On the third day, Damien faced his mother. Lady Elira stood elegantly in the center of the courtyard, a slender rapier in her hand. Though she rarely fought, her reputation as a master duelist was well-known.

“Are you sure about this?” Damien asked, half-joking.

Elira smiled warmly. “You’ll find I’m not as gentle as your siblings.”

The match began, and Damien quickly realized he was in trouble. Elira’s movements were graceful, almost effortless, her rapier a blur as she struck with pinpoint accuracy. Damien struggled to keep up, her speed and precision unlike anything he’d faced before.

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Elira’s strikes came in rapid succession, forcing Damien to focus entirely on defense. She weaved around his counters with ease, her blade finding openings in his guard. Each time she landed a blow, it was light but decisive.

“You’re holding back,” Elira said softly, her tone encouraging. “Show me your true strength.”

Damien gritted his teeth and stepped up his game. He moved faster, his strikes more aggressive, but Elira adapted effortlessly. She parried his attacks with precision, her counterattacks leaving him no room to breathe.

The match ended with Elira disarming Damien in a swift, fluid motion. The soldiers erupted in applause, their admiration for both combatants clear.

“You fought well,” Elira said, handing him back Ebonfang. “But you still have much to learn.”