I pressed my forehead against the windowpane, watching the lively chaos unfold in Vaelrik’s backyard. Kael was testing his new dagger, each slash leaving faint, ghostly trails of poison in the air. Even from inside, the greenish mist looked intimidating—a testament to the weapon’s paralyzing ability.

  “Look at him,...” I muttered, my breath fogging up the glass. “The most miserable man alive, watching the world go by without a sword to his name.”

  Kael thrust his dagger into a training dummy, then flipped it casually in his hand with maddening ease. “This thing’s incredible,” he said, grinning as he admired the blade.

  “Perfect weight, perfect edge—Joven's a genius.”

  “Oh, we get it, Kael,” Mira called, rolling her eyes. She stood beside Sylas, her light-golden wand faintly illuminating her hand. “You love it. My wand doesn’t make me feel like I need to show off.” She traced her fingers along its length, and a soothing green aura blossomed around her.

  Sylas clapped, twirling her silvery wand like a baton. “It’s not flashy, but the magic feels alive in mine. Watch this!” She aimed at a patch of overgrown grass, and with a flick, the weeds parted like obedient soldiers retreating.

  A booming sound caught everyone’s attention as Kaldor slammed his new hammer into the ground. His shield, freshly polished and reinforced, reflected the sunlight, making him look like a mountain of unstoppable force. “This thing’s got some serious heft,” he said with a wide grin, hoisting the hammer as if it weighed nothing. “I think I could take on Vaelrik with this.”

  Sylas laughed nervously. “Uh, let’s not get carried away, Kaldor.”

  Kaldor planted his feet firmly on the ground, holding his new shield in front of him like a fortress. The dark, reinforced metal glinted under the sunlight, its edges etched with faintly glowing runes. “Alright, Sylas,” he said, his voice brimming with confidence. “Hit me with your strongest fire magic. Let’s test the shield’s absorption.”

  Sylas hesitated, clutching her wand tightly. “Are you sure about this, Kaldor? What if it doesn’t work? You could get hurt.”

  “I’m sure,” Kaldor replied with a determined grin. “This shield isn’t just for show. Jorven said it could absorb magic and let me release it back. I just need to know how it works.”

  Sylas frowned, her gaze darting to Mira for reassurance. Mira shrugged. “He looks sturdy enough to survive it.”

  With a sigh, Sylas took a few steps back and raised her wand. “Fine, but don’t blame me if you end up with singed fur.”

  “I’ll take full responsibility!” Kaldor bellowed, thumping the shield with his hammer. “Bring it on!”

  Sylas took a deep breath and began chanting.

  "From the inferno’s heart, take shape and burn my foes! Fireball!"

  The air around her grew hot, shimmering with waves of heat as fire coiled at the tip of her wand.

  Behind the window, I can see air around the spell moving like chaos waves as the fireball grows bigger.

  The big fire magic hurtled through the air, crackling like a wildfire, and slammed into Kaldor’s shield. He staggered slightly under the force, gritting his teeth as the shield began to glow faintly red. “It’s not absorbing it!” Sylas shouted in alarm.

  “Not yet!” Kaldor grunted, digging his heels into the ground. The flames continued to swirl around the shield, refusing to dissipate. Sweat beaded on Kaldor’s forehead as he pushed against the magic, straining with every ounce of strength.

  Finally, with a loud whoosh, the fire was sucked into the shield, leaving the backyard momentarily silent. Kaldor blinked, lowering the shield slightly. “Whoa. That was—” Before he could finish, the shield began to hum, glowing ominously.

  “Oh no,” Sylas whispered. “It’s going to—”

  Kaldor instinctively raised the shield high just as it unleashed the absorbed fire magic back into the sky. The fiery blast shot upward, exploding in a brilliant burst of red and orange flames that lit up the entire area. Everyone shielded their eyes from the blinding light, a collective gasp escaping as the explosion faded into glittering embers.

  “By the gods!” Mira exclaimed, lowering her arm. “You could’ve taken someone’s head off with that!”

  Kaldor stood frozen for a moment, then let out a booming laugh. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” He turned the shield over in his hands, examining it with newfound respect. “It works! I can absorb magic and fire it back. I just need to master the timing and direction.”

  Sylas crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You think? You almost turned this backyard into a bonfire!”

  Kael smirked, tapping his dagger against his leg. “That was impressive, though. Maybe next time, aim it at the dummy and not the clouds.”

  Kaldor grinned, giving his hammer a triumphant swing. “Give me a few days, and I’ll have this down to perfection. Then Vaelrik won’t stand a chance!”

  “You’re still aiming to fight him?” Mira said with an exasperated shake of her head. “Good luck with that.”

  Sylas sighed. “Let’s just hope the shield doesn’t decide to explode in your face next time.”

  Still gripping his hammer, Kaldor turned to Kael. “That dagger of yours. Does the poison even work?”

  Kael frowned. “Of course, it works. I can control it manually.”, then he swing his dagger in the air but this time there wasn’t any greenish mist. “ whenever I want to inflict poison, I need to channel mana into dagger, then the rune on the blade will shine.” Kael went on explain how his dagger works while throwing the dagger up and catches it mid-air.

  “You sure?” Kaldor prodded, leaning on his shield. “Because it looks like a fancy green light show to me.”

  Kael narrowed his eyes. “You want proof?”

  Mira raised a warning hand. “Let’s not do anything stupid—”

  Kael ignored her and cautiously approached Kaldor. “Hold still,” he said, his voice steady but with a hint of mischief.

  Kaldor’s eyes widened as Kael poked the blade gently against his forearm. “Whoa, whoa—what are you doing?!”

  “Testing it!” Kael said, grinning.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Kaldor blinked, flexing his arm. “Hah! See? I knew it. Scammed by the great Jor—” He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed like a felled tree.

  “Kaldor!” Mira shouted, rushing forward.

  Kael jumped back. “Okay, maybe it works a little too well.”

  Mira immediately raised her wand, tracing quick, precise patterns in the air. The glow intensified, enveloping Kaldor’s arm with a warm, healing light. “Detoxify,” she murmured, and the faint green tint on his skin vanished.

  Kaldor groaned as his eyes fluttered open. “What… happened?”

  “You fainted!” Sylas said, hands on her hips. “Because someone”—she shot Kael a glare—“thought poking you was a great idea!”

  Kael held his hands up defensively. “Hey, he asked for proof!”

  Mira glared at both of them. “You two are impossible. Kaldor, don’t let Kael poke you with anything ever again.”

  Kaldor sat up slowly, rubbing his arm. “Lesson learned. But hey… that poison’s legit.”

  I groaned loudly from my perch at the window. “Even Kaldor gets to faint dramatically after testing his amazing new weapons. And me? Still barehanded.”

  Sylas glanced back toward me, grinning. “Don’t worry, Duke. Maybe Vaelrik will get you a stick to play with.”

  I dragged my head down the glass dramatically. “The most miserable man alive,” I mumbled, “watching the world go by without a sword to his name.”

  Oh yeah, I should talk to Vaelrik. I could have had some comedic stories to cheer me up.

  Wandering into the hall full of Vaelrik’s artifacts, one is a ring placed neatly inside a small box and contained in a glass box. The gem on it isn’t regular, it has multiple colors shining inside it at once

  There is a statue of a what seemed like a soldier, with a shield behind his back and the sword pinned to the ground as his hands rest on the blunt end.

  Even though Vaelrik said he placed it next to the front door as a symbol of a guardian protecting the house, Mira and Sylas sometimes got jumpscared by the statue whenever they came home late. Or is it doing its job well? I don’t even know.

  After walking pass many weirds artifacts, I saw Vaelrik at the staircases, I waved at him but it seemed like he didn’t notice so I walked up close.

  I paused when Vaelrik passed me. Dressed in light armor and holding his long spear, he looked like he was ready for war. “Vaelrik?” I called out, but he only offered a brief nod and a warm smile before striding toward the backyard.

  I groaned. “Great. No wise Drakonian mentor for me today. Perfect.”

  The house felt unusually quiet. Kyla was at work, Jorven’s snores echoed through the walls, and my friends were outside, happily testing their shiny new weapons. Left to my own devices, I trudged upstairs and grabbed an old Drakonian folk storybook from a shelf.

  The Dragon-Child’s Trial: Born without wings, the young dragon sought to prove their worth to the elders. Other dragons laughed, calling them a ground-crawler unfit for the skies. But the child’s heart burned brighter than their scales. They ventured to the peak of Mount Syrik, where the heavens met the earth, enduring storms that ripped through the mountainside and frigid winds that howled like grieving spirits.

  At the summit, they faced the Eternal Wyrm, the guardian of the heavens. Its eyes, ancient and knowing, pierced through the child’s resolve. “Why do you climb, wingless one?” the Wyrm asked, its voice like rolling thunder.

  “To prove that strength lies not in wings but in spirit,” the dragon-child replied, unflinching.

  The Eternal Wyrm challenged the child with riddles that twisted their thoughts and flames that tested their resilience. Though battered and weary, the child prevailed. At last, the Wyrm lowered its massive head, granting the child a single scale from its impenetrable hide. The scale gleamed with a light that held the colors of dawn and dusk, a symbol of their unyielding resolve.

  Returning to the dragon elders with the scale, the child was met with awe. The laughter ceased, replaced by reverence. The elders decreed the child’s spirit soared higher than any wings could carry, proving that greatness came not from form but from will.

  After what felt like hours reading through the folk story, I slammed the book shut with a groan. “Even a wingless dragon in a fairy tale has a better life than me right now,” I muttered, flopping onto my back. The story was fascinating, sure, but it didn’t distract me from the fact that I was still weaponless while everyone else had their shiny, upgraded toys.

  I tried finding something to do in my room—tidying up, shadow sparring, and even stacking books by size. Nothing worked. I nearly knocked over one of Vaelrik’s artifacts, a glowing orb on his shelf, before stopping myself. “Nope. Not worth risking my life for a distraction.”

  Giving up, I dragged myself downstairs once again. Voices drifted from the backyard as my friends recapped their practice. I paused by the window, watching as they sparred with Vaelrik. Sylas darted around him, her movements swift as she fired off quick bursts of magic, only for Vaelrik to deflect them with ease. Kaldor stood firm, absorbing the force of Vaelrik’s strikes before retaliating with powerful swings. Mira weaved between them, casting barriers to block his strikes. Kael, ever patient, waited for the perfect moment to strike, his dagger flashing as he aimed for weak spots.

  Meanwhile, I sat weaponless, looking in like some outcast.

  I wandered into the living room, collapsing onto the couch next to Jorven, whose snores could’ve woken the dead. The others walked in moments later, flushed from sparring.

  “Duke, you should’ve seen it,” Sylas said excitedly. “Vaelrik took us all on like it was nothing!”

  “Not just took us on—he wiped the floor with us,” Kael added. “He’s a monster.”

  I sighed, barely looking at them. “Good for you guys. I’m glad you’re all having fun.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Mira frowned. “Don’t be like that. Your swords will be worth the wait.”

  Kael grinned slyly. “Or maybe Jorven just forgot about them.”

  “That’s not helping,” Mira hissed.

  Trying to cheer me up, Sylas nudged me playfully. “Hey, we’re not leaving you out of everything. Mira and I are going to work on Vaelrik’s garden. You could join us.”

  “Pass,” I muttered, staring at the snoring blacksmith.

  Kael smirked. “Fine, suit yourself. Kaldor and I are going to check out some Drakonian games in the market. I heard they’re challenging.”

  Kaldor nodded. “Should be fun. You’d like it.”

  “Yeah, sounds great,” I replied, my tone flat. “Go have fun without me.”

  Vaelrik entered the room then, adjusting his armor. His expression was as serious as ever. “I’ve been called to the headquarters. It’s urgent.”

  “Everything okay?” Mira asked.

  Vaelrik gave a small nod. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’ll be back soon.”

  With that, everyone started heading off to their plans, leaving me alone with my thoughts. As they walked away, Sylas called out, “Don’t mope too much, Duke! We’ll be back before you know it.”

  “Sure, sure,” I replied, flopping back onto the couch. “Have fun.”

  Kael couldn’t resist a final tease. “Try not to fall apart while we’re gone.”

  I waved them off dismissively, sinking deeper into the cushions. Alone again.

  After a while, even sitting felt unbearable, so I grabbed some props I found lying around—a fake wig, mustache, glasses—and tried acting like a scholar.

  “Eureka!” I declared, dramatically adjusting my glasses. “I shall measure every inch of this room for… science.”

  Four hours later…

  Mira and Sylas seemed to have finished working on the gardens as they worked through the door and excitedly talked to each other

  “I can’t wait until miss Kyla sees her front bushes has turned into a cute little dragon,” Sylas said, closing the door.

  “I know right, and that the trees are neatly-decor—- AAAH, what is that thing?!” She screamed out loud, pointing at a weird-looking figures. That’s me

  “Duke… what are you doing?” Sylas asked, staring like I’d grown a second head.

  “Cataloging Vaelrik’s treasures,” I replied in a ridiculous voice. “For, uh, scientific purposes.”

  Mira blinked. “You’ve lost it.”

  I tossed the disguise aside. “Okay, fine, I’m bored out of my mind!”

  Before they could reply, a loud cracking noise came from the couch. Jorven stretched his arms over his head, letting out a massive yawn that echoed through the room.

  “Shesh, what a good sleep,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  I watched as he leaned back again, seemingly unbothered by the discussion we just had, smacking his lips like he had just finished a grand feast. He scratched at his messy beard, letting out a satisfied sigh, then stood up painfully slow, cracking his neck from side to side.

  Then—still ignoring me—he adjusted his apron, patted down his clothes, and casually stretched his legs as if he hadn’t just slept like a rock in the middle of an important conversation.

  I twitched. Was he going to say something?

  He took a few slow steps toward the table, glancing at the leftover food from earlier. With a shrug, he grabbed a half-eaten bread roll and took a bite, chewing lazily as he wandered around the room.

  Still nothing.

  I clenched my fists. Jorven… come on…!

  Just as I was about to lose it, he finally spoke.

  “Anyways, sorry for bothering and for my big snores.” He gave a lazy chuckle, still chewing.

  I pounced immediately.

  “Jorven! My swords—where are they?”

  He blinked at me, then—instead of answering—he took another bite of his bread, chewing it even slower this time.

  I nearly collapsed from impatience.

  Finally, he scratched his head, still looking half-asleep. “Oh, hey Duke? Your swords?” He blinked again, like he had just remembered something. “Ah, yeah. They’re still at the forge. They needed special treatment.”

  “Special treatment? How long is that gonna take?” I groaned, bracing for the worst.

  He grinned. “Uhh, they should be done right… now. Want to go pick them up?”

  I froze.

  “Done? As in… ready now?”

  Jorven stood, finishing his bread roll, then stretched again like he wasn’t just holding out on me. “That’s what I said. Come on, kid.”

  I let out a deep breath, half in relief, half in exasperation. I should’ve expected this.

  My mood flipped in an instant. I practically flew to the door. “Finally! Let’s go!”

  “Finally, the little hero here received his weapons again,” Mira said jabbing her elbow at me

  “No longer the world’s most miserable man, am I right?” Sylas teased

  “Oh stop it. Bet you guys would say the same if you didn’t receive your weapons.” I shot back.

  Sylas and Mira followed, laughing at my sudden burst of energy. After all this time, I was finally about to get my swords back.

  Carefully locking the front door, we stepped outside. I paused, glancing back at the neatly arranged garden. Mira and Sylas had outdone themselves; colorful flowers were arranged in intricate patterns, and small bush sculptures in the shape of dragons added a whimsical touch.

  “I have to admit,” I said with a grin, “this garden looks amazing. The little dragon bushes are a nice touch.”

  Sylas smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Mira and I thought it’d be fun. Something lively for once.”

  “Lively is right. It’s like the plants might start breathing fire any second,” I joked, earning a chuckle from Mira.

  On the other hand, Jorven still looked unchanged as he just scratch his chin and watched the bushes in silence.

  We closed the gate and began walking towards the forge.

  Jorven, walking beside me, started grumbling under his breath. “You have no idea how much work went into these upgrades. Every little adjustment has its quirks—balancing materials, ensuring compatibility, tuning enchantments.” He sighed. “The lot of you don’t know what it’s like to sacrifice good sleep for perfection.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just sleep through an entire day?”

  “Exactly!” Jorven huffed. “That’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks!”

  I didn’t bother asking. Meanwhile, Sylas and Mira, walking to my left, playfully greet the passersby and teasing some random animals making it snaps at them.

  As we neared the town center, we ran into Kael and Kaldor, each holding skewers of grilled meat.

  “Well, look who’s up!” Kael greeted Jorven with a mock surprise. “Thought you’d be out cold until next week.”

  Kaldor grinned. “And congrats to you, Duke. Seems like your weapons are finally ready.”

  “About time,” I said, smirking. “What have you two been up to?”

  Kael’s face lit up. “We found this event nearby—a dragon race! It’s part of the preparations for the Dragon Roar Festival. And guess what? We got to ride dragons!”

  “Ride dragons?” Sylas’s eyes widened. “How did that go?”

  Kael laughed. “Let’s just say... chaotic. My dragon was a little too fast for comfort, but I managed.”

  Kaldor scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. “Mine wasn’t as smooth. I fell off halfway through.”

  “You fell off a dragon?” Mira gasped.

  “Yeah, but it caught me mid-air,” Kaldor said with a chuckle. “Smart beast. Saved my life.”

  We all laughed at the image of the hulking bear-like Kaldor dangling in the air.

  “Maybe Jorven could give you tips,” Kael teased.

  Jorven waved him off. “Not happening. I was never good at dragon riding. Spent more time falling than flying.” He grabbed tools strapped to his apron and started swinging it in front of our faces “I would marry to these beauties rather than riding on those chaotic lizards!”

  After some more banter, we continued to the forge. Unlike the locked and silent forge I’d visited in the dead of night, the place was now open.

  Jorven pushed the forge door open, the metallic scent of iron and oil immediately filling the air. Inside, the dim light from the burning embers highlighted rows of half-finished weapons and tools scattered across the workbenches. Shelves along the walls brimmed with rare ores and glowing enchantment materials.

  “Looks just as messy as it should be,” Kael remarked, stepping inside with a teasing grin.

  “Messy?” Jorven scoffed, gesturing to the organized chaos. “This is the system of a master craftsman. Every tool, every ingot, has its place.”

  Sylas giggled. “If you say so. To me, it looks like a storm passed through.”

  I let out a deep breath, trying to shake off the frustration from Jorven’s nonsense. But I wasn’t done yet. Crossing my arms, I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “Alright, then tell me this—why did it take you so long to upgrade my swords?”

  Jorven paused mid-stretch, then shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Simple. I upgraded yours last.”

  “…What.”

  He yawned, scratching his beard lazily. “Yeah, yeah. I worked on everyone else’s weapons first, so yours were the last ones left. Besides, when I finally finished, I got tired of waiting for ‘em to cool down. So I grabbed the other weapons and came here to deliver ‘em instead.”

  I stared at him. Sylas and the others did too.

  Kael raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you just… left Duke’s swords sitting there?”

  Jorven nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Mira sighed. “That’s just cruel.”

  I wasn’t convinced. There had to be more to it. I tapped my fingers against my arm, watching him closely.

  “…Or was it because of the couch?”

  Jorven froze.

  A second of silence passed. Then, slowly—too slowly—he turned to face me. “What?”

  I tilted my head. “Vaelrik’s couch. It’s comfortable, isn’t it?”

  Jorven let out a nervous chuckle. “W-What are you talking about, kid?”

  I stepped forward, narrowing my eyes. “You finished my swords, but instead of bringing them, you got too comfortable here, didn’t you?”

  His eyes darted to the side. “H-Hey now, let’s not jump to conclusions—”

  Sylas caught on immediately. “You totally did.”

  Jorven coughed into his fist, looking away. “Killed two birds with one stone, didn’t I?”

  Kael smirked. “More like you killed time for yourself.”

  Mira crossed her arms. “Unbelievable.”

  Kaldor simply nodded. “Suspicious.”

  Jorven groaned, rubbing his face. “Alright, alright! Maybe I did… rest a little after getting here! But can you blame me? That couch is a masterpiece! It’s got the perfect balance of softness and support, just the right depth, and when you sink in—”

  I held up a hand. “Enough. I get it.”

  Jorven sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Fine, fine! Let’s just go get your swords before you all roast me alive.”

  He paused before a small door, giving it a dramatic flourish. “Now, this... this is where the magic happens. Behold.”

  He opened the door to reveal a smaller room that felt almost reverent. The air was cooler, and the lighting dimmer, but the focus of the space was clear: two weapons hung prominently on the wall.

  I stepped closer, taking in the details. One was my saber, now polished to a mirror-like shine, and the other was a stunning longsword with a dragon-winged crossguard and glowing runes etched along the its blade, red and some white lines running parallel the edges.

  Jorven grabbed the saber first, tossing it casually to me. “Nothing fancy here,” he said. “Just replaced the blade with harder ore, sharpened it to perfection, and added a touch of magic for durability.”

  I caught the saber, the previously silver blade his now turn whiter. Its weight familiar but the balance noticeably improved. The blade gleamed, and I could feel a faint hum of power running through it. “Even the smallest changes make a difference. Thanks, Jorven.”

  He shrugged. “Save your gratitude for this beauty.” He motioned to the longsword.

  I stared at it, awestruck. “That’s... mine?”

  Jorven grinned. “Yep. Three days of work, no sleep, and more coffee than I’d like to admit. But it was worth it.”

  He took the sword from the rack, holding it reverently. “This is my tears, my sweats, my precious, my one and only…Crimson Dragon Edge.”

  We all chuckled at Jorven’s dramatic introduction.

  But still, he continued his speech, “It’s not just a weapon—it’s an extension of the wielder. Longer blade, stronger material, and enchanted runes that enhance your overall abilities. Strength, speed, precision—it boosts them all.”

  I reached for it, but Jorven pulled it back. “Before you grab it, a warning. Those runes aren’t for show. When you unsheathe it, you’ll feel the effect instantly. So, tighten your muscles, or you might be knocked flat on your back.”

  “Got it,” I said, steeling myself as I gripped the hilt. Slowly, I pulled the blade free.

  The moment the blade left the scabbard, a surge of energy coursed through me. My body felt lighter, my movements sharper. Even my breathing seemed steadier. The runes along the blade glowed faintly, their intricate patterns mesmerizing.

  “Whoa,” Kael said, stepping closer to examine it. “Okay, this is definitely unfair.”

  “You’re just jealous,” I teased, swinging the sword experimentally. It cut through the air effortlessly, the faint hum of power following each motion.

  “Jealous? Absolutely,” Kael said with mock indignation. “What’s a dagger compared to... whatever that is?”

  “Careful with your swings,” Mira warned, her eyes wide. “You’re going to take out a wall. Or even this whole forge!”

  Sylas leaned in, tracing the glowing runes with her eyes. “What do these mean?”

  Jorven folded his arms, clearly pleased with himself. “The runes are old Drakonian language. They translate to ‘The fire within burns eternal.’ Fitting, don’t you think?”

  I nodded, still marveling at the weapon. “It’s incredible. Thank you, Jorven. This... this is a masterpiece.”

  Jorven snorted, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “You’d better put it to good use. And don’t get cocky—it’s only as good as the one wielding it.”

  “Speaking of wielding,” Kael interjected, his tone playful. “I say we test it. A little friendly duel, perhaps?”

  I raised an eyebrow, assuming he was joking. “You against me? Are you sure about that?”

  Kael grinned. “What, scared of losing to a dagger?”

  The others erupted into laughter, but Kael remained undeterred. “I’m serious. Let’s see if your shiny new toy lives up to the hype.”No less competitive, “Alright then. Let’s settle this inside Vaelrik’s backyard.”

  Jorven clapped his hands. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see. Just don’t destroy Vaelrik’s backyard—I’m not rebuilding it.”

  The sun hung low in the sky as we stood in the spacious backyard, the air buzzing with anticipation. Kael and I faced each other, weapons in hand.

  Sylas stood between us, arms raised to address the group. “Rules are simple: fight until one of you is knocked down or forfeits. No lethal injuries, or the best healer in Arkos, Mira gets to scold you. Minor injuries will be healed immediately after the fight!”

  Mira crossed her arms, glaring at both of us. “You’d better not make me work too hard.”

  "Noted,” I said, smirking at Kael.

  Kael twirled his dagger. “Don’t hold back, Duke. I want to see what that fancy sword can really do.”

  Sylas raised her hand, ready to start the countdown. Kael and I stood across from each other in Vaelrik’s backyard, gripping our weapons. His dagger glinted menacingly, and my Crimson Dragon Edge rested firmly in my grip. The tension in the air was palpable, broken only by the sound of Jorven dragging something behind us.

  "Hold on a second," Jorven said nonchalantly, setting down a wooden chair and a small foldable table. He pulled out a cloth sack, revealing dried fruits, nuts, and a large flask.

  "What kind of craftsman would I be if I didn’t enjoy watching my creations in action? Don’t mind me. Just pretend I’m not here."

  Kael raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, Jorven?”

  "Craftsman’s privilege," Jorven said with a wink, popping a dried fig into his mouth as he leaned back in the chair. "Now, you two don’t hold back. Let me see how that sword of yours fares, Duke, and Kael, make sure your dagger shines too."

  Sylas sighed, muttering under her breath, “Of course, he’s making this an event.” Then she raised her hand again. “Alright, no lethal injuries. First to knock down or forfeit wins. Mira’s on standby if anyone gets a scratch. Now... three... two... one...”

  “BEGIN!” Sylas shouted, stepping back quickly.