Reid had slept like a stone after yesterday’s relentless duels — and he deserved it. For once, he thought he might spend the entire day wrapped in blankets.
That fantasy lasted exactly three seconds.
The door burst open with a bang.
“Did you really think you could sleep all day just because you won one duel?” Harven’s voice filled the room. “No, mister. Up. Now. Arena.”
Reid buried his face in the pillow and stayed perfectly still.
“I know you’re awake, you liar,” Harven said flatly.
Silence.
A sigh. Then footsteps toward the door.
“Well,” Harven mused, “I guess I’ll just tell my brother you were too lazy to wake up and meet him.”
Reid shot upright like he’d been electrocuted.
“I am at your command, Sir Klutz!”
Harven grinned. “That’s better. Now get dressed — you’re meeting the strongest knight alive.”
Reid’s excitement ignited instantly. He threw on his shirt at a speed that would shame lightning.
Harven blinked. “...Wow. That was fast. Alright, to the arena.”
As they stepped into the hallway, Reid looked up at him, eyes gleaming.
“Will I meet Sir Baranor there?”
Harven’s grin stretched wider — far too wide.
“Nope. Lied.”
Reid froze, disappointment written all over his face. “You lied, huh?”
Harven blinked, genuinely taken aback. “Didn’t think you’d be that disappointed.”
Reid crossed his arms, deadpan.
Harven rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly cheerful again. “Anyway… shall we go?”
Reid exhaled, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Fine. Let’s go.”
And so, with sunlight spilling through the corridor windows, mentor and student walked toward the arena — one dragging his feet, the other humming like nothing had happened.
They arrived at the arena. It was far less crowded than the day before. Some participants had given up, some assumed they were already eliminated, and others simply didn’t bother showing up after winning their duels. The air felt quieter, lighter — but also more expectant.
As they stepped through the gate, Harven clapped Reid’s shoulder.
“Well, see you at the end. Watch the duels closely, Reid. I’m sure you’ll learn something precious from them.”
Reid nodded firmly. “I will. See you later.”
Harven walked off toward the judges’ section while Reid climbed the stone stairs and found a seat among the spectators. Moments later, the examiner with the enchanted binoculars strode into the arena and raised his voice, magically amplified.
“Welcome to the second day of the combat trials. Those who did not participate yesterday, please come down and check your matchups.”
Around fifty students hurried downstairs. The murmurs of anticipation filled the stands until they returned, and the examiner spoke again.
“Everyone who checked their matchups, return to your seats.”
The crowd quieted. The examiner began announcing the first fighters.
The early matches were… dull. A few were one-sided beatdowns, others were so slow and stagnant that half the arena visibly struggled not to fall asleep. Reid tried to stay attentive, but nothing caught his interest.
Until one name was called.
“Quill Lance vs. Gluik Bronz!”
Reid straightened. Quill — the same boy who had asked to spar with him after the duels. After. Why after? Wouldn’t it be smarter to exercise beforehand? The thought bothered him.
But then he heard the whispers ripple through the crowd like a sudden breeze.
“Oh, Quill Lance!”
“I love you, Lord Quill!”
“Marry me, Lord Quill!”
Reid blinked. Lord?
Is he an important person?
He leaned slightly to the boy sitting one row below him.
“Hey — can I ask you something?”
The boy nodded. “Sure.”
“Who exactly is Quill Lance?”
The boy stared at Reid as if he’d just asked who the king was. “…You don’t know?”
Reid shook his head, confused.
The boy lowered his voice. “He’s the heir of House Lance. The second most powerful house in Aquilonis — right after House Aquilon, the royal family.”
Reid froze.
Quill was royalty. And he had politely asked Reid for a spar?
Shock washed over him… followed by a spark of pride.
But he pushed the feeling down, trying not to show it.
“Thank you,” he said softly, then focused on the arena.
Quill stood calmly in his position, hands behind his back. His face showed no fear, no hesitation — not even a flicker of nerves.
Either he was truly confident…
or unbelievably good at hiding it.
And then the duel began.
Gluik stepped forward first, gripping a thick wooden bat in both hands. Quill drew his sword — elegant, polished, unmistakably noble steel. Reid expected the fight to end instantly. Quill was royalty, after all. Surely he would overpower Gluik with sheer strength or speed.
But that wasn’t what happened.
Quill wasn’t fast.
He wasn’t overwhelmingly strong.
He wasn’t even aggressive.
What made him stand out was something else entirely.
Clarity.
Balance.
Every movement flowed seamlessly into the next, as if Quill were not fighting — but dancing. When Gluik swung his bat in wide, heavy arcs, Quill drifted aside with feather-light footwork, each step measured, each dodge effortless. He did not panic. He did not hesitate. His eyes remained calm the entire time, reading Gluik as if the boy’s actions were lines in a book Quill had already memorized.
Strike.
Sidestep.
Turn.
Slide.
He moved with a grace that made the entire arena fall into stunned silence.
Even Reid leaned forward, breath caught. He’s… beautiful when he fights.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Then, as though he had been waiting for a single perfect moment, Quill found it.
Gluik lifted his bat overhead for a heavy downward strike. Quill slipped to the side, fluid as water, and swept his sword upward — stopping the blade just a hair’s breadth from Gluik’s throat.
The bat froze mid-air.
Gluik went rigid.
The duel was over.
The examiner raised his voice. “The winner is Quill Lance!”
The arena erupted.
“Oh flames, he’s so beautiful!”
“Lord Quill!!”
“Why is he allowed to look like that?!”
A wave of cheers washed across the stands as Quill lowered his head in a graceful bow, composed even in victory.
But as he turned to leave, Reid caught something strange in the crowd.
Not admiration.
Not excitement.
Irritation.
It came from a boy sitting alone a few rows above. His face was still, unreadable, but his eyes were sharp — almost offended by the cheers. Reid recognized him instantly.
The boy who ended his duel in a heartbeat.
Corbin… Corbin Monz.
That was his name.
Why does he hate seeing Quill praised?
Is he jealous? Angry? Something else?
Before Reid could unravel the thought, Corbin’s gaze suddenly snapped toward him.
Reid froze.
Those eyes… cold, piercing, merciless. There was something predatory in them, something that made Reid’s spine lock.
He turned away at once, heart thumping in his chest.
Whatever that look meant… Reid knew one thing.
Corbin Monz was someone to fear.
After the duel, Quill headed straight up the stairs toward the stands. Reid followed, approaching him with a small wave.
“Oh, Reid,” Quill said, turning with a soft smile. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Yeah… you too, Quill.”
Quill leaned slightly closer, eyes bright with anticipation.
“Well? How was I?”
Reid didn’t want to risk sounding rude — or ungrateful. So he stuck to the safest truth he had.
“It was really good. Good job, Quill.”
For a brief second, Quill’s expression flickered.
The brightness dimmed.
Something uncertain crossed his face — disappointment? hurt?
It was gone almost instantly.
“…Thank you,” he said quietly.
Reid blinked. What did I say wrong? He opened his mouth to ask, but Quill had already sat down to watch the next match, his eyes trained forward.
Reid sat beside him. The remaining matches dragged on — either over in seconds or so painfully slow that half the audience nearly fell asleep. When the final bout ended, the examiner stepped forward, raising his voice for the announcement.
“The first stage of the Combat Trial is complete! The second stage will take place two days from now. The list of participants who passed Round One will be posted at the Town Hall. Rest well, candidates.”
The crowd began to disperse. Quill and Reid walked down the stairs together.
“You didn’t forget our duel promise, right?” Quill asked.
“How could I forget?” Reid said with a smile.
Quill exhaled, relieved. “When should we do it?”
“What about right before midnight?” Reid suggested.
Quill nodded immediately. “Of course.
Well… see you then, Reid.”
“See you, Quill.”
Reid turned — and almost slammed into Harven, who appeared in front of him like a ghost with terrible timing.
“Lance, huh?” Harven muttered. He paused dramatically, stroking his chin. “Royalty. I should’ve known. Even dyed his hair blue.”
Reid frowned. “Dyed?”
“Mm-hm, all nobles do it. Too fancy for their own good.” Harven wagged a finger. “Hey, Reid, don’t trust royalty too much.”
“Why?” Reid asked.
“Oh, they’re just… irritating.” Harven shrugged with the confidence of a man who had never known caution in his life.
Reid stared at him. You dumbass, he thought, his face perfectly straight.
Harven clapped his hands. “Alright! Back to the castle?”
“Sure.”
“Wanna do anything before we go? I could show you the town if you want.”
Reid’s eyes lit up. “That’d be great!”
“Then let’s go!” Harven grinned, and with that, the two of them headed out into the streets of Aquilonis.
The town was far bigger than Promia — wider streets, taller buildings, more color — and yet somehow… quieter.
The air felt calmer. Softer. Reid couldn’t tell if that meant people were disciplined, or just used to living in the shadow of the castle.
As they walked, Reid glanced at Harven — and immediately regretted it.
Harven was wearing:
- a giant fake ginger mustache,
- a curly wig that looked like it had lost a fight with a tornado,
- oversized sunglasses,
- and a thick coat that screamed suspicious criminal rather than inconspicuous knight.
Reid stared at him.
Then stared harder.
Then slowly looked away, fighting the urge to turn back out of pure secondhand embarrassment.
How is this man a knight? Reid thought.
But then he remembered something.
“Hey, Harven… remember you said we could find out which beast is in my eye?”
Harven perked up. “Yes.”
“Where’s the person who can do that? You said they’d be in the castle.”
Harven nodded dramatically, then leaned closer. “Hey, Reid, do you remember the guy with the enchanted binoculars?”
“Yes. The examiner.”
“Exactly.” Harven grinned. “His name is Wynne Spencer. He’s a psychic. A real one — not like the street scammers who pretend to talk to ghosts.”
Reid blinked. “Psychic…?”
“Telepathy and telekinesis,” Harven said proudly. “And more.”
He paused, his expression tightening.
“Reid… do you remember the fight with Corbin Monz?”
Reid hadn’t expected the name. A chill ran through him, but he managed a weak, “Yes… I remember.”
“Are you scared?” Harven asked casually. “I don’t blame you. That kid was something else. Faster than some of the knights there.”
Reid gulped.
“But,” Harven continued, “his control was awful. He probably aimed for the girl’s heart. If Wynne hadn’t stopped him, that girl’s eyes would’ve been gone.”
Reid’s breath hitched. A knot formed in his stomach.
Harven didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did.
“Anyway,” Harven went on, “that thing Wynne did — appearing instantly, full of blue light — that was his psychic power. He has a Demon Eye. Different from yours, of course.”
Reid tilted his head. “What are Demons?”
Harven scratched his cheek, thinking. “They lived long ago. Like humans… but stronger. Much stronger. Powerful enough to shake the world. But after that—” Harven waved his hand, “you’ll learn soon enough.”
He pointed forward, continuing his explanation:
“Wynne’s Demon Eye lets him see thoughts, memories… even secrets buried deep in someone’s mind. But he has to focus hard for it.”
Reid’s eyes widened. “He can even see what’s inside people’s eyes?”
“Exactly.” Harven nodded. “He’s the one who can tell you what beast you have.”
Reid perked up — until Harven added:
“But he’s super busy. He organizes the whole exam. Has more authority than us. He chooses who passes and who fails.”
Reid froze. “B-but I won… didn’t I?”
Harven shrugged. “He has all the power. I can’t do anything. I even heard him say once that he might fail a kid who uses a bladed nunchaku.”
He paused. “But who knows?”
Reid’s eyes instantly filled with tears. His breath trembled.
Harven blinked. “I–I was joking! I was joking! Don’t cry!”
Reid sniffed, wiped his eyes, then quickly turned away.
“I knew that. Obviously. Hahaha.”
Harven sighed with relief. “You’re learning, Reid. You really are my student.”
It’s sad that sarcasm is the only thing I’ve learned from you, Reid thought silently.
They wandered the town for a while, exploring every corner like curious travelers instead of a knight and a student.
They peeked into taverns glowing with warm lantern-light, browsed weapon shops filled with blades Reid couldn’t even name, and even stopped by old bookshops where Harven pretended he could read ancient runes.
They laughed almost the entire time — Harven with his chaotic energy, Reid with genuine excitement.
But eventually, the sky faded to a deep palette of blues and black.
Harven stretched his arms. “It’s getting late. You’ve got a fight tonight, don’t you?”
“Yes. With Quill. But we agreed on right before midnight.”
“Well,” Harven said, patting his stomach, “you wouldn’t want to duel on an empty stomach, would you?”
Reid considered it, then nodded. “You’re right. Let’s head back.”
“That’s the spirit.”
They returned toward the castle, stopping at the front gate where two guards stood with spears in hand. One stepped forward.
“Hold it. Commoner, what business do you have entering the castle this late?”
Harven’s eye twitched.
“Excuse me?” he said, voice cracking slightly. “Don’t you know who I am?”
Reid turned to him with a perfectly straight, mortified expression.
“Harven… you still have the disguise on.”
“Wait a moment, Reid,” Harven said, raising a finger. “These guys think they’re comedians.”
The guard blinked, then recognized Reid.
“Oh! Sir Reid! Our apologies. You may enter.”
Harven stared at them, betrayed.
“…Sir Reid? Sir Reid?”
Reid sighed dramatically. “I don’t know him. Please don’t let him in.”
Harven spun. “HEY! Reid! It’s me! Harven! Harven Klutz!”
The guards burst into laughter.
“You,” one snickered, “are Harven Klutz?”
Harven froze, then realization struck him like lightning.
“Oh. Right. The concealment…”
He ripped off the wig, the fake mustache, the sunglasses, the ridiculous hat, the coat — all of it.
Standing there in full knight armor, he radiated intimidation for the first time that night.
Both guards went pale.
“S-Sir Harven! We— we’re sorry! We didn’t recognize—”
“It’s fine, gentlemen,” Harven said with exaggerated dignity. “I forgive you.”
He gave them a slow, dramatic thumbs up… and held it too long.
The guards stood frozen in fear.
Only then did Harven turn around, striding up the staircase with Reid following behind, trying not to laugh.
They ate dinner in the castle hall — roasted turkey smothered in a tomato-yogurt sauce with spices Reid couldn’t name but wanted to ask for the recipe of. When they finished, Reid thanked Harven and headed to his room to rest before the duel.
He napped deeply, and when he opened his eyes, the moon had just reached its highest point.
Midnight.
Perfect.
Reid slipped on his gear and made his way to the castle’s training ground. The air was cold. Quiet. Lamps flickered against the stone walls.
Quill was already there.
He sat on the staircase, polishing his sword. His blue hair glowed faintly in the moonlight, and his expression was calm — almost too calm.
When he noticed Reid, he stood.
“Reid. There you are,” Quill said with a gentle smile. “You didn’t forget our promise.”
“As I said,” Reid replied, stepping closer, “how could I?”
Quill nodded, eyes sharpening.
“Then… shall we begin?”