The Flower Is Finished

The air between us was still awkward. Even as I looked at him, I could see the hatred in his eyes—hatred for Gustav—though he was trying his best to suppress it.

"I heard that the royal library was burned down. Do you still keep some of the books?" I asked carefully.

This time, he stayed silent for a long while, long enough to make me panic. For a moment, I feared he might truly be lost to dementia.

"I don't know," he finally said. "But you can look in that room. There are still many books there."

He pointed toward a dim room, its hinges nearly detached from the doorframe.

"That door?" I asked.

He nodded, grabbed a handful of peanuts from the table, and popped them into his mouth. I turned toward the old, decaying door to take a better look, then glanced back at him—only to find that he was gone.

He was now outside, digging the soil near a tree. I was startled and hurried toward him, trying to place a hand on his shoulder. But before I could touch him, he suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me down.

"Are you trying to buy my house?" he shouted, his eyes wide with anger.

I froze. A moment ago, he was talking about books—why was he now shouting about his house?

"Do you… know who I am?" I asked cautiously.

"Aren't you one of those merchants trying to buy my home?" he snapped.

"I told you—I won't sell this place! Even if it's old and broken, I'll never sell it!" He stood with hands on his hips, glaring at me with restrained fury.

I scratched my head, pulling a candy from my pocket. "I'm not here to buy your house. I just wanted to meet you," I explained. "Um… but could you let me enter that room for a moment?"

I pointed toward the door with its rusted hinges barely hanging on.

"You shameless thief! Get out, you bastard!" he yelled, swinging a broom and striking my backside hard. His shouting echoed through the trees—thankfully, we were deep in the forest, far from anyone's ears.

"Ow! That hurts! Ow!" I muttered, rubbing my back. In the end, I had no choice but to retreat for now. At least I knew where the book was kept.

Weary and sore, I mounted my horse and headed back to the palace. At the gate, Arvan was already waiting with a sharp, disapproving stare.

"I thought I told you—you can't come and go from the palace as you please," he said coldly.

I dismounted, handing the reins to a guard. "I just needed a bit of a break," I replied. "Maybe then, my ancient flame will be easier to control."

Arvan snorted. "What kind of fool believes that nonsense?"

He turned around and dragged me toward the training grounds.

"I'll forgive you this time. But next time, I won't. You'd better focus on controlling that fire inside you."

Several soldiers were already assembled in the open arena, thousands of them preparing for battle against the demons.

Farrel was practicing his swordsmanship gracefully. I could see pride and joy in his movements—perhaps because he was finally wielding his dream weapon.

"How long do we have to keep training like this?" I asked, glancing up at the night sky. The sun was gone, replaced by a faint, silvery moonlight.

"We don't know when the enemy will come," Arvan replied flatly. "So do your best."

"Do you want to fight me?" he asked suddenly, raising his blade.

"What do you mean? I don't want to fight you," I said, surprised.

He chuckled. "Come on. I need to see how far you've improved."

I smiled faintly, taking a sword from a nearby soldier. "Fine. But if I win, don't report this to the king."

He nodded slightly and took his stance.

The sound of clashing steel filled the air.

Crash! Srengg! Crash! Srengg!

"You lose. Don't tell anyone," I said, pressing my blade to his neck.

Arvan laughed softly and pushed my sword aside. "I'll admit—you're fast and skillful."

"Call Captain George," he ordered suddenly.

Moments later, a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared, bowing deeply. "Yes, Lord Arvan. What is it?"

"George, train Xanders. Make him stronger. He still lacks control over his sword."

"Yes, my lord. I'll take care of it," George replied.

"What? You're saying I can't handle my sword yet?" I protested, but Arvan was already walking away.

"You're talented, but not a master. George will guide you," he said firmly before disappearing under the pale moonlight.

Five hours passed. I trained relentlessly with George until my body felt as if it could collapse at any moment.

"So it's just the two of us left in the field, huh?" I muttered.

George, a man around thirty-five, remained silent. He taught patiently, his movements sharp and precise, but there was something in his eyes—resentment, perhaps.

"You should train harder and longer than anyone else," he said.

I rolled my eyes but followed his lead.

"This is the Shadow Technique," he continued. "A skill that allows you to create multiple shadows. But when your real body is struck, the pain will be unbearable."

He turned gracefully, lifting his sword high before striking it into the ground. Instantly, his shadow split into several forms within the darkness.

I slashed one—gone. I counted again. There were ten now.

"Feel your opponent's heartbeat," he instructed. "Listen to it. Once you do, you'll know which one is real."

I closed my eyes, letting the wind and the faint cries of night birds blend in my mind. My heartbeat slowed. Then I opened my eyes and threw my sword toward the shadow that felt the most alive.

Srak!

George caught the blade, a faint smile on his lips. "Impressive. You learned quickly."

"If you've mastered this much, training's over for today. We'll continue tomorrow," he said, turning away.

Before I could say anything, he was gone.

"Arvan and he are the same," I muttered. "Always leaving right after giving orders."

Wiping sweat from my face and neck, I headed to the bathhouse not far from my chamber.

A strange, sharp smell reached my nose. It grew stronger as I passed the sorcerers' quarters.

"What's she doing at this hour?" I murmured, but ignored it—too tired to care.

"Maybe she sleeps at different hours… she is a witch after all," I thought.

I bathed for a while, letting the water calm my aching body.

When I passed her room again, the smell was even stronger—so strong that it made me cover my nose. Nausea rose in my throat; my head spun violently.

I staggered, clutching my forehead. That's when I heard Farrel's voice.

"Xanders… what's happening to you?"

My vision blurred.

"Come on, I'll take you to your room," he said softly.

He supported me, guiding me to my bed—and soon, everything went dark.