In a courtyard surrounded by a luxurious house, a young boy was practicing basic sword moves. The blade in his hand gleamed beneath the first rays of sunlight, its surface shimmering brightly as he moved. He repeated basic attacks—uppercut, undercut, thrust, middle slash, and more—with a precision that spoke of practiced effort. Sweat coated his bare chest, shining under the morning light. He wore only a pair of black trousers, nothing covering his well-defined upper body. Long, shoulder-length brown hair, tied neatly at the back, framed a youthful face—his features handsome, his brown eyes keen, set beneath thin, sword-like eyebrows. Though his figure was lean, the muscles in his biceps and chest hinted at strength gained through consistent training.
While the young boy continued his routine, a man in his thirties quietly entered the courtyard. The man shared the same brown hair, though worn short, and had similar sword-shaped eyebrows. His eyes, however, were a piercing black. He sported a very short beard and mustache, and his attire consisted of black and blue clothing, over which he wore a suit of black armor. Pausing at the courtyard's edge, he watched the boy with a discerning eye, a satisfied smile occasionally forming as he noted Nox's skill. Glancing up at the sky to judge the sun's height, the man called out to the boy, "Nox."
But Nox didn't stop, lost in the rhythm of his sword practice. The man smiled again, shaking his head slightly in amusement before raising his voice. "NOX!"
Hearing his name called so clearly, Nox stopped mid-motion, his eyes going wide as he looked toward the source. "When did you come, brother?"
The man returned the smile. "I was here for quite some time. Looks like you were not aware of your surroundings."
Nox offered a sheepish grin. "Oh, I was engrossed in my sword moves."
Approaching, the man commented, "That might sound good on the surface, but it is not. You need to be aware of your surroundings at all times, even when you are in your own house with family members. You can't afford carelessness, even here."
Nox grinned and shrugged. "Oh come on, when the mighty Jason is around me, who would dare to harm me?"
Jason snorted at the remark. "Think whatever you want, but this habit of yours needs to change."
Nox wiped sweat from his brow, nodding. "Okay."
Jason was, however, surprised to see that Nox was barely even out of breath—his breathing was relaxed, as though he'd been taking a stroll in the courtyard instead of training for an hour. "You turned fifteen yesterday. Now it's time for you to be serious."
Nox nodded and placed his sword into the weapon rack standing in the courtyard's corner. The rack was filled with all sorts of blades—greatswords, bastard swords, shortswords, and one-edged swords—each lined up in order.
Jason looked Nox up and down appraisingly. "Father is expecting you in his study."
Nox nodded in reply. "Okay, I will be there in ten minutes."
Jason turned to leave, tossing over his shoulder, "Take a shower first."
Nox smiled. "Of course, I'll be taking a shower. Do you think I would go there like this?"
Jason did not respond, already walking away. Nox headed in the opposite direction, his strides long and sure. At the entrance to the corridor, two guards stood on either side, wearing full suits of armor in black and red. Seeing Nox, both bowed respectfully. Nox acknowledged them with a nod and proceeded down the corridor, which connected the courtyard to the other rooms of the house. Lamps on both sides lit the way, illuminating walls decorated with swords, portraits of warriors, and intricate family markings. Along the way, he passed a couple of maids cleaning the hallway. They also bowed to Nox, who nodded back in reply.
He entered a room at the end of the corridor, flicked a switch by the door, and the four lamps placed in the corners sprang to life, bathing the large, luxurious room in a warm glow. A smaller weapon rack stood near one wall, filled with swords, and the décor was the same—a celebration of warriors, swordsmanship, and the family's history. Nox retrieved fresh clothes from his cabinet and entered the shower.
When he emerged, dressed in a blue tunic and khaki trousers, he paused in front of the mirror. His hair was loose now, falling to his shoulders. "I look perfect in every way. If only I could produce it," he muttered with a clenched fist. Shaking his head to clear away the bitter thought, he reminded himself, "Father is expecting me. I should hurry."
After a final glance in the mirror, Nox made his way toward his father's study, which lay in the opposite direction of his own corridor. Crossing the courtyard again and entering a different hallway, he passed two more armor-clad guards standing on either side, guards who bowed respectfully when he walked past. Nox returned their salute with a nod and entered another corridor leading to the right, this one ending at his father's study. More guards, dressed in the same imposing armor, stood before the door. They too bowed as Nox approached, and he gave a nod in return before knocking on the door.
"Come in," a deep, authoritative voice called from within, granting him entry.
Nox inhaled sharply and opened the door. Inside, two rows of bookshelves dominated the side walls, and a desk sat at the center of the room. In front of the desk stood Jason, hands behind his back, waiting patiently. Behind the desk, a man in his early forties with short brown hair streaked with gray sat writing, his brown-black eyes focused on a book. The broad, muscular lines of his figure were apparent even beneath his dark blue suit. Although he had granted Nox permission to enter, the man did not acknowledge his son's presence, instead continuing to write, never glancing up even once.
Nox stood silently beside his brother Jason, both waiting with respect. His gaze drifted to the table, which was covered in books—some open, some closed. Beside the lamp sat a slate inscribed with the name 'Godric Silverblade.'
'What is he writing that he can't even look at us?' Nox wondered internally.
He was drawn from these thoughts by his father's voice. "Sit down."
Both Nox and Jason sat in chairs placed before the desk, and Nox looked at his father as he closed his book. Godric fixed his gaze on Jason, then turned it upon Nox, his face unreadable. "How is your training going?"
"I am doing great," Nox answered, a smile on his lips.
Godric looked at Jason for confirmation. Jason nodded wordlessly.
"And how are you progressing in the sword style I taught you?" Godric asked again.
"The Divine Flow Style?" Nox responded, uncertain.
Godric's frown deepened. "Is there any other style I have taught you?"
Feeling embarrassed, Nox replied quietly, "Well, I have mastered it fully.
"Godric's expression darkened further, and even Jason glanced over with skepticism in his eyes.
"Really?" Jason asked, doubt clear in his tone.
"Of course I have mastered it completely! I can show you," Nox replied, his pride evident.
"There is no need. It's to be expected. The Divine Flow is our family's foundational style—flexible in nature. All other sword styles you'll learn will integrate with it, regardless of their attributes," Godric explained, looking flatly at Nox.
Nox nodded, but inside, disappointment gnawed at him. 'He could have praised me. I've mastered it at such a young age, all he need to say is 'good, keep it up.' Why does he always ruin it with that stone face?' Nox thought, unable to suppress his irritation.
Godric's next question interrupted his thoughts. "How is your progress in ki?"
"I can control it much better than before," Nox answered quickly.
"Has your ki increased?" Godric pressed further.
This time, Nox's posture faltered. His face took on a pained expression as he answered in a low voice, "No."
He lowered his head, the conversation bringing the bitter truth to the surface. Although he could control the ki granted by his father, he could not produce his own—a painful reminder of his limitations, his curse.
Jason moved to comfort him, placing a steady hand on Nox's shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll find a way," he assured him.
Nox smiled weakly, grateful.
Jason turned to their father. "We can test him in wizard arts," he suggested.
The words shocked Nox. Born into a house of swordmasters, raised on legends of the blade, the idea of becoming a wizard had never crossed his mind. And to hear his brother, Jason—so proud of their lineage, so dismissive of magic—even he was suggesting it now. Still, the idea ignited a small bit of hope in Nox's chest.
'Wizards are rare and becoming one is difficult, but there's a chance,' Nox thought.
Godric pondered this for a moment. "We will consider it, but only as a last resort," he finally said.
Jason smiled encouragingly. "Of course, maybe we won't even need to consider it. We will find a solution for his problem eventually."
"I have looked everywhere I can, discreetly. If I search any further, it will no longer be possible to keep this hidden," Godric explained in a grave tone.
Nox managed a weak smile, understanding the risk. If people discovered the truth—that the son of Godric Silverblade could not produce his own ki—he would become a laughingstock, a cripple in the eyes of all.
"That would be terrible," Nox mumbled, voicing his fear.
"I have also contacted some people, hoping they might know something," Jason added.
Godric looked hard at Jason. "Are they trustworthy?"
Jason felt offended at the question. "Of course they are! If I didn't trust them, I wouldn't have asked. I trust in their character."
Godric did not reply further. He opened a desk drawer, withdrew a wooden box, and set it before Nox. "I have prepared more elixirs for you. Take them today and see if they will increase your ki."
"These will be your last elixirs from me for a while," Godric said firmly.
Nox's breath caught. His eyes widened at the finality of his father's words. He looked from his father to Jason, hoping for some sign that there had been a mistake. But his brother, calm and steady, simply looked on, betraying no surprise. 'Of course he knew. He's father's right hand,' Nox thought, bitterness swirling inside him.
He turned to Godric, his eyes pleading. "Why?" he managed, voice almost cracking.
Godric answered, inexorable as always. "I have given you plenty of elixirs. None of them have worked for you. We cannot keep wasting these expensive elixirs. Even if they did work, I cannot favor you over your other siblings. Many in our family need these rare resources. I cannot spend the entire family's budget on you alone."
Nox hid a frown, knowing his father's words were true. He could not claim all the resources for himself. Yet it stung to hear it spoken aloud, the rejection undeniable.
Jason, seeing his brother's pain, again tried to reassure him, hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll be earning money soon, and then you'll be able to buy your own elixirs."
Nox nodded, comforted a little, though his heart still felt heavy. He stared at the wooden box for several seconds, resolve building inside him. 'Who knows? Maybe this time they'll work. I hope they will—otherwise, I'm doomed to be mediocre forever.'
With a deep breath, Nox picked up the box and left the room, walking away without looking back.