Leon felt refreshed.
He'd just finished a lecture on magic circle amplification using layered geometric principles, and it had gone better than he had dared hope . Better than well - it had been amazing.
He'd been apprehensive about the session. The pressure for the High Archmage to give a formal lecture had been building for months, and he'd run out of excuses to avoid it. He'd finally caved, anticipating disaster, preparing for the moment when his fraud would be exposed in front of the capital's most educated mages.
Instead, he'd sounded smart. Knowledgeable. Wise.
The questions had come - tough ones, theoretical challenges meant to test his understanding. And Leon had answered them with ease, because they were just math problems dressed up in magical terminology. Optimization curves. Efficiency calculations. Load distribution across multiple anchor points.
He'd felt comfortable in the Q&A session, content in the way he explained his knowledge and assumptions. It reminded him of presenting findings as an engineer back in his world - that same flow state where you knew your material so well that words came without effort.
It had clicked. And he'd been on a roll.
The attending mages had taken notes. Asked follow-up questions. Thanked him for his insights. Aldric had approached afterward with shining eyes, declaring it "a masterclass in advanced theoretical application."
Leon had accepted the praise with appropriate modesty while internally screaming with relief.
Instead of heading back to his chambers to rest after the mental exhaustion, Leon found himself heading to the training grounds. He was still riding the high of success, still feeling that rare confidence that came from doing something well.
He arrived earlier than the usual drill time. The grounds were mostly empty, just a few guards running basic drills on the far side.
And the Sword Saint, practicing alone near the equipment racks.
Leon froze. He could leave. Should leave. Give her the privacy she clearly valued.
But she'd already noticed him - that slight turn of her head, that awareness she always seemed to have of her surroundings. Too late to hide now.
Leon shuffled forward, practice sword feeling suddenly awkward in his hand. He took position before one of the training dummies, trying to look like he had a reason to be here beyond accidentally interrupting her practice.
He glanced at her - just a quick look - and stopped.
She'd shed her armor.
Instead of the full plate she wore constantly, she was in practice gear - fitted cloth that allowed for movement, reinforced at key points but designed for training rather than combat. Practical. Functional.
And her helmet was off.
Leon stared.
She had auburn hair - vivid, almost copper in the afternoon light - pulled back from her face and secured with a simple band tied around her head. Not the dark color he'd somehow assumed when imagining what lay beneath that helmet. Auburn. Striking.
Her face was... Leon's brain supplied several adjectives and then gave up trying to rank them. Sharp features. High cheekbones.
She noticed him staring and turned to face him fully.
"So you do take it off at times," Leon said, the words coming out before he could stop them. "Almost thought it was cursed armor fused to you or something."
She cocked a perfect eyebrow. "Cursed armor?"
Leon shrugged, slinging his wooden sword over his shoulder with a casualness he didn't quite feel. He walked towards her. Stopped a few steps away.
He didn't feel small as usual before her today. The confidence from the lecture was still flowing through him, making him feel capable, competent. Like maybe he actually belonged in this world.
"Do those not exist?" Leon asked. "Cursed armor? I thought they would in a world with magic."
"They exist." Her voice was the same neutral tone as always. "I'm simply not wearing any."
"You should take it off more often." The words came out before Leon's brain could veto them. "You look good."
He was feeling real brave today. Unstoppable, even.
"Thank you for the compliment," she replied.
Her voice remained unreadable. Unmoved. Not a flicker of reaction to suggest the words had landed with any impact whatsoever.
But that wasn't going to stop him. Not today. Today he'd successfully lectured the kingdom's finest mages on magical theory he barely understood. Today he'd earned genuine respect through actual competence rather than fraud.
Today, Leon felt unstoppable.
"Do you still intend to keep your nam—"
"Sword Saint!"
He never got to finish the sentence.
A messenger rushed into the training grounds, breathing hard, eyes scanning the area. He spotted the Sword Saint and headed straight for her, then noticed Leon and looked relieved.
"The king summons you, Sword Saint," the messenger said, then turned to Leon. "And the High Archmage too. A report has come in."
The Sword Saint was suddenly all business. The brief moment of whatever had been happening between them evaporated like it had never existed. She moved with that same liquid grace Leon had seen countless times, flowing over to return her practice sword to the rack.
She turned to leave without a word.
Leon followed, somewhat irritated. The timing couldn't have been worse. Another thirty seconds and maybe - maybe she would have finally told him her name. Maybe something would have shifted in the careful distance she maintained.
But no. A report. Probably another gate incursion that needed his formations reviewed. Or some noble dispute that required the High Archmage's wisdom.
Leon fell into step behind her as they headed toward the castle proper. She moved ahead, her practice clothes not slowing her pace at all. Leon watched her walk and tried not to think about how the confidence that had carried him through the lecture was rapidly evaporating.
Back to reality. Back to being the fraud who occasionally had moments of competence.
Back to the Sword Saint who would probably put her armor and helmet back on and return to being completely unreadable.
The messenger led them through corridors Leon knew well by now, but the route was different. Not toward the usual audience chamber. Toward the war room.
Leon's stomach sank. War room meant serious business. Not a social call. Not a routine matter.
Guards stood at attention outside the heavy oak doors. They saluted as the Sword Saint approached, pushed the doors open without needing to be asked.
Inside, the king stood at the head of a large table covered in maps. Lord Casimir was there - when had he arrived from the gate garrison?
Several other military commanders Leon recognized. Mages from the royal court. All of them wearing expressions that ranged from concern to barely contained alarm.