As Jorvik left the library quarters, the soft shuffle of footsteps echoed from the House Codex section.
Liam stepped out, a thin stack of parchment held between ink-stained fingers.
He heard Jorvik leave but didn't so much as glance up as he moved down the hall.
Pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose, he cleared the dirt from his eyes, yawning.
He straightened his back, trying to stay awake, as he walked to his room, reading the notes he had taken from the Codex.
Jorvik watched him for a moment longer before turning away.
—
David awoke to the scent of parchment and ink—an earthy, weighty aroma that clung to the room like mist.
As he tried to remain asleep, the soft red glow of the rising sun pressed against his closed eyelids.
He sighed, wiping the drool from his mouth.
He had spent the whole night trying to find a solution that might help him keep his job.
But nothing came of it.
All he had against House Maddach was the assumption that they would do anything to protect their pride.
But without proof, he was powerless.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw Liam seated at the common table, notes spread before him in deliberate disarray.
Some pages bore crisp, dried lines of ink; others gleamed wet under the flickering mana lights.
His fingers, smudged with black, moved swiftly—annotating, underlining—all regarding the movements and habits surrounding Valen.
David sat up. "You've been at this all night?"
Liam looked up, dark bags under his eyes, as if dragged from some distant thought. "Get ready."
David ran a hand through his hair. "At least let me wake up first."
"Unfortunately, we're in a rush," Liam said, rising sluggishly. "We have to leave."
He picked up his pocket watch, took a glance at it, and slid it into his breast pocket before leaving the room.
—
Their footsteps echoed through the halls as they moved.
Few were awake at this hour—only the servants and guards.
David found solace in this silence.
Probably the only time he would, despite all the arguments and backstabbing among nobles.
David adjusted his pace to match Liam's. "What's this about?"
"Valen is training."
David raised a brow. "And?"
"He trains when the nobles are still asleep."
A pause. Then, realization settled in David's expression. "You read that in the Codex?"
Liam nodded. "To defeat a strong opponent, you study them. You don't listen to stories or ask around. You watch them move. You learn their habits. Once you see their habits, you see their weaknesses."
This wasn't an original thought.
One of the most famous knockouts in history had been by Mixed Martial Artist McGregor in his prime.
The knockout had happened within thirteen seconds. The victim? Jose Aldo.
The win wasn't due to mind games. McGregor had found a habit—and exploited it.
David frowned. "And then?"
"Then you win."
—
The training hall loomed ahead, its entrance framed by reinforced stone columns.
Liam slowed his pace, motioning for silence.
David almost spoke but caught himself at the last second as Liam lifted a hand to his face.
They entered.
The hall was dim, but not empty.
Training equipment filled the space, banners of House Maddach fighters hanging on the walls.
Valen moved through the hall, clad in a loose-fitting shirt and baggy training pants. No armor. Just a body honed by discipline, translating thought into motion.
He struck the air, each movement precise.
A kick—measured, fluid, as he placed his palm to the ground.
His weight shift was smooth, clearly practiced.
His skills in striking, especially, had been trained to near perfection.
He was shadowboxing.
But not against a faceless opponent.
Liam saw it in the small details—the angle of his strikes, the specific weight of his steps.
He was imagining Liam.
Fighting him.
Countering him.
And in every imagined exchange, he was faster.
Stronger.
And every match ended within seconds.
He repeated the sequence. Again. And again. Until—
Valen paused.
His gaze shifted ever so slightly—toward the mirror lining the far wall.
A reflection.
Valen turned, his eyes locking onto Liam.
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then, Liam calmly slipped his notes into his pocket.
"Don't mind me," he said.
Valen looked past him, scanning the room's edges, making sure they were alone.
Then, he spoke.
"I wonder," Valen said, voice even, "if you've really changed.
Or if your instincts have simply kicked in to save yourself."
Liam tried not to react to that comment.
He knew those words weren't for him.
They were for his past self.
Valen continued staring, his thoughts hidden behind his expression.
"I'll make sure…" He stopped, a flicker of something crossing his mind—Sera. "You don't stay to cause any more pain."
Liam nodded.
He glanced at David, but David didn't meet his gaze.
David was watching Valen.
While Liam might not have understood, David did.
He had seen how Sera looked at Valen.
And how Valen looked at her.
If the rumors about what Liam had done to her were true, then Valen's reaction was completely warranted.
David turned to Liam, 'Still, he doesn't look like the type to do something that… evil.'
Though both Valen and David were weighing their thoughts, Liam's mind was empty.
He had gotten what he needed.
—
As they stepped into the hallway, David exhaled. "Well, that was something."
Liam didn't reply.
His fingers brushed against the pocket holding his notes.
If Valen hadn't noticed him taking notes, then those notes would help him win.
That was all that mattered.
They turned a corner.
And there, leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed, was Knight Asterix.
Liam barely halted his stride.
He and the knight locked eyes for the briefest of moments.
Asterix said nothing.
But his expression was wary.
He had been comfortable with Lady Rhyla knowing and planning everything, but ever since Liam had won the match, everything had become confusing.
As Liam and David passed, Asterix pushed off the wall and strode toward the training hall.