Upon arrival at the estate, instead of heading to the mansion, the carriage made its way to the right, where a large yard awaited.

As Gazi and young Renier entered, the yard was alive with activity, echoing the disciplined chaos that exemplified military practice. Guardsmen, sweat glistening upon their brows, moved with calculated aggression, swords clashing in a rhythmic dance, mastering the art of war under the watchful eyes of seasoned commanders.

The practice yard, meticulously maintained, spread generously, adorned with a variety of weaponry. Archery targets stood solemnly at one end, their surfaces peppered with the remnants of numerous impacts. Adjacent, the unmistakable sounds of blade against blade reverberated, where guards engaged in fierce, yet controlled, melee combat. Various weapon racks, housing an array of arms – scimitars, maces, spears, and notably, yataghans – were strategically placed, each weapon gleaming menacingly under the subtle kiss of sunlight.

Beyond the immediate spectacle of combat training, a collection of wooden dummies and practice shields were scattered thoughtfully across the yard, allowing for solitary practice. A robust wooden fence encircled the entirety of the practice area, ensuring that the potentially deadly exercises were kept safely away from the non-combatant inhabitants of the estate.

In the distance, horse stables housed mighty steeds, and adjacent, a sizable track allowed for cavalry practice. Even from this vantage, the muffled sounds of hooves pounding into the earth were audible, merging harmoniously with the symphony of controlled conflict unfolding within the yard.

Gazi, his posture radiating a soldier’s erect discipline, observed the activities with a knowing eye while his own fingers subconsciously traced the hilt of his yataghan, housed in a weathered scabbard at his side.

Renier’s gaze, flickering with a melding of curiosity and keen observation, lingered on the lively practice before him. 'These men move with such certainty,' he thought, his eyes tracing the arcs of their blades with admiration. 'They'll make good sparing partners, like Ilija and Jovan,' he mused as regret set in for his fallen friends.

Gazi, his eyes reflecting the years of battle and camaraderie forged on fields of strife, led Renier through the yard, his sturdy figure parting the sea of warriors with a silent, revered authority. As they moved, they approached a well-built man, his shoulders broad and his eyes sharp beneath a weathered brow, overseeing the training with meticulous attention. This was Kemal, the captain of the guard, and a man Gazi had stood shoulder to shoulder with in past conflicts.

"Selamun aleikum, Kemal," Gazi greeted, his voice layered with mutual respect.

"Aleikum selam, Gazi Bey," Kemal replied, a warm smile lighting his stern features as he extended a firm handshake, embodying the esteem he held for the retired soldier. Their palms clasped, and an unspoken understanding flickered between the two warriors.

A moment passed before Gazi gently placed a hand on Renier’s shoulder, introducing, "This is Ohran, a young charge under the Pasha's patronage."

Renier, catching the mention of his name, offered a tentative smile and a small bow, his actions illustrating a sincere, if clumsy, attempt at politeness amidst linguistic barriers.

The boy’s eyes wandered to the practice swords, then back to Gazi, a hopeful gleam flickering in his young eyes. Gathering his courage and recalling the words he had diligently practiced, Renier spoke with a careful, halting cadence, "Ben... ahşap kılıç ile... pratik yapabilir miyim, Gazi?"

Gazi’s eyes softened at the boy's attempt, a gentle nod affirming his approval before turning back to Kemal. "The young one wishes to practice with a wooden sword."

Kemal’s gaze shifted towards Renier, an approving nod gracing his stern features. "He is welcome, Gazi Bey. The yard benefits from disciplined practice, young or seasoned."

A practice sword was fetched for Renier, Gazi’s watchful eyes followed the boy as he moved toward an open space in the yard.

Renier, his fingers gently wrapping around the hilt of the wooden practice sword, took a deep, steadying breath. His eyes, reflecting a well of determination, fixated on an invisible opponent before him as he assumed an initial stance that was markedly different from the Turkish guards around him.

His movements, while clearly rooted in a different martial philosophy, flowed with a precision and grace that bespoke many hours of dedicated practice. The Spanish style, with its dynamic thrusts, parries, and particular fluidity, contrasted strikingly with the methods the guards displayed.

Gazi's eyebrows arched slightly, an internal whisper of surprise threading through his veteran’s composure. 'I thought I would have to start from nothing,' he mused silently, observing the boy’s performance. 'He moves with an unexpected grace and a precision that speaks of tutelage.' Gazi could discern the echoes of guidance in the boy's determined thrusts and nimble footwork.

Beside him, Kemal too watched, his initially stoic demeanor gradually softening into an expression of restrained admiration. 'His technique... It's distinctly foreign, yet executed with a finesse that belies his tender years,' thought the captain internally, his gaze unwavering from the solitary figure of the practicing boy amidst the disciplined chaos of the yard.

Gazi turned slightly towards Kemal, his voice a low rumble, just above a whisper. "Someone taught him those moves. A very different style."

Kemal, his eyes still tracing the boy’s practiced strikes and parries, responded in a similarly subdued tone, "His technique... is unique."

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

In the yard, amidst the clashing of steel and the grunts of exerting guardsmen, Renier, oblivious to the eyes upon him, continued his practice, each movement a whispered homage to his fallen friends and family. His small frame moved with a grace that quietly sewed threads of respect in the hearts of the observing warriors.

With a final, decisive swipe, Renier concluded his practice, the echoes of the wooden sword cutting through the air lingering momentarily before being absorbed by the lively ambiance of the practice yard. His chest rose and fell in measured breaths as he sheathed the practice sword, turning towards Gazi with a quiet, satisfied nod.

The duo navigated through the yard, their path illuminated by the nearing noon sun.

"Young Master," Gazi began, his voice gentle yet insistent, "who taught you the sword?"

Renier's youthful face, slightly red from the previous exertion, tilted upward to meet Gazi's gaze. "Gazi Bey, father was a merchant, but in his youth, he was a soldier," he answered, using the form of address he had heard others use. "He wanted me to know how to defend myself. Later, while I traveled with the caravan, I practiced with the guards," he added. "Now, they're all dead," he finished with a whisper.

Understanding and a soft resonance of empathy flickered through Gazi’s eyes. He nodded, acknowledging the wisdom in such teachings.

Gently placing a comforting hand on Renier’s shoulder, Gazi spoke with deliberateness, ensuring that the young master understood his forthcoming daily regimen. "Young Master Ohran, starting from tomorrow, your days will be structured to guide you in this new world of yours. Mornings will bring language lessons in Turkish and governance studies. Afternoons shall be spent on military lessons and weapon practice, including mastery of the bow.”

"I have not...used a bow, Gazi Bey. But I will learn,” Renier responded, his voice tinged with a subtle blend of eagerness and apprehension, both at the unknown and the desire to adapt swiftly.

Gazi’s gentle smile brought warmth to the exchange, an unspoken assurance cradling the young boy’s resolve. "That is the spirit, Young Master. Learning and adapting - it’s the core of survival and leadership.”

As the pair continued their walk toward Renier's quarters, the subdued yet persistent clamor of the practice yard began to dissolve into the tranquil ambiance of the estate.

After a few moments of silent ambling, Gazi, thinking of the strange fighting style, inquired further, "Young Master, your baba, was he from Rumelia?”

Renier, pausing momentarily, shared quietly, "No, Gazi Bey. We are from France. He was a great soldier there when he was young," melancholy setting in as he remembered the loss.

Gazi turned thoughtfully and asked, "France… You are not from Rumelia? How did you get here?"

Gazi attentively listened as Renier recounted his story, from leaving Rouen with his father to getting taken by the slavers and coming to the estate.

"What was your name before, Ohran?" asked Gazi.

"Renier Manuart."

"Are you related to General Rogier Manuart?" asked Gazi.

"He was my grandfather."

"And what was your mother's name? And your aunt's?" continued Gazi, his eyes getting wider with each answer.

"In France, my mother took my father's last name, so she was Esther Manuart, but before, her surname was Palaiologina. My aunt's name is Martha Palaiologina." Gazi let out a gasp.

His questioning was interrupted by the distant yet omnipresent call for noon prayer that began to reverberate throughout the estate.

"We will speak of this later," Gazi commented as he left Renier in his room.

That night, he repeated his flight with Ayg. More conscious this time, he tried to remember the route he would have to take and the significant landmarks.

The following morning, he woke before dawn and did his meditation. It was much easier now than when he started. His ability to clear his mind and repeat the mantra significantly improved. Ayg told him that with sufficient power, she would be able to appear while he was awake.

Immediately after the morning prayer, he went to the training yard and did his physical routine and hand-to-hand combat exercises. He figured he would train with the sword in the afternoon, so he skipped that part. When he returned, Gazi was waiting for him with a stern look on his face.

"Young master, Ohran, you should not leave your room until I come for you," Gazi scolded.

"Gazi Bey, I train my body," he tried to explain in Turkish but, frustrated, gave up and switched to Vlach. "This is what my father taught me," Renier explained. "Every day, I wake, meditate, do prayer, then train my body. I have done this since young!"

"Show me!"

Renier started demonstrating the different physical exercises, kicks, and punches he had been taught while Gazi's face started to smile.

Winded, he added, "I went to the practice yard, but I can do them in my room if it will cause a problem."

"That is fine. I will adjust your schedule so you can properly exercise in the morning. Your father taught you well." With the problem resolved, they went to have breakfast and start his first lesson.

Several months had passed, and Renier had settled into a comfortable routine. Although Ayg came almost every night and flew him to the Moiria Temple, reminding him to memorize the route, the reality was that the urgency he had once felt had been lulled. A safe place to stay, good food, a nice bed, learning exciting new things, practicing archery and swordplay with Gazi, Captain Kemal, and the other guards dulled his thirst for revenge. The youthful rage that he had felt the months before was worn away by the kindness and appreciation of the people who surrounded him.

'Would it be so bad to stay here,' he thought one afternoon as he walked back to his room from the practice yard. He was going over the sparring he had just finished in his head. Trying to find solutions to the mistakes he had made that ultimately made him lose. Fighting these guards was certainly different than Jovan or Ilija. He could hold his own with them. Here, he was trounced daily. One problem was changing styles from what his father had taught him to the style they used here. His body was not used to these moves. Sometimes, he parried where he should have thrust or dodged instead of parrying, and then the guards would exploit that his body would be out of place. It was frustrating, especially since he didn't think that this new method was any better. For the millionth time, he heard Gazi in his head, 'There is no one here that can teach you the more advanced moves of your Spanish style, so if you want to become a master, you must learn what we can teach you.' It made sense, but he didn't like it.

Hayme was waiting by the door when he reached his bedroom. "Young master, your bath is ready. Please change. The Overseer is here to check on your progress," she said as she opened the door for him.

"… there are a thousand of them. All trained to serve Padişahım Murad I as his personal guard," Renier overheard the overseer comment as he walked into the library after having changed.

"As-salaam alaikum, Gazi Bey, Overseer," Renier greeted the pair with a bow. "Aleikum selam, Ohran," answered the Overseer with a huge grin on his face. Then, slapping his hand on his thigh while laughing, he added, "This is wonderful, Gazi Bey; he has made such progress!" Turning to Renier, he asked, "How is your Turkish?"

"Good, Overseer. I listen… understand most things, and with only little problems, I can have conversations," Renier answered as he pinched his thumb and forefinger to emphasize.

"How is your archery?" the Overseer continued his questioning in a jovial tone.

"I have much to learn, and my arm is not strong enough, but I practice every day."

"Good… good. Ohran, in four months' time, I will come to take you to the testing. Then, if all goes well, you will become an oğlan of the yeŋniceri. This is a high honor," he explained.

"Ohran," he continued, dropping his voice to a more serious tone, "Your aunt, Gran Concubine Thoedora, answered. I have explained your situation, and she has agreed that the yeŋniceri is a good place for you. Before the testing, I will take you to meet her; your aunt Martha will also be there. She's traveling from Konstantiniyye to see you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Overseer. Thank you. Gazi Bey has explained to me. I never knew that my mother's family or that my aunt Theodora was the concubine of the previous Sultan."