The manor's dining area was located on the first floor, and it had a great view of the garden out back. Other than that, the dining area itself had little to take note aside from its large space. It had the usual furniture a place built to dine in had: a long table and chairs on each end. However, the size and the number of these pieces made the room feel empty and lonely.

Fiona's aunt must really hate decorating.

Tyrus didn't care all that much and had already stuffed two plates' worth of food down this gullet. The food smelled and tasted fantastic, a great blend of spices and herbs that brought a satisfying flavor to Tyrus's mouth. While the food at the imperial palace was leagues better, eating food as good as this was something he wouldn't take for granted.

Tyrus's eyes were drawn to a tray of delectable sweets, their vibrant colors beckoning to him. With anticipation, he reached out and selected one that appeared thin and pale-yellow. As he took a bite, a symphony of fruity flavors exploded on his tongue, filling his mouth with a delightful sweetness.

The sensation was so delightful that he couldn't resist finishing the dessert in a single bite. However, his indulgence was interrupted when he noticed Fiona's gaze fixed upon him, a sly smile slowly forming on her lips. Feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment, Tyrus hastily adjusted himself in his seat, clearing his throat before sheepishly uttering, "Sorry."

Fiona smiled. "Don't apologize. It's cute to see you wolfing down the food. Just don't eat too much or you'll upset your stomach."

"Get on with the speech already," Igneal said from the head seat.

"You just had to ruin the moment," said Fiona. "Anyway, His Majesty didn't spend too much time talking, so I'll summarize his words."

She cleared her throat, and, in her best impersonation of the emperor, said, "Dear citizens of the Lethos Empire. It is with a heavy heart that I say that the tragedy that befell us has come to pass. As most of you know, a warehouse containing ores and oil caught fire yesterday. There were a few casualties. Yet by the grace of Sthito, we are fortunate that no more lives were lost. And thanks to those that serve to protect us, everyone was evacuated safely, and the fire was extinguished by none of than Royal Knight Nessa."

Fiona took a breath and continued her terrible impersonation. Tyrus listened closely as while stuffed his mouth with the sweet treats.

"We are currently investigating the cause of the fire, but we suspect a crate of oil and ores were improperly stored, and a worker decided to light a cigar, unknowingly dropping embers near that crate. Because such a tragedy has happened because of negligence, safety checks of businesses will be conducted every fourteen days."

"That's it?" asked Igneal.

"Well, yeah," Fiona said. "What did you expect, a grand speech about how he's going to personally find the culprit and make them pay? I did say I was summarizing. The rest of the speech was just talking about the glory of the Lethos Empire and all that, but that's not what I want to focus on. His Majesty lied about the cause of the fire; It was all Scourge's doing."

Tyrus nearly choked and pounded his chest. "S-Scourge again? Why is it always those guys that are causing trouble?"

"I don't know," she said. "That rune you guys felt earlier was created by a Conjuration Sorcerer in their ranks. Or at least affiliated with Scourge in some way."

"Adding to that," Igneal interjected, "other sorcerers won't easily buy into the emperor's words. They too would have sensed the power emanating from the rune. It's dumb to think that a mere cigar could trigger that big a fire. Undoubtedly, there will be people who uncover the truth behind the emperor's words."

Fiona shook her head. "No, I do not believe that is the case. I might be grasping at straws here, but His Majesty purposely withheld information about Scourge. He mentioned Nessa was responsible for getting rid of the flames. I think he expects sorcerers who felt the rune's power believe it was her instead, resulting from summoning that spirit and not some organization no one has heard of before."

"Does that mean he doesn't want everyone to know about Scourge?" Tyrus said.

"Most likely to minimize panic among the general public," responded Igneal. "If the commoners knew that an organized group was responsible, rather than a mere careless accident, they would soil their undergarments. Before they know it, they would start worrying whether their homes or businesses would be the next targets."

"Oh, that makes sense. I'd be looking all over my home, scared for my life, knowing Scourge has the guts to cause trouble in the royal capital."

Fiona stood up from her seat, frowning. "Let's keep this information to ourselves for the time being. We, His Majesty, and the royal guards are aware of Scourge's existence. If they want to keep them a secret, then so be it. I don't want a bunch of guards barging into the manor to send me to some nasty old cellar. Soon, I expect Grant's father or Nessa to tell us to keep it a secret."

Igneal scoffed. "Or wipe our minds."

Tyrus shivered. "C-Can they do that? I don't want my memories to disappear again..."

"Don't listen to him, Tyrus. As far as I'm aware, only those with a dark affinity can do that, and you know how that goes."

Better to be safe than sorry, Tyrus thought.

Already have lost his memories from long ago, it was frustrating living with the realization that precious memories were hidden from him. Locked away in the deepest pits of his brain, unable to dig it out because something was prohibiting him from accessing them. Of course, he already knew the reason: Wanderer, the woman responsible for sealing his memories.

"Tyrus?" Fiona called out. "You look a little pale. Is everything okay?"

He blinked. "No, I'm fine. My mind just wandered off for a bit."

"Okay, just making sure. I'll be in my room studying if you need me for anything." She flashed a smile and a wave as she exited the dining area. Tyrus could hear her footsteps receding until her presence disappeared entirely.

Tyrus stood up from his seat and walk toward the door. "I'll be in the library reading."

Igneal shrugged and said, "Sure, go ahead. Just make sure you don't oversleep in that place and end up missing our spar. I really dislike it when my time is wasted."

Tyrus reassured him with a nod and left, making his way toward the library. After a bit of walking and turning the wrong corners, he finally arrived and immediately went to pick out a few books regarding magic. The first few ones were The Foundations of Magic and The Foundations of Spell-casting, and the last one titled History of Sorcery.

After grabbing the items, he settled himself at the table and placed them neatly beside an open book depicting an ember wraith. Tyrus had intentionally left the book open to that particular page the night before, ensuring he could easily resume reading without delay.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

When the sparring sessions end, he would take a bath, eat, and then make his way to the library for his nightly reading sessions. It was during this quiet time that he found peace, a welcome respite from pain and frustration. Not only that, but it was also a joy he could finally spend time learning and not fighting for survival.

I'll try to finish these books first before reading anything else.

His gaze wandered across the page. He traced the detailed drawing, admiring the intricate details that made the depictions of creatures come alive with a smile on his face.

Time passed in a flash, and the room grew dark enough where the books themselves became difficult to read. Tyrus repressed a yawn and sluggishly rose from his seat, his body tensing as his muscles awoke from sitting. After a quick stretch, he headed for his room, casting Illumination to navigate the dark halls.

****

The third day of sparring with Igneal was a bit different from the others. The severity of the beatings was still harsh, but the amount of blows he received was fewer and he could actually put up a bit of a fight.

About ten minutes into their fight, Igneal's knees sunk slightly while his hand clenched. In that split second of noticing, Igneal lunged the practice sword forward.

"Oh?"

Tyrus parried the strike rather awkwardly, yet took that chance to counterattack and lunged for his opponents chest. However, Igneal saw it coming and ducked his body. With his free hand, Igneal swatted Tyrus' sword arm away and drove his own sword toward Tyrus. Thankfully, he stopped just before the weapon could touch him.

Igneal backed away slowly and got into a fighting stance. "Finally noticing your opponent's movements? Took you long enough."

Tyrus said nothing and got into his own stance, albeit more confidently. It was for a moment, but Tyrus finally recognized an opening in his opponent's attacks. Whenever Igneal went for a stab, his knees would sink, probably to increase his power and speed. He'd have to keep a closer eye on his legs without sacrificing too much attention to his other limbs.

The spar continued, and the two traded swings with Tyrus mostly on the receiving end, but it was a lot more bearable than the previous times. Avoiding Igneal's quick stabs was getting easier to track and avoid. Every time that happened, the fire in Tyrus's chest grew ever so slightly.

There were still moves in his opponent's arsenal that Tyrus was trying to understand and anticipate. Igneal's footwork was amazing and would occasionally throw him off whenever he went for fake strikes. But Tyrus refused to give up. He kept on fighting until his strength was spent, his lungs gasping for air, his body drenched in sweat, and his muscles burning with exhaustion. While had yet to land a solid hit, he could finally see his progress coming to light.

When the spar ended, Igneal and Tyrus broke away to do their usual activities afterward. A good shower and meal later, Tyrus was already inside the library, reading until his eyesight blurred and words were no longer on the page.

Illustrations of swamp imps and goblins shifted all around. Creatures with wings as long as a ships sail, and treants whose appearance and traits adapt to the seasons. A grotesque plant that burrows within a living-creature's blood and grows in size as their health is drained until they were nothing more than dried husks.

His mind wandered through the pages, learning the basics of these creatures and their weaknesses. The knowledge he had gained would surely come in handy in the future.

On the fourth day, Tyrus noted that the sparring sessions were gradually becoming easier. His body was adapting to the constant exertion, and he noticed an improvement in his reflexes. Although still at a basic level, he was now able to partially keep up with Igneal's graceful swordsmanship.

Tyrus was in awe of how Igneal had the stamina to keep up with him, a person who lived in the wild and hunted animals for as long as he could remember. Igneal appeared as the indoor type, wasting away in his manor and refusing any long form of exercise.

His swordsmanship warned the opposite, and the noble was in great shape. While at the Wasteful Wetlands, he did not show such energy, but it was worth mentioning that they were consistently on the move.

The amount of times Igneal knocked him down lessened as Tyrus was instructed to maintain his balance while moving, not from Igneal, but Sir Wayne.

In his usual sneering tone, he told Tyrus that a solid stance was a must for a fighter, especially for someone who was using a sword. A weak stance lead to holes in a person's defenses and a gateway to learning bad habits; separated feet to accommodate a medium-sized bowl, knees slightly bent, and toes facing straight ahead was what Sir Wayne advised.

Sir Wayne's words were correct, and Tyrus could see why. Even a slight slip in the stance would lead him to lose his balance, and when it did, Igneal would pounce on him like a wolf. A quick thrust from his opponent would send Tyrus reeling and tumbling onto the floor, but he would get up rather quickly and defend the next strike. Igneal never hesitated; as soon as he saw the slightest of openings, he'd go straight for the kill.

On the fifth and sixth day, Tyrus exerted himself more on the offense. He would unleash quick strikes without getting too close to Igneal. They were all deflected with ease, but the noble was impressed by his efforts, so much so that his attacks became more aggressive.

Those two days were filled with excruciatingly brutal sessions that left him battered and sore. Despite using Healing Touch to mend his wounds, he still felt the lingering ache in the areas he had been struck, causing him to groan and toss restlessly during sleep. On the bright side, as Igneal's strikes grew more forceful, Tyrus no longer flinched at every blow. Gradually, he began deciphering Igneal's body language, anticipating his attacks with each passing moment.

An entire week had passed, and Tyrus was getting the hang of swordsmanship. He was getting more confident in defending against Igneal's strikes and beginning to initiate counterattacks more often. If Igneal went for a thrust, Tyrus would back away, leaving Igneal vulnerable for a counterstrike. But Igneal was quick on his feet and would pull back before Tyrus could attack, and would go on the offensive again.

During one particular session, Tyrus noticed Igneal was using feints more often. The noble had been using them a couple of times, but never to this extent. He'd make a swing and then abruptly stop just short of Tyrus's neck, or go for a thrust and pull back immediately. Tyrus saw through most of them and waited for the actual strike, but then Igneal would go for another feint and land hardened blows. He'd have to get used to Igneal's tactics and predict his next move.

The days rushed past in a haze as the biting cold of the weather crept closer. It wasn't winter yet, but the snowfall would start coming any day now. Already, the manor was starting to get a bit chilly, and Tyrus had to wear his coat into its longer form while lighting a fire inside the fireplace at the library.

Every day, his schedule was jam-packed, with morning to midday sparring sessions, followed by intense studying until it was time to rest. Rinse and repeat. Although it was a repetitive routine, he found it incredibly enjoyable. It wasn't until now that he fully realized how much he had missed training. The excitement and exhilaration it brought made his blood surge with renewed energy.

On the fifteenth day, something interesting had happened. The sparring session went along as usual, with Igneal winning all their interactions.

Tyrus was in a defensive stance, his eyes straining as he watched Igneal move closer with a determined look. Then, as the noble moved, Tyrus's instincts suddenly flared. Igneal lunged, his sword held high, poised to strike. Tyrus saw an opening. Igneal's swing was a bit wider than usual, and his grip was slightly weaker, resulting in a slow movement.

Tyrus took his chance and took an abrupt step forward. He turned his body and allowed the sword to sail past his body and immediately went for a one-handed lunge at Igneal's left shoulder. Igneal's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he quickly adjusted his footing. The noble dodged to the side, just barely, and the tip of Tyrus's sword grazed his shoulder. It wasn't a sure hit, but the fact that Tyrus landed a blow for the first time made his chest swell with pride.

"I-I did it! I landed a hit!" With a wide smile, Tyrus glanced at his opponent.

Igneal rubbed his shoulder. "Hmph, I overextended my swing there. But, I will give credit where its due. It only took you fifteen days, but you grazed me."

"Right? Next time, it won't be a graze," Tyrus said, wiping sweat off his face.

Igneal's eyes narrowed. "I won't be making such a careless mistake again, but you're welcome to try. Don't get discouraged for what comes next."

"Huh? What does that—"

Tyrus, overwhelmed by his triumph, was completely absorbed in the moment. Unfortunately, he failed to perceive Igneal's swift sword swing until it was too late. The blade's edge collided with his torso, causing him to stagger backward. A piercing sting shot through him, followed by a sudden numbing sensation, leaving him instinctively clutching his side.

"Ow! I wasn't ready!"

"Get up once you're done crying," Igneal said.

It took half a minute before the pain subsided. Tyrus got to his feet and readied himself, shooting a sharp glare at his opponent. He was definitely going to land a hit, and this time he was going to rub it in Igneal's face.

Another batch of days passed, and the distance between him and Igneal seemed to decrease with each completed session.

Their arms grew weary from the constant swing of their practice swords. Their bodies moved with an unspoken rhythm now, like two parts of the same machine—one striking, the other blocking, one advancing, the other retreating. Muscles ached, breaths came heavier, but neither backed down. Wooden splinters flew as they clashed, littering the platform stained with fluids.

As the twentieth day dawned, their vigorous sword fighting came to an abrupt halt, interrupted by the gentle descent of the season's first blanket of snow.