--Reunion--

Draxuropolis

Felix left the tavern with the map. Outside, the world was more alive than the Guild of Intelligence's establishment. The sun rays peered through the colorful banderas hanging above the street. His cloak's hem fluttered as he walked with Draxuropolian.

The street was crowded because of the festival. Vendors lined both sides, their stalls filled with different varieties of grapes: concord, flame seedless, grenache, and chardonnay - fresh from the harvest. Buyers moved from stall to stall, inspecting and smelling the grapes before making their purchase. Some stores offered food and wine made from grapes, while others displayed fresh flowers from the garden.

If the guild master was right, then some of these people wouldn’t make it through the day. He looked the faces around him—vendors selling their goods, parents watching their children play, young couples laughing as they browsed the stalls. Who among them was marked? The man haggling over a bunch of grapes? The woman arranging flowers at her stall? Or perhaps the group of youths sampling wine? Any of them could be targets, or worse, involved in the dark business.

"Kind sir in the cloak!"

He turned slightly and saw a young girl standing by a flower stall, her hands holding a single bloom. The flower, a bright red, stood out among the more modest offerings nearby.

The girl stepped closer, holding the flower up to him with a hopeful smile.

"For you, sir. A token of the harvest festival’s blessings. The God of Love watches over those who carry such a flower today."

Eyeing the child with mild interest. She couldn’t have been more than eight, but there was a practiced charm in her - something in the way she pitched her voice just right, almost like a well-trained merchant.

Before Felix could open his mouth, the girl leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.

"And if you’ve got someone special in mind, sir, well… giving them this flower today might just catch the eye of the God of Love. They say it’s how the strongest bonds are made during the festival."

The girl was playing on emotions—those of hope, affection, perhaps even unspoken love. She knew how to persuade her audience well. People at festivals were often swayed by the idea of divine favor, especially when it came to matters of the heart and luck.

"You wouldn’t want to miss out on his blessings, would you? A simple flower could make all the difference, especially today."

She had a point—many in the crowd would be drawn in by such an offer, especially if they had someone in mind. Her pitch was flawless, designed to make him picture the person he might gift the flower to, and the potential favor that might come from it.

He looked down at the girl as he pulled out a small coin and handed it to her, taking the flower in exchange. "For your effort," he said simply, slipping the bloom into a pocket inside his cloak.

"Thank you, kind sir! May the God of Love bless you and the one you hold dear!"

She gave a quick bow and turned back to her stall, ready to work her charm on the next passerby.

Ta-rah, ta-rah, ta-rah!

A distant sound of trumpet heard, and the crowd around him began to agitated through the crowd as people hurried to align themselves along both sides of the street. Their necks craned in eagerness to catch the first glimpse of the approaching parade.

It was a strange feeling, standing there among the crowd. In his twenty-three years of existence, this was the first time he had ever done such a thing—waiting for a parade like an ordinary festival-goer. When he was a young boy, while others might have been excited by the prospect of such events, he had always chosen a different path. Instead of joining in the festivities, he spent his days practicing swordsmanship, building his skills under the strict guidance of his master.

"Take the sword."

The young Felix hesitant. "This… this is real steel, Master. Shouldn't I start with a wooden sword?"

"A wooden sword is for children and cowards. Are you a child, or do you fear the blade?"

"No, Master. But I’ve never held a sword before. What if I—"

"What if you what? Fail? Get hurt? Do you think your enemies will hand you a wooden sword on the battlefield?"

"But...it's heavy."

"Lift it!"

He still remembered the first day of his training; the grueling hours left him with trembling limbs and a fever by nightfall. His body had been unprepared for a relentless demands, but those moments were precious.

The thought brought a slight smile to Felix’s lips, but it quickly faded as his eyes caught sight of a familiar face. He slipped out of the crowd immediately, and made his way toward a nearby building. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, removing his hood as he did so.

Inside, there was a man standing at a counter, carefully examining a pair of eyeglasses. He approached him quietly, his steps light but purposeful. The man didn’t turn around, but Felix knew his presence had been sensed.

Instinctively, Felix's hand moved to the hilt of his sword, and as he drew closer, he could see the man’s free hand subtly moving toward on his chest. The moment Felix's sword cleared its scabbard, the man moved with lightning speed, spinning around just enough to meet Felix’s gaze while simultaneously drawing the dagger and aiming it straight at Felix’s throat. At the same time, Felix’s sword was aimed at the man’s throat. They were locked in a sudden standoff, weapons poised to strike, neither one willing to back down.

The man, his face calm despite the steel at his neck. "Is this your idea of a proper welcome for your master?"

“Only when I’m not sure if it’s really him," Felix sword steady, meeting the man’s gaze with equal calmness.

The room felt like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode anytime. The shopkeeper and staff, who had been quietly going about their business moments before, were now stunned in place. One by one, they slowly backed away, slipping out of the room or taking cover behind counters.

Then, without a word, the weapons clashed, their blades ringing out inside the shop. The fight began, not as a life-and-death struggle, but as a form of communication—a conversation of steel between student and master. Felix's sword weaved through the air, like a skilled dance partner, effortlessly countering the man's dagger in a harmonious display of skill. Each clash and parry revealed his mastery.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

At one point, their battle led them onto the top of a sturdy wooden table. Felix’s footwork was specific as he moved across the tabletop, while the man displayed the same effortless grace, his dagger weaving through defenses. A vase on a table nearby began to wobble precariously. In the midst of a swift strike, Felix, with quick thinking and impressive reflexes, managed to save the vase by catching it with the edge of his sword. He flicked it up and set it down on a nearby Corinthian table, all without missing a beat in the clash. The man couldn't help but give a slight smile.

The clash of weapons rung in the small space while the parade outside was proceeding. Felix’s strikes grew more focused, more conscious, as he pushed the man back. The man countered with accurate movements even though his weapon was small, testing Felix, pushing him to his limits. They moved as one, their weapons an extension of their will, until finally, Felix found his opening.

After a final, powerful cautious attack, Felix positioned his sword at the man’s throat again, this time with an advantage. The man's dagger had been effectively countered, leaving him immobilized as Felix’s sword pressed lightly against his skin.

The room was silent. The man slowly lowered his dagger and smiled.

“Well done,” he said. “Young Duke.”

Felix could hardly believe it—Clementé was here, in the capital, when he had expected him to be anywhere on the north but. He lowered his sword immediately too and replied.

“Master."

His plan to go to Dravana was suddenly irrelevant. Felix entire reason for making that journey was to track down his master, who had seemed to be avoiding any serious talk of returning to the capital. He had intended to surprise his master there, thinking he might finally corner him for a long-overdue conversation. Yet here his master was, in front of him, without the need for any pursuit.

So, he was serious about coming back. His master, who had always been elusive, always a step ahead, had once again turned the tables on him. Instead of Felix catching him by surprise, it was the master who had caught him unaware—standing here calmly as if he’d been in the capital all along.

Everyone in the capital knew Clementé as a professor in the academia, lecturing in history classes with a deep, authoritative knowledge of the past. But only few people knew the truth—the king and Felix among them. Clementé was not just a scholar; he was also a skilled swordsman from the north, a man who had chosen to keep his martial skills a secret. Instead of pursuing fame on the battlefield, he had decided to live the quieter life of a professor. Even Felix's intense training sessions with him had been kept hidden, a secret not even the Duke, Felix’s father, was aware of.

"You've returned, Master."

"I have. The capital’s call was inevitable, and my duties have multiplied. But I wanted to purchase a pair glasses first."

"I see the city hasn’t softened you," Felix chuckled lightly.

The apprehensive staff, who had been hidden nearby, slowly came out of their concealed locations.

Now, outside the building, the two men stood as the festival continued. People were throwing petals of flowers onto the street, where dancers in colorful attire twirled and leaped to the beat of trumpets and drums. The loud sound of celebration all around them.

Clementé, adjusting his new eyeglasses, finally seemed satisfied with the pair he had chosen. He placed them on his face, the lenses catching the rays of the sun as he glanced over at Felix, studying him carefully from head to toe.

“The Young Duke has grown."

It had been thirty-six long moons since master and student had seen each other, and during that time, a lot had changed. Felix had grown into a young adult. Gone was the boyishness of his youth, replaced by a leaner, more mature physique and a sharper gaze. The time they had spent apart, training had clearly done much.

“It’s been a long time since you last saw your student. Time doesn’t stand still, even if our training might’ve made it seem that way."

“Indeed, time has its way, whether we’re ready or not. But it seems the Young Duke put it to good use. Your stance, your presence—they’ve changed."

Clementé, the other hand, was visibly older now, with a head full of white hair and a stoop that betrayed his age.

"Your lessons are not so easily forgotten, Master," Felix smirked.

His master watched the parade and turned to him. "And yet, the Dukedom will test your resolve in a way I cannot. Politics and power are more treacherous than any blade."

Before Felix could respond, a golden carriage caught his eye, drawing his attention away from Clementé. As it passed by, he stepped aside, his focus shifting completely. Inside the first carriage, he saw a lady.

His chest tightened as he watched her, his hand instinctively clenching into a fist. The image of the young girl at the flower stall crossed in his mind. He looked down at his chest, where the bloom she had sold him rested in his cloak pocket. For a moment, he hesitated, his fingers hovering over the flower. The urge to pull it out, to offer it to someone—perhaps to Princess Sierra—warred with the unsureness that troubled at him.

Would this simple flower, bought from a child’s hands, be enough to convey anything? Or would it just be lost in the grandeur of the moment, unnoticed in the shadow of royalty?

He took a deep breath, his hand slowly dropping away from the pocket. Not now, he thought, pushing the temptation aside. Suddenly, he realized that his master was no longer beside him. He snapped out of his reverie, quickly moving his head from side to side, scanning the crowd, but Clementé was nowhere to be seen. The festival had swallowed him up.

Just then, last royal carriage passed by, more ornate and imposing than the ones before it. It was the King's carriage, adorned with the kingdom's crest, and beside the King sat the Queen. The carriage was followed by a procession of Royal Knights, their armor gleaming in the sunlight. And among the knights, Felix spotted a his rival, the Captain of the Royal Knights. The man’s eyes scanned the crowd, and Felix instinctively lowered his hood, not wanting to be seen. It wasn’t the time for glaring exchange, and the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself.

With the parade moving on, Felix made a decision. He needed to find his master, to claim what Clementé promised him. He moved away and struggled to choose a path that might lead him to his master. The festival's noise faded behind him as he entered less crowded streets. The alleys and winding roads made his search feel like a maze.

His master had disappeared so suddenly, without a word. But Clementé was not one to vanish without reason, and Felix believed that.

Felix walked along the cobblestone pavement. His pace quickened until a sudden collision with a figure ahead paused him.

A man crumpled to the ground in front of him, trembling, his hands outstretched in desperate supplication.

“S-Sir, p-please, h-help me...” The words tumbled out between ragged breaths.

The thin man was a pitiful sight—clothed in filthy rags that barely clung to his emaciated frame, his feet bare and bloodied. A dark bruise marred his cheek, and his sunken eyes spoke of untold suffering. It was as though the world itself had beaten him down, and now, here he was, at Felix’s mercy.

Passersby looked with disapproving glances, whispering amongst themselves, but none stopped to offer help.

“T-They’re coming! C-Coming for me... Help me! Sobs... m-my s-sister... Sobs, they have her.”

Felix knelt calmly to face the crying man. “Who is after you?”

“T-They… they took her… p-please… help… I…I… they’ll… kill us!”

"Tell me, who ---"

The man’s eyes widened, but not at Felix's incomplete question. A thin, deadly whistling sound sliced through the air, Swoosh, almost imperceptible amid the street noise, until it found its mark.

Thud.

A long, thin stake embedded itself into the man’s skull, the force of it snapping his head back. Felix’s breath caught in his throat as the man’s wide, terrified eyes locked onto his oceanic eyes.

Blood flow beneath the man’s head as he collapsed forward.

Someone screamed until others realized it.

Felix’s eyes darted through the crowd, immediately scanning the surroundings for any sign of the attacker. Then, he caught sight of a fleeting limb, the unmistakable curve of a bow held by a figure disappearing into a side street.

He sheathed his sword and followed the unidentified individual in the narrow street. Unfortunately, the attacker had scaped already. He lost the chance. This was no ordinary criminal—whoever that individual was, they were skilled.

Could they be...?

The thought made Felix’s pulse quicken. If his suspicions were right, then these people could be involved in the disappearances that had plagued the kingdom.

All while the outside world continued around. A few knights patrolling at the other edge of the alley. They were keeping a watchful eye on the parade, but only in the areas where the festival crowds gathered. If only they knew what might be happening just a few streets away... They were focused solely on maintaining order where the festivities were brightest.

“hey, hey, hey, wake up!”

Paused.

A voice from somewhere ahead. It was a woman's voice, speaking panicky.

"Nah, no, no..."

Felix dashed forward, following the voice. The alley was long, extending between the walls. His pace quickened until finally, he rounded a corner and froze.

"I need to hear it...you hearin' me? Hey sir!"

There, lying on the ground in a pool of blood, was the man he had been searching for.

His master’s eyes were closed, his face pale, and blood stained his clothes, spreading out from a wound he couldn’t yet see.

The woman knelt beside his master, her hands stained red.

And just like that, he found Clementé...dying.