Morning sunlight spilled through the kitchen window, catching on the steam from Elaine’s tea as she packed up her apron. She kissed Ludger on the head, ruffled his hair, and headed out the door toward the tavern, the scent of herbs and soap trailing behind her.

When the latch clicked shut, Ludger turned from the table to where Arslan was leaning against the counter, finishing his coffee.

“Dad,” Ludger said. “Let’s spar.”

Arslan raised an eyebrow. “Now? What’s gotten into you?”

Ludger shrugged, expression neutral but his eyes steady. “I want to test my progress. Against you.”

For a heartbeat Arslan just stared at him. Then a laugh rolled out of his chest, low and warm. “You’re not the competitive type, Luds. Usually you’re all schemes and shortcuts, not head-on challenges.” He set the mug down, still grinning. “Guess you’ve been out there long enough to catch the itch.”

Ludger smirked. “Maybe.”

Arslan pushed off the counter, stretching his shoulders. “Fine. I’ve been wondering myself how much you’ve improved. Let’s see it.” He jerked his chin toward the yard. “Grab your gear.”

The two of them stepped out into the morning sun, the sound of birds overhead and the hard-packed dirt underfoot—the perfect arena for father and son to measure what the last two months had carved into Ludger.

By the time Ludger and Arslan stepped into the yard, the sun had burned off the last of the morning mist. Arslan rolled his wrists, steel-dull training sword glinting in his hands. It wasn’t sharpened, but the edge still caught the light; a solid hit from it would hurt more than a little.

Ludger stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. This wasn’t a spar with Viola. This was testing himself against the man who’d drilled combat into him.

The gate creaked open. Four figures stepped in together, travel dust still clinging to their boots.

Harold, the massive warrior with an axe strapped across his back, grinned when he saw the scene. “Ha! We walk in and it’s showtime. Perfect timing.”

Cor, the lean mage already flipping open the clasp on his worn spellbook, raised an eyebrow and chuckled under his breath. “Looks like the boy’s going to try his luck. This should be educational.”

Selene crossed her arms over her armguards, a sharp smile curling on her lips. “Finally,” she murmured. “I’ve been wondering when he’d stop hiding behind tricks and test himself for real.”

Aleia rested her bow lightly against her hip, eyes bright. “Don’t jinx it,” she said softly. “Let’s just watch.”

Arslan glanced over his shoulder at them, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. “You four always turn up when there’s a chance to see someone get knocked on his backside.”

Harold laughed, showing teeth. “Because you always deliver, Arslan. Let’s see if your son does too.”

Ludger shot them a dry look but said nothing. He adjusted his stance, eyes back on his father.

Arslan shifted the dullblade to a low guard, shoulders loose but weight balanced. “Ready?” he asked.

Ludger nodded once. “Ready.”

Dust stirred under their boots, the morning yard turning into an impromptu arena as Harold leaned on the fence, Cor’s book closed, Selene tapped her fingers against her armguards, and Aleia held her breath.

Arslan didn’t bother circling. One heartbeat he was standing still, the next he was in motion—steel-dull blade cutting the air in a blur. He came at Ludger fast, faster than the boy had ever seen him move outside Overdrive drills, footwork crisp and clean, every cut a line meant to break rhythm.

The veterans on the fence straightened instinctively. Harold’s grin widened. “He’s not holding back.”

Cor’s fingers hovered over a page, eyes narrowing. “That’s more than a warm-up. He’s going for speed.”

Selene tilted her head, watching the angle of Arslan’s strikes. “He’s trying to overwhelm him.”

But Ludger was already moving. His hands and feet worked almost on their own, instincts honed in the labyrinth kicking in. His forearms guards caught the blade at just the right angles, twisting, redirecting, letting the force slide past instead of absorbing it. Each impact sent a dull crack echoing through the yard, but his stance held.

Aleia’s eyes widened. “He’s blocking them all.”

Arslan flowed from one strike to the next—high, low, diagonal feint into a rising cut—but every time the dullblade met Ludger’s guard, the boy was there, catching, deflecting, stepping just enough to stay in the pocket. Dust began to rise from their boots, circling around them like smoke.

Harold let out a low whistle. “Kid’s not flinching.”

Cor’s smile twitched. “He’s reading the rhythm.”

Selene’s arms folded tighter. “Let’s see how long he can hold it.”

Arslan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he pressed harder, the dullblade blurring. “Not bad,” he murmured under his breath. “Show me what you’ve really learned.”

And still, Ludger blocked every strike, the heat of the exchange building in his chest but his eyes calm, locked on his father’s movements.

Steel hissed through the air again, another fast cut meant to push him back. This time Ludger didn’t give ground. He rolled his shoulder under the swing and stepped in, palms sliding along the flat of the dullblade to shove it aside. The sudden forward surge kicked up a puff of dust at their feet.

Harold’s grin widened. “Oh, he’s done waiting.”

Cor’s eyes flicked up from his book. “He’s pressing. Smart.”

Selene leaned a little closer to the fence. “Trying to punch through his Father’s guard… risky.”

Aleia’s bow arm tensed unconsciously. “He’s not even Overdriving.”

Ludger shifted his weight and drove forward again, short snapping strikes, elbows and fists darting past the dullblade to test gaps in Arslan’s guard. He was reading the rhythm, looking for the smallest opening, trying to make his father show his real teeth.

Arslan’s eyes sharpened. He parried high, then low, then pivoted to keep distance, the dullblade moving in tight arcs to deflect each probing attack. He hadn’t drawn on Overdrive yet, hadn’t even broken a sweat. But his footwork picked up a fraction, his parries snapping a little faster now that his son was coming at him instead of just blocking.

“Good,” he murmured under his breath, deflecting another jab at his ribs. “Make me work for it.”

Ludger’s jaw clenched as he kept pushing, his mana pulsing faintly under his skin but still restrained. If he’s got room to breathe, then I’m not doing enough, he thought, eyes locked on his father’s. I’ll make him serious.

Dust swirled around them, father and son locked in a rhythm of strike and parry, one testing, the other holding back—so far.

Ludger slipped inside another swing, forearms snapping up around the dullblade. His fingers brushed the steel, ready to twist and yank. The crowd around the fence went silent for a heartbeat.

Harold’s grin froze. “He’s going for a disarm—”

Arslan’s eyes narrowed. A flicker of heat rolled off his skin and the veterans felt it first, like the air of a forge opening.

The dullblade vibrated under Ludger’s hands as Arslan’s strength spiked. For a moment the yard shimmered with invisible heat, dust curling upward in little spirals.

Arslan stepped in hard, breaking the grab before it could set. His voice was low but clear. “Impressive, Ludger. But if you’re going to take my weapon, you’d better be ready for me to fight for it.”

He moved like a storm. The dullblade became a blur of precise arcs, his footwork turning circles around his son. Every strike landed heavier than before, shockwaves thudding up Ludger’s arms as he blocked.

Ludger slid back a half-step, breath hissing between his teeth. His arms burned from the impact but his stance held. He shifted his weight, reading his father’s movements through the haze of heat. Embarrassing or not, he’s serious now. Good.

Arslan pivoted and cut low, forcing Ludger to drop and roll, then brought the blade around in a high feint. Dust leapt under their boots, the yard ringing with steel and stone. Ludger caught the next strike on his forearm and shoved it aside, eyes locked on his father’s, a small, fierce grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. I can endure this.

Harold let out a low whistle. “Kid’s tougher than he looks.”

Arslan’s aura burned brighter for a heartbeat, then steadied. “Show me, Ludger,” he said. “Show me if you can last.”

The heat rolling off Arslan’s skin should have been enough to push Ludger back. Instead, the boy’s eyes narrowed and a pulse of power surged from his core.

Mana flared along his arms, his forearm guards glowing faintly as glyph-lines spread across the iron. He whispered a trigger under his breath and the light condensed, crawling like molten veins. Overdrive and Weapon Enhancing were finally being used.

Dust leapt around his boots as he shifted his weight. This time, when he moved, it wasn’t a cautious step but a blur—speed and weight braided together. The ground under his feet cracked as he pushed off, mana attuned to the earth affinity to make every stride and every blow heavier.

Arslan brought the dullblade up in a perfect block, expecting to catch the strike on the flat. Instead the impact landed like a battering ram. The shock reverberated down the blade, up his arms, into his shoulders, forcing his whole body back a half step, then another.

Arslan’s boots gouged furrows into the packed dirt as he absorbed the blow. The dullblade hummed under the strain, his arms tensing to keep control. He bared his teeth in a grin despite himself. “So you’ve been holding back too,” he muttered.

Ludger didn’t answer. He pivoted, drawing earth-aligned mana up through his legs and into his fists, the weight of his next strike already humming like a landslide about to break free.

Dust spiraled around them, father and son now both wreathed in power, the yard vibrating under their clash.

Arslan’s grin only widened. “You’re not the only one who can do that.”

He shifted his grip on the dullblade and let mana pour into it, lines of faint orange light crawling along the fuller and into the crossguard. The steel gave off a low hum as if it had become a living thing.

The air between them went taut. Ludger’s armguards gleamed with earthen power; Arslan’s blade burned like a tempered bar straight from the forge.

They clashed.

Ludger darted forward, armguards flashing, and swung an earth-loaded strike at Arslan’s guard. Arslan pivoted and met it edge-on, the block ringing like a bell. Sparks spat from the contact, orange and green, hissing across the dirt.

Again.

Ludger’s fists blurred in a combination of jabs and hammering elbows, each one heavier than the last. Arslan parried high, then low, then spun his dullblade into a short thrust to drive him back. Steel kissed reinforced leather; reinforced leather crashed against steel. The yard filled with the clang-clang-clang of blow for blow, each impact louder than the one before.

Dust rose and began to swirl around their feet. Sparks sprayed out at every clash, bouncing off the fence like tiny meteors. At the edge of the yard Harold’s grin turned wolfish. “Now it’s a fight.”

Cor muttered something under his breath. “That’s not training anymore.”

Selene leaned forward on the fence, eyes shining. “He’s actually matching him.”

Aleia’s gaze flicked to the street. “And drawing a crowd…”

She wasn’t wrong. The noise of steel on steel carried beyond the yard. Curious heads began to appear at the gate; first a handful of townsfolk, then more. Within minutes several tens of people lined the fence and street, murmuring, pointing, some clapping with each sharp impact.

In the yard father and son kept moving. Ludger ducked under a slash and drove a palm at Arslan’s ribs, the strike making the dullblade shudder when Arslan caught it on the flat. Arslan countered with a quick step-in and a rising cut that Ludger barely deflected with his forearm guards. Sparks burst between them again, scattering across the dirt like fireflies.

Blow for blow, faster and heavier, the sound of their clash drowning out the murmurs of the crowd. The yard had become an arena, the morning sun glinting off two fighters who looked nothing like a tired father and his eight-year-old son anymore.

Dust hung in the air like smoke. Both fighters had slowed; the crisp blur of earlier movements replaced by shorter, heavier motions. Arslan’s tunic clung to his back, sweat beading at his temples. Ludger’s chest rose and fell like a bellows, breath hissing between clenched teeth. The earth-attuned mana in his arms flickered with each inhale.

Harold leaned on the fence, eyes wide. “They’re burning through it.”

Cor’s lips pressed together. “Neither of them can keep this pace much longer.”

In the yard, Arslan straightened, lowering the dullblade for a heartbeat. His eyes met Ludger’s. “Alright,” he said, voice rough but steady. “One more. My strongest technique.”

Ludger’s brow furrowed, still breathing hard. “Stronger than Overdrive?”

Arslan’s grin was tired but sharp. “If you can block this, you can call yourself the winner.” He shifted his grip, aura flaring hotter again, the dullblade humming with compressed mana.

He added, dry as gravel, “So use every ounce of strength you’ve got, Luds. If you don’t, your mother will kill me for letting you get hurt.”

A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the onlookers at that. Harold muttered, “He’s serious.” Cor’s book was lowered down to show his interest in the fight, Selene’s eyes glinted, Aleia held her breath.

Ludger wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His armguards still glowed faintly, earth-aligned mana pooling in his legs. All my might, huh? He set his feet, jaw tightening, eyes locked on his father’s stance. Fine. Bring it.

Arslan’s aura rose another notch, heat shimmering in the air, the dullblade raised high for the decisive strike. Dust swirled between them, the crowd holding its breath.

Arslan inhaled once, a deep breath that seemed to pull the heat of his aura inward. The glow crawling along the dullblade’s edge bled off the steel and ran up his arms, across his shoulders, down his spine—every vein of mana in him alight. For an instant he looked less like a swordsman and more like a living weapon.

Then he moved.

One heartbeat he was standing across the yard; the next he vanished, the space between them collapsing in a blink. When Ludger’s eyes found him again, his father was already in front of him, dullblade raised high, the edge humming like a struck bell.

Ludger’s gut tightened. Now.

He ripped every scrap of mana he had left through his body at once. Overdrive flared around him, his armguards flaring as glyphs snapped into place. He layered Weapon Enhancing on top of it, then poured the last of his energy into earth attunement—pulling weight and solidity up from the ground into his arms.

He planted his feet and brought his forearms up just as Arslan’s blade came down.

The impact hit like a thunderclap.

CLANG!

Metal met reinforced steel with a shockwave that ripped through the yard. Everyone at the fence flinched; Harold’s grin disappeared, Cor’s book fell on the ground, Selene’s hair whipped back, Aleia shielded her eyes. Dust and sand blasted outward from the clash in a rolling ring, scouring the ground clean.

For a heartbeat father and son stood frozen in the center of the clearing, locked together—Arslan’s sword driving down, Ludger’s armguards straining up, both of them roaring with the effort.

Then the pressure broke.

Ludger’s boots skidded, furrows ripping through the dirt, and the next instant he was airborne, the force launching him backwards across the yard like a shot. Arslan’s eyes widened; for a moment he thought the boy would slam full-speed into the stone wall fifty meters away.

But Ludger twisted midair, one hand slamming down to the ground, earth mana pulsing from his palm. The ground buckled and slowed his slide like thick mud, bleeding off the momentum until he landed in a crouch against the wall, fingertips just brushing the stone instead of crashing into it.

The yard was silent except for the ringing in everyone’s ears, the dust clearing to reveal the two of them—one still standing in the center, sword lowered, the other crouched at the far wall, breathing hard but upright.

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