The news of the dead robbers was quickly buried, ignored simply because it had occurred in the slums.
"You did well back there, donkey," Virelle noted as she and Leon made their way back to town.
Leon watched silently as the sun slowly rose beyond the distant mountains, spilling golden light across the endless fields below. The dark sky faded into soft shades of orange and crimson, while the cold morning wind carried the scent of fresh dew through the air. Virelle followed his gaze. "The sun is rising. I haven't seen a sunrise in a long time."
Leon suddenly grew wobbly, his vision tilting before he abruptly collapsed onto the dirt.
"H-hey?! Did you actually die?!" Virelle cried out, panicking. But Leon hadn't passed away; he had simply succumbed to sheer, overwhelming exhaustion.
This tea is terrible. Who made you a servant? Good luck smithing a weapon with broken tools, brother Alric. Liora never did anything for me, why should I care?! Those people are my friends! It doesn't matter if they're only here for my money!
The faces wouldn't leave him. The servants he had mocked and struck. The people he had hurt. The lives he had ruined for nothing more than his own fleeting amusement. Their voices blended together in his mind until they became a deafening roar.
Leon's eyes snapped open. He was lying in his own bed. Slowly, he sat up and rubbed a tired hand across his face.
"Just a dream..." The words felt hollow and heavy all at once. "Ahh," Leon let out a pained grunt as he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed.
When he walked out into the street, his pockets felt unusually heavy. Patting them down, he found the 14 grals he had earned. Then, panic struck him—he remembered he was supposed to help the order again today. It was already afternoon, and he had been expected at noon.
Limping heavily, he hurried to the hall. When he reached the main room, he found the Knight Commander, Virelle, and an unknown woman sitting together, deep in discussion. The stranger's long blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft, elegant waves that caught the light beautifully. A few loose strands framed her radiant face, accentuating her striking blue eyes and warm smile. She possessed an innate, breathtaking grace that seemed entirely effortless.
"I'm sorry for being late, Sir Knight... huff... huff..." Leon gasped, clutching his side.
"Oh, and him too, please," the knight said, turning to the blonde woman.
She stood up and walked toward Leon, her expression gentle. "Show me your injuries, dear."
"M-my injuries?" he stammered, wondering why she cared.
She knelt before his battered legs and hovered her hands just above his skin. Leon blushed intensely, entirely captivated by her beauty. Suddenly, a brilliant white thread woven from pure light emerged from her palms, wrapping itself tenderly around his wounds.
"Why... why doesn't it hurt anymore?" Leon murmured in awe.
The Knight Commander thanked her, and Virelle turned to Leon with a smirk. "She is a Cleric, and happened to be visiting the Master. Quite the luck we have, don't we? Anyway, Leon, you can leave for now. We aren't going anywhere."
He left the hall, thoroughly stunned by the woman's otherworldly flow. Peeking back through the closing doors, he caught her smiling warmly at him, which made him blush all over again.
Suddenly, a rhythmic sound drew his attention from the backyard of the hall. Curious, he crept over to investigate.
Swoosh.
Peeking around the stone corner, he saw a man training alone with a sword.
Swoosh. Swish.
There was an elegance to how the man swung his blade that bordered on the ethereal. The motions were fluid and effortless, as if the steel were dancing to music played solely for him. The metal sliced through the air with a low, melodic hum, leaving behind graceful, imaginary curves that vanished a moment after appearing. There was absolutely no wasted motion; everything flowed seamlessly without a single jerk or hesitation. The blade rose, turned, and lowered like a mountain stream finding its natural path, carrying a hypnotic beauty that held Leon completely captive.
Astonished by the flawless swordsmanship, Leon remained frozen, unable to look away. By the time the man finally finished, two hours had passed. Leon had sat there the entire time, utterly entranced. Suddenly realizing how long he'd been there and terrified of getting caught, he scrambled to his feet and ran home.
Even back in his room, he couldn't stop thinking about the man's swings. I... should I try it? he thought.
Picking up a fallen stick of identical length, he tried to replicate the man's fluid 'dance.' Instead, his legs tangled, and he tripped over his own feet, crashing to the floor. Even while sprawling on the ground, the beauty of those movements filled his mind. He pushed himself up and tried again.
Ten minutes later, frustration set in. After that pivot, what did he do next? He couldn't remember the exact sequence of the movements. Frustrated, he finally gave up and went to bed.
The next morning, Leon wasted hours tossing and turning. The moment noon hit, he practically sprinted back to the hall, desperate to see the man's form again. Sure enough, the man was there, dancing with his sword once more. Leon snatched up a nearby stick and tried to mimic the movements in real-time. Within minutes, exhaustion overtook him, yet the man kept swinging, completely unfazed. After a short rest, Leon changed his strategy, trying to break the form down piece by piece.
"So this one goes like this?" Woosh. "And then it transitions into this?"
After the two-hour mark, the man finished his routine and departed, and Leon headed home. On his way, he stopped to eat the free rations provided to the refugees who had traveled to the town. Feeling energized by the food, he began walking again when he spotted a blacksmith's shop at the opposite end of the square. Without a second thought, he walked in.
"Hey there, kid. Looking to buy something?" asked the blacksmith, a rugged man seemingly in his late thirties.
Leon swallowed hard. "A s-sword."
The blacksmith gestured to a few racks. "What's your budget, kid?"
"Fourteen grals... is that enough?" Leon asked hesitantly.
"Wait here." The blacksmith disappeared into his small smithy and returned holding a weapon.
The blade was well-crafted, its surface catching the dim light with a soft, clean shine. It possessed an elegant balance, with every element clearly designed for practical combat. It wasn't grand enough to be a nobleman's ceremonial piece, yet there was an honest, rugged simplicity about it that deeply appealed to Leon.
"I'll buy it."
Leon went home with the sword and wasted no time. Pulling it from the sheath, he began to practice the man's routine. It was incredibly shabby, but he managed to force his body through the motions.
The next day at noon, he returned to watch. Then he went home and practiced. This cycle continued for two entire weeks; Leon never missed a single second of the stranger's training.
However, on the following day, the training yard was empty. Disappointed, Leon slunk back home, trying his best to perfect the movements from memory.
When he returned the next day, the man was finally there—but this time, the Knight Commander was standing with him, instructing him.
"If you lack this much discipline, you will always remain a squire," the knight barked.
A... squire? Leon thought, his brow furrowing. There's no way someone with that level of skill is just a squire.
The knight ordered the man to demonstrate his skills, and the man raised his sword. Leon watched, utterly stunned—but not by beauty. The man's movements were clumsy, weak, and half-hearted. It was a terrible, agonizing display. Leon couldn't wrap his mind around what he was seeing.
Sighing in deep disappointment, the Knight Commander turned and walked back inside, and the man followed close behind him.
Leon stood frozen in confusion. After a few seconds, the man walked back out into the yard alone. He raised his blade and drove it forward.
Swoosh.
That sound... Leon looked up. The man was swinging his sword with the exact same breathtaking beauty Leon had witnessed for the past two weeks. He didn't want to interrupt, but his curiosity completely overpowered his caution.
Approaching the yard, Leon called out, "Why were you swinging your sword so badly in front of the Sir Knight?"
The man didn't answer. He simply paused, looked directly at Leon, and offered a soft smile.
Suddenly, a heavy voice boomed from behind. "What are you doing here, kid?"
Leon jumped, spinning around to see the Knight Commander. "S-sorry, sir! I was just asking this man something."
"Which man?"
Leon turned his head back to point. "This ma—"
The words caught in his throat. He couldn't believe his eyes. The yard was empty. The man was gone.
The knight stared at him in confusion. "Why are you out here talking to yourself? Did the cleric not heal your head properly?"
"Who are you talking to, Master?" a voice asked.
The squire stepped out from the back door of the hall, wiping sweat from his brow. Leon's eyes widened in absolute shock. The squire looked nothing like the man he had been observing for the last two weeks. Because Leon had always watched from a hidden angle, he had never been able to see the swordsman's facial features clearly until he had stepped forward to speak to him today. The man with the stunning swordsmanship had possessed a sharp jawline, elegant blonde hair, and a strikingly handsome face.
The actual squire standing before him shared the same face shape and hair color—but absolutely nothing else.
Leon staggered backward, his heart hammering against his ribs." Was I... hallucinating?"