"You've got to be kidding me." Grey's voice was flat, disbelieving.
Boraz just kept grinning, unbothered, like this was the best news he'd delivered all week.
"Why are you here instead of Aria? Where is she?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Boraz's eyes flicked to my face, and I could tell he saw the confusion written all over it—the way my eyebrows were scrunched together, the slight tilt of my head.
"The Nun girl, Sister Maria is it? She came to wake me up this morning," Boraz said, his voice carrying that easy tone that made it hard to stay annoyed at him. "She told me that butterfly girl asked me to help you train today—been working on finding details about something since yesterday evening, apparently. Then she led me here." He gestured vaguely toward the path leading from the residential quarters, his calloused hand catching the light.
"Oh, okay," I said, but my chest tightened. *She's still working on it?* The thought pressed insistent against my mind. *Did she rest? Eat properly?* My hands clenched at my sides.
Boraz clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the morning air. "Alright then! Let's start with some basic warm-ups." He rolled his shoulders, the movement making his muscles shift beneath his shirt. "Then we can start the training."
"Whatever," Grey muttered, already turning to follow. I fell into step beside him.
After some basic stretching—the familiar pull in my muscles reminding me of the past few days—we started to equip our training gear. The leather straps of my practice armor felt worn-in now, easier to adjust than that first day. Grey worked on his shield straps beside me, the metal buckles clicking softly.
Boraz's eyes watched us carefully. Too carefully. I could feel his gaze tracking our movements—the way we positioned the gear, how we tested the weight, our natural stances.
I finished buckling my chest piece and moved through a few test motions—checking for any misalignments, making sure nothing would catch or restrict movement during actual training. Grey did the same beside me, rolling his shoulders under the weight of his gear, adjusting his shield grip.
"We're ready," we said in unison, our voices firm and steady.
Even Boraz seemed to take notice for a second—his amber-flecked eyes widening slightly, that easy grin faltering just a fraction. We'd seen how he fought against Aria. If someone like him was looking at us with that kind of surprise, then maybe we really had come a long way.
Boraz crossed his arms over his chest, that grin returning full force. "Alright, kiddos. Attack me."
"Not again!" Grey's voice carried equal parts exasperation and disbelief. "Just like Aria. Way—too straightforward." I barely held back a sigh.
We pulled the strategies that Aria had already drilled into us. Without needing to speak, Grey and I spread out, circling Boraz from different angles—cornering him, cutting off his movement options. The coordination was instinctive now, muscle memory from those endless drills.
Boraz's eyes widened. Then that grin spread across his face—nasty, eager, excited.
"Don't hold back," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Show me what you got!"
Grey moved first, shield raised, spear held tight. I circled to the opposite side, waiting for the opening.
Boraz didn't even shift his stance. "Come on, then."
Grey thrust forward, his spear aimed at Boraz's center. Boraz sidestepped—faster than I expected—and his hand flicked out toward Grey's shield side.
Grey brought the shield up to block, but Boraz had already moved again, the feint leaving Grey's shield covering empty air. In that split second, Boraz could have struck from three different angles.
"Again," Boraz said, grinning.
I attacked this time, sword cutting toward his back while Grey pressed from the front. Boraz twisted between us, impossibly fluid, forcing Grey to adjust his shield position twice in as many seconds. Each time, Boraz was already somewhere else.
Grey's stance faltered slightly—the shield's weight throwing off his timing, forcing him into defensive positions that Boraz never exploited.
"Hold." Grey's voice was flat. He lowered his spear and started unbuckling his shield straps.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"It's dead weight." Grey let the shield fall to the ground with a dull thunk. He rolled his shoulder, testing the new freedom of movement. "He's not attacking—just dodging. The shield's slowing me down for no reason."
Boraz's grin widened, something like approval flickering in his eyes. "Smart kid."
Grey picked up his spear with both hands now, his stance looser, more mobile. "Let's go again."
This time his spear driving toward Boraz's side. I circled opposite, waiting for the opening.
Boraz sidestepped smoothly, the spear passing harmlessly by. His hand swept up, deflecting Grey's follow-up strike with just his bare palm against the wooden shaft. The casual ease of it made my chest tighten.
I followed his lead, sword cutting toward Boraz's exposed back.
He twisted, impossibly fast for his size, and caught my blade between his hands. The wood creaked under the pressure of his grip, and I felt the shock of impact travel up my arms.
"Not bad timing," he said, still holding my sword. Then he paused, his grin faltering slightly. "But—" He stopped, staring at us with a confused expression. "What pointers should I give?" He scratched his head with his free hand, looking genuinely bewildered. "I myself don't even know what to say here."
Grey let out a snort. "You look all bulk, but upstairs? Nobody home?"
I saw something flicker across Boraz's face—the sting of the comment hitting home—but he didn't show it outwardly. His expression stayed steady, though his grip on my sword tightened just slightly.
"Let's..." he started, then cleared his throat. "Let's continue. Just attack me. I'll dodge and deflect, and you both adjust your strategy based on what I do." He released my blade, stepping back. "Then... how does that sound?"
"Aria is better at giving pointers than you," Grey said, a slight tinge of annoyance in his voice.
Boraz scratched his head. "Am I?"
"Whatever," Grey muttered.
Grey hadn't been taking this seriously before, but now he let out a deep breath. My shoulders tensed in response, the weight of the training settling over us like a familiar cloak.
*Ready?* Boraz asked.
Both in unison, we nodded. "Yes, sir."
Boraz's grin returned—wider this time, more genuine. "Looks like I earned your respect."
"Hell noooo!" Grey shot back, already moving into position.
Then the training began.
***
Grey struck high, his spear thrust cutting through the air toward Boraz's shoulder. I dropped low, my training sword sweeping toward his legs. The coordination felt natural now—timed from those endless drills with Aria, our bodies moving without needing to discuss it.
Boraz shifted his weight back, avoiding both strikes with minimal movement. His feet barely scraped against the packed dirt. "Better angle on that one!"
The packed dirt crunched beneath my boots as I surged forward. Grey feinted left, drawing Boraz's attention, and I drove right. My blade whistled through the air. Boraz's forearm shot up, deflecting it with a dull thwack that sent vibrations up to my shoulder. In the same motion, he twisted, Grey's real attack passing inches from where his head had been.
"Clean fake-out," he said, and his breathing was still steady, controlled. "Keep that up."
Sweat was already forming on my forehead despite the cool air. My grip on the training sword felt slick. I adjusted, tightening my hold, and attacked again.
Grey's stance was looser now, more fluid. The two-handed grip on his spear gave him better control, his movements quicker and more precise without the shield's weight dragging him down.
Grey lunged from a sharper angle this time, forcing Boraz to pivot. The movement of his boots against the ground kicked up small puffs of dust. I was already there, closing in during that pivot, my blade aimed at his exposed side.
Boraz's hand shot out, catching my strike. His other hand deflected Grey's spear with a casual ease that made my chest sink. But this time Grey was already following up—his spear redirecting mid-thrust toward the new opening.
For a heartbeat, I saw Boraz's amber eyes widen. Both his hands were occupied. He had to shift his entire stance, feet repositioning in a blur, deflecting Grey's attack with his forearm while releasing my blade.
"Now that was coordinated!" His voice carried genuine approval, but no strain. No heaviness in his breath.
We pressed the attack again. My lungs were starting to burn, each inhale pulling in the cool training ground air that tasted faintly of crushed grass and old wood. Grey's breathing was getting heavier too—I could hear it between our strikes, the rhythm growing ragged.
Boraz moved like water. Each of our attacks he deflected with the bare minimum effort needed. A slight turn of his wrist. A step to the side. A palm redirecting the force of our strikes rather than stopping them cold.
"What the hell? Just three days?" he called out, not even winded. "Butterfly girl trained you for three days and you're already moving like this?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't spare the breath. My sword drove down in an overhead strike. Grey's spear thrust in from the side. Boraz swayed between them, the movements so fluid they looked rehearsed.
Then Grey did something I wasn't expecting.
He threw his spear—not at Boraz, but at me.
My hand shot up instinctively, catching the wooden shaft. My training sword clattered to the ground, the sound sharp against the packed earth. Without thinking, I thrust forward with the longer reach.
Boraz dodged, but Grey had already closed the distance during that moment of distraction. His fist snapped up toward Boraz's ribs.
Boraz's elbow dropped down, blocking. The impact made a solid thunk, and I saw Grey wince. But Boraz's expression shifted—surprise flickering across his face, his grin widening.
"Where did you learn that switch?"
"We didn't," Grey panted, his chest heaving now. "Just... tried it."
We switched back—I tossed the spear to Grey, my hands already reaching for my sword. The exchange took seconds, but my arms were trembling slightly now. The weight of the training sword felt heavier than it had at the start.
Boraz laughed, the sound deep and genuinely delighted. His stance was still relaxed, his breathing barely elevated. "Now that's creative thinking, Grey boy!"
We pressed the attack again. My legs were burning, muscles screaming from the constant movement, the pivots and lunges and repositioning. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I blinked it away, adjusted my grip on the sword handle—slick now despite the leather wrapping—and kept moving.
Grey's movements were getting slower. Not much, but I could see it in the way his spear thrusts arrived just a fraction later than they should. His breathing was ragged, harsh in the quiet training ground.
But we kept coordinating. Kept adjusting. Each exchange built on the last, our attacks coming from different angles, our timing tightening even as our bodies wore down.
Boraz deflected another combination strike, his movements still effortless. "You're getting better every exchange. Watch your footwork, Grey—you're dragging your back leg."
Grey adjusted without a word, too focused to argue, too tired to joke.
We attacked one more time. My vision was starting to narrow, that tunnel focus that came with exhaustion. The training sword felt like it weighed twice as much. My lungs burned with each breath.
Grey's spear thrust high. My sword swept low. We'd done this pattern before, but this time we added a feint—Grey pulling back at the last second, me driving forward fully.
Boraz blocked my strike, but he actually had to plant his feet this time. Had to put real force behind the deflection. The impact jarred my arms so hard I nearly lost my grip.
"Good!" Boraz's voice was still strong, still steady. He wasn't even breaking a sweat. "That's what I want to see!"
Grey attacked again, and I could hear how hard he was breathing now. Each exhale escaped sharp and quick. But he didn't stop. Neither did I.
We rushed Boraz together, one final combination. My arms felt like they were moving through water. Grey's footwork was getting sloppy, his back leg dragging just like Boraz had warned.
Boraz deflected us both, then raised his hands. "Break! That's enough for now."
I stopped immediately, my sword dropping to hang loosely in my grip. My legs gave out and I sank to my knees on the packed dirt, gulping air. Grey collapsed beside me, his spear clattering away as he bent forward, hands braced on his thighs, chest heaving.
Boraz stood above us, barely winded. His breathing was elevated—finally—but controlled. Natural. Like he'd just finished a light warm-up instead of sparring against two people for however long that had been.
"Three days," he said, shaking his head. Disbelief colored his voice but also something else—respect. "Three days of training and you're already coordinating attacks, switching weapons mid-combat, adapting on the fly." He crouched down to our level, meeting our exhausted gazes. "That butterfly girl is something else. And you two—you're absorbing it faster than anyone I've seen."
My chest burned with each breath. My arms trembled where they rested against my knees. But hearing that—from someone who'd fought Aria, who clearly knew combat—made something warm bloom in my chest despite the exhaustion.
Then my stomach let out a long, loud growl that cut through the quiet training ground.
Grey started laughing, the sound breathless and weak but genuine. I felt my face heat up, embarrassment mixing with the flush from exertion.
Boraz's grin widened. "Alright, alright. Let's get you both some food before our Hero boy here collapses." He stood, offering his hand. "Come on. You earned it."
"As if you're the one going to feed us," Grey said, but this time his voice was light—teasing instead of confrontational. The edge that usually sharpened his words was gone, replaced by something almost playful.
"But I helped with your training," Boraz shot back, grinning. "So I earned this much at least, didn't I?"
We both laughed—tired, breathless sounds that felt easier than they should have.
"He's right, Grey," I said, still catching my breath.
Grey shrugged, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I guess."
***
We walked toward the dining hall together, our footsteps crunching against the packed earth. The conversation flowed between us—lighter now, the tension from earlier burned away by exhaustion and effort. Boraz's easy humor filled the spaces between our words, and even Grey's responses had lost their usual bite.
When we pushed through the dining hall doors, the space stretched out before us—empty. No clatter of dishes, no murmur of conversation. Just the hollow silence of an abandoned room.
"Hey, why isn't anyone here?" Boraz asked, his voice echoing slightly in the emptiness.
"Because everyone's at their respective duties," I said, the realization settling over me.
"Or in the cathedral—keeping the barriers up," Grey added.
Then we heard it—quiet conversation drifting from the kitchen area. We moved closer, our footsteps softening instinctively.
Aria stood near the counter, a sweet potato in one hand and a book in the other. Sister Maria faced her, concern etched across her features.
We caught only the tail end of Sister Maria's words: "—don't push yourself. Get some rest. Look! Your eyes have dark circles and you're already exhausted!"
She looked too tired to even stand—her posture slightly hunched, shoulders sagging under invisible weight.
I couldn't just watch anymore. "Hey, Ay!"
When she saw us, her eyes shot open wide. Then her face fell, expression crumbling into something apologetic. "Sorry, Sir Kaito," she said, her voice small and strained. "I couldn't find the details about the synchronization process anywhere. I may have been careless and missed some details." She paused, swaying slightly on her feet. "Please give me one more day. I'll find it."
My heart sank.
This was my fault.