The morning sun cut harsh angles across the estate's training grounds.
Howard stood ten paces away. He held his wooden practice broadsword with a relaxed, steady grip. He wasn't acting arrogant, but the easy slope of his shoulders radiated the absolute confidence he felt. He fully expected to control the pace of this bout.
At the edge of the ring, Baron Arnold leaned against the wooden fencing. His sharp eyes were locked onto his sons, calculating and silent.
"Ready?" Howard called out, settling into the rigid, wide stance of the traditional Sinclair fighting style.
"Ready," Henry replied.
Howard closed the distance in three long strides. He swung a heavy, horizontal cleave aimed at Henry's ribs. It was a textbook opening, powerful but controlled. Howard was intentionally holding back, giving Henry a chance to defend.
Henry didn't just defend. He shifted his weight, letting the Swift Tale Boots glide over the dirt. He ducked under the wooden blade with ease. Instead of retreating, Henry stepped directly inside Howard's guard. He drove the pommel of his wooden sword hard against his brother's chest piece.
Howard stumbled backward, his eyes widening in surprise.
Henry didn't let up. He launched a relentless assault. He chained heavy, punishing chops the core of the Sinclair family style but instantly broke the rhythm with evasive, unpredictable footwork. It was a chaotic, balanced blend that completely disrupted Howard's defense.
When Howard braced for a heavy impact, Henry slipped to the side and delivered a stinging strike to the ribs. When Howard tried to counter, Henry met him with brute force.
The momentum belonged entirely to Henry. He parried a heavy thrust and redirected it into the dirt, landing a solid strike against Howard's shoulder.
A burning excitement flared in Henry's chest. The unbridgeable chasm that used to exist between them was gone. He was dictating the flow of the battle against a D-minus rank opponent. The months away from the barony were paying off in real time.
Howard backed away, breathing heavily. He spun his practice sword, reevaluating the young man standing across from him.
"What's your actual rank progress?" Howard demanded, genuine disbelief cracking his composure.
"Tell you later," Henry grinned. He lunged forward.
Howard's expression hardened. The brotherly restraint vanished.
The air pressure in the ring shifted instantly as Howard unleashed his full D-minus stats. He stepped into Henry's attack with a speed that wasn't there before. Wood cracked violently against wood. The force of the block rattled Henry's teeth.
Howard went on the offensive. The strikes were no longer controlled. They were a downpour of heavy, punishing blows.
Henry immediately abandoned his offensive strikes. He dug into the advanced evasion techniques. He pivoted, dashed, and twisted his body by millimeters. The wooden broadsword whistled past his ears and clipped his clothing, but he remained out of reach.
For thirty seconds, Henry was a ghost on the battlefield, surviving purely on the compounding synergy of his magical boots and his maxed-out F-Rank stats.
Then, he made a mistake.
It wasn't a large one. Henry shifted his weight to pivot, but the heel of his boot caught a small, frozen divot in the dirt. It caused a microsecond of delay.
Against a D-minus rank going all out, a microsecond was fatal.
Howard capitalized instantly. He stepped into the opening and brought his practice sword down with overwhelming, stat-backed leverage.
The impact was crushing. Henry's grip shattered. The wooden sword spun violently out of his hands and clattered into the dirt ten feet away.
Henry froze. The tip of Howard's practice blade rested securely against his throat.
"Dead," Howard breathed, lowering the weapon. He was drenched in sweat, chest heaving.
Henry looked at his empty hands, accepting the defeat. The physical gap in their base stats was still a harsh reality. But the loss didn't sting. If this had been a real, life-or-death fight in the dungeon, it would have played out entirely differently.
If he had possessed the Intense Burst Aura to channel into his blade, that final exchange wouldn't have ended in a disarm. He would have shattered Howard's heavy guard completely.
Henry took a deep breath, forcing his heart rate to slow. The path forward was crystal clear.
"Impressive," Baron Arnold's deep voice echoed across the ring.
Both brothers turned. Arnold pushed off the wooden fence. He wasn't just offering empty praise; the stoic ruler looked genuinely thrilled by the display of violence.
"Wash up," Arnold commanded. "Both of you. Join me for breakfast."
The dining hall was a great shift from the freezing outdoor ring. A sprawling spread of roasted meats, fresh bread, and steaming eggs covered the long wooden table. Henry ate voraciously, replacing the calories burned during the spar while listening to Howard recount the finer technical points of the duel to their father. The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in years.
As soon as he finished his plate, Henry excused himself.
He left the warmth of the dining hall behind, stepping out into the bustling morning corridors of the estate. Servants rushed past him carrying linens and silver, bowing quickly as the young master walked by. Henry barely registered them.
He walked the hall with a purpose. The clatter of the kitchens faded as he moved deeper into the servant wing. He navigated the narrow, utilitarian hallways with single-minded focus.
He was heading straight for the maid quarters.