Chapter 6
The golden rays of the setting sun cast a burnished sheen over the sprawling training grounds of House Velebrandt. The training field—an expanse of flattened earth bordered by elegantly carved marble balustrades—now bore signs of a grueling session. Shallow grooves etched the dirt, kicked up dust floated lazily in the cooling air, and distant birds chirped farewell to the waning day.
Lucien Caelum Velebrandt lay on the ground, chest heaving, arms spread wide in utter exhaustion. Sweat clung to his silver hair like the shimmer of dew under moonlight. His small frame—still that of a six-year-old—was limp, unable to respond to any commands from his fatigued muscles. Yet in his eyes, which shimmered with one red iris and one grey, there was no defeat. Only exhilaration.
"That will be enough for today," came the deep voice of General Knight Rex, who sheathed his sword with a satisfying click. He approached the boy, his towering figure casting a long shadow over the heir of House Velebrandt. The veteran knight's armor, dulled and scratched from countless battles, bore the scent of iron and dust. His stern expression broke into the faintest smirk.
"You... are something else, young master. To think you could mirror my footwork and blade posture with such instinct." He crouched beside the boy. "No need to study the sword any further—not in theory. The essence of it... is already engraved into your body. The Sword of the West breathes within you. Once your aura awakens when you turn ten—"
He paused, his eyes gleaming. "You will surpass every swordsman of this empire. Perhaps even... your father."
Lucien blinked, then let out a tired chuckle. "Really now? Heh. Guess I was born to be great."
His smirk—arrogant, almost regal—played across his lips. Though his body refused to move, his spirit soared with pride. And though the sky dimmed above, a fire was ignited in his soul.
A distant creak signaled the opening of the garden doors. Moments later, two maids approached the training grounds with soft footsteps. One of them—Marie—walked briskly to Lucien's side, her eyes filled with concern but tempered by admiration.
"Young master, the Archduchess has been observing your training from the veranda. She is pleased with your performance."
Lucien turned his eyes toward her. "Mother saw?"
"Yes," Marie smiled. "She instructed us to bring you in for a warm bath and your evening meal."