Morning light invaded through the window, as Lucian sat on the edge of his bed, a piece of parchment balanced on his knee. He held a charcoal pencil, his hand steady as he wrote.
Aldrich Kraus. The oldest.
Craith Kraus. The middle.
Hildebrand Kraus. The father.
He tapped the parchment. He had gathered the names from the gilded frames in the hallway. He was the youngest, Lucian. A fact he confirmed by reading the dates on the distinct portraits.
"What a mess," he whispered, tapping the charcoal against the parchment.
He looked at his hand, calloused and rough. "But I can manage."
The system stayed quiet, the marks etched into his skin equally mute. Lucian crushed the parchment and tossed it carelessly into the corner. "At least I know their names now," he murmured.
Lucian walked the hallway, his heavy boots thudding against the wood. The estate was quiet, most workers already gone outside. He descended the stairs and stepped into the courtyard.
Yelena stood in the center, waiting.
She held a wooden sword, her posture rigid. Her gray hair was pulled back tight. She looked like a soldier, not a maid.
"You're late," she said. Her voice lacked warmth.
I should get in character.
"The Lord keeps his own time," Lucian replied, stopping before her. "Or am I supposed to bow to the schedule of a maid?"
"You asked for a duel." She tossed a sword to him. "Catch."
Lucian fumbled, nearly dropping it. The wood felt heavy in his grip. "I'm not accustomed to weapons. Yet."
"Then today you will learn," Yelena said as she stepped forward. "Defend yourself."
The world spun as Yelena closed the distance, her training sword a blur of motion. She didn't feint; she simply swung. The impact against Lucian's chest knocked the air from his lungs. He gasped, stumbling backward.
"Wait!" Lucian wheezed, raising his weapon. "You didn't give a signal!"
Yelena didn't pause. She stepped inside his guard, her boot catching his ankle. Lucian crashed to the dirt, the taste of dust filling his mouth. He looked up to see the tip of her wooden blade hovering inches from his throat. Her expression was flat, bored.
"You asked to fight," she stated, her voice cutting through his wheezing. "If this were a tavern brawl or a battlefield, would your enemy wait for you to catch your breath? Would he announce his swing?"
She pressed the wood against his windpipe, forcing a cough. "You are soft, Lord Lucian. Get up."
Lucian gripped the dirt, his knuckles white. Shame burned hotter than the pain in his ribs. She was right. He was pathetic. He rolled to his side, pushing his heavy body off the ground with a grunt. "Again," he spat, wiping mud from his cheek. "Do it again."
An hour passed in a haze of sweat and stinging humiliation. Lucian charged, the wooden sword heavy in his grip, and swung for Yelena's head. He put all his frustration into the arc, visualizing the strike connecting.
It didn't.
Yelena stepped aside with minimal movement, her feet barely shifting in the dust. She caught his wrist, twisted it, and used his own momentum to spin him around. Lucian lost his footing and slammed face-first into the courtyard dirt. The air left his lungs in a wheezing gasp.
"Enough," Yelena announced, her voice cutting through his ragged breathing.
Lucian lay there for a moment, chest heaving, the rough grit of the courtyard against his cheek. He wanted to scream, to demand they keep going until he couldn't stand, but his muscles trembled with a violent, uncontrollable fatigue. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the pale sky.
"Get up, Lucian," she said. There was no mockery in her tone.
He groaned, pushing himself into a sitting position. His body felt like a sack of wet sand. "I didn't land a single hit," he rasped, wiping sweat from his eyes.
Yelena lowered her practice sword, resting the tip on the ground. "Your stance is still wrong. Your guard drops when you swing. Your movements betray you." She paused, tilting her head slightly. "But you didn't quit, that count for something."
Lucian looked at his hands. They were raw, blistered, and shaking. "Is that supposed to be encouraging?"
"It is a fact," Yelena replied. "Yesterday, you were on the ground after two moves. Today, you stayed 'standing' for sixty minutes." She turned toward the weapon rack near the wall. "The improvements are there. Small. But they exist."
Lucian stared at her back, processing the words. Small improvements. It wasn't praise, but it was better than the pity he had grown used to. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as the blood rushed from his head.
"Give it time," Yelena added without looking back. "Rest now. If you can walk tomorrow, we will do it again."
Lucian walked the length of the main hall, his mind focused on the library and the dusty tomes on magic. The physical exertion from his spar with Yelena had left his body aching, a constant reminder of his fragility. He needed answers, not more bruises. His hand was reaching for the library door when heavy footsteps echoed against the floor.
A man burst into the hall from the servants' entrance. He wore the rough leathers of a laborer, though a silver pendant at his throat marked him as someone of rank. His face was flushed, sweat dripping from his chin. He scanned the room, his eyes darting past Lucian, searching for someone else. When he realized only the youngest son of the house stood before him, his shoulders slumped.
"My Lord," the man gasped, bowing hastily. "I apologize for the intrusion, but we have an emergency at the northern quarry."
Lucian lowered his hand from the door handle. "Speak plainly."
"Goblins, my Lord. A small horde of them invaded the mine not an hour ago. We managed to hold them at the entrance, but..." The overseer wiped his brow, grimacing. "Is Lord Hildebrand or Lord Aldrich available? We need a warrior, someone with authority to lead the guards."
The overseer looked at Lucian with open doubt. He saw the sweat-soaked noble, the heavy set of his gut, the exhaustion in his eyes. He expected a refusal, perhaps an insult.
Lucian remained silent for a moment. Goblins. The word sent a thrill of anticipation through his chest. This was it. Real. Not practice swords in a dusty courtyard, but flesh and blood. A chance to test the limits of this new vessel.
"I am the only one present," Lucian said, his voice steady. "My father and brothers are away."
"Alone?" The overseer's voice cracked. "My Lord, forgive me, but-"
"Shut it! I will handle it," Lucian interrupted. He extended a hand. "Give me a map of the area. Now."
The man hesitated, his disgust warring with his fear. He clearly wanted to argue, to refuse the suicidal order, but Lucian stood with an air of command that hadn't existed yesterday. The overseer reached into his satchel and produced a rolled parchment, handing it over with a trembling hand. "Are you certain, my Lord?"
Lucian snatched the map, unrolling it to scan the route. "I am. But I will not go alone." He looked the overseer in the eye. "You will find the maid, Yelena. Tell her I require her presence at the mine immediately. She knows the way… I hope so, Go!"
The overseer blinked, confused by the command to bring a maid, but he didn't dare question it further. He bowed low. "At once, Lord Lucian." He turned and sprinted back the way he came.
Lucian rolled the map tight and tucked it into his belt. A grim smile touched his lips. He turned away from the library and headed for the courtyard exit, his stride purposeful. The prospect of bloodshed had finally given him a reason to push through the pain.
"Wait for me," he muttered, his hand instinctively touching the spot on his neck where the lotus mark lay hidden. "Let's see just how much my life hold in value."