Viviene watched her son—sons—with a great deal of trepidation. They had occupied one of the smaller sub-arenas in the Ravenveld colosseum. So long as someone could demonstrate the fact that they were capable of using aura, the owners were more than happy to let their space be used—the king encouraged as much. Spectators came by to see sparring bouts and grudge matches between aura users almost daily. Today was no different.

  Willem Jansen hefted about a rented greatsword clumsily, clearly untrained and undisciplined in the art of sword fighting. Arend stood across from him, watching with a perplexed expression on his face. Soon enough, the two stood across from each other. Willem wore no armor—but then, he never had. His fighting style had always been incredibly unusual among the Brugh family. He had developed it on his lonesome after learning their method of employing aura.

  Viviene crossed her arms as the stood across from one another. For a duel like this, it would begin when both had their aura exuding from their body. Arend already was, silver-gray strands dancing behind him. Willem Jansen stood across from him, leaning that greatsword against his shoulder. Then… his head dipped, eye rolling back into his head.

  When that head rose up again, Willem van Brugh looked at Arend. That golden aura danced out of his hands, spiraling up and embracing the greatsword. He moved it away from his shoulder, giving it an elegant spin through his fingers effortlessly despite its tremendous bulk. Seeing his masterful control of aura once more still gave her chills. It was so precise that it was almost barely present—a faint screen of gold, with nothing wasted. It kept the immense power well-hidden to all but the most perceptive.

  Arend obviously felt it, too. His aura flared up all around him, coalescing around his left hand. It was like a tidal wave of steel surrounding him—his left hand wielded the aura as his shield, while his right held the sword. And it was good that he did so.

  Without a word exchanged, Willem van Brugh lunged forward like a snake, using the tremendous reach of the greatsword to stab. A pillar of gold extended from its point, and Arend swatted his left hand decisively to parry. It was only once silver met gold that the sheer ferocity of Willem’s attack was made clear. Shards of gold splintered every direction, battering against the magical barriers around the arena with such intensity that several spectators stepped back in alarm. Viviene was almost among them.

  Despite that… Arend maintained his composure.

  Willem swung that greatsword about in devastatingly wide arcs, raining incredibly heavy blows upon Arend. There was a reason that so many people called Willem a beast—and that was because he fought like one. He wasn’t afraid to use his hands and feet for any number of maneuvers. He kicked, punched, even used his head when it was warranted. Beneath the calm sophistication of his aura was an unrelenting savage.

  The first true hit of the battle came about when Willem ducked a counterattack stab from Arend, and then used his free hand to propel himself into a devastating kick. Arend barely stopped the kick from striking his chest with his left hand, but the impact sent him tumbling backward about a dozen feet. He corrected himself quickly, because against Willem, every second counted.

  Willem threw his greatsword like a javelin, then rushed after it. Had Arend been only moments late in recovering, he would’ve been speared. Instead, he swatted it with all of his steely aura, and the infused greatsword went flying into the air. Willem’s aura, linked to his weapon’s pommel like a chain, whipped the sword back into his hand mid-charge. He caught it and swung it against Arend’s wall of aura with all of his might. Gold cleaved through steel, and the former royal knight was overpowered and sent tumbling away.

  Viviene took a deep breath of shock seeing that. To have such a fine control of one’s aura as to catch their own deflected weapon… it was patently absurd. It was a party trick, almost—incorporating it into battle would be intensely difficult, not to mention the strength of the blow that he’d delivered after that. It certainly wasn’t a tactical move, but it fit Willem’s ridiculous style well enough.

  But… Arend stood up. He staggered once, but he still stood. His blade was pointed toward Willem, and his aura swirled about him as a shield.

  Willem changed his grip, placing his free hand on the blade of the greatsword—a technique known as the half-sword. Seeing that, Viviene could already decide the outcome of the match in her head.

  Her son rushed at Arend unrelentingly, using the greater leverage and control offered by his new technique to poke at the widening gaps in Arend’s concentration in focus. Every hit that he scored was greater than the last—each one, chipping away at Arend’s ability to defend himself. He was like a pack of wolves surrounding a lone man, nipping at him from every direction until the time came for the feast.

  Arend would’ve beaten me, Viviene accepted as she watched her son fight. Willem is leaps and bounds faster than I am even though the Brugh family aura specializes in strength, not speed. He’s far stronger than I remember him. At this point… he might even be able to beat Tielman. But then, I don’t know how much the baron’s improved.

  When the outcome of the battle seemed predetermined, Arend did something unexpected. He rushed Willem, thrusting his sword. Willem naturally avoided the attack, but Arend abandoned his weapon and grabbed Willem by the sword arm. Thereafter, Arend gathered all of his aura in his left hand and punched Willem in the face.

  Willem staggered, but his aura shielded him from the brunt of the blow. Aura was far weaker without a proper weapon to channel it. Willem, perhaps to equalize things, also dropped his weapon. He delivered one punch into Arend’s face with his right, a second with his left, and the third with his right. All three hit their mark clearly. The gray knight collapsed onto his back. Willem lunged on top of him.

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  Viviene thought she might see a violent, needless beating… but Willem grabbed Arend by his armor’s gorget, leaning down to speak.

  ***

  “If I was still the old me, you would’ve left me bleeding on the marble,” Willem said intensely, pinning Arend’s arms down with his legs. “But maybe you should be thinking about how much I’ve changed. Not just skill-wise, either.”

  Arend stared up at Willem, memories of old overlapping with memories of today.

  “Skip past the talking… and do what you said,” Arend said through gritted teeth as blood poured out of his broken nose.

  “I’m in a giving mood. You can have your life back,” he said. “But I’m only lending it. Tomorrow, I want to see you back here. We’ll pick this up again.”

  “And what’ll you do if I don’t? Kill me?” Arend laughed.

  “We made a deal,” Willem said, releasing Arend. “Do you really want to be known as less honorable than Willem van Brugh?”

  Arend laid his head back, defeated. Willem got up off of him and walked away, picking up his discarded greatsword. Despite how he’d acted before the fight begun, Willem was precisely as ferocious as Arend remembered. It hadn’t felt like he was fighting one opponent. Each hit felt so intensely powerful and fast that Arend could only focus on keeping himself alive.

  Not a day ago, he’d been thinking that he didn’t want to live anymore. But once the fight had begun, and that ferocious beast had battered itself against his aura shield… all he knew was that he didn’t want to die. Those thoughts both existed in his head, battling each other in their contradiction. And he didn’t know what to do about that.

  ***

  Viviene slowly walked up to Willem. She hadn’t realized it from her intense focus, but their bout had drawn quite the large crowd. Now, as Willem left the arena, various people crowded him. Recruiters for noble households often watched the arenas. She wanted to talk with her son… but when she approached, she could tell it was Willem Jansen back in control once more.

  “Young sir, are you by chance looking to be recruited by any noble houses?” one of the spectators asked. “If you can remember my name, I can recommend you to—”

  “I have only one thing to say,” Willem declared grandly, his voice booming. “I didn’t win this battle.”

  Viviene inhaled nervously. What was he going to say?

  “I’d like to give all credit to our victory… to this.” Willem produced a bar of soap. Viviene couldn’t imagine where he’d been hiding that during the fight. “Society of Assured Prosperity branded soap,” he said, holding it up grandly. “If you’re looking to win battles as stylishly and decisively as Willem van Brugh, then you need to try…”

  Viviene stepped away and sighed, knowing this would take a while.

  ***

  “The only hit that Willem sustained, Your Majesty, was from a forced trade initiated by Arend that ultimately resulted in him losing the battle,” said a knight, kneeling before King Arnoud as the man dealt with a pile of documents.

  “And where would you assess that Willem ranks among my royal knights?” Arnoud asked, reading through his papers.

  Lodewyk hesitated, looking off to the side. “I honestly couldn’t, Your Majesty.”

  “Is there anything you honestly can do?” Arnoud asked dryly, then set aside his silverpoint stylus. “Aura is a very small part of the equation. Still, I’m not ignorant of the fact that it’s your job to monitor and alert me to potential threats. Your concern is noted.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Lodewyk said with a dip of his head.

  “And the Avarian response,” Arnoud continued. “Any new insights?”

  “Galahad uprooted a nexus of activities in Gent, but the trail went cold as to the leader of the sect at some point. Galahad believes a Matriarch Petronella, purported lover of Willem, headed their espionage efforts, but that’s only his instinct. There’s no concrete proof.”

  Arnoud looked at Lodewyk. “Galahad’s instinct is proof enough for me. You’ll keep monitoring Willem in case his Avarian connections resurface or reach out. Unless there’s anything else, leave me.”

  ***

  Viviene ate lunch with Willem back in the Verdant Spring Guesthouse. All of their needs were being taken care of here—the king was paying for their accommodations in their entirety. Willem was taking the opportunity to demand extra-large preservable meals, pocketing the food for later consumption.

  “Junior can still fight,” Viviene remarked. “He’s a great deal less uncompromising than I remember, but precisely as ruthless.”

  “Good to know, I guess,” Willem said, then stroked his chin. “My jaw hurts. I hope his does too.”

  “You told me you fought in a war,” Viviene said. “Aren’t you interested in this sort of thing at all?”

  Willem looked up at her with an incredibly hard gaze. “Wars were different where I’m from. And no, I’m not interested.”

  Viviene could tell just by looking at him that was quite an unpleasant topic for him. She might provoke him into saying something if he were anyone else, but…

  “I was going to visit your brothers,” Viviene said, deciding to change the subject. “Would you like to come with me?”

  Willem leaned back, clearly pondering that deeply. “What’ve they been going through here?”

  “Reeducation,” Viviene said simply.

  “They got a little taste of the gulag?” Willem crossed his arms, furrowing his brows in concern. “Are we talking shock therapy, forced labor, what?”

  “Nothing quite so crude. But to say the least… I think this time above all, they’ll need the support of family.”

  Willem leaned back in. “Let me finish eating.”

  “Oh, please do,” Viviene said. “I’m sure they’d hate it if you deprived yourself of more food.”