Awaking with the pale dawn after a night of revelry, Gargus, Minosa, and Yeric were stirred by a keen sense of expectancy, uncertain of what trials the day's training might bring.

  With practiced haste, they arrayed themselves in armor and ventured from their chambers, each step carrying them nearer to the training grounds.

  To their astonishment, Markon awaited them, standing tall and ready, as though the festivities of the previous evening had left no mark upon him.

  “Markon!” Minosa called out, her voice light with playful mirth, “You’re early! We had half a mind to wonder if you'd even manage to arrive on time after last night’s... merriment.”

  Markon, cast her a smug glance. “Ah, but you know me, Minosa. Always punctual, always prepared.” His tone brimmed with that familiar air of self-assurance, drawing yet another knowing smile from Minosa.

  But it was Gargus who, with a more serious air, stepped forward and voiced the unspoken concern.

  “Markon, tell me—how do you think today's training will fare? Geana and Zenn spoke of nobles receiving separate instruction. Does this mean you shan’t be joining us?"

  “What? Nobles receive separate training?” Markon exclaimed, a note of incredulity coloring his voice. “Why was I not told of this sooner?”

  “We assumed you were already aware,” Minosa replied calmly, her expression one of mild surprise at his reaction.

  Just then, the warriors from Rhanda began to file onto the training grounds. Among them strode three eternal warriors and two healers, the ones charged with overseeing the day's instruction.

  As the crowd assembled, they soon fell into distinct ranks, each under the guidance of their appointed trainers. The commoners were assigned two trainers for the eternal warriors and one for the healers, while the nobles, with a smaller number, were each granted their own—one instructor for the healers and another for the warriors.

  A clear line of distinction was drawn between the two groups, yet the weight of their shared purpose bound them all in quiet anticipation.

  Markon, his voice touched with a faint hint of disappointment, muttered, "So, it’s true then—nobles and commoners are to be trained apart."

  Sensing the weight of his words, Minosa offered him a gentle smile, her tone warm with reassurance. “Don’t let it trouble you, Markon. We’re still on the same grounds, after all. It won’t make much difference.”

  Gargus, added with a playful grin, “Besides, even if we were trained together, none of us could hope to keep pace with you.”

  Geana, catching sight of their lingering hesitation, called out with an encouraging wave, “Come on, you lot! Don’t just stand there—join the lines!”

  Beside her, Zenn took up the task of offering brief introductions, his manner brisk but welcoming, as the day's training began to unfold.

  "Do you see that raven-haired woman over there?" Zenn began, gesturing toward the figures across the field. "That’s Lady Myra—she oversees the training of the commoner healers. And that stout, fair-haired fellow is Sir Pisot, who handles the noble healers. The towering, bald man with the broad shoulders—that’s Sir Kane. He, along with Clara, the brunette, trains the commoner warriors. And as for the tall, fair-haired man over there, that’s Ermes. He is tasked with training the noble warriors."

  Zenn’s voice lowered slightly, as though imparting a secret.

  "But between us, those under Sir Kane’s guidance are the fortunate ones. His prowess is legendary—none in Rhanda surpass him, save for the lieutenants of the Red Boulevard."

  Inspired by this revelation, Minosa’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “So, are you and Geana trained under Sir Kane as well?”

  Geana, laughing softly, shook her head. “Oh, heavens, no. His regimen is far too grueling for the likes of us. We are entrusted to the care of Lady Clara, whose methods, while rigorous, are not quite as… unrelenting.”

  Gargus, his voice filled with admiration, exclaimed, "By the gods, Lady Clara is quite striking, and she seems to be about our age!"

  Zenn, nodded. “Indeed, she’s only a few years older than us. Unlike the other eternal warriors here who have retired, Lady Clara still serves in the Queen’s army. She takes up the training of students whenever she returns from her duties at the front.”

  Gargus, clearly captivated, seemed lost in his admiration until Markon, with a teasing grin, cut in. “That’s enough, Gargus. You’re practically drooling.” The remark stirred a ripple of laughter among the group, their camaraderie lightening the air.

  But their mirth was short-lived, as Sir Ermes, catching wind of the commotion, strode forward with commanding authority.

  “Silence! What is this disturbance?”

  Zenn, ever composed, quickly stepped forward and bowed slightly in deference. “Sir Ermes, these warriors are from Arela. We were merely explaining our training regimen to them.”

  With a thin veil of disdain and disinterest, Sir Ermes remarked coldly, "Ah, it’s always the commoners—crude as ever. Step forward, all of you."

  His tone held an air of condescension that did not go unnoticed, least of all by Lady Clara, who stood nearby, her expression betraying her annoyance at his elitist attitude.

  At his command, Minosa, Markon, Yeric, and Gargus stepped forward to face the scrutiny of the Rhanda trainers.

  "Are you all warriors?" Sir Ermes inquired, his voice sharp and exacting.

  Yeric, with quiet respect, spoke first. "No, sir. I am a healer."

  Turning his stern gaze to Yeric, Ermes asked curtly, "And what is your name, boy?"

  "Yeric, Sir Ermes," came the measured reply, Yeric standing tall under the weight of the knight’s stare.

  Without further acknowledgment, Ermes nodded toward him. "Very well, join Lady Myra's troop."

  Yeric, though feeling somewhat out of place, gave a respectful bow. "Yes, sir."

  As he departed to join the healers, he received silent but encouraging smiles from Minosa, Gargus, and Markon, a small gesture of camaraderie.

  Ermes then turned his attention to the remaining three, his tone still carrying its cold authority. "The three of you—state your names."

  Markon, stepped forward and spoke with clarity. "I am Markon Sline, and these are Gargus and Minosa."

  "Sline, is it?" Sir Ermes repeated, his tone softening ever so slightly. "Very well, Markon—you will join my troop. As for the other two, decide amongst yourselves who shall go to Sir Kane and who to Lady Clara."

  Without hesitation, Gargus declared with eager resolve, "I will join Lady Clara's troop." His words brought a smile to both Minosa and Markon, pleased by his decisiveness.

  Ermes then turned to Minosa, his gaze firm. "You will be assigned to Sir Kane's troop."

  With the matter settled, Sir Ermes raised his voice, addressing the entire assembly.

  "Now that all is in order, let the training commence!"

  At his command, the training grounds stirred to life, each under the vigilant eyes of their Rhanda trainers.

  Meanwhile, Yeric, feeling a touch of unease, made his way toward the group of healers with tentative steps. Lady Myra, keenly aware of his apprehension, greeted him with a gentle smile.

  "Yeric, is it? There’s no need for nerves, lad. Come, join us," she said, her voice kind and reassuring, her presence radiating calm as she beckoned him into the fold of her troop.

  “If you hail from Arela, you must be a pupil of Lady Hermiosa,” Lady Myra observed, her voice carrying the weight of knowledge, as she recognized Yeric’s origins with ease.

  “Yes, Lady Myra,” Yeric confirmed, his tone respectful, acknowledging the truth of her statement.

  A warm smile graced Lady Myra's face as she continued, “Lady Hermiosa is a remarkable woman and a healer of great renown among the eternal warriors. I shall expect much from you, Yeric, given such fine tutelage.”

  Yeric bowed slightly, his gratitude evident in his voice. “Thank you, Lady Myra,” he said, his place within the healer’s cohort now firmly secured.

  Markon made his way into the noble warriors' ranks, his arrival stirring a quiet murmur among them.

  None other than eldest son of the famed Miliodus lineage, stepped forward, accompanied by a group of his peers. With a proud bearing, he addressed Markon.

  “So, you’re Markon Sline. Word of your skill has reached even us. My father speaks highly of you. I am Angus Miliodus.”

  Markon, poised, extended his hand in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Angus,” he replied, offering a courteous handshake.

  Angus Miliodus, the proud scion of noble heritage, cast a disdainful glance at Markon Sline, his words dripping with condescension.

  "I’d be curious to witness these great skills of yours. After all, Arela is hardly known for producing warriors of any renown. Even the feeblest among Rhanda’s ranks would appear formidable in such a place," he sneered, mocking the land from which Markon hailed.

  Markon, unmoved by the insult, met Angus’s gaze steadily. “The reason there are so few warriors in Arela,” he began, his voice calm yet pointed, “is that unlike Rhanda, not every common ruffian is granted the title of eternal warrior. One must prove their worth. But I suppose that’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

  Angus’s face flushed with fury, and in a flash, he drew his sword, the blade gleaming as he prepared for a challenge. The air between them crackled with tension, the threat of violence heavy in the space.

  Before things could spiral further, Gargus, sensing the impending conflict, stepped forward hurriedly, his voice conciliatory.

  “Please, Angus. Markon merely got carried away. There’s no need to take his words to heart,” he implored, attempting to ease the growing hostility between them.

  Gargus’s plea fell on deaf ears. With a sneer, Angus spat, "You’re fortunate, Markon. It seems your servant boy has come to your rescue."

  Markon, his patience frayed, shot back with barely concealed indignation, "Who are you calling a servant? Gargus is my friend and twice the warrior you’ll ever be."

  The air grew thick with challenge as Angus’s eyes narrowed.

  "Let’s put that to the test, then," he replied coldly, the promise of a confrontation looming.

  "Enough!" barked Sir Ermes, his tone brooking no defiance.

  Lady Clara stepped forward with authority, her gaze settling on Gargus.

  "Gargus, you are now part of my troop. You are not to meddle in the affairs of other groups. I don’t care how close you are to Markon—here, you follow my rules, or you are out."

  Sir Ermes, ever stern, added sharply, "Precisely, Lady Clara. In Rhanda, we do not resolve matters with brutish displays. Perhaps in Arela, things are handled differently, but here, we have order."

  A tense silence settled over the group as Gargus, Markon, and Angus stood in chastened quiet, while Minosa, Geana, and Zenn observed with wary eyes, sensing the gravity of the situation.

  "That said," Sir Ermes intoned with icy resolve, "a commoner such as Gargus intervening in a matter between nobles like Markon and Angus must be met with strict discipline."

  Lady Clara, her tone firm yet composed, interjected, "Sir Ermes, Gargus is now part of my troop. I shall address his punishment myself. He is from Arela and unfamiliar with Rhanda’s customs."

  Gargus, his face flushed with a blend of embarrassment and regret, felt the sting of his actions. The very individual he admired and hoped to impress, Lady Clara, found herself caught in a difficult position due to his impulsiveness.

  Ermes, with a condescending smirk, added, "Normally, I would dismiss such trivial matters concerning commoners. Yet, given that Gargus not only interfered between Markon and Angus but also was praised by Markon as more than capable of handling Angus, it would be a disgrace to me and to all nobility if this were to be overlooked."

  Sir Kane, stepped in with a calming presence.

  " Sir Ermes, allow this matter to rest. Gargus is a visitor and it is his first day. As Lady Clara has pointed out, this issue should be disregarded."

  The tension in the air hung heavy as the gathered individuals awaited the resolution, the gravity of the moment underscoring the intricate dynamics at play.

  Sir Kane’s unexpected intervention disrupted the usual air of condescension that Sir Ermes so often displayed.

  Observing the unfolding scene with a sense of quiet amusement, Geana, Minosa, and Zenn noted the rare sight of Sir Ermes appearing somewhat disconcerted.

  Ermes, in a rare show of deference, questioned, “But Sir Kane, if we do not instill discipline in our students, what fate awaits our society?”

  Geana, unable to contain her amusement, remarked with a chuckle, “What a remarkable transformation in attitude. I do hope Sir Ermes doesn’t lose his composure entirely.”

  Minosa, her heart alight with anticipation at the prospect of training under Sir Kane, found herself pondering how her esteemed mentor, Sir Skarsnay, would measure up to this formidable figure.

  Meanwhile, Lady Clara, positioned between Sir Kane and Sir Ermes, discreetly concealed a smile as she observed Ermes’s evident discomfort in the face of Kane’s undeniable authority.

  As the discussion continued, Sir Kane, displaying a sagacious grasp of justice, remarked, “If the enforcement of rules is your concern, then it is Angus who should face consequences for instigating a conflict with our guests, who have arrived here with due respect for our hospitality.”

  Ermes, seeking to defend Angus, interjected, “But Sir Kane, Angus is of noble lineage. His reprimand should be conducted with discretion, away from the public eye.”

  Lady Clara, though appalled by the overt bias in his words, chose silence, acutely aware of her own commoner origins and her relative inexperience owing to her youth.

  Unyielding, Sir Kane then offered an alternative. "If that is your concern, allow me to propose a suitable punishment."

  A palpable hush fell over the training grounds as Lady Clara, Sir Ermes, and the gathered warriors awaited his resolution, the weight of the moment heavy in the air.

  “Since it was Angus who cast aspersions upon Gargus’s skill and ignited the conflict with Markon, let us resolve this matter through a duel. Should Gargus prevail, we shall consider the issue settled; if he fails, he will return to Arela immediately,” Sir Kane proposed.

  Though seemingly fair, the proposal carried an implicit disadvantage for Gargus.

  Sir Ermes, confident in Angus’s abilities, received the suggestion with evident satisfaction.

  In the tense atmosphere of the training grounds, Sir Ermes approached Angus, leaning in to whisper with a note of dark encouragement, “Demonstrate to this commoner his place and ensure he returns to his origins.”

  Angus, wearing a self-assured grin, replied, “You need not concern yourself with that, Sir Ermes. I shall make him rue the day he dared to oppose me.”

  Meanwhile, Lady Clara approached Gargus with a gesture of solace amidst the seeming injustice.

  “ I understand that this situation feels inequitable, but even with Sir Kane’s influence, there are limits to what can be achieved against the nobles. Nevertheless, you strike me as one with considerable potential. Show me what you are capable of. Let this not be the end of our conversations,” she said, her hand resting reassuringly on Gargus’s shoulder.

  Her words dispelled his anxiety, replacing it with a newfound determination.

  “Do not worry, Lady Clara,” Gargus responded with renewed confidence. “I am now under your tutelage, and I shall not disappoint you.”

  Lady Clara, taken aback and impressed by his resolve, could not help but smile warmly.

  Amidst the charged atmosphere, Minosa, Geana, and Zenn exchanged amused glances, finding humor in Gargus’s unexpected steadiness.

  Sir Kane’s commanding voice then sliced through the tension. “Step forward, warriors.”

  As Gargus passed Markon, his eyes met in a silent exchange of encouragement, a wordless affirmation of their bond as they faced the forthcoming challenge.

  As Gargus advanced to meet Angus, Geana hastened to his side, presenting him with her wooden training sword. “This sword served me well through my trials; may it grant you fortitude as well,” she said with heartfelt sincerity.

  “Thank you, Geana,” Gargus replied, his voice brimming with resolve. “Your gesture means much to me, but I assure you, I do not require luck to best this arrogant noble.”

  With Geana’s gift in hand, Gargus moved forward to face Angus, his determination clear. Sir Kane positioned himself between the two, ready to officiate the forthcoming duel.

  Angus, embodying the arrogance often associated with nobility, scoffed at Gargus’s choice of weapon. “What is this paltry piece of wood you brandish?” he derided.

  “True battles are fought with real swords.” He then brandished his own titanite sword, its handle emblazoned with a rose insignia.

  In the midst of this exchange, Sir Kane, a battle-hardened warrior, chastised Angus for his choice of weapon.

  “What folly is this, boy? Cast aside your sheath and take up a wooden sword. This is but a sparring match, not a contest against the beast walker. Are you so ignorant as to not know that eternal warriors wield their titanite weapons solely against such foes?” he admonished.

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  However, Sir Ermes, ever the shrewd and tactical mind, interjected in support of Angus.

  “Forgive me, Sir Kane, but I must align myself with Angus’s perspective. Gargus here has dared to challenge the nobility of Rhanda, and if this matter is not addressed appropriately, his commoner origins could stir unnecessary civil unrest among our people. We surely do not desire such discord, do we? Affording Gargus a fair opportunity in this contest is already a sign of great leniency on our part,” he asserted, his tone calculated and deliberate.

  In response, Sir Kane exhaled, acknowledging the situation. “Is this acceptable to you, Gargus? Should you lack an appropriate titanite weapon, you may forfeit the match, thus preserving your life,” he proposed, balancing a sense of fairness with the harsh realities of their circumstances.

  Angus, seized the moment to mock Gargus. “Heed Sir Kane’s advice, commoner, and spare yourself from harm. Do not fret; your friends shall soon join you,” he taunted, eliciting laughter from his companions.

  Undeterred, Gargus met the challenge with a confident smile, turning to Sir Kane. “I shall be well, Sir Kane. I appreciate your consideration.”

  He then exchanged a knowing nod with Minosa.

  Minosa swiftly departed for Gargus's quarters, returning shortly with a concealed weapon nestled within a sack.

  Markon couldn’t suppress a smirk as he observed his friend receive this enigmatic armament from Minosa.

  Angus, the embodiment of arrogance, demanded, “What is that? Another one of your worthless weapons from Arela? Whatever it is, reveal it at once so we may commence.”

  With measured deliberation, Gargus revealed his titanite hammer, a gift from Sir Skarsnay. As the weapon emerged, the assembled crowd, gazed in awe at its intricate craftsmanship. Lady Clara, in particular, observed with keen interest, eager to see how Gargus would wield such a formidable armament.

  “Now that both sides are prepared, let the duel begin,” proclaimed Sir Kane.

  Minosa, Markon, Geana, Zenn, Lady Clara, and the rest of the spectators stood poised with bated breath, anticipating the unfolding contest.

  Gargus and Angus faced each other with grave and unwavering focus. Angus observed Gargus's formidable and muscular physique, while Gargus was momentarily ensnared by the predatory glint in Angus’s slanted eyes.

  Despite Angus’s less imposing stature, his muscular build and above-average height presented a challenge, yet it was the intensity of his gaze that momentarily diverted Gargus’s attention, allowing Angus to capitalize on the moment with a swift advance.

  With skillful precision, Angus delivered a series of rapid thrusts with his sword, empowered by strength runes that augmented its force. The blade grazed Gargus’s side, eliciting no sign of distress from him.

  “Your hammer, while undoubtedly powerful, lacks the speed and finesse of a sword,” Angus taunted. “What good is such strength if it cannot be wielded effectively?”

  Lady Clara watched intently as her new pupil navigated the fray. Gargus, brandishing the massive titanite hammer, found himself increasingly on the defensive, skillfully evading Angus’s relentless onslaughts. The close-quarters nature of their combat rendered the swinging of his formidable weapon a daunting task, compounded by Angus's swift movements that thwarted any attempts to maintain distance.

  As Angus’s swordplay escalated, it began to inflict superficial scratches upon Gargus, though none were grave. Minosa, observing with a growing sense of concern, felt a bead of sweat trace down her cheek.

  Seizing the moment to assert his supremacy, Angus ignited his speed runes, a fierce smirk carving across his face. In a flash of blinding velocity, he lunged forward, his movements a blur of ruthless intent.

  With a force that seemed to split the very air, his blade found its mark, driving deep into Gargus, leaving no doubt of his staggering power. Gasps erupted among the spectators, including Markon, Minosa, Zenn, and Geana, as blood splattered in the air, shocking all who beheld the scene.

  With an air of casual arrogance, Angus proclaimed, “You should have fled while you still had the opportunity.”

  Despite the oppressive weight of defeat pressing down upon him, Gargus defied all expectation, his eyes aflame with a ferocity that refused to yield. With ironclad resolve, he clutched his titanite hammer in one hand.

  "This is far from over," he growled, his voice a low rumble of defiance.

  In a revelation of his indomitable will, Gargus revealed that he had angled his palm to bear the brunt of the sword's force, deflecting it from a vital blow. Summoning every ounce of his strength, his runes blazing like molten fire, Gargus unleashed a swing of his hammer with cataclysmic might.

  With Angus wide open, Gargus unleashed his titanite hammer with a force akin to a thunderous storm. The impact struck Angus square in the chest, sending him hurtling backward, a helpless projectile of defeat, until he crashed several feet away. As Angus lay unconscious in the dust, Gargus stood victorious, a warrior undaunted, his triumph resounding like a roar across the field.

  Markon and Minosa rushed to Gargus’s side, their faces alight with pride and admiration.

  “You’ve done it, you great oaf! Sir Skarsnay shall be immensely proud of you,” Markon exclaimed, clapping Gargus heartily on the back.

  Minosa, equally exhilarated, added, “You’ve demonstrated to those snobs precisely what we are capable of!”

  Sir Ermes, taken aback and visibly perturbed by the outcome, barked, “Healer! Attend to Angus immediately. What are you standing idle for?”

  “Now that the matter is settled, the rest of you may resume your training,” declared Sir Kane, his commanding tone slicing through the remnants of the heated confrontation.

  Lady Clara, her expression warm with genuine approval, approached Gargus.

  “You performed admirably,” she remarked, her smile warm yet assessing.

  Gargus, still catching his breath, could hardly believe the honor of her words. She continued, “I must admit, I found the contest rather exhilarating. It appears you’ll be training under my guidance after all.”

  Overcome by a swell of gratitude and pride, Gargus inclined his head respectfully and replied with heartfelt sincerity, “There is nothing in this world I desire more.”

  Observing Gargus’s admiration, Lady Clara added with a gentle smile, "But first," she said, her tone firm, with a touch of concern, "let us tend to that injured arm of yours."

  The rest of the warriors returned to their training regimens, Minosa joined Sir Kane’s group, while Markon resumed his place under Sir Ermes’s instruction.

  As Minosa eagerly stepped into Sir Kane's regiment, an air of apprehension mingled with her anticipation of her new comrades.

  Two imposing figures, both bald and robustly built, approached her, their hearty laughter echoing across the grounds.

  “Minosa, is it?” inquired one of them.

  With a soft nod, Minosa soon found herself face-to-face with Rodique and his twin brother, Sedique.

  Rodique, unable to resist a touch of playful banter, remarked, “Are you as formidable as your friend there?”

  Minosa, her smile unwavering and confident, replied, “To be honest, I dare say I am even tougher than he.”

  “Well then,” Sedique declared with evident pride, “Welcome to Sir Kane’s regiment. Gentlemen, meet Minosa. She’s every bit as tough as they come.”

  With that, warm smiles and friendly greetings surrounded Minosa. Though initially feeling somewhat out of place, she quickly began to acclimate to the camaraderie of her new fellows.

  With curiosity piqued, Minosa decided to break the ice.

  “Rodique, might I inquire why there are no women among this crew, and why you all sport such bald heads?” Her question reverberated through the laughter of the group.

  Rodique, amid the mirth, offered an explanation. “Ah, Minosa, you see, women of our ilk seldom wish to join a band such as ours, which might resemble a troop of mercenaries. As for our appearance—our bald heads and beards—it is a tribute to Sir Kane. We hold the belief that by mirroring his countenance, we might one day attain a similar stature.”

  Minosa, charmed by their earnestness, could not contain her laughter. “You fellows are truly delightful,” she remarked, her amusement evident.

  Sedique, with a grin, added, “Women generally do not converse with us, even the warriors on the grounds. Yet you, Minosa, you are quite exceptional, aren’t you?”

  With a serious demeanor, Minosa responded, “Well, I must insist, do not expect me to shave my head as well. That I shall not do.”

  Another burst of laughter filled the air, and Sir Kane’s regiment welcomed Minosa with open arms, their camaraderie readily reciprocated.

  Markon's acclimatization to his new regiment proved to be a stark contrast to the warm embrace experienced by Minosa.

  Angus, as the scion of Sir Miliodus, wielded considerable influence among the nobility, and within Sir Ermes's cadre—populated predominantly by Angus's cronies—Markon found himself in a position of isolation.

  Cold shoulders and deliberate avoidance became his unwelcome companions, a consequence of the potential repercussions faced by those who might dare to associate with him.

  In solitude, Markon stood, his keen gaze surveying the intricate dynamics surrounding him. He observed the marked disparity in the number of eternal warriors between the noble and common ranks, and further noted the presence of specialized archer divisions embedded within each warrior regiment.

  Amidst his contemplations, Markon's gaze was drawn to an archer whose smile was directed with subtle intent towards him.

  Captivated, his gaze lingered upon her with an almost reverent awe, for her beauty was nothing short of ethereal. Her refined yet modest bearing held an allure that transcended mere elegance, as though she were crafted from gentler, rarer elements than those around her. Her delicate features, framed by graceful slanted eyes and a complexion of luminous fairness, cast a magnetic spell that seemed to draw the very light toward her, enveloping her in an aura that was both enchanting and profound.

  Caught in a moment of unguarded admiration, Markon found himself raising his hand in an involuntary wave. His gesture was abruptly halted as the massive bell tolled with a resonant "Dong! Dong!" Startled by the sudden sound, Markon withdrew his hand with a flush of embarrassment.

  The archer’s laughter chimed sweetly, further intensifying Markon's self-consciousness as he scratched the back of his head with a rueful sigh.

  Sir Ermes's commanding voice soon cut through the atmosphere, heralding the commencement of sparring sessions and drawing everyone’s focus back to the training regimen.

  The brief interruption, caused by the earlier clash between Gargus and Angus, was thus brought to a close.

  As the training session commenced, Sir Kane's regimen, appreciative of Minosa's addition to their ranks, promptly arranged for her to engage in a sparring match. After some light-hearted banter, it was Sedique who emerged as Minosa’s sparring partner.

  Meanwhile, Gargus, having tended to his wounded palm, rejoined Lady Clara’s regimen. His return was met with hearty enthusiasm from Geana, Zenn, and the rest of the crew.

  “Our champion has returned—the vanquisher of a noble!” Geana proclaimed with pride, eliciting cheers and admiration from the assembly.

  Gargus, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the attention, attempted to deflect the praise, saying, “Please, enough with the fuss. You’re making me blush.”

  Zenn, with a smirk, added, “Ah, but prepare yourself. As commoners, we seldom have the privilege to converse with, let alone challenge and best, a noble. You’ve become a figure of admiration among us.”

  Turning to Geana, Gargus extended an invitation, “Would you care to spar with me?”

  Geana, her eyes twinkling with mischief, responded, “Certainly not. I have no wish to find myself in a predicament akin to Angus’s.” Zenn, demurring, added, “Do not look to me either; my prowess falls short even of Geana’s.”

  Gargus, momentarily disheartened, was preparing to press the matter further when Lady Clara’s voice cut through the conversation with authority.

  “Enough! You are not to spar today. Allow your injury to mend first. Your role is to observe,” Lady Clara decreed with a firm tone. Gargus, attempting to minimize his injury, protested, “But, Lady Clara, it is but a trifling scratch. I am more than fit to participate.”

  Lady Clara remained resolute. “As the leader of this regimen, I set the rules. You shall remain by my side and watch today’s proceedings.”

  Gargus, initially resistant, suddenly grasped the full implication of her command. “So, I am to stay with you and observe the entire day?”

  Lady Clara confirmed, “Indeed. I shall determine when you are fit to spar.” With a mischievous grin, Gargus acquiesced, “Well, if it entails staying in your company, it might not be so disagreeable.”

  Lady Clara, shaking her head with a bemused smile, remarked, “Foolish lad!”

  In the midst of the sparring and pairings that characterized Sir Ermes's regimen, Markon found himself conspicuously alone, bereft of a sparring partner. Efforts to engage with others were met with a swift and deliberate withdrawal, their evident trepidation of incurring Angus Miliodus's displeasure palpable. Disheartened and resigned, Markon retreated to a quiet corner, settling into a position of observer.

  As the training session progressed, Markon's attention was drawn irresistibly to one individual—the archer whom he had noted earlier. Beyond her strikingly refined beauty, her prowess with the bow was nothing short of extraordinary. Her arrows unfailingly found their target, and with increasing audacity, she extended the range of her shots. Markon, momentarily spellbound, found himself entranced by her exceptional skill and precision.

  In a display of remarkable agility, the archer performed a daring leap, executing a flawless shot at the target while suspended in mid-air, eliciting a round of enthusiastic cheers from her audience. Enraptured by her remarkable feat, Markon found himself joining in the applause, his appreciation evident despite his earlier solitude.

  As the clamor of admiration waned, the archer, with a graceful nonchalance, noticed Markon’s solitary figure among the clapping crowd. Their eyes met, sparking an unspoken exchange of recognition and connection.

  Upon catching sight of Markon’s gaze, the archer responded with a graceful bow, a gesture of gratitude for his applause. Markon, his smile warm and sincere, reciprocated the acknowledgment.

  Through a series of gestures, they communicated the reason for his isolation—his difficulty in finding a sparring partner.

  With a look of resolve, the archer turned toward the sparring group.

  Though Markon could not hear the particulars of the ensuing conversation, the archer's commanding presence conveyed her intent clearly. After a brief but fervent exchange, a warrior of brown hair, named Helios, stepped forward with an offer to engage in a sparring match.

  “Greetings, Markon. I am Helios, a humble warrior among the esteemed ranks of Sir Ermes’s regimen. Might you grace me with the honor of engaging in a sparring match?” Helios inquired, his voice carrying a note of dignified challenge.

  Markon, initially taken aback by the unexpected offer, felt a surge of excitement and anticipation. With a nod of readiness, he stepped into the arena. As the combat unfolded, the warriors of Sir Ermes’s troupe gathered with bated breath, their eyes fixed intently upon the bout.

  In mere moments, Markon’s virtuosity was on full display. With an effortless flick of his wrist and a display of unparalleled skill, he disarmed Helios, sending the warrior’s sword flying through the air in a breathtaking arc.

  The assembled crowd erupted into gasps of astonishment, their murmurs of disbelief swelling into a chorus of admiration.

  “Your mastery of the blade is nothing short of extraordinary. I have never been so swiftly bested,” Helios declared, his voice resonating with awe and respect.

  “Thank you for agreeing to spar with me, especially when no one else would,” Markon expressed gratefully.

  Helios shook his head with a wry smile. “Do not thank me too hastily. I, too, harbored my reservations, much like the others, until Selene intervened on your behalf.”

  “Selene?” Markon inquired, his curiosity piqued. “Is she the archer I observed earlier? I hadn’t realized an archer could command such influence among the warriors, despite her formidable prowess.”

  Helios nodded, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. “Ah, but Selene is no mere archer. She is none other than Selene Miliodus, daughter of Sir Miliodus and sister to Angus. Her lineage carries weight beyond her remarkable skills.”

  Markon’s eyes widened in recognition.

  "Fret not," Helios assured, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Now that your prowess has been laid bare for all to witness, you’ll soon find no shortage of willing partners, each eager to test their mettle against you."

  As the day's training drew to a close, Markon set out in search of Selene, intending to convey his gratitude and offer his apologies for the earlier altercation with her brother.

  Yet, to his dismay, she had already departed, leaving him with a lingering sense of appreciation for the unexpected support she had provided.

  “Markon! Where have you been?” Gargus inquired with genuine concern, his brow furrowed with worry. Minosa, added, “Yes, what troubles you? You appear rather unsettled.”

  Markon recounted the tale of his solitude, a direct consequence of the ongoing feud with Angus, which had left him bereft of a sparring partner. Yet, amidst the gloom, a sudden glimmer of assistance had appeared, courtesy of the enigmatic archer, now rendered elusive.

  "Fear not; you shall have the opportunity to express your gratitude to her come the morrow," Geana suggested, striving to shift the focus back to the present.

  "You don’t object to dining with us at the diner, do you?" inquired Zenn, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

  "Object? On the contrary, I am most grateful for the invitation. It is dreadfully dull to linger alone in the Miliodus guest house," Markon replied, his tone infused with a hint of appreciation.

  "By the by, might I inquire the name of this lady who extended her aid to you?" Zenn asked with keen interest.

  "Selene Miliodus," Markon replied with nonchalance, entirely unaware of the ripple his words would unleash.

  "What!?" Zenn’s exclamation cut through the clamor of the dining hall, drawing astonished glances from all around. Geana’s astonishment was palpable, her mouth agape in disbelief.

  "Selene Miliodus assisted you, and you failed to mention this?"

  Markon, bemused by the collective reaction, attempted a defense. "Well, I didn't think it was of particular significance," he said, wholly unaware of the delicate social intricacies he had unwittingly engaged.

  "Significance, you say? Selene Miliodus is the most coveted lady among the nobility. She is the object of endless admiration and desire," Zenn elucidated, causing a wave of realization to sweep over the group.

  "Clearly, someone here harbors a tendre for Selene," Minosa quipped, infusing a note of levity into the conversation, while Gargus joined in the mirth.

  "Indeed, myself and every other gentleman in Rhanda," Zenn conceded, succumbing to the shared amusement.

  "Yet, I have heard whispers that she is betrothed to Solomon of the Red Boulevard. What a splendid match that would be—the most esteemed lady with the most illustrious gentleman," Geana mused dreamily, her eyes reflecting her wistful thoughts.

  "Ah, but rumors are but rumors. Not all that is spoken in hushed tones bears the weight of truth," Zenn cautioned, a trace of irritation at the idle gossip evident in his tone.

  "Perhaps, but the truth remains: you are unlikely to win her favor," Geana teased, igniting yet another burst of laughter that reverberated through the diner.

  After sharing in the mirthful camaraderie of lunch, Markon bade his friends farewell and made his way back to the Miliodus guest house.

  The day's unexpected events lingered in his thoughts as he walked alone, each step resonating with the weight of unspoken reflections and the promise of the morrow's uncertainties.

  As Markon ascended the staircase of the Miliodus guest house, lost in contemplation, he inadvertently brushed past a figure on the steps.

  As he continued his ascent, a soft, melodious voice called out, "Markon."

  As he turned, his gaze fell upon Selene, and in that instant, surprise bloomed across their faces, casting a shared glow of astonishment mingled with delight.

  "Is there someone you seek in this place?" Markon inquired, his curiosity piqued.

  Selene replied, her voice laced with sincerity, "In truth, it was you I sought. Finding you absent, I had nearly turned to depart."

  Intrigued, he pressed, "What was it that compelled you to seek me out?"

  "Well," Selene began, her tone tinged with both sincerity and a hint of exasperation, "I am fully aware that my brother can be a fool, and his arrogance has brought him the consequences he rightly deserved today. However, I am here to extend an apology on his behalf."

  "An apology?" Markon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the turn of events. "I was actually hoping to find you to express my gratitude for your assistance earlier," he replied, a genuine smile spreading across his face, as the tension between them gave way to mutual understanding and appreciation.

  "Oh, how remiss of me!" Selene exclaimed, producing a beautifully adorned basket filled with the renowned sweets of Rhanda.

  "You truly need not have done this," Markon said, his surprise evident.

  "Allow this to serve as the beginning of our newfound friendship," Selene declared, her smile radiant.

  Selene leaned in slightly and asked, "Markon, have you and your friends had the chance to explore Rhanda? What sights have you encountered during your stay?"

  With a grin illuminating his countenance, Markon replied, "We traversed to a place known as Yakon's Trail. At first, I was rather uncertain, taken in by its outward appearance, yet we ultimately found ourselves thoroughly enjoying the experience."

  Selene responded thoughtfully, "How delightful! I have yet to visit that place. Perhaps we might go there together sometime?"

  "Indeed, I would welcome that," Markon chuckled.

  "Yet, it is rather amusing; I initially believed my companions, Geana and Zenn, were guiding us to a grand establishment complete with a tavern and restaurant, only to discover it was a venue exclusively for the elite, owned by none other than the Miliodus family."

  With a knowing smile, Selene revealed, "This establishment is known as XENA, named after my mother. My father commissioned its construction as a gift for her."

  "Why, then, should I not take the opportunity to show it to you? You expressed a desire to visit, did you not?" Selene suggested, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

  With a smile gracing his lips, Markon replied, "Ah, but to venture forth without my companions hardly seems proper."

  "Fear not; your friends may join us on another occasion. Will you accompany me now?" Selene inquired, her tone laced with enthusiasm.

  "If you so insist," Markon teased, eliciting a radiant smile from Selene as they made their way towards XENA.

  Upon arriving before the magnificent edifice of XENA, Markon and Selene encountered a substantial throng of nobles eagerly awaiting entry.

  With an air of confidence, Selene strode forward, gesturing for Markon to follow in her wake. The attendant, upon recognizing her presence, swiftly ushered them inside.

  Markon, his eyes gleaming with awe, exclaimed, “I scarcely dared to imagine such a place existed. Now, I see the allure of the crowd outside.” Selene, her smile widening, could not hide her pleasure at his exuberance, her eyes sparkling with delight.

  As they settled into their seats, their attentive waiter arrived, poised and ready to take their orders.

  “We shall have the specials. And for Markon, might I suggest a mug of ale?” Selene proposed.

  Markon, his playful grin widening, replied, “Only if you will join me.” His words, laced with charm, held the promise of camaraderie and a shared moment between them.

  "Very well, ale for two," Selene instructed the waiter, her voice light but decisive.

  In short order, two generous pitchers of ale were delivered to their table, accompanied by a sumptuous array of dishes—meats and vegetables exquisitely prepared and seasoned to perfection.

  Markon, upon tasting the first bite, could scarcely contain his delight.

  "This is truly extraordinary. My heartfelt thanks, Selene," he said, savoring the ale between mouthfuls. Selene, enjoying her meal with composed elegance, took evident pleasure in watching Markon revel in the culinary delights before him.

  Markon, with a touch of na?veté, ventured, "This establishment must hold a deep significance for you, beyond its splendid ambiance and delectable fare. It was, after all, a gift from your father to your mother, was it not?"

  His innocent query, however, seemed to dim Selene's earlier enthusiasm, her countenance adopting a more somber expression.

  "Did I offend you?" Markon asked, taken aback by Selene's swift consumption of her ale.

  "No offense is taken. It is a natural assumption, and indeed, it was once true," Selene replied, her voice tinged with melancholy.

  "But now, this place has been sullied. It is no longer the cherished haven it once was."

  Markon, perplexed, inquired, "Sullied? By whom?"

  A raucous assembly of warriors then stormed in, making their way to the tavern above. "Those are the ones," Selene declared, her words slightly slurred from the ale.

  "Are they not from the Red Boulevard? I had heard they were held in high regard throughout Rhanda," Markon observed, his curiosity piqued.

  "Adored, perhaps, by those unfamiliar with their true nature. But to those who are acquainted, they are much more than mere elite warriors," Selene elucidated, leaving Markon astonished, especially given her family's ties to the Red Boulevard.

  "I am at a loss, Selene. What is truly transpiring here?" Markon inquired.

  "Let us not dwell on it tonight. Instead, let us enjoy this evening. And please, keep what I have said between us," Selene implored.

  "Certainly, I shall keep this in confidence," Markon assured her.

  "May I pose a question?" Markon ventured. "What prompts such elaborate gestures, treating me to this splendid dinner? From all accounts, you are the most coveted lady in Rhanda. Why extend such courtesy to me?"

  Selene, her gaze tender, replied, "Markon, though you are of noble birth, you carry not a shred of conceit. You stood against my brother, Angus—a confrontation that might well have strained ties between our families and realms—all for the sake of a commoner. I am well aware that my own renown stems largely from my lineage and the esteemed company I keep, and many offer me their admiration on that basis alone.

  Yet, you set yourself apart, Markon, by discerning the heart of a person rather than their standing. That sincerity—the ability to see past titles and reputation—is a quality I deeply cherish. It is the sort of friendship I hold dear, one that values me for who I am, and not merely for the name I bear or the family from which I come." Her voice quivered with heartfelt sincerity as she spoke, revealing the depth of her emotions.

  Markon’s smile broadened as he looked at her.

  “It appears the evening’s revelry may have caught up with you. Allow me to see you home,” Markon said, his voice warm with genuine concern.

  “I’m certain I know how to handle my ale,” Selene jested with a playful smile, “but I shall graciously allow you to walk me home.”

  Markon chuckled at her light-hearted remark, offering his hand to help her to her feet.

  As they walked side by side through the quiet streets, their conversation flowed easily, and the enchantment of the evening lingered in the air. With each step, an unspoken bond of friendship seemed to strengthen, drawing them closer beneath the starry sky.