The public practice grounds occupied a cleared space near Millhaven's eastern wall—a dusty training yard that had once been a merchant's empty lot before the System changed everything. Now it served as a gathering place for the town's Awakeners, from fresh-faced beginners practicing basic forms to experienced adventurers maintaining their edge between dungeon runs.
Kieran arrived just after dawn, Mira trailing behind him with a distinctly smug expression that made him nervous.
"I still don't see why you needed to come," he muttered, scanning the grounds for Celeste.
"Because watching you interact with an attractive noble woman is entertainment I don't want to miss," Mira said cheerfully. "Also, I want to see what three hundred twenty-five gold of combat skill looks like."
"She's a client. I need to observe her fighting style for technical reasons."
"Mm-hmm. Technical reasons. Sure."
Kieran shot her a look that she completely ignored, her attention already captured by the training grounds' activity. A group of C-rank Swordsmen were sparring in one corner, their practice weapons clacking with rhythmic precision. Near the archery range, a B-rank Ranger was demonstrating trick shots to an admiring crowd. And in the center of it all—
Kieran stopped walking.
Lady Celeste Varnham stood in the largest practice ring, her back to them, performing what appeared to be a warm-up routine. She'd traded yesterday's traveling clothes for proper training attire—form-fitting combat leathers that allowed full range of motion while providing minimal protection. Her dark braid swung as she moved through a series of stretches that seemed designed to showcase flexibility Kieran hadn't realized the human body possessed.
"Oh," Mira said beside him, a world of amusement in that single syllable. "Technical reasons. Right."
"Shut up," Kieran hissed, feeling his face heat.
Celeste finished her stretches and drew her practice sword—the same weapon she'd shown them yesterday, though this was clearly a training version with a dulled edge. She settled into a ready stance, and even from thirty feet away, Kieran could see the shift in her demeanor.
The slightly awkward noble from yesterday vanished, replaced by something dangerous and graceful.
She began her forms.
Kieran had seen plenty of swordsmen train over the years. His father had done demonstrations occasionally, and Greyhaven had hosted its share of combat-class Awakeners. But watching Celeste move was something different entirely.
She didn't just practice technique. She performed it.
Each strike flowed into the next with liquid precision, her footwork carrying her across the practice ring in a pattern that looked almost like dancing. The sword moved in arcs and thrusts that somehow seemed both deadly efficient and aesthetically perfect, as if violence and artistry had found their perfect synthesis.
"She's good," Mira breathed.
"She's B-rank," Kieran said, trying to sound clinical and analytical rather than mesmerized. "That's top ten percent of combat-class Awakeners."
"No, I mean she's good. Like, really good." Mira tilted her head, watching Celeste transition from a high guard into a spinning low cut that would have taken someone's legs off if this were actual combat. "Look at how she controls her momentum. Every movement has a purpose."
Kieran was looking. He couldn't seem to stop looking.
Celeste's style was built around speed and precision, just as she'd said. But there was more to it than that. She fought like someone who'd learned that hesitation meant death, that every opening had to be exploited instantly, that power wasn't about raw strength but about applying force at exactly the right moment in exactly the right place.
She completed a complex series of rapid strikes—one-two-three-four—each one flowing seamlessly into the next, her braid whipping with the motion. Sweat gleamed on her skin despite the morning chill, catching the early sunlight.
"You're staring," Mira whispered.
"I'm observing," Kieran corrected, absolutely staring. "For technical purposes."
"Your technical purposes are showing, boss."
Before Kieran could formulate a response, Celeste completed her forms with a final flourish—a leap that carried her six feet through the air, her sword describing a perfect arc that ended in a strike that would have split an opponent from shoulder to hip. She landed in a crouch, perfectly balanced, and only then seemed to notice she had an audience.
Her eyes found Kieran, and a smile crossed her face—slightly embarrassed, slightly pleased.
"Master Ashford," she called, straightening and sheathing her practice blade. "I didn't see you arrive."
"We just got here," Kieran managed, trying to remember how words worked. "That was... impressive."
"Just warming up." Celeste walked toward them, and Kieran tried very hard not to notice the way her training leathers moved with her, or the flush on her cheeks from exertion, or the way loose strands of hair had escaped her braid to frame her face.
He failed spectacularly.
"Lady Varnham," Mira said, her tone carefully neutral in a way that meant she was absolutely going to tease Kieran about this later. "That's quite the display. Is that your standard style, or were you showing off?"
Celeste laughed—a genuine, unselfconscious sound. "A bit of both? I tend to be more aggressive in actual combat, but the forms help maintain technique." She looked at Kieran. "Did you see what you needed?"
Yes. No. Maybe. I forgot what I was supposed to be looking for.
"Could I see you spar?" he asked instead. "Against an actual opponent? The forms are beautiful, but I need to see how you fight when someone's fighting back."
"Beautiful," Mira repeated under her breath, just loud enough for Kieran to hear. He ignored her with practiced ease.
"Of course." Celeste glanced around the training grounds. "Demar! You free for a bout?"
A familiar figure jogged over—Demar Webb, the same C-rank Swordsman who'd stopped Kieran on the street yesterday. He grinned when he saw Kieran.
"Ashford! Didn't expect to see you here. Finally taking an interest in actual combat?"
"Just observing," Kieran said quickly. "For a project."
"He's... helping me with a personal project," Celeste explained, which was true if incomplete. "Wanted to see my fighting style firsthand."
Demar's eyebrows rose. "Smart choice. He has an eye for exceptional quality." He drew his own practice sword—a standard-issue blade that looked almost crude next to Celeste's. "Ready when you are, my lady."
They moved to the center ring, and Kieran found himself leaning forward unconsciously. Mira elbowed him in the ribs, which he also ignored.
Celeste and Demar squared off, circling each other. The energy had shifted—this wasn't a demonstration anymore. This was real, or as real as practice combat could be.
Demar moved first, a probing thrust that Celeste batted aside effortlessly. He pressed the attack, forcing her backward with a series of solid strikes that showcased his higher strength.
Then Celeste stopped retreating.
She slipped inside Demar's guard with a movement so fast Kieran almost missed it, her sword flickering toward his exposed ribs. Demar barely managed to block, and suddenly he was the one backpedaling as Celeste unleashed a flurry of strikes that came from angles that shouldn't have been possible.
"Holy shit," Mira breathed. "She's fast."
Fast didn't cover it. Celeste moved like water, flowing around Demar's defenses, never where he expected her to be. And there was something else—a faint golden shimmer that appeared on her blade with certain strikes, the telltale sign of System skills activating.
[Radiant Edge], Kieran's interface helpfully informed him. [Skill: B-Rank - Imbues weapon with light-based damage]
The skill made her already impressive speed even more dangerous. Each strike that connected with Demar's blade left a small flash of golden light, and Kieran could see Demar's guard weakening as the accumulated damage from blocked hits started to add up.
But Demar wasn't C-rank for nothing. He adapted, switching to a more defensive style, using his superior strength to create distance. For a moment, they were evenly matched—Celeste's speed against Demar's power, her precision against his endurance.
Then Celeste smiled.
It was a small expression, barely there, but it changed everything. She feinted high, Demar took the bait, and she twisted low in a move that was equal parts acrobatics and swordplay, her blade finding the gap in his defense to tap against his ribs with perfect control.
"Point," she called, already stepping back.
Demar lowered his sword, breathing hard. "Every damn time. How do you do that thing where you're suddenly behind me?"
"Practice," Celeste said, but she was breathing hard too. "And a good teacher. Want to go again?"
"Give me a minute to remember what my lungs are for."
Celeste laughed and walked back to where Kieran and Mira stood. Her face was flushed from exertion, sweat beading on her collarbone, her breathing slightly elevated in a way that made her chest rise and fall noticeably.
Kieran looked very intently at his shoes.
"So?" Celeste asked. "Did that help?"
"Yes," Kieran managed. "Your style is... it's built around exploiting openings. You're not trying to overpower opponents, you're waiting for them to make mistakes and then capitalizing perfectly."
"Exactly." Celeste's eyes lit up with pleasure at being understood. "Most people try to match me strength for strength, and that's not my game. I'm better at being where they don't expect, striking where they leave themselves vulnerable."
Kieran's mind was already racing with design implications. The sword needed to enhance that style—light, perfectly balanced, with a blade geometry that favored quick draws and rapid direction changes. And if he could work in something to complement her radiant abilities...
"I can work with this," he said, more to himself than to her. "The blade needs to be an extension of your speed, not a weight that slows you down. Fuller needs to be deeper than standard to reduce mass without sacrificing structural integrity. The point of balance should be—"
He stopped, realizing both women were staring at him.
"Sorry. Technical rambling."
"Don't apologize," Celeste said warmly. "That's exactly what I was hoping for. Someone who understands what I need, not just what I ask for."
She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, a gesture that was somehow both unself-conscious and unconsciously graceful. Kieran tried not to notice the way her training leathers clung to her frame, or the elegant line of her throat, or—
Mira cleared her throat loudly. "Well, this has been educational. Master Kieran has all the information he needs, I'm sure. We should let you get back to training."
"Of course." Celeste smiled at them both. "I should have the materials within three days. I'll send word when they arrive."
"Looking forward to it," Mira said, already tugging Kieran toward the exit. "Come along, boss. We have work to do."
Kieran let himself be led away, his mind still churning with design ideas. Behind them, he heard Demar call out something about another round, heard Celeste's laugh in response.
They were halfway back to the forge before Mira spoke again.
"So," she said, her tone deceptively casual. "Lady Celeste seems nice."
"She's a client."
"She's an attractive client who you couldn't stop staring at."
"I was observing her combat style," Kieran protested. "That's what I was supposed to be doing."
"Oh, you were observing something alright." Mira grinned wickedly. "I haven't seen you this flustered since that one time Mrs. Chen tried to set you up with her daughter."
"That was a nightmare and we don't talk about it."
"This is different though, isn't it? Lady Celeste is actually interesting. Smart. Talented. Desperate to prove herself. Kind of like someone else I know."
Kieran shot her a warning look. "Don't."
"I'm just saying, if she wins the Grand Melee with your sword, there might be certain... opportunities."
"She's nobility, Mira. I'm a blacksmith. That's not how the world works."
"The old world, maybe. But the System changed things. Now power matters more than bloodlines." Mira's expression turned thoughtful. "Speaking of which..."
Something in her tone made Kieran wary. "What?"
"I want to make a bet with you."
"Absolutely not."
"Hear me out!" Mira caught his arm, forcing him to stop. "If Lady Celeste wins the Grand Melee—actually wins, takes first place—you tell me the truth. All of it. Whatever you're hiding, whatever secret has you so terrified of success. You tell me everything."
Kieran's stomach dropped. "Mira—"
"And if she loses," Mira continued, "I'll never ask again. I'll accept your secrets, agree with whatever you say about keeping anonymous, never question your decisions about the business. Complete trust, no more pushing."
"That's not fair. You're betting on something neither of us can control."
"Isn't that what makes it interesting?" Mira's expression was serious now. "Kieran, I care about you. Not just as a business partner, as a friend. And watching you torture yourself with fear every single day is killing me. I think you need to trust someone with whatever burden you're carrying. But if I'm wrong, if your secrets really are better kept hidden, then I'll respect that."
"And if I refuse the bet?"
"Then I'll keep asking. Keep pushing. Keep trying to help even when you don't want help." She smiled sadly. "Because that's what friends do. But at least this way, we both know where we stand."
Kieran looked at her—really looked at her. Mira, who'd taken a chance on him when he'd shown up in Millhaven with nothing but his father's hammer and a head full of demons. Who'd built this business alongside him, who'd covered for his anxiety and his perfectionism and his inexplicable paranoia. Who'd never asked for anything but a fair wage and honest work.
She deserved the truth. She deserved to understand why he was the way he was.
But the truth was dangerous. The truth could get her hurt.
"System-binding promise?" he asked quietly.
Mira's eyes widened. A System-binding promise was serious—it couldn't be broken without severe penalties. If either of them reneged, the System itself would enforce consequences.
"System-binding," she confirmed.
Kieran took a deep breath. "If Celeste wins the Grand Melee—takes first place—I'll tell you everything. The whole truth about who I am and why I'm hiding. But if she loses, you drop it forever. No questions, no pushing, complete acceptance of my decisions."
"Agreed." Mira held out her hand.
Kieran took it, and immediately the System notification appeared in both their visions:
[SYSTEM-BINDING AGREEMENT ESTABLISHED]
[PARTICIPANTS: Kieran Ashford, Mira Thornfield]
[TERMS:]
[If Celeste Varnham achieves First Place at the Grand Melee:]
- Kieran Ashford must reveal complete truth regarding hidden information]
- Disclosure must occur within 24 hours of tournament conclusion]
[If Celeste Varnham does not achieve First Place:]
- Mira Thornfield may not question Kieran Ashford's secrets]
- Mira Thornfield must accept all business decisions without challenge]
[BREACH PENALTY: 1000 Gold + System Skill Restriction (30 days)]
[AGREEMENT LOCKED]
The blue window faded, and they stood there in the morning street, hands still clasped, both realizing the weight of what they'd just committed to.
"Well," Mira said eventually. "Guess we better make sure that sword is good enough to win."
"Yeah," Kieran agreed, his mind already racing. "Guess we better."
They walked the rest of the way back to the forge in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Kieran tried to calculate the odds—Celeste was good, very good, but the Grand Melee attracted the best fighters from dozens of factions. The competition would be fierce.
She probably wouldn't win.
Which meant his secret was probably safe.
Probably.
But as they entered the forge and Kieran began sketching preliminary designs for a sword that would have to be extraordinary enough to give a desperate noble her only chance at glory, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just set something in motion that couldn't be stopped.
Six weeks until the tournament.
Six weeks until he learned whether his carefully constructed anonymity would survive.
Six weeks until everything either stayed the same or changed completely.
The designs began taking shape under his charcoal—elegant lines, perfect proportions, a weapon that would make Celeste's deadly grace even more lethal.
And deep down, in the part of himself that lived for the craft, Kieran realized something terrifying:
He wanted her to win.
He wanted to create something so perfect, so extraordinary, that she'd stand in that arena and claim the victory she desperately needed.
Even if it meant exposing himself.
Even if it meant risking everything.
I'm such an idiot, he thought.
But he kept drawing.