Jesse and Yonsil returned to their rooms at the Luna Inn, the air thick with anticipation. They prepared their gear with a steady focus, inspecting every strap and buckle, every blade and pouch. The room was filled with the scent of leather and metal, a familiar comfort before the unknown of the day's training. The light filtering through the window illuminated the edge of Jesse’s twin blades, Devil’s Dance, casting an ominous gleam.

“We’re off,” Jesse announced as they stepped into the corridor, his voice brimming with determination.

“Good luck,” Rhys called from the common room, raising his mug in a casual salute. “Jacques and Aibine have already left to meet up with Keldrin.”

“Sorry, but we’ll stay here,” Meryl added as she loaded supplies onto the wagon. "We're headed to the smithies to get our gear fixed."

“Do you know where the smithy is?” Jesse turned to Yonsil.

“It’s near the cargo stations, just south of the plaza,” Yonsil replied, adjusting the strap of her scabbard over her shoulder.

Jesse nodded, then asked, “So where are we training?”

“There’s a clearing not far from here,” Yonsil said. “Aibine and I used to practice there often. It’s about a thirty-minute walk into Swerendus Woods.”

Jesse hesitated. "Those woods are filled with monsters—giant spiders, cockatrices, goblin stragglers. It’s dangerous.”

Yonsil gave him a reassuring look, her eyes filled with warmth. “That area is guarded by wind sylphs. It’s safe,” she said softly. "You said you’d trust me, right?" She paused, her gaze locking onto his. “Did you bring your dual blades, Devil’s Dance?”

“I did,” Jesse replied, patting the hilt at his side.

“Good,” she nodded, her eyes gleaming. “I promised to help you master it.”

“But I can’t use it in the arena,” Jesse protested, doubt creeping into his voice.

“That’s okay,” Yonsil said firmly. “You’ll have to learn some magical techniques to strengthen your blows. Halflings, like elves, have a natural aptitude for magic—more so than most dwarves or humans.”

Jesse frowned, the worry clear on his face. “But wouldn’t a dark-affinity blade attract evil?”

“The wind spirits—the sylphs—will block any dark influence,” Yonsil explained. Then, with a playful yet commanding tone, she added, “Now, continue carrying me.”

Jesse sighed but smiled, hoisting her onto his back. They left the inn and ventured into the woods, the path winding through a dense canopy of ancient oaks and pine. The journey stretched longer than expected, and soon the sounds of the bustling city faded behind them. The leaves rustled overhead, whispering secrets of the forest, as sunlight dappled the path before them.

After a grueling forty-five minutes, they arrived at the clearing. Jesse paused, taking in the beauty of the place. A soft light filtered through the trees, casting an ethereal glow on the carpet of moss and wildflowers. The air was cool, fragrant with the scent of earth and foliage. "It's beautiful," he breathed, awe in his voice. "It feels like the goddess of nature, Dea Dia, blessed this place."

Yonsil smiled, looking around the clearing with a touch of nostalgia. “Before the war, this was a sacred ground where the Frogfolk, Rabbitfolk, and Molefolk came to pray,” she explained. “The Eaglefolk guarded it, ensuring its sanctity.”

Turning to him, her eyes sharpened, brimming with the energy of a warrior. “Pick up your blade,” she ordered, unsheathing her own hwando. As she drew the sword, the air around it shimmered, and wind sylphs materialized, swirling like a delicate mist around the blade. "I'll show you how to channel spirits."

Jesse nodded, drawing Devil’s Dance. He assumed a defensive stance, feeling the weight of the dark affinity sword in his hands.

Yonsil studied him with a critical eye. “Devil’s Dance is a blade forged from the essence of a malevolent creature. To wield it, you must harness fearsome emotions and turn them into excitement. Fear becomes power.”

“How do I do that... while fighting?” Jesse asked, his grip tightening around the hilt.

“Don’t overthink it!” Yonsil barked. “Now, charge!”

Jesse lunged forward, his heart pounding in his chest. Their blades clashed with a ringing intensity that echoed through the forest, sending birds scattering into the sky. In that instant, Jesse felt as though he was battling King Bertram again. He realized, however, that the king had held back during their match to test him. Yonsil, on the other hand, showed no such restraint.

She moved with a speed that left him breathless, creating afterimages as her form blurred into a mirage. Jesse’s eyes strained to follow her movements, but it was like trying to catch the wind. With a swift, brutal strike, Yonsil's blade crashed into his guard, sending him flying backward into a tree.

Jesse groaned, struggling to get back to his feet. Before he could fully recover, Yonsil closed the distance, her eyes fierce, unyielding. “Stand up,” she commanded, her voice like steel. “We’ve only just begun. You may have bested the imp, Noggle, but that was an ambush while he slept. This is different. You have to learn to fight on your own.”

Jesse gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of her words. He looked around, seeing the world he had to fight against—the monsters, the challenges, the darkness. Yonsil should be the one protecting me, he thought bitterly. Not the other way around.

But no, he couldn't accept that. Not anymore. With a surge of determination, he charged again. This time, he focused on the darkness within the blade, channeling it into a fog that shrouded the clearing. The air grew thick, the light dimming as shadows coiled around them.

Yonsil hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she searched for him in the swirling gloom. Jesse moved silently through the darkness, using it to mask his approach. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, he struck out, pushing her back.

A flicker of surprise crossed Yonsil’s face, quickly replaced by a fierce grin. “You’re getting the hang of it!” she called, her voice ringing through the clearing like a challenge. “Again!”

Jesse steadied his breath, his heart racing with both fear and exhilaration. He raised his blade, nodding. “Aye,” he replied, his voice firm. The real training had just begun.

Meanwhile, Jacques and Aibine secured the looted weapons of the Black Lion Knights onto their horses and Fervia birds. The forest around them was quiet, the dense canopy overhead casting deep shadows on the forest floor. The sound of creaking leather and the clink of steel accompanied their work, each movement careful and deliberate.

“We should have brought the wagon,” Jacques muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow as he tightened the straps around a bundle of swords.

Aibine shook her head, her eyes scanning the path ahead. “The wagon would have drawn too much attention,” she replied. “They’ve started inspecting routes. It would’ve slowed us down.”

Jacques grunted in agreement, glancing southward toward the looming mountains in the distance. “So we head south, around the mountain passes,” he mused. “Are you certain your... ‘friends’ will buy this?” His tone was skeptical, his gaze wary as he adjusted the weapons on his steed.

“They will,” Aibine affirmed, her voice steady. “They need to move this stock quickly before the incident with the mercenary faction is traced back to them. That’s why we left at dawn—to avoid patrols. And wagons can't navigate the narrow paths we’ll be taking.”

After a brisk, silent ride through the forest trails, they reached a small clearing where Keldrin awaited them. The half-elf ranger stood amidst the shadows, his posture relaxed but vigilant, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

Aibine dismounted and gave him a curt nod. “I knew I could trust you with this, Keldrin.”

Keldrin’s expression softened, a hint of pride glinting in his eyes. “You can always rely on the rangers of Eire,” he said, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of experience.

“Did you meet the man we’re supposed to deal with?” Aibine asked, glancing around the forest, her senses on high alert.

“They’re up ahead,” Keldrin replied. “I didn’t approach them directly. Sent the wolves to scout the area for any signs of patrols from Serendus. It seems clear, for now.”

Jacques adjusted the axe at his back, his eyes narrowing as he nodded. “Let’s meet this contact, then.”

The group moved cautiously through the underbrush, each step quiet as they approached a secluded glade. Sunlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the figure of a man standing at its center, his demeanor relaxed yet vigilant. His gaze fell upon them, and a crooked smile spread across his face as Aibine approached.

“Lady Aibine, it’s been too long,” the man greeted, his voice smooth and filled with familiarity.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Aibine bowed slightly, her eyes cool. “Allow me to introduce Bo,” she said to her companions. “He is one of the rebels, second in command to Bruin.”

Bo’s eyes shifted to the rest of the party, assessing them with a glance. “And who have you brought with you?” he inquired.

“Friends, sent by King Bertram,” Aibine replied.

“Aye,” Bo nodded, eyeing Jacques and Keldrin. “Well met, then. I trust your quest fares well?”

Jacques crossed his arms, his posture tense. “As much as I dislike trusting rebels, I’d rather be rid of these weapons,” he growled, his eyes never leaving Bo.

Bo chuckled, a low, almost mocking sound. “So, you’re the one who took down Jenna’s lapdogs?” he said, a hint of admiration in his tone.

Jacques stiffened, alarm flashing across his face. “How did you know?” he demanded, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his axe.

Keldrin’s eyes darted toward Aibine. “Did the princess send them after us?” he asked, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Bo held up his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But don’t fret; we’ll take the weapons off your hands.” With a wave, he signaled to a pair of shadowy figures emerging from the trees, who approached to inspect the goods. “Forty silver crowns for the lot,” Bo stated as he handed a small pouch to Aibine.

Aibine weighed the pouch in her hand before nodding. Bo glanced between them, his gaze lingering on Jacques. "These will serve us well," he said. "And when you’ve completed your task with your leader, come to our base. Aibine and Yonsil know the way. Bruin wishes to meet him.”

Keldrin shot a wary glance at Aibine. “Was this planned?” he asked, his voice tight. "You and Yonsil, in contact with the rebels?"

Aibine met his gaze steadily. "Odarin has been in contact with them as well," she replied evenly. “We can’t divulge the details.”

Bo interjected, his eyes gleaming with a mix of caution and confidence. “We do not know the true nature of our enemy, but we’re rallying support within the court for your cause. You’ll have hidden foes, but secret allies as well. I hope the choices you make earn you more allies, for you will need them.”

Jacques gave a begrudging nod. “Thanks for the... warning,” he muttered.

Keldrin glanced sideways at Aibine, his face a mask of unease. "Sorry, Aibine," he said softly. "I didn’t know you were constrained by... secrecy."

Aibine's eyes hardened as she gazed into the forest’s depths. "The rebels have their ways," she replied cryptically. "Invoking their name here, within the city walls, is not safe."

Suddenly, she tensed, her eyes darting skyward. A raven sat perched high in the branches, its beady eyes fixed upon them. Keldrin reacted instantly, his hand flying to his bow. With a swift, fluid motion, he nocked an arrow and let it loose. The arrow cut through the air with a sharp whistle, striking the raven squarely and sending it tumbling to the ground.

"A magical beast," Jacques murmured, his eyes narrowing as he approached the fallen bird.

"Don’t worry," Bo said casually, his gaze never wavering. "You sniped it cleanly. Its master won’t learn anything."

Bo stepped back, giving them a curt nod. "See you soon, masters," he said, his voice carrying a hint of mock respect as he turned and melted into the shadows of the forest, leaving them alone in the glade.

On the other side of town, Meryl and Rhys made their way through the bustling streets, heading towards the smithies to have their spare gear repaired. The morning air was crisp, filled with the scent of baking bread and the earthy smoke of forges that lined the roads. Merchants called out their wares, and children darted between stalls, their laughter mingling with the noise of the marketplace.

“Which way to the smithy?” Rhys asked, adjusting the sack slung over his shoulder that carried their battered armor.

“They said to head to the big workshop downtown,” Meryl replied, her eyes scanning the signs. “Most people in this area worship Aegle, and the blacksmith there is supposed to be one of his devoted followers.”

They wound through narrow alleys and side streets until they finally came upon a large stone workshop, its chimneys puffing clouds of smoke into the morning sky. The clang of hammers striking anvils filled the air, the rhythmic sound echoing off the buildings around them.

“This must be the place,” Rhys grunted as he pushed open the heavy wooden door, revealing the warm glow of the forge within. The scent of hot metal and burning coal hit them as they entered.

Meryl turned to Rhys and nodded. "You talk to him," she said, glancing at the dwarf busy at the anvil. "He might listen to you better."

Rhys approached the stout dwarf, his features covered in soot, his arms thick with muscle. "We need some of our armor fixed," Rhys said, gesturing to the sack he carried. "Most of this was battered during a fight with slavers." He set down the sack, opening it to reveal the worn and dented pieces of armor. "Also brought some arrows. Could use better fletching if you have the time."

The dwarf turned, revealing a face lined with years of work at the forge. "Name’s Harbel," he grunted, eyeing the equipment critically. “Hmph. Your weapons are in sorry shape, and these arrows are barely decent.”

Meryl stepped forward, her expression calm and composed. "We need better spare gear," she said, her voice carrying the firmness of a priestess accustomed to negotiating.

Harbel’s gaze softened slightly. “Ah, a priestess of Aegle,” he noted, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “Since I follow Aegle’s light myself, I’ll give you a discount. But tell me, why do you need weapons, dear priestess?”

Meryl and Rhys exchanged a glance before replying. “It’s for a pilgrimage,” they said in unison, their tone respectful but guarded.

Harbel's eyes twinkled with understanding, a warm smile breaking through his rough demeanor. “A pilgrimage, eh? May the God of Light keep you both safe, young lovers. There’s a chapel here in town you should visit—the Chapel of Saintess Ava. Tell you what,” he added, leaning on his hammer. “I’ll fix your gear at a discount if you spend the morning there with the orphans. Teach them some scriptures, play a bit. They could use the company.”

Rhys nodded solemnly, his gaze steady. “I promise, on my kin,” he said. “From a half-dwarf to a full-blooded dwarf, we’ll spend the morning with them.”

Harbel's eyes softened further, and he gave a grunt of approval. “Good lad,” he muttered. “Take the coin you were going to pay me and buy some food for the kids. Your gear will be ready by tomorrow.”

Meryl bowed her head in gratitude. "Thank you, Harbel. We will do as you ask." With that, she took the pouch of coins and gestured to Rhys. "Let's go."

They left the forge, heading towards the market to buy bread, fruit, and other provisions before crossing the street to the chapel. The building was modest and tucked away, partially hidden behind a veil of climbing ivy. A carved wooden sign above the entrance read: Chapel of Saintess Ava, Martyr of the Faith.

Inside, the air was cool and quiet, filled with the faint scent of incense and candle wax. The chapel's humble interior was decorated with simple tapestries depicting scenes of Aegle’s teachings. A middle-aged priest greeted them, his face lighting up at the sight of the provisions.

"Welcome, children of Aegle," he said warmly. “The orphans will be glad to see you.”

The morning passed in joyful camaraderie. Meryl gathered the children in a circle, teaching them verses and guiding them in prayer, her voice clear and kind. Meanwhile, Rhys joined the older children outside, engaging in mock swordplay and games of tag. Laughter and the sound of clapping hands filled the chapel’s courtyard, a melody of innocence and hope amidst the harsh realities outside its walls.

As the sun climbed higher, casting its golden light through the stained-glass windows, Meryl approached Rhys. “It’s time to go,” she said softly. “We need to meet up with the others at the Luna Inn.”

Rhys sighed, ruffling the hair of a boy standing next to him. “Alright,” he said, giving the children a last, playful grin. “Time for some goblin extermination.”

The priest approached them as they made their way to the entrance. "Go with Aegle's blessing," he intoned, his voice filled with quiet reverence. The children gathered around, waving their goodbyes with smiles and laughter.

“We’ll come back next time,” Meryl promised, her heart warmed by the children's joy. With that, she and Rhys stepped out into the sunlight, leaving the chapel behind as they headed back to rejoin their companions.

Meanwhile, Jesse and Yonsil sat in the clearing, both catching their breath, beads of sweat glistening on their foreheads. The morning’s practice had been intense, the clearing now marked with the evidence of their combat—a few scattered leaves, disturbed soil, and a lingering energy in the air. Yonsil’s eyes studied him critically, still evaluating his form even as they rested.

“You’re still quite clumsy,” she observed, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a lanista.”

Jesse grimaced, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "The sword we used is too big for me," he muttered, glancing at the longsword lying on the grass beside him. Its length gleamed in the dappled sunlight, a weapon both beautiful and cumbersome in his grip.

“It's a champion’s duel,” Yonsil reminded him, her tone firm. “Only one weapon is allowed. You’ll have to make do with this longsword.”

Jesse sighed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m having doubts," he admitted. "The sword I'll be using in the arena... it doesn’t have magic.”

Yonsil tilted her head, eyes glinting with a hidden secret. “But you’ve learned to imbue it with dark elemental spirits—shadows,” she pointed out.

“Really?” Jesse asked, his eyes widening with curiosity and surprise.

Yonsil gave a slight nod. “Try it. Just don’t make it obvious,” she cautioned, her gaze sharp as she watched him closely.

Jesse took a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus. He reached out, feeling for the dark spirits she had spoken of. For a moment, there was nothing but the rustle of leaves and the whisper of wind. Then, a cold surge washed over him, pooling in his veins like a shadowy river. His grip on the sword tightened as he felt a new strength flooding into his limbs, a dark power that made his heart pound with exhilaration.

“Are there no side effects to this?” he asked, a tinge of concern edging into his voice.

Yonsil shrugged casually. "For dark elementals, they work much like flame salamanders. They fill you with confidence, sometimes too much," she warned. “It’s easy to become overconfident, to forget your limits.”

Jesse nodded, taking her words to heart. Despite the warning, he couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through him. "You picked it up quite well," Yonsil admitted, her eyes softening.

“Were you going all out against me?” Jesse asked, unable to mask the disbelief in his voice. He had felt her relentless pressure, the swift and deadly strikes that had pushed him to his very limit.

“I was,” Yonsil replied, a hint of pride in her voice. “How else would I push you to become stronger?”

Jesse glanced at the blade in his hands, a shiver running down his spine. “I felt like I could’ve died there,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Yonsil smiled, her eyes gleaming with a mix of compassion and steel. "I can always heal you," she said lightly. "Besides, you matched me evenly by the end. And remember, you were a complete beginner. Without magic, you’ll dominate me in no time."

Jesse felt a rush of warmth at her words. "Thank you," he said earnestly, his chest swelling with pride at the unexpected compliment.

Yonsil rose to her feet, brushing the dirt and leaves from her clothes. “We should get back to the Luna Inn now,” she said, glancing toward the forest path that led back to town. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

“Yeah,” Jesse agreed, sheathing his sword. “Let’s go.”

But before they took a step, Yonsil turned to him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Kiss me on the cheek as payment," she demanded, her tone playful yet firm.

Jesse blinked, his face flushing. “Huh?” he stammered, taken aback by her request. But as he looked into her eyes, he saw the determination there, mixed with something softer. Swallowing his hesitation, he leaned in and gave her a quick, shy peck on the cheek.

A satisfied smile spread across Yonsil’s face. “Good,” she said, tilting her head in approval. “Now, continue carrying me.”

Jesse couldn’t help but chuckle as he bent down, allowing her to climb onto his back. He hoisted her up, feeling the familiar warmth of her arms around his shoulders. As they started down the path, Yonsil nestled against him, her presence a comforting weight that eased the soreness of their training.

The forest around them seemed to brighten with their laughter, the rustling leaves and birdsong weaving a melody of companionship. Step by step, they made their way back to town, the bond between them strengthened by the trials they had faced together.