing again, the air thick with the smell of meat and the loud voices of knights deep in their cups. Klein leaned back in his chair, flipping Paros lazily between his fingers. The coin shimmered faintly, as if enjoying the attention.
Across from him, the burly soldier squinted at him with suspicion. Between them sat two empty plates—both of which had been full just moments ago.
"Alright, one more round," the soldier grunted, folding his arms. "Three rounds total. That's fair, yeah?"
Klein smirked. "Three rounds it is."
He set the coin on his thumb, ready to flick.
'Paros,' he thought, 'let's make this one tails. Just once.'
Inside his mind came the amused chuckle of the spirit. "Oh, my dear master, that's not how I function. My destiny is singular. My existence is eternal. Heads, and only heads."
'You're telling me you can't land on tails?'
"I'm telling you I won't. Tails is for quitters."
Klein sighed inwardly. 'So much for suspense.'
He flicked the coin.
It spun through the smoky air, caught the torchlight, and landed cleanly on the table. Heads.
"First round to me," Klein said, his voice calm but smug.
The soldier grunted, glaring. "Beginner's luck."
Second toss. Heads again.
The surrounding men started murmuring. Some leaned in closer, while others smirked, already sensing where this was going.
"Third toss," Klein said quietly.
He flipped the coin once more. It twirled in a flash of gold and landed—heads.
Klein reached forward and dragged the last strip of roasted meat from the soldier's plate.
"You— you're cheating!" the soldier barked, slamming his palm on the table hard enough to rattle cups.
Klein raised an eyebrow. "How would I cheat? I just flip better than you lose."
A few knights laughed. Others whistled. But before things could get rowdy, another man stepped forward—a tall soldier with a scar across his cheek and the swagger of someone who loved a good challenge.
"Alright, alright, break it up," the scarred knight said, grinning. "Let's see if the kid's luck holds."
The first soldier scowled but backed away.
The new challenger dropped three gold coins onto the table with a satisfying *clink.*
"Here's the wager," he said. "You win, the coins are yours. I win, you scrub the entire dining hall floor with your bare hands until it shines."
Klein looked at the coins, then at the man's confident grin.
'Paros?'
"Master, you know I only know one face."
Klein smiled faintly. "Deal."
The room went quiet.
He flicked the coin.
Heads.
The knight's grin wavered, but he laughed it off. "Lucky start."
Klein flicked again.
Heads.
The laughter dimmed. Even the torches seemed to quiet.
"Best of three," the knight said, voice tight. "One more."
Klein leaned forward, his expression cool and unreadable. The light from the hearth glinted off the coin as he tossed it high into the air. It spun like a tiny sun.
It fell—heads.
Silence.
Then Paros whispered in Klein's mind, almost smugly. "The universe remains consistent."
Klein picked up the coins, slid them into his pocket, and stood.
"Pleasure doing business," he said calmly.
The soldiers stared as he turned and walked toward the exit. Some laughed nervously; others muttered. The first man who'd accused him of cheating looked ready to explode, but the scarred knight just shook his head, smirking.
"Kid's got devil's luck," he muttered.
....
Outside, the noise of the garrison faded into the soft hum of afternoon. The air smelled of grapes and earth, carried from the nearby vineyard behind the barracks.
Klein wandered down the narrow path between rows of vines heavy with fruit. Lyra was there, standing on a small stool and plucking clusters of ripe grapes into a basket. Her sleeves were rolled up, the sun catching in her hair.
She glanced down at him as he passed. "Done gambling, perv?"
Klein didn't respond, just gave a faint smirk.
'You should've told her you won,' Paros said.
'She'd probably take the coins.'
"True," Paros chuckled. "I like how fast you learn."
As they passed the last row of vines, Klein saw him—Lucien, seated cross-legged on the ground beside a tall oak. His massive sword rested behind him, but his eyes were closed, his breathing deep and steady.
The air around him shimmered faintly, like heat rising from stone.
'What's he doing?' Klein asked.
Paros' tone grew oddly respectful. "He's cultivating."
"The process by which warriors here absorb the world's energy—mana, chi, whatever you prefer. It strengthens body and mind, sharpens instinct, and allows them to perform feats beyond mortal reach."
Klein watched Lucien silently. There was something different about the commander now—his usual grin gone, replaced by an aura of power and calm that made the air itself feel heavier.
Paros spoke again, softer. "He's not just the strongest knight in the kingdom. He's a man standing on the edge of something greater."
Klein's gaze lingered on the faint, glowing patterns forming in the soil around Lucien's seated form—sigils or symbols, pulsing faintly in rhythm with his breathing.
'Finally Cultivation,' Klein thought. The word echoed in his mind, heavy and fascinating.
He clenched his fist slightly, the wind shifted, carrying the scent of grapes and iron.
Then, Klein's lips curved into a small, confident smile.
He didn't reply, but his eyes never left Lucien's meditating figure.