Chapter 152: What did you do?

The clang of metal echoed repeatedly through the training yard, each impact reverberating like a contained explosion. Damon moved with almost predatory precision, sliding sideways, dodging by a hair’s breadth, counterattacking with a short blade that seemed too light for the damage he could inflict.

The knight in training—a larger, stronger boy, wearing partial armor—panted as if he had run miles. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His wide eyes tried to follow Damon’s movements, but failed miserably.

“Focus,” Damon murmured, without even seeming tired. “If I intended to kill you, you would already be gone.”

The boy swallowed hard. He tried to advance with a vertical strike. Damon spun his body and passed through him like a wind—effortlessly, without haste—and a quick sting to the knight’s neck marked the exact spot where he would have died.

Harven, outside the arena, crossed his arms.

He had been watching Damon for days. He’d seen his first training session: rough, sharp, but still clumsy. Damon was dangerous, sure, but not disciplined like a soldier. His movement was more… chaotic. Wild. Like someone used to killing alone, not fighting in formation.

But now…

Now there was polish. There was control. There was technique where before there had only been instinct.

Harven narrowed his eyes, thoughtful.

“What the hell happened to you these last few days, kid…”

The knight staggered back, dropping his sword to the ground and raising his hands.

“I… I give up! I can’t do it, Master Damon. You… you disappear!”

[Skill “Sword of Lust” evolved to level 5!]

“It’s because you look where I am,” Damon replied, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “You should look where I might be.”

The boy nodded, though clearly not understanding anything.

Harven opened his mouth to call Damon, but a movement beside him made his voice die in his throat.

Morgana stood there.

Silent, serious… different.

“Morgana?” he murmured, surprised. “I… thought you weren’t coming back.”

She didn’t answer immediately. She just continued watching Damon on the field, her gaze darker than usual.

Damon, still focused, didn’t notice her presence. He retrieved his blade, storing it in the makeshift holster he always used, and signaled for another soldier to approach. But Harven raised his hand, indicating that the training was over.

“What are you doing back here?” Harven asked, turning completely to face her. “Judging by the state you left in… I figured you’d give up on coming back.”

Morgana let out a short laugh—humorless, graceless, just exhaustion.

“Give up,” she snorted. “Oh, Harven… as if I’d give up.”

Harven raised an eyebrow.

Her tone already suggested the conversation would be complicated.

Morgana crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath before speaking:

“My fiancé… has gone crazy.”

Harven blinked.

“What do you mean… crazy?”

“Literally.” Morgana looked at him bluntly. “He’s trembling, huddled up, unable to sleep. He won’t talk to anyone. He wets himself with fear when he sees me.”

Harven straightened his posture.

This… wasn’t normal.

Morgana continued:

“Someone broke into the mansion last night.”

Harven’s eyes widened.

“Breaked in? But—”

“Went into his room.” She cut him off, her voice cold. “Said something, did something—I don’t know what—but left him so terrified that now he can only repeat the same phrase: for me to stay away from him.”

Harven felt a shiver run down his spine.

“So he… thinks you’re involved?”

“No.” Morgana sighed wearily. “He thinks if I get near him, he’ll die.”

Harven remained silent for long seconds.

Damon, finally realizing the training had been interrupted, walked over to them, taking off his gloves and wiping the dust from his hands.

“Harven, what—”

He stopped when he saw Morgana there.

His eyes widened slightly behind his mask. A quick surprise, perhaps even a hint of guilt, before he regained his neutral expression.

Harven turned to him.

“Damon… you’d better hear this.”

Morgana stared at him with the same intensity as always—but now there was something different. Something sharper. As if she were looking at him with new eyes.

“My fiancé,” she began, “will probably call off the engagement.”

Damon raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “He’s traumatized by something that happened yesterday,” Morgana continued firmly. “Something… or someone… got into his room.”

Damon blinked slowly.

Nothing in his body betrayed any reaction.

No muscle, no change in posture—except, perhaps, a discreet glint in his eyes.

Harven, however, didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to understand the situation.

“Morgana…” Harven murmured. “This is serious. If the mansion was broken into—”

“Not ’broken into,’” she corrected. “He was broken into.”

Harven frowned. “But who—”

Morgana looked at Damon.

And Damon held her gaze with an irritating calmness.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The air grew heavy.

Harven looked from one to the other, confused like an idiot caught between two wolves who haven’t yet decided whether to fight or cooperate.

She then continued:

“Eduard can’t even look at me without panicking. He thinks anyone who gets near him will be killed. And, honestly…” Morgana took a deep breath. “The way he is… I’ve never seen anyone like this. Not even soldiers captured in war get so… broken.”

Damon tilted his head slightly.

A minimal, discreet gesture.

Almost respectful.

Harven, distracted by the gravity of the matter, put a hand to his chin.

“That would explain why he would cancel the engagement…” he murmured. “But it also means someone’s messing with the mansion’s politics. And if someone managed to get in there once—”

“They did,” Morgana interrupted. “And left unseen.”

Harven swallowed hard.

This wasn’t an ordinary thief.

Damon finally spoke:

“And what are you going to do now?”

Morgana gave a half-ironical smile—tired, but free, like someone who had just dropped an absurd weight.

“Me?” She crossed her arms. “I’m going to live my life, for the first time in years. If he cancels, great. One less problem for me.”

Harven breathed a sigh of relief.

But Damon… just watched her.

In silence.

Intensely.

And for a second—just a second—Morgana felt that same uncomfortable heat that had kept her awake all night.

His gaze was different.

It wasn’t one of curiosity.

It wasn’t one of pity.

It was someone who knew exactly what had happened.

And who, deep down, wanted to ask how she was…

but couldn’t show it there.

She looked away first.

The sun had already set when Damon left the training building, his muscles still throbbing from the day’s combat. He was heading towards the barracks when he heard quick footsteps behind him.

There was no time to react.

Morgana grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the stone wall, the impact echoing through the empty corridor.

Her face was too close.

Sharp eyes.

Steady breathing.

Predator posture.

“Let’s talk,” she said, her voice low, constricted with anger. “Now.”

Damon raised an eyebrow, as if he had just been invited for a drink, not pressed against a wall.

“That’s a pretty… direct way to get my attention,” he murmured, relaxed.

“Stop playing games, Damon.” She clenched her fist on his clothes. “What did you do to Eduard?”

He tilted his head.

A crooked smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“I solved the problem for you. I thought you’d be thanking me. By the way…” He gestured with his chin. “You even seem happy.”

“I am happy!” she retorted, her voice rising for a moment. “But that was too much. He… he’s not the same person anymore!”

“Great.” Damon replied without hesitation. “Then it will cease to be a problem.”

Her eyes widened, surprised by his coldness.

Morgana opened her mouth to reply, but Damon moved.

Quickly.

One of his hands gripped her wrist; the other slid down her waist. In one swift movement, he turned her around and pinned her against the wall, exactly as she had done to him—only more firmly.

His body was just inches from hers.

He didn’t touch her… but she felt the heat, the intention, the presence.

“Seriously?” Damon murmured, his low tone vibrating in the narrow space between them. “You corner me… and don’t expect me to react?”

She tried to keep her face steady, but her heart raced.

“Damon…” she warned, though her voice had lost some of its strength.

He leaned in just enough for her to feel his breath near her ear.

“What’s mine…” he said, each word slow, measured, “I don’t let anyone touch.”

Morgana’s body stiffened, not from fear… but because something in his tone pierced all her defenses.

“I’m not yours,” she whispered, trying to maintain control.

Damon smiled—she could feel it from the closeness.

“Not yet.”

She swallowed hard, unable to look away as he took a step back, just enough to return her breath.

“Now relax,” Damon finished, placing a hand on her shoulder before releasing it completely. “And tell me exactly what you want from me.”

Morgana took a deep breath, regaining her composure with effort.

“I want… the truth,” she replied. “I want to know what you said to him. What you did that night.”

Damon ran a hand through his hair, his tone returning to something more casual—but his eyes still gleamed with that dangerous shadow.

“I did what was necessary,” he replied. “That’s all.”

Morgana frowned.

Damon took a step back, as if to end the conversation.

“If you want details…” he said, his voice drawling, “we’ll need an even more secluded place.” Her blush appeared as quickly as she tried to hide it.

And Damon noticed.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, but his smile suggested he might not be kidding so much after all.

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