After that, Sai was frequently called to fight in the arena. Each battle pushed him to improve, forcing him to adapt and refine his techniques. Every time he stepped into the arena, he learned something new.

  Fighting trained warriors was one thing—structured, technical, and strategic. But battling beasts was an entirely different challenge. Their unpredictability and raw instinct made them harder to read. Sai quickly understood that brute strength alone wouldn’t be enough.

  Yes, he could crush most opponents with sheer power if he wanted to. He had been trained in combat—Silvester had ensured that. However, what he truly lacked was real battle experience. His current style relied on a mixed set of martial arts, designed to throw opponents off, but he knew it wasn’t enough. Against seasoned fighters, deception alone wouldn’t work.

  As the afternoon sun hung overhead, Sai stepped out of the arena. Finding a quiet place, he sat down and closed his eyes, replaying his battles in his mind. He analyzed every movement, every mistake, and every lesson learned. He needed to refine his approach—not just rely on tricks, but truly develop his own combat style.

  Sai sat in quiet contemplation, replaying his battles in his mind. Every strike, every dodge, every mistake—he analyzed them all. He had learned much, but something still felt off. His movements were sharp, his reactions precise, yet he lacked something crucial.

  He couldn’t keep relying on deception and mixed techniques. Against trained warriors, unpredictability only worked for so long. He needed his own way of fighting—a style that was truly his.

  Power alone wasn’t the answer. He could overwhelm most opponents if he wanted to, but raw strength without control was useless. Too much restraint, and he wasn’t fighting at his full potential. He needed balance.

  The next time he entered the arena, he changed his approach.

  Instead of flowing between techniques without a clear pattern, he began refining his movements—cutting away unnecessary flourishes, eliminating wasted effort. Every strike had a purpose. Every step was calculated.

  Against stronger opponents, he focused on precision, targeting weak points and exploiting small openings instead of trying to match them blow for blow.

  Against faster opponents, he learned to dictate the pace, forcing them into a rhythm they weren’t comfortable with.

  Each fight became an experiment. He adjusted, adapted, and improved with every battle.

  His control over his strength sharpened. He stopped holding back out of habit, instead using just enough force to break through an opponent’s defenses without wasting energy. When the time was right, he struck with full power—ending fights in an instant.

  It wasn’t about being the strongest or the fastest. It was about knowing exactly when to act.

  One afternoon, Garrik, the scarred soldier who had first challenged him, observed one of Sai’s fights. The match ended quickly, with Sai landing a decisive blow before his opponent could even react.

  Garrik smirked. “You’ve stopped just fighting—you’re commanding the fight.”

  Sai exhaled. He could feel it too. His instincts were sharpening. His body was adapting.

  But battle wasn’t just about the body—it was about the mind.

  Each evening, after training, he retreated to the library. The dim glow of lanterns, the scent of old parchment, the silence—it became his place of reflection.

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  He studied combat theory, war strategies, and battle philosophies. He read about formations, counters, and the psychology of warfare. Every night, he added something new to his understanding.

  Fighting wasn’t just about strength. It was about knowing when to strike, when to defend, and when to wait.

  Sai was beginning to master the rhythm, slowly adapting to it. His movements, once hesitant, now carried a growing sense of confidence. Just as he was settling into his newfound pace, a summons arrived from Duke Aldric Vaelthorne.

  Escorted to the duke's chambers, Sai found that Elira Vaelmont was also present this time. Both nobles maintained their composure, their expressions carefully controlled. However, Sai—who had honed his ability to perceive emotions through the subtlest cues—focused his gaze, optimizing and refining his vision.

  Through his perceptive eyes, the veil of restraint lifted, revealing the emotions hidden beneath.

  Aldric Vaelthorne

  Emotion: Unease, apprehension

  Elira Vaelmont

  Emotion: Unease ,heart broken

  Sai’s sharp gaze took in the shifting emotions, and in that moment, he understood—his peaceful days were over. The weight of the room was pressing down on him, a silent acknowledgment that he had become entangled in something again.

  Duke Aldric Vaelthorne, his presence commanding yet burdened, finally broke the silence. His voice was steady, but beneath it lay a simmering fury.

  “The attackers—those who dared to lay hands on my daughter—what was their purpose? Was it a message? A warning? No, it was far worse. It was betrayal.”

  The duke’s eyes, sharp as steel, bore into Sai. “This may mean little to an outsider like you, but know this—I am a man who carries an artifact of the olden times, one whose existence should have remained in the shadows. I cannot divulge its secrets, but it has become a reason for treachery.”

  A pause. A slow breath. And then, the revelation that cracked through the room like thunder.

  “The one responsible… is my own son-in-law.”

  Sai sensed the weight of those words—not just for the duke, but for the duchess, who sat in quiet grief, her sorrow an unspoken wound. Betrayed not just as a noble, but as a wife and mother.

  “He poses a danger to you,” the duke continued. “Not out of personal grievance, but because you, an outsider, interfered. You saved my daughter. And for that, you have become a piece in this game of power.”

  Sai listened in silence, but internally, he groaned. "Great. Just great. Am I some kind of magnet for trouble or what?!" Every damn time he tried to do something, it was like stepping on a landmine.

  He only saved a woman, and now he was tangled in noble politics, betrayals, and ancient artifacts. "Why can’t things ever be simple?"

  His peaceful days were gone. Again.

  The duke observed Sai carefully, his piercing gaze trying to decipher what was going through the young man’s mind. He couldn’t read Sai completely, but he could guess well enough—frustration, resignation, and that unmistakable weariness of someone who had been thrown into chaos one too many times.

  Then, Sai finally spoke, his tone calm but firm. "I want to leave this place. If trouble comes knocking on my door, I’ll just deal with it. But I can’t sit in one place for too long, so I’ll be leaving tomorrow."

  His words carried neither hesitation nor fear—just a simple declaration of intent. He wasn’t running, but he wasn’t staying to play their games either.

  Hearing Sai’s words, both Aldric and Elira were taken aback. They had expected resistance, perhaps hesitation, but not this. They had wanted to persuade him to stay, to involve him further, but their plan had failed before it could even begin.

  The look in the young man's eyes told them everything—they weren’t dealing with someone who could be swayed by power, wealth, or even obligation. He wasn’t joking. He had already made up his mind, and once he decided something, there was no turning him back.

  What unsettled them even more was that he never revealed his next destination. He was an unknown variable, a piece on the board that refused to be played.

  Without another word, Sai turned and left, his presence vanishing like a ghost.

  The duke exhaled slowly, then straightened. His plans had to change—Sai was out of his hands now, but that didn’t mean the game was over.