Eric led the assault, swinging from the right. Lucien mirrored from the left, aiming for their father's blind spot.
[E.Y.E: Synchronize momentum. Eric's attack will draw attention; strike at the unguarded flank.]
Lucien obeyed, their movements unexpectedly fluid. Their swords crashed against Lord Valemont's with a loud clack-clack-clack! Sparks of dust rose beneath their feet.
"Good! You've learned to move as one!"" Lord Valemont barked, parrying both strikes effortlessly. But his eyes gleamed with challenge.
He stepped back, twisted, and delivered a counterstrike so sharp that Eric's weapon was nearly torn from his grasp. Lucien moved instinctively, blocking the next blow aimed at his ribs.
[E.Y.E: Power output exceeds 180%. Warning: user's endurance level low.]
Lucien gritted his teeth. "I can handle it."
"Now!" Eric shouted, attacking again. Lucien followed, matching his rhythm. They drove their father backward a few steps which was a rare sight that made the servants gasp.
[E.Y.E: Advantage confirmed. Maintain pressure.]
Lucien feinted low. Eric slashed high. Their coordination was one of intelligence and instinct which pushed Lord Valemont on the defensive.
"You're improving, both of you!" their father said with a fierce smile. "But…"
He suddenly moved faster than either could follow. His blade slashed, striking Eric's sword aside, then spinning into a low sweep that knocked Lucien off balance.
Lucien barely ducked the next strike.
[E.Y.E: Critical trajectory incoming - vertical downward arc!]
Lucien raised his weapon just in time. The wooden swords collided, the shock vibrating through his arms. His knees trembled. He was tiring.
[E.Y.E: Warning - stamina levels dropping. Neural strain increasing.]
"I said never rely too much on rhythm!" Lord Valemont's voice boomed. A hard shove sent Eric sprawling. Lucien stepped forward again, desperate to regain footing, but his limbs felt heavy. His swings slowed, reactions dulled.
[E.Y.E: Predictive processing lag detected. Combat efficiency reduced by 37%.]
He swung again, but his father was already gone sidestepping with veteran precision. Then came the final strike. A clean, decisive blow to Lucien's chest knocked the wind out of him. He staggered backward, dropping to one knee, sword clattering against the dirt.
Eric panted nearby, face flushed and drenched in sweat. Both boys had been soundly defeated.
Lord Valemont rested his sword on his shoulder, breathing steadily but not even winded.
"Good," he said at last. "You lasted longer than I expected."
He turned toward Lucien. "You've learned to think, boy. But thinking alone doesn't win wars."
Lucien looked up, panting. "Then what does?"
His father smiled faintly. "Instinct and endurance. The mind commands, but the body must obey."
With that, he turned away, leaving both sons kneeling in the dust.
[E.Y.E: Mission Outcome- Partial Success.]
[Loyalty: +4% (Rikon Valemont now 60%).]
[System Note: Defeat is data. Analyze. Adapt. Dominate next.]
Lucien wiped the sweat from his forehead, his breathing still ragged. Even in loss, his father's loyalty had grown.Because influence wasn't just about victory. It was about impression.
He had a long way to go. You didn't just wake up and conquer the world. There were steps, subtle ones. First, he'd root himself within his own household, establish control within the Valemont estate. Then he'd reach outward—lords, nobles, and eventually, kingdoms.
The System would be his edge. His silent partner. It would arm him with ideas, inventions, and knowledge far ahead of his time,tools that could make him wealthy, respected, even feared.
Power didn't always come from the sword. Sometimes, it came from whispers and influence.
He would infiltrate the noble circles, the guilds, the regions, just like the elites of his former life had done. You could make people believe in anything, if you played their hearts right. If you gave them a dream to cling to, or an enemy to hate.
But that was far ahead. For now, he'd start here. At home. He needed eyes, ears, and loyalty. And there was no better source of gossip, secrets, and household dynamics than the maids. Martha especially, she had served the Valemonts for years, and every servant seemed to orbit around her.
If he could make her trust him, she'd become his first pawn.
A faint smile crept to his lips.
[E.Y.E: Tactical Thought Detected Subcategory: Influence Network.]
[Mission Suggestion: Secure Trust of Key Servant (Martha). Reward: Data on Household Relations.]
He was still thinking through how to approach her when a familiar voice broke through his focus.
"What have you been eating, Lucien?" Eric said, laughing as he picked up his fallen sword. "Have you been training in secret?"
Lucien blinked, dragged from his scheming. He forced a sheepish smile. "Maybe I've just been paying attention in lessons for once."
Eric grinned and nudged him with his shoulder. "If that's what paying attention looks like, maybe I should start too."
Lucien chuckled, though inwardly, his thoughts remained sharp and calculating.
[E.Y.E: Emotional Gauge - Eric Valemont: Loyalty 82%.]
"Good, One step at a time," Lucien thought
He'd turn admiration into dependence… and dependence into obedience.
---
Over the next week, Lucien devoted himself to observing Martha. He studied her routine, her habits, the way she spoke to others, and even the subtle expressions that crossed her face when she thought no one was watching.
She was diligent, never late, idle and never wasteful with words. The other servants respected her deeply; their chatter dimmed when she entered a room, and their hands moved faster under her gaze. Even the guards at the gate smiled at her passing.
She was, without question, the backbone of the Valemont estate. And for Lucien, that made her the perfect target. If he could win Martha, he could win the servants. And if he could win the servants, he could control the house.
All he needed was leverage. It didn't take long to find it. Martha had a son, a frail boy about Lucien's age, living in one of the cottages beyond the stables. The boy was sick, stricken with what the people of Norwyn called the King's Evil.
The swelling around his neck was painful and grotesque, his skin feverish and pale. The sores beneath his jaw never closed, oozing slowly no matter how often they were bandaged.
Lucien had visited him quietly one afternoon under the pretense of bringing food.
The stench of infection clung to the small room. Martha had done all she could, boiling herbs, praying, pleading for royal healing, but the cure never came.
The folk believed that only the king's divine touch could drive out the disease. A convenient superstition, Lucien thought—a political trick to glorify royal blood.
To him, it was bullshit.
He recognized it at once for what it was. It was Scrofula, a bacterial infection easily treatable with basic antiseptics and antibiotics, things this world had never even dreamed of.
[E.Y.E: Identified—Martha's emotional vulnerability: Desperation for son's survival. High influence potential detected.]
"Yes," Lucien murmured under his breath, eyes glinting. "If I can heal the boy... she'll belong to me completely."