Sword Training - Yu-Gi-Oh!: The Dragon King

The next day, Albion was in the royal training yard, under the full blaze of the morning sun.

The clang of steel, the smell of sweat, and the rhythmic whoosh of blades cutting through air filled the grounds.

Albion gripped a wooden practice sword tightly in both hands, his silver-blue hair sticking to his forehead as he swung it again and again.

"Fifty! Fifty-one! Fifty-two! Fifty-three! Fifty-four! Fifty—five!" he called out with each strike, his wings twitching from the effort.

Standing nearby, arms crossed, was a knight clad in gleaming black armor—the one who had been assigned by King Albion himself to oversee the prince's combat training.

The knight's obsidian armor shimmered faintly with runes of power, a golden crest on his chest marking his rank. Most simply called him The Black Luster Soldier… but Albion had learned the truth: that title was not a name, but a position. A sacred title passed down through generations.

This one had a name. A quiet, disciplined name that somehow didn't fit his terrifying presence.

"Sir Lyrios," Albion muttered between swings, "I still think you could've just… I don't know, gone easier on the first day?"

The knight's deep voice resonated behind the helmet.

"A true dragon king does not ask for mercy. Again."

Albion groaned, swinging the sword again as his friends—Eria, Wynn, Dharc, Aussa, Hiita, Lyna, Chame, Tillroo, Housekee, and his fiancée Vesiculo—watched from the sidelines, each with varying levels of interest.

Hiita smirked. "For a prince, he's really bad at looking graceful."

Aussa adjusted her glasses. "He's building muscle memory, not grace, Hiita."

Wynn whispered, "He looks like he's going to faint…"

Chame grinned. "Ten gold says he does."

"Sixty! Sixty-one! Sixty—two!" Albion shouted, before his arms trembled like jelly and the sword slipped from his hands, clattering to the ground.

Lyrios sighed, placing a gauntleted hand on his hip.

"Your form is improving, Your Highness… but your endurance still belongs to that of a hatchling."

Albion flopped onto the grass, panting. "If you call me 'Your Highness' while I'm dying on the ground again, I'm haunting you when I ascend."

His friends laughed, while Vesiculo—ever the calm one—brought him a towel.

"You're improving faster than most nobles, Albion. You just started yesterday."

Albion looked at her, half-dead. "That's because most nobles don't have Sir Doom Knight of Card Lore over there yelling at them every time they breathe wrong."

Lyrios: "You wish to learn the way of the sword or the way of excuses?"

Albion: "The way of lunch sounds good right now."

The knight's helmet tilted slightly—was that a sigh? No one could tell.

Albion then took a deep breath and felt on the face of the ground.

"Is… young master gonna be okay?"

Everyone turned their heads toward the soft, concerned voice.

Standing there was a small dragon girl—scales shimmering faintly in the sun, short green hair tied into two clumsy buns, and a picnic basket clutched tightly in her little claws.

Parla.

She had just returned from training with her mother, Parlor Dragonmaid, and just like all the other Dragonmaids, she looked like a miniature version of her mom—same greenish hue, same gentle aura, just… with more wobble in her step.

Housekee adjusted her glasses, sighing softly as she saw the young maid hurrying over.

"Yes, you don't need to worry, Parla," she said in her usual calm, matter-of-fact tone.

Parla tilted her head, eyes wide. "But he's lying on the ground… and not moving."

Chame snorted. "That's just Albion's royal resting form. Very majestic."

Albion groaned from the grass. "If I had the energy, I'd revoke your citizenship."

Hiita giggled. "He's fine, see? Still got the royal attitude."

Parla looked at the basket she was holding and then at the group. "Um… I brought snacks from the kitchen. Mom said training makes people hungry, and hungry dragons shouldn't faint in public."

Albion rolled onto his side, weakly raising a hand. "You… are the only person who truly understands me."

Housekee smirked. "Translation: he'll eat anything that doesn't run away."

Parla hurried to set the basket down, revealing neatly packed sandwiches, fruit slices, and even a small jug of chilled berry juice. Her tail wagged shyly as she poured Albion a cup.

He accepted it, taking a sip and sighing in exaggerated bliss. "Ah… divine. My strength… returns!"

Sir Lyrios, still standing nearby, crossed his arms. "If only your swordsmanship improved as fast as your appetite."

Albion looked at him with a deadpan stare. "That's it, I'm requesting a transfer to pastry combat training."

The group burst out laughing again—Eria facepalming, Hiita rolling in the grass, and Parla blinking in confusion at all the noise.

"Did I… say something funny?" she asked innocently.

Albion smiled tiredly at her. "No, Parla. You just saved the prince from his greatest enemy: exercise."

Sir Lyrios watched the chaos unfolding around the exhausted prince — Albion face-down on the grass, Parla fussing over juice cups, Chame laughing loud enough to scare off the wildlife, and the other six elemental kids bickering about who would steal the first sandwich.

He let out a slow, heavy sigh through his helmet.

"Very well," he said, planting his sword into the dirt. "Take a small rest. We shall continue training after a few minutes."

Albion didn't even lift his head.

"Thank… the dragons…"

Wynn immediately raised a fist in victory. "Break time!"

Dharc flopped onto the ground next to Albion. "You know, for a future Dragon King, you collapse pretty fast."

Albion glared sideways at him. "For a future Supreme Sorcerer, you talk too much."

Eria politely took a sandwich. "Shouldn't we not insult each other right in front of Sir Lyrios?"

Lyrios didn't react. His visor remained fixed on the group, silent but watchful.

Hiita whispered, "No, no, that's his judging silence. Totally different from his disappointed silence."

Aussa nodded sagely. "And definitely not as dangerous as his we are running laps now silence."

Parla blinked. "Those are different?"

Housekee pats Parla's head. "You will learn."

Albion sat up a little straighter, scowling. "Guys, he's literally right there."

Sir Lyrios didn't respond. Instead, he simply crossed his arms — which somehow felt louder than shouting.

Everyone instantly froze.

Even the wind stopped.

Parla held a sandwich midway between the plate and Albion's mouth.

Albion swallowed nervously.

"…So. That one was the you all better behave silence, right?"

Sir Lyrios finally spoke.

"…Finish your food."

Everyone exhaled at once.

Albion quietly leaned to Parla and whispered, "We live another day."

Parla smiled brightly. "Yay!"

Sir Lyrios, however, wasn't finished.

"And once you are done," he continued, pointing his sword at Albion, "you and I will begin your next lesson: footwork."

Albion's soul left his body.

Tillroo leaned closer to Vesiculo, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Did you ever wonder… what's under his helmet?"

Vesiculo blinked, clearly confused. "No? Should I?"

Before Vesiculo even finished speaking, Chame slid into the conversation like a gossip gremlin.

"Well, I wonder. Because nobody — and I mean nobody — knows if Sir Lyrios is a human or a dragon."

Eria tilted her head, eyebrows up. "Really? I thought the wings would give it away."

Housekee adjusted her glasses, pushing them up her nose with the dramatic precision of a librarian about to reveal forbidden lore.

"That," she whispered, "is because no one has ever seen his wings. During battle, he rides one of the Blue-Eyes — even though he's more than strong enough to fly on his own if he had wings."

The group froze.

They all simultaneously turned to look at Sir Lyrios, who stood stoically with arms crossed, gazing across the training field like a statue carved from intimidation itself.

He didn't move.

He didn't react.

He didn't even breathe loudly.

Tillroo leaned even closer, clutching her pastry. "So… is he dragon? Human? Half-dragon? Sentient armor possessed by a ghost? A really buff goblin? A legendary sword that took human form??"

Chame gasped loudly.

"I bet he's a girl under there!"

Albion, overhearing that one, choked mid-drink.

"PFF— COUGH— CHAME!"

Sir Lyrios's helmet turned exactly one degree in their direction.

The whole group went silent instantly.

Even the sandwich crumbs froze in the air.

After five terrifying seconds of silence…

Sir Lyrios turned back to watching the field without a single word.

The kids all let out a synchronized sigh of relief.

Dharc whispered, "We should not have survived that."

Eria nodded. "I think the only reason we did is because he respects snack time."

Albion finally recovered from his coughing fit.

"You're all going to get me killed one day."

Parla held up a piece of fruit. "Albion, want an apple slice?"

Albion accepted it immediately.

"Never mind," he said with a tired smile. "Some of you are worth it."