The days after that followed a similar pattern, feeling almost like clockwork.

For Feyt, the routine was simple: wake up, warm up, eat breakfast, either relax or work out while waiting for noon, then face training with Mother. It was a grind, both physically and mentally, but it was all I could do. 

For Carine, it was a slightly different rhythm. I would wake up a bit late, eat breakfast with Mother and Father, attend my usual class schedule, and then join Mother’s grueling training session. This rigid clockwork of a schedule seemed to be ingrained deeply in Carine’s muscle memory, so it didn’t feel as monotonous.

The main show for the past four days was definitely Mother’s personal training. If I could describe her classes in a single word, it would be… “unexpected.”

By that, I mean it was unexpectedly calm. I had braced myself for something grueling, punishing, or even torturous—like the first class we had with her. But none of her teaching sessions ever came close to that level of intensity.

She was uncharacteristically considerate. She made sure to not push us too hard, give adequate amounts of breaks, and always ended our sessions precisely on time. It all felt like the calm before a storm that was never coming. 

Most of our lessons consisted of practical lessons; footwork, stances, strikes, blocks, et cetera. A lot of them were actually the fundamentals… again. But, at least she gave us a specific reason this time.

“Each person adapts our style differently. As you are now, you are merely copying what my Carine has shown you. That is nowhere near enough to call yourself a student of our style.”

Those were the exact words she uttered to me on the second day of training. So, basically, we were jumping back to fundamentals to help me, Feyt, gain a better form.

I had to admit, she was right. Everything Feyt could do with a sword had come from Carine’s memories—or, rather, her understanding of them. I’d never tried to find Feyt’s own way of doing things.

If I was going to use both bodies to their fullest potential, I needed to have a style that suited each of them individually. Once again, another matter I couldn’t half-ass, not anymore at least.

So, despite my disappointment at being forced to revisit fundamentals, I swallowed it down. I promised myself I would do my best. For my own growth. For both of me.

Another important note from Mother’s training was: no more sparring. I was relieved to learn that, I couldn’t imagine dragging myself through another one of those. I had enough of playing enemies with myselves or exchanging strikes with Mother.

The fifth day of training started off as usual. We arrived early, we prepped the room, Mother arrived, and the warm ups began. But then something caught my attention, both of my attention, actually.

Mother… she was spacing out. Usually she would watch over us as we do our sets, but this time, her eyes were glued to either the wall or the sky beyond the windows. I could hear her sigh to herself every so often, almost like she was trying to think of something, but couldn’t find it.

Her mind seemed to be elsewhere throughout the whole warm up.

At first, I chalked it up to fatigue. Perhaps she had a long day, perhaps she was starting to get bored. Could always just be me overthinking things too. 

But the longer the session went on, the more I noticed the little things. Her grip on her sword was lower than usual, her eyes seemed to wander a few times, there was the occasional pause between commands. Everything she did was followed by something… lethargic.

In the end, Mother’s condition was the only thing I could think about, and eventually, I couldn’t just keep it to myselves anymore.

Mid-drill with both of my bodies, I slowly lowered my wooden sword as Carine.

Normally, doing this would result in an immediate lecture or scolding. The fact Mother remained indifferent meant she wasn’t paying attention to us. Through the reflection in her eyes, it would seem she was fixated on the distant clouds.

“Mother?” I called out.

“Hmm?” Mother blinked a few times, seemingly caught off guard before stammering, “y-yes, dear? What is it?”

“Are you feeling alright, Mother?” I asked, my eyes furrowing. “You seem a little tired?”

Her eyes widened slightly, as if she believed no one would notice. Then, she took a slow breath before answering. “It was that obvious, wasn’t it?”

For a moment, I stared at her. What exactly was going on? Mother wasn’t the type to let her guard down like that, let alone show any weakness. In fact, she was the one who taught me and every other student to always “tough it out.”

Father said that Mother seemed exhausted before, back when she was avoiding me after lashing out at me. Was it happening again?

She was herself throughout the past few days. What changed that?

Mother let out a quiet exhale through her nose. Then, as if trying to assure both of us, she straightened up and faced me more properly.

“I’m alright, dear” she said, with a smile that didn’t seem forced. “More than that, actually. My head’s just been… a little clouded, these past few weeks.” She pressed her fingers on her temple. “I’ve been trying to rationalize what I’ve done… and what I said.”

Was she referring to how she lashed out at me and Leila? If even Mother was confused as to why she did it… I was starting to question what was really happening.

Then her gaze lifted again, cold and sharp just like I remembered. “But it’s starting to pass, I believe. I was just trying to piece things together, that was all.”

I was relieved to hear that. So my theory of Mother getting better wasn’t wrong at all. But still, there were still things that I couldn’t quite connect. There were still pieces of the puzzles that were missing from the set.

“Well?” she said, pulling me back to reality. “We’re not done yet, are we? Back to your sets!” she shouted, much more focused than before like she usually was.

I still didn’t know where this sense of unease was from, but the least I could do was be grateful that things were starting to go back to normal again.

—

I walked out of the training hall, sweat freshly wiped away. Mother had left earlier, bringing along Carine with her. That meant I only had Feyt to clean up the training hall. 

Withholding my complaints, I got to work. Rolling up the mats, closing the curtains, sweeping the floors. With how little manpower in the cleaning department thanks to Mother’s protocol, I couldn’t bring myself to call upon their already full hands.

While Feyt was still cleaning, I was walking beside Mother. We were heading towards the family bath. God knows just how much I needed that right now.

Mother had barely broken a sweat, like at all. Sure, she only gave demonstrations of sets and a couple of lectures, but with how hot today was, it was still impressive. In contrast, my training clothes were starting to become my second skin—third skin if you really think about it.

Due to Mother’s protocol, we were escorted by our personal knights everywhere we went. So far, the two guards assigned to me were very appreciative of my alone time. I never really felt watched. Thing is, I barely knew them by name, only really recognizing them by face. 

I felt kind of bad, since they were doing their job really well. But I was also too embarrassed to directly ask for their names. I figured I could always ask Mother. She always called servants by their names, and she never got them wrong once.

The many guards stationed throughout the halls and lobby continued their patrols, and on our way to the baths, we passed by a couple of them. I got small glimpses of their faces through their helms, and that was mostly enough for me to recognize them.

These were definitely the same knights I’d occasionally seen visiting the mansion, which meant they weren’t outsiders. As for why I was concerning myself over that, was because I still remembered that “Sebastian” dude.

As we turned a corner in the hallway, we passed by a patrolling knight heading the opposite direction. He slowed down as we approached, and with a formal step to the side, he offered a short bow.

“Your Grace,” he greeted, voice muffled through his helm.

Mother returned a small nod. “Yeremiah,” she said.

My ears perked up. That was a name that I recognized. I stared at the knight’s helmet, trying to get a peek of his face, and indeed, it was the same guy.

He was the knight that I called upon to help deal with “Sebastian.” What a coincidence running into him here.

Actually, now that I recall… I felt like I had forgotten something.

Something involving Yeremiah and his help dealing with Sebastian…

Then, it clicked.

Oh right…

His promotion…

And my apology that I never gave…

I nearly face palmed myself for forgetting such a thing.

I’d promised I’d say something later—thank him, at the very least. But the chaos that followed kind of swept everything away, and I guess I’d just never followed through. Between all the family drama and trying not to get killed or kill myselves in sparring sessions, my list of priorities had been whack.

Still, that didn’t make it okay. I needed to take responsibility for abusing his dreams of being promoted like that.

I clasped my hands and straightened my back. I was about to ask for forgiveness and thank him right then and there, but then… he looked at me.

One glance at his eyes was enough for me to stop in my tracks. 

“Carine, dear? What are you doing?” Mother, a few steps ahead, turned to call back.

“C-Coming, Mother!”

I averted my gaze to the floor and briskly walked to Mother’s side. I didn’t dare look back to see the knight standing there, but just from the pressure alone, I could tell his eyes were locked onto my back.

We turned a corner and descended the stairs. Only then did I let out a silent breath of relief.

But the unease didn’t leave. If anything, it sharpened.

That look from Yeremiah…

His eyes were filled. Not with determination. Not with passion.

But with anger. 

And—

—Blankness.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep