The corridor was quieter on the return walk.
His footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone as he made his way back toward his room, the torchlight stretching and shrinking his shadow along the walls.
The weight of the conversation with Natasha still lingered in his chest—not heavy, but settled, like a decision finally placed where it belonged.
As he passed one of the larger doors along the hall, he slowed.
Kirian's room.
From behind the thick wood came muffled sounds—soft voices, low and familiar, accompanied by unmistakable murmurs. He stopped without meaning to, head tilting slightly as recognition crept in.
Those voices…
He didn't know them well. In fact, he had never spoken to them directly. But he had heard them often enough—calm, measured tones that usually stayed silent behind armor and authority. The two priestesses. The ones who always stood just behind the paladin, eyes lowered, hands folded, ever-present and unseen.
Kirian… he thought—giving him a salute.
He exhaled quietly and continued walking.
Further down the corridor, more doors. More rooms. And from more than one of them, similar sounds slipped through the stone—laughter stifled too late, murmured exchanges, the soft cadence of intimacy carried just far enough to be noticed.
A quiet thought crossed his mind, and this time, it almost made him smile.
He had once believed the Empire would never allow itself to grow attached to its female heroes. That indulgence would be discouraged, that risks like pregnancy would be deemed inefficient, inconvenient—something to be controlled or avoided entirely. He had assumed discipline would always outweigh desire.
Apparently, he had been wrong.
Not that he found anything wrong with it. If anything, the thought amused him. The Empire still marched on, still thrived, even as its heroes lived like people rather than weapons.
The irony, he realized, was that while others were free to indulge, he himself could not.
By the time he reached his own door, the corridor had fallen silent again.
Inside, his room welcomed him with familiar stillness. He closed the door, crossed the space, and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. His thoughts drifted—threads of deals made, paths chosen, and tomorrows already taking shape.
A grin tugged at his lips.
He froze.
Then slowly, he raised a hand and covered his mouth, as if caught doing something improper. The grin faded, replaced by a calmer expression. Whatever excitement stirred in him didn't need to be shown—not yet.
"…Tomorrow," he muttered to himself, voice barely above a whisper. "I can't wait."
He lay back, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, and let his eyes close. The world dimmed, thoughts unraveling one by one, until sleep claimed him—quiet, unresistant, and full of promise.
He woke the next morning without the knock he had half-expected.
For a moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, before sitting up and beginning his routine. Washing, dressing, preparing himself to head out for the day's training—nothing unusual, nothing forced.
As he adjusted his clothes, a small sense of relief settled in.
At the very least, the Empire wasn't constantly pestering him. No unannounced visits. No maids sent to test his restraint or patience. No subtle pressure disguised as hospitality.
He found that he appreciated that more than he had realized.
Whatever else the Empire might be plotting, it at least respected his space. And for now, that was enough for him.
By the time Louis reached the training grounds, the air was already alive with movement—steel ringing against steel, shouts of instruction, the steady rhythm of bodies being pushed to their limits.
Luke spotted him almost immediately.
Louis approached and bowed his head slightly. "Thanks for everything," he said. "For letting me train here. For putting up with me."
Luke blinked, then burst out laughing.
"So that's how it is?" he said, clapping a heavy hand against Louis's shoulder. "Moving on already?"
"I found someone else I need to train with," Louis replied honestly.
Luke waved it off, still grinning. "Fair enough. It was good having you around. You kept things interesting." He paused, then added, more seriously, "Don't be a stranger. You're welcome back anytime."
Louis nodded. That was more than enough.
As he turned to leave the field, a familiar voice called out.
"Louis."
He stopped.
Nathan jogged over, helmet tucked under his arm. A new recruit—still rough around the edges, still carrying that restless energy of someone who hadn't yet been ground down by routine.
They exchanged brief greetings. Nothing elaborate. Just a nod, a handshake.
Louis noted it absently—Nathan had been around him often these past days. Close enough to notice habits. Close enough to feel familiar.
Nathan's eyes lit up. "Spar?"
Louis hesitated for half a second, then nodded.
They moved to an open patch of the field, wooden practice weapons swapped for dull-edged metal blades meant to bruise rather than kill.
Nathan was level 10.
Louis was level 7.
Before stepping forward, Louis pulled up his status panel out of habit, eyes skimming over the familiar numbers. Still the same. Still steady.
—---
[Name: Louis]
[Race: Human]
[Class: Druid — Initiate]
[Unique Skill: Resilience]
[Level: 7]
[Health Points: 438]
[Mana Points: 568]
[Vitality: 41]
[Strength: 30]
[Agility: 36]
[Magic: 48]
—---
Resilience sat there quietly, unchanged—and yet, as always, present.
The spar began simply.
Steel met steel. Footwork. Breathing. Small adjustments. Nathan was aggressive, but not reckless. Louis matched him step for step, his body responding smoothly, almost instinctively.
As they traded blows, Louis found himself thinking—not distracted, just aware.
Other mages would already be slowing down. Shoulders tightening. Breath growing heavy.
He wasn't.
His muscles burned, yes—but the fatigue never quite caught him. His body adapted, absorbed the strain, adjusted. Resilience didn't make him stronger. It made him endure and enhanced his growth.
It was… impressive.
Then Nathan's stance shifted.
Louis noticed it a heartbeat too late.
A skill activated—subtle, fast. A burst of force layered into Nathan's strike, sharper than anything he'd thrown before.
The blade slipped past Louis's guard.
Pain flared.
Not deep—but sudden, shocking.
The world tilted.
Louis staggered back, vision blurring as his legs gave way. The last thing he registered was surprise—not fear, not anger.
Just disbelief.
What the—
And then, as darkness crept in, a faint, crooked smile touched his lips.
The clash ended abruptly.
Steel stilled. Voices cut off mid-sentence.
Every head on the training ground turned toward them.
Luke was already moving.
"What happened?" he demanded, eyes sharp as he closed the distance.
Nathan stood frozen, blade lowered, staring at Louis on the ground as if he couldn't quite believe it himself. "I—I didn't mean to," he said quickly. "We were evenly matched. We kept pushing each other, and for a moment I—" He swallowed. "I forgot he was a druid. I used a skill without thinking."
There was no arrogance in his voice. Only shock.
Luke studied him for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. "Accidents happen," he said at last. "Especially when people forget what they're doing."
His tone wasn't angry—just firm.
"Get him to the infirmary."
Louis was lifted and carried away, the sounds of the training ground fading into a dull haze.
When he woke, the first thing he noticed was the smell—clean linens, herbs, faint traces of magic lingering in the air.
The second thing he noticed was that he wasn't alone.
Natasha sat beside the bed, arms folded loosely, posture relaxed as if she'd been there for a while.
Louis blinked once. Then again.
He forced himself upright with a groan and let out a long, heavy sigh, like someone relieved to still be alive after narrowly missing something unpleasant.
"…Huh," he muttered. "I really thought I'd wake up to a nun leaning over me. You know—hands glowing, boobs pressed against my side while she heals me."
Natasha raised a brow.
"A shame," she replied dryly. "Would you prefer I leave and find one?"
He glanced at her, lips twitching. "Nah. I'd probably pass out again from disappointment."
She snorted softly, the corner of her mouth lifting. "You get knocked out once and you're already complaining. Heroes really are troublesome."
Louis leaned back against the pillow, eyes half-lidded now, the tension finally draining from his body.
Louis shifted slightly, the haze in his head finally clearing.
"…How long was I out?" he asked.
Natasha didn't look away from him. "Just over two hours."
He let out a slow breath. "And what happened after I blacked out?"
"Nathan panicked," she said. "Apparently the fight stayed even longer than anyone expected. Then he forgot himself and activated a combat skill meant for armored knights." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You took it head-on."
Louis winced. "Let me guess. Luke wasn't pleased."
"He wasn't angry," Natasha replied. "Just… reminded everyone where they were."
That earned a quiet sigh from Louis. "Yeah. That sounds like him."
He shifted again, then pushed himself upright, rolling his shoulders. His leather armor had been removed, but his clothes were otherwise untouched. After a brief pause, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, straightening himself as if nothing more than a long nap had passed.
Natasha stared.
"…What?" Louis asked, glancing at her.
She rose to her feet slowly. "Your injury," she said. "It should have taken days to properly recover."
He frowned. "What was it, exactly?"
"A fractured rib," she replied flatly. "And internal bruising. The kind that leaves even trained knights bedridden."
Louis blinked once.
Then he looked down at himself. No pain. No stiffness. Not even lingering soreness.
"…Huh."
Natasha's gaze sharpened. "You were fully stabilized less than an hour ago. Even with healing magic, you shouldn't be standing. Let alone moving normally."
For a moment, Louis said nothing.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted.
So that's it.
He felt it now—the steady, quiet strength beneath his skin. The way his body had already adjusted, already rebuilt itself the moment the danger passed.
Resilience.
While others needed rest. While others needed time.
He just… recovered.
Louis let out a small, almost amused breath and shook his head. I knew it was useful—but this?
He looked back up at Natasha, eyes clear.
"Guess I finally understand why this skill is so troublesome," he said lightly.
She studied him for a long moment, then exhaled. "You really are ridiculous."
He grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
After a brief pause, he gestured toward the door. "Come on. You said you were going to teach me about the plant path."
Natasha hesitated—then nodded.
"…Fine. But if you collapse again, I'm leaving you on the floor."
Louis laughed softly as they stepped out.