The inner courtyard of the mansion, at four in the morning, was a desert of stone and ice. Sálvia did not wear her white gloves. Her hands were wrapped in coarse bandages, and the dawn chill seemed not to affect her skin, tempered by the cruel winters of the canyons.
Julian wielded the steel sword with both hands. The weight was real; the danger, tangible.
— The way you hold the hilt reveals your hesitation
— said Sálvia, circling him like a wolf evaluating prey.
— You fight not to be wounded. I fight so that the target no longer breathes. That is the difference between a noble and a combatant, Julian.
She lunged. It was not an elegant fencing move, but a pounce. Julian blocked, the impact of the metal vibrating in his teeth, but before he could breathe, Sálvia had already slid under his guard, the tip of a training dagger pressed against his diaphragm.
— Dead — she sentenced, her eyes cold.
— Again.
Julian wiped the sweat from his forehead, his chest heaving.
— You are implacable, Sálvia.
— The world is implacable, Young Master. I am merely its mirror.
The training was interrupted by a presence on the inner balcony. Count Axel watched, wrapped in a heavy velvet robe. His face seemed to have aged ten years in a single night.
— Sálvia, come up to the office. Now.
Julian sheathed his sword, casting a curious look at his father's severity, and withdrew in silence, unsuspecting of the true identity of the woman who trained him.
Sálvia wiped the sweat from her hands and followed the Count. Upon entering the office, the smell of incense and sealing wax was stronger than ever. Axel did not sit behind the desk; he stood before the window, looking toward the northern borders.
— Sálvia
— he began, without turning.
— Von Steer did not come only to bring news of war. He brought descriptions. Accounts of a girl who used the "Flow Vision" to massacre thirty men in the snow years ago.
Sálvia's silence was absolute. Her muscles tensed.
— I always knew
— continued the Count, finally turning around. His eyes held no fear, only an infinite sadness.
— From the moment I saw you bathed in wolf's blood in those mountains. The style, the technique... the scars. I know you are a Harlequir, Sálvia. The last seed of the Massacre Clan.
Sálvia moved her hand toward her chest, where her rosary was hidden, but Axel stepped forward and gently held her shoulders.
— This changes nothing
— he said firmly, his voice thick with emotion.
— To the world, you may be a genius of death, a forbidden weapon. But to me, you are still the girl my son covered with a cloak so she wouldn't feel the cold. I love you as if you were of my own blood. You are my daughter, Sálvia.
Sálvia felt a lump in her throat that no military discipline could undo. She never expected to hear those words from a man of such lineage.
— The Order of Purification is coming, and they are coming for you
— Axel whispered, determination shining in his gaze.
— They think you are a monster that must be extirpated, but I will turn this mansion into a tomb for anyone who tries to touch you. I will do everything to protect you. Everything.
Outside the door, leaning into the shadows of the corridor, Vargas heard every word. His hand, thick and calloused, gripped the hilt of his sword. The old mercenary's face was a mask of shock and contempt. Harlequir. The cursed bloodline was living under the same roof as him, protected by a Count's emotional blindness.
Vargas made no sound. He pulled away from the door with the stealth of one who had already hunted many demons. He did not go to his post, but toward the security quarters, his eyes fixed on the darkness, processing the danger this revelation brought to all the men under his command. He could not allow a "freak" from the north to bring the apocalypse to the mansion.
Inside the office, Sálvia felt a chill on the back of her neck. Her Flow Vision detected a fluctuation in the air of the corridor
—the weight of a hostile intent that had just vanished.
The secret was no longer hers alone, and the time of peace had just expired.
Axel kept his hands on Sálvia's shoulders for another moment, as if trying to transmit all the strength a father would give a daughter before a storm.
— Julian knows nothing
— the Count continued, his voice regaining its sobriety.
— And for now, it is better that it remains that way. He sees in you a compass, a friend. Let his purity be your shield against the darkness your clan carried. Now, go. Continue the training. If he is to face what is coming, let him learn from the best.
Sálvia gave a deep bow, her face once again a mask of marble, though her heart still echoed Axel's words of affection. She left the office with silent steps, crossing the corridor where, seconds before, Vargas had been hidden. Her senses were alert, but the corridor now seemed empty.
Upon descending to the courtyard, she found Julian practicing thrusts in the air.
— I thought my father was going to confiscate my sword
— Julian joked, smiling when he saw her.
— On the contrary, Young Master
— Sálvia replied, unsheathing one of her training daggers with a fluid movement.
— He wants me to stop going easy on you. In position.
The training resumed with a fierce intensity. Sálvia gave him no respite, forcing Julian to read not just the steel, but the movement of her feet in the snow.
As the sound of colliding blades filled the courtyard, Vargas appeared at the entrance of the Count's office. He knocked on the door with the habitual brusqueness of a veteran soldier.
— Count Axel?
— Vargas entered, keeping his posture straight but his gaze low.
— I regret interrupting you in a moment of crisis, but I have received news from home. My family, on the border of the Jasper Nation... they are in serious trouble. I need a few days off to ensure they are safe.
Axel, still under the weight of his conversation with Sálvia, sighed. Vargas had been his right hand in security for years; denying such a request seemed an injustice, especially now that war was knocking at the door.
— Family is the only thing that truly matters, Vargas
— said Axel, picking up a quill to sign a leave authorization.
— Go. Settle your affairs and return as soon as possible. We will need you when the Order arrives.
— Thank you, milord. You are very generous
— Vargas replied, taking the document.
Turning his back and crossing the mansion's threshold, the mercenary's austere and worried expression melted away. A slow, cruel smile appeared on his face. He had no family in the Jasper Nation to visit.
Vargas walked toward the stables, where Kaelen was already waiting with the saddled horses.
— Where are we going, boss?
— asked the recruit, noticing the strange glint in Vargas's eyes.
— We're going to sell a "seed" to whoever pays best, boy
— whispered Vargas, mounting his horse.
— The Count is mad. He's raising a Harlequir inside his house. I'm going to alert the Order of Purification. If we deliver the girl, we won't just be mercenaries... we'll be heroes of the cleansing.
With a crack of the reins and the smile of a man who had just found his fortune, Vargas galloped out of the gates, leaving behind the family he swore to protect and the girl he now saw only as a prize of gold and blood.
The morning sun could barely break through the thick mist covering the courtyard, but the sound of steel already echoed off the stone walls. Julian was exhausted; his arm trembled under the weight of the sword, but Sálvia gave him not a second of rest. She moved like black smoke, dodging his blows by mere millimeters.
— Again, Julian. The blade is an extension of your thought, not a burden in your hand
— she instructed, her voice cold and steady.
— By the gods, Sálvia... do you not breathe?
— Julian gasped, trying to catch his breath.
— An instructor who does not breathe is an instructor who does not make mistakes
— a vibrant and melodious voice interrupted the training, coming from the garden arcade.
It was Kyo, the Master of Arms for the Valerius family. At twenty-six, Kyo was the antithesis of what was expected of a military advisor. He wore a light navy-blue tunic, suited for movement, and carried a curved-blade saber at his waist. With a shrewd smile and eyes that seemed to read the soul of any opponent, he approached with the elegance of a royal pamphlet.
— I must admit, I'm starting to get jealous
— Kyo joked, crossing his arms and tilting his head theatrically.
— My favorite student now prefers the rigid methods of our maid to my eloquent teachings. What will become of my reputation?
Sálvia immediately sheathed her training dagger and gave an impeccable bow, returning to her persona as a servant.
— I ask for forgiveness, Master Kyo. It was not my intention to usurp your position. The Young Master simply demonstrated an urgent desire to improve his personal defense, and I offered to assist him.
Kyo let out an infectious laugh, but his eyes, sharp as needles, did not fail to notice Sálvia's perfectly balanced posture.
— Oh, do not apologize! Seeing Julian sweat like this is a balm for my eyes
— Kyo unsheathed his saber with an almost invisible movement. The metal glinted under the pale light.
— But, as Master of Arms and advisor to this county, my curiosity is an incurable vice. Sálvia, would you mind showing me what you've been teaching the boy? A friendly bout to warm the blood?
Julian stepped back, excited by the idea, while Sálvia hesitated for a second. She knew Kyo was shrewd; fighting him meant hiding her true nature while facing an elite warrior.
— It would be an honor, Master Kyo
— she replied, picking up a training short sword.
Kyo unsheathed his saber. The metal did not just glint; it seemed to pulse.
— My old master was an exile from the Lazuli Nation
— Kyo revealed, shifting his stance. His feet now did not touch the ground firmly, but seemed to glide.
— He taught me that combat is not a collision of forces, but a Flow of Water. And you, Sálvia... you flow like the tide before a tsunami.
The combat began with an explosion of technique.
Kyo advanced first. His opening move was the "Ripple of the Tides": a sequence of horizontal slashes that had no clear end; each strike transformed into the beginning of the next. Sálvia was forced to use the short sword to block, but Kyo's blade did not hit and stop; it slid over Sálvia's steel, seeking the gaps in her guard like water finding cracks in a dam.
Clang! Skree!
— The sound of scraping metal was constant.
Sálvia activated her Flow Vision. She saw the world slow down, but Kyo was still fast. He delivered a low thrust, and as Sálvia jumped back, he used the momentum to spin his body, launching the "Abyssal Vortex." The saber described a perfect and violent circle. Sálvia had to bend backward in an almost impossible arch, feeling the tip of Kyo's blade cut a strand of her hair.
— Impressive!
— Kyo exclaimed, the smile never leaving his face.
— But water always finds the shortest path!
He changed the rhythm. The combat became a series of frantic exchanges. Kyo applied the "Dewdrop" technique, a succession of quick and precise thrusts aimed at the nerve centers of Sálvia's arms. She defended herself using the base of the dagger to deflect the tip of the saber away from her body, moving with brutal economy of energy.
Sálvia realized Kyo was stronger than he appeared. Every time their blades crossed, the pressure he exerted was like the weight of the ocean. In a daring move, she slid under Kyo's extended arm, trying to strike his flank, but Kyo simply "flowed" to the side, letting her pass through the void, as if she had tried to punch a wave.
He then spun, bringing the saber from bottom to top in the "Rising Spring" strike. Sálvia crossed the short sword and the dagger in an "X" to lock the blow. Sparks flew between their faces.
— You hide it very well, Sálvia
— Kyo whispered, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
— This focus of yours... this anticipation... it's not just training. It's survival instinct.
With a sudden push, Kyo broke the block and delivered a side kick that Sálvia blocked with her forearm, being dragged two meters back in the snow. She stopped, crouched, her free hand touching the ground, her brown eyes fixed on the master of arms.
Kyo sheathed his saber with a fluid and elegant movement.
— That is enough for today. Julian, I hope you have learned something. Brute force is useless against one who knows how to flow.
Julian, who had watched everything without even blinking, simply nodded, marvelling. Kyo approached Sálvia and extended his hand to help her up.
— You are very strong, Sálvia. You almost made me use a serious technique. But be careful... the water of the Lazuli Nation reflects the truth. And the truth I saw in your blade today is much sharper than a simple maid should carry.
The tense atmosphere of the courtyard was suddenly broken by the sound of rhythmic clapping coming from the main entrance. Count Axel and Countess Elara appeared, walking side by side. Elara wore an emerald-green silk dress that contrasted with the snow, and her smile brought a warmth that seemed to melt the surrounding ice.
— What a magnificent display!
—Axel exclaimed, approaching with his eyes shining with pride at seeing his son standing firm after such an intense workout.
— Kyo, you and Sálvia almost turned my courtyard into an arena of legends.
— Julian
— said Countess Elara, approaching her son and wiping a smudge of sweat from his forehead with a scented handkerchief
—, your progress is visible. Your father and I have decided that such dedication cannot go without celebration.
Count Axel placed his hand on Julian's shoulder and announced to everyone present:
— Today, the Valerius Mansion will set concerns aside. We will hold a celebratory banquet for our future heir's performance. I want music, plenty of food, and for everyone, from masters to servants, to enjoy a moment of peace.
As the sun set, the mansion was transmuted. The metallic smell of training was replaced by the aroma of seasoned roasts, honey pies, and mulled wine. In the great hall, the decoration was impeccable, but the true spectacle was in the corners, where the service took place.
Lilian and Ana, the two maids with volcanic personalities, were in charge of organizing the trays. Lilian, with her extravagant bow perfectly aligned, and Ana, holding the silk duster as if it were a royal scepter, stopped abruptly when Kyo entered the hall.
The Master of Arms was dazzling in a navy-blue silk tunic with silver details, moving with the elegance that only a master of the Flow of Water possessed.
— Look at him, Ana!
— whispered Lilian, fanning herself with her hand, the extravagance in her voice nearly reaching a high pitch.
— Master Kyo looks like a prince from the Lazuli Nation who escaped from a book of poetry. Such poise! Such a glint in his eyes!
— For once in your life, Lilian, you aren't talking nonsense
— countered Ana, forgetting their previous quarrel and gripping the handle of the tray tightly.
— He moves as if sliding over the mirror of a lake. It's an offense to nature for someone to be so skilled and so beautiful at the same time. I think I'll faint if he asks for more wine!
— Then see that you stay on your feet!
— Lilian snapped back, regaining her combative posture.
— If anyone is going to serve him wine, it will be me, you dunce! You have the grace of a crab!
Sálvia appeared between the two like a silent shadow, interrupting the start of another argument.
— Lilian. Ana. Master Kyo prefers efficiency over whispered compliments. Get back to work before the Count notices the distraction.
The two swallowed hard, cast one last admiring look at Kyo, and dispersed among the guests, still trading barbs in low voices about who was the most "enchanting" to serve the master.
A Moment of Leisure
In the center of the hall, Julian laughed openly. He was surrounded by the affection of his parents and the vibrant energy of Kyo, who was telling stories about the ports of the Lazuli Nation.
Sálvia, although she maintained her vigilance, allowed herself a brief moment of respite. She watched Julian accept a glass of fruit juice and toast with Kyo. The music of the lutes filled the room, and for a few hours, the scars on her back did not ache.
Count Axel, seeing the scene, approached Sálvia and whispered:
— Look at them, Sálvia. This is why we fight. So that the laughter of a son and the admiration of our people are stronger than any shadow.