Chapter 89

They were on the road leading to the outdoor training grounds.

Mikhail cradled the sword he'd just purchased and followed behind Ethan and Alex.

As the surroundings grew quieter, the scent of grass crept in between their footsteps.

Mikhail wrinkled his nose and stole a glance at Ethan's profile.

"……"

Ethan's face was still flushed with irritation—but in the end, he'd gone along with what Mikhail proposed.

He'd agreed to spar with Alex without objection.

It was obvious that every last instruction coming out of Mikhail's mouth rubbed him the wrong way.

But having committed to moving toward the same goal, Ethan wasn't about to manufacture pointless conflict. That was simply how he was built.

Thud.

Alex spun around the moment they reached the center of the training grounds.

He squared his shoulders, planted both hands on his hips, and spoke to Ethan in a hearty voice.

"Alright then. Let's see what you've got."

Ethan gave Alex a nod and reached for the wooden sword at his waist.

Alex let out a short laugh and shook his head.

"No, no. Pull out a real weapon. The same kind as that one strapped to your back."

Ethan's hand froze mid-reach. He glanced at the sword slung across his shoulders.

Then he shifted his gaze forward and spoke.

"That's dangerous. If you got hurt, sir—"

"Bwahahaha! I may have left the front lines a good while ago, but I'm not so far gone that I need coddling from a boy less than a quarter my age! And besides…."

Alex cracked his knuckles together and declared with gusto:

"Keeping a cool head on your blade when the heat of battle tries to sweep you away—that's a skill too. Wouldn't you say?"

Ethan offered no argument. He simply lowered his gaze from the man in front of him.

A look of quiet acceptance.

Yet his hand hovered near the hilt of his own sword on his back, unable to quite close around it.

"Ethan."

Mikhail's voice drifted over from where he leaned against a nearby tree. Ethan turned toward it.

Mikhail tossed him the sword in his hand.

Thwack.

Ethan looked baffled, but reflexes took over and he snatched the blade out of the air.

Mikhail tugged his lips into a grin at the questioning stare boring into him.

"Don't let your guard down. The old man's strong."

Ethan's face scrunched, eyebrows twitching. A look that demanded to know what kind of scheme this was.

But Mikhail said nothing more.

He simply jerked his chin toward Alex—now pulling on a pair of combat gauntlets—flashed a sly smile, and tapped the corner of his own eye where glasses would sit.

A brief stretch of quiet followed.

Ethan withdrew his silent stare from Mikhail and turned to face his opponent.

His fingers locked around the scabbard in a firm, resolute grip, and his voice came back flat and stripped of inflection.

"Fine."

Mikhail let out a thin breath, folded his arms, and settled his weight against the tree to watch. That was all he needed to do right now.

"……"

Ethan stood across from Alex with five or six paces between them. He gripped the hilt of the sword he'd just received and drew it.

Shrrring.

The blade slid free with a cold, metallic cry. Its silver surface shattered the afternoon sunlight into scattered fragments.

Ethan leveled the tip straight ahead and locked his eyes forward. Alex bared his teeth in a grin.

"Hmm. Good stance."

Alex clenched and unclenched his gauntleted fists, then flicked the fire poker up with the toe of his boot.

The poker sailed upward with a heavy clang and settled neatly into his grip.

"The match ends when I say stop! You do not get to quit on your own. Understood?"

Ethan answered without a beat of hesitation.

"Understood."

"Then come at me!"

CRACK!

Ethan's foot drove into the ground and the fight began in earnest.

Mikhail tracked the two figures as they clashed at blistering speed.

CLANG! KA-CLACK!

Sharp metallic impacts erupted one after another.

Ethan's sword carved clean, textbook arcs—punctuated by sudden, viper-quick thrusts that lashed out without warning.

Alex swatted the attacks aside with heavy, crushing blows.

But a low grunt escaped him as he let a few strikes slip through, each one scoring a fresh mark across his gauntlets.

"Hrrgh—!"

Then, in a single heartbeat, the rhythm broke.

Alex sucked in a massive breath and caught Ethan's incoming blade between his bare palms.

A move you'd almost never encounter in a conventional fight.

Ethan flinched, arms pulling back on instinct—and in doing so, missed his window to respond by a single beat.

"RAAAAGH!"

Alex let loose a roar that rattled the senses, muscles and tendons bulging along his forearms.

With monstrous brute strength, he shoved Ethan backward.

KA-GA-GA-CLACK!

Ethan stumbled, nearly losing his footing, but managed to recover with a series of rapid backsteps.

He bit down on his lip and was about to reset his stance—

But Alex had no intention of letting the opening slide. He drove a fist straight at Ethan's solar plexus.

WHOOSH—!

The vicious blow hurtled toward its mark.

A flash of killing intent sparked across Ethan's pupils. The sword he'd been pulling into a defensive position pivoted mid-arc and shot forward in the blink of an eye.

Mikhail watched the scene with an unhurried expression.

"—Stop!"

Alex's booming voice froze everything in place.

His fist hung fixed in the air, a hair's breadth from Ethan's solar plexus.

Ethan's blade had stopped just short of severing the strap of Alex's glasses.

Alex held his stare on Ethan for a moment, then rolled his eyes sideways.

The instant his gaze landed on the gently swaying glasses strap, a sigh of pure relief poured out of him.

"Good lord—took ten years off my life. My granddaughter bought me these."

Alex withdrew his fist, pulled off his glasses, and inspected them from every angle.

The killing edge he'd been radiating moments ago had vanished without a trace.

Ethan, too, lowered the sword he'd thrust forward and stood at ease.

Mikhail watched from a distance, smiled, and strolled over to join them.

"Ha-HA! Not bad at all! Not bad! In that split second, you figured out how much I treasured these glasses?!"

Alex was already bellowing with laughter, pounding Ethan's shoulder hard enough to make him stagger.

Ethan rocked under the force but dipped his head in a short bow, adding nothing more.

"Thank you for your time, sir."

Mikhail opened with a smile. Alex swung his head toward him, beaming.

"Oh, don't mention it! Haven't loosened up like that in ages—had a blast! Honestly, he was much better than I expected! Nothing beats Salvator when it comes to training, I always say…. Anyway, a standard-grade ruin like Melphendes should be well within your reach!"

Alex hoisted the fire poker and laid it across his shoulder.

"Alright! I'll write up that endorsement, just like you asked. Let's head back to the armory."

His eyes burned with far more energy than they had minutes ago.

He glanced between Mikhail and Ethan, let out another rumbling laugh, and turned to leave the training grounds.

Mikhail followed without a word.

"—Mikhail."

A voice cut in from behind and halted his stride. Mikhail turned.

Ethan had closed the distance and was holding out the sword from the spar.

"Thanks for the loan."

Mikhail glanced down at the blade extended toward him, then lifted his eyes and smirked.

"Keep it. I've got no use for it anyway."

"……"

"But your real sword—carry it on you at all times. And when the time comes to swing it, don't you dare hesitate."

It happened in an instant. Ethan swallowed hard, and the ash-gray eyes fixed straight ahead turned to stone.

The pounding in his ears swelled, growing louder with every beat.

Through the haze of a surfacing memory, Ethan heard words layered over Mikhail's voice—the parting charge his master had once given him.

[So no matter what happens, don't cling to this sword like it's a burden you're stuck carrying. Keep it close, and always swing it without hesitation. Promise me.]

Mikhail studied Ethan—frozen, robbed of words—for a moment, then turned and walked away.

He followed the path Alex had taken.

For a while, the only footsteps on the road belonged to one person.

Whoooosh.

A gust of wind swept in. Mikhail wrinkled his nose and tilted his head back.

Woven into this particular breeze was the faint, distant scent of a lakeshore.

---

Three or four hours had passed since then.

Clatter.

Mikhail was in his dormitory room, packing for the next mission.

Basic clothes and daily necessities. Gold and silver coins. Snacks for the sky foxes.

The endorsement document bearing Alex's signature. His outer coat, its inner pocket reinforced with sturdier stitching.

And the snow-white branch.

Anything else he'd need could be sourced at the mission site.

Fwump.

Mikhail cinched the bag shut, drifted to the window, and leaned against the frame to gaze at the distant sky.

A soft orange sunset was spreading in silence.

The last view before departing for the next mission.

In roughly half a day, he'd be boarding a carriage bound for the kingdom's southeast—Melphendes.

Rustle.

That was when something soft brushed his cheek, pulling him from his quiet review of what lay ahead.

Mikhail shifted his eyes from the horizon to Han and Ul, who had just hopped over the windowsill.

Their sky-blue fur—fuller and more vivid than before—shed tiny teal fragments as it shook out.

Judging by the dirt caked on their paws, they'd ventured deep into the woods for a good romp.

Proof of growth, each in their own small way.

Mikhail looked between the siblings, cracked a smile, and pushed off from the window.

"Both of you, come here. Let's wipe those paws first, then rest."

Melphendes was the farthest destination of any mission he'd undertaken so far.

Even leaving before dawn, they wouldn't reach the outskirts until well after dark.

"Ngh…."

Had it been roughly ten hours on the road?

His shoulders had knotted into stiff, aching clumps that jabbed at him with every shift.

Mikhail groaned and peeled open his heavy eyelids.

Where…

His freshly woken vision hadn't quite synced with his conscious mind—everything was slightly blurred.

But there was enough to read the situation.

Beyond the rattling window, the sky had dimmed to near-darkness.

The blue that had filled it was slowly deepening into indigo, and small stars were beginning to dot the expanse.

So about thirty more minutes, then.

Mikhail gauged the time and shifted his gaze forward.

Ethan sat across from him with his arms folded and eyes closed—but he must have sensed the attention.

His eyelids slid open, and he looked straight ahead.