The scene before Valerian was unlike any other he had grown accustomed to.
The sight before him was entirely different. The massive table stretched across the hall like the spine of an ancient palace, made of dark, glossy wood. Each faded scratch on its surface told old tales of feasts that had ended in an unknown fate. The chandeliers hanging from the towering ceiling cast a dim light،not strong enough to dispel the lingering shadows in the corners, yet not weak enough to grant the place warmth.
The air was heavy with the rich aroma of food, but it failed to mask the hidden weight floating between those seated. The clinking of spoons against plates rang sharp, like the clash of swords, and even the subdued sounds of chewing felt loud amidst the intermittent silence. Fleeting glances met like sparks،never lingering too long, yet carrying unspoken messages in their gleam.
In one corner, the burning fireplace cast its flickering glow, but the warmth it spread did not seep into their bodies. Instead, it merely allowed its flames to dance helplessly, incapable of melting the icy tension in the air. The heavy curtains, grazing the floor, smothered the room's breath, as if they were concealing whispers spoken behind silent tongues.
No excess words. No spontaneous laughter. Just the sound of inhaling and exhaling, caution weaving between the seats, and spoons digging into plates as though unearthing words no one dared to voice.
All of this while Valerian continued eating quietly, thinking to himself
"If I had just kept eating in my room as usual, it would have been better."
He glanced around, trying to ignore the dense tension suffocating the atmosphere. He had yet to learn what had happened with his brother Alexis last night or what he had done, but his eyes instinctively drifted toward his father and younger brother seated across from him.
As always, his father's gaze revealed nothing of his emotions. Meanwhile, his younger brother seemed entirely uninterested in what was happening.
For Valerian, every movement felt like a battle; every little action he took would draw the attention of those around him, granting him the looks he had come to know all too well.
He raised his spoon slowly, as if weighing every motion, before sinking it into his plate. The food had lost its usual flavor, or perhaps his tongue had simply become incapable of tasting anything amidst the suffocating heaviness in the air. The first bite was slow, his jaws grinding not just the food but also the tension itself. Every swallow came with a faint sensation of choking, as if his throat had tightened slightly.
On the table, a glass clinked against a knife،a soft sound, yet it rang out like a warning bell. His hand froze momentarily before he resumed, maintaining a steady rhythm—a controlled, deliberate pace. Every time he lifted his eyes from his plate, he met fleeting glances. Some were cold, others sharp, but all of them left a heavy weight on his chest.
Between bites, he felt as if he were fighting a silent battle, where every movement was calculated, every sigh suppressed, and every bite merely an obligation—nothing more.
"This is truly annoying..."
These were the thoughts that occupied his mind during the meal.
His fingers tapped the edge of his plate in an irregular rhythm, his jaw tightening for a moment before he forced his muscles to relax again, as if reminding himself to breathe. He swallowed with difficulty, his throat dry, while his eyes flickered between the faces around him before returning to his plate, playing with the food more than eating it. With every movement, his shoulders remained slightly tense, like a bowstring on the verge of snapping.
Finally, he finished his meal quickly, eager to leave this place and tend to his duties.
No one paid any attention to his departure. In fact, no one had even acknowledged his presence in the first place.
He rose from his seat, his feet guiding him toward the exit while his father, Edgar, watched him with keen eyes.
"Stop."
A single word was enough to freeze his body in place.
At last, he turned to face his father, uncertain about what he wanted. He did not dare to meet his eyes, fearing he might displease him.
Every time his gaze met this man's, fear crept through his entire body. He never understood why, but it was always there... always.
"The sword does not suit you... Use the dagger instead. I have assigned you a trainer."
These were the only words Edgar deemed necessary to say.
He was not one to beat around the bush—he always got straight to the point.
Edgar thought to himself
"Perhaps I have been too harsh on him, but he must be strong."
Behind that apparent coldness was a man who cared deeply for his family.
Upon returning home and seeing the condition of his wife, he had realized that if things continued as they were, he might not only lose her... but everyone else, too.
"Understood, Father."
Valerian bowed slightly before hastily leaving the hall.
Everyone noticed, but no one dared to speak, fearing Edgar's wrath.
Meanwhile, Alexis cast his father a curious glance, trying to decipher his thoughts.
He was certain that Edgar knew what he had done last night. After all, how could a man like him be unaware of what happened in his own mansion?
At last, Alexis smirked mockingly and continued eating as if nothing had happened.
Back to Valerian,after some distance of walking, he arrived at the training grounds, accompanied by his personal servant, Carlos.
But he found nothing but dust and the lingering scent of sweat filling the air. There was no one there.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, his eyes scanning the emptiness as if trying to grasp an answer lost within the space.
He did not wait long before that person appeared...
Kyle Lockard.
A young man in his mid-twenties, with a well-toned physique that balanced agility and fitness, making him ideal for using daggers and quick maneuvers. His skin was slightly pale, which contrasted strikingly with his soft white hair, which sometimes fell over part of his forehead but remained short enough to give him a refined appearance.
His golden eyes gave him a mysterious aura, reflecting sharp focus and quick wits, as if they were burning rings observing every detail around him.
He stood there with effortless confidence, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black trousers, while a curved sword coiled around his waist like a dormant serpent, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. A faint, nearly imperceptible smile played at the corner of his lips as he gazed at Valerian.
"So, you're the one I'll be training?"
The question was not taunting, but his tone carried a certain measure of assessment, as if he were weighing Valerian with his gaze before passing judgment.
Valerian stood before him, striving to keep his expression neutral, yet he felt the weight of Kyle's stare, one that stripped him bare without uttering a word.
Taking a deep breath, he responded steadily:
"I am Valerian Lockard. Pleased to meet you, Sir Kyle."
Kyle raised an eyebrow slightly before withdrawing his hand from his pocket and patting Valerian lightly on the shoulder. Then he took a few steps away, as if measuring the distance between them.
"We'll see how pleased you are soon enough... Now, let's begin."
Without warning, he drew a dagger from its sheath and dashed toward Valerian at lightning speed...
And so, the harsh lesson began.
His eyes burned with excitement as his body bent with agility, like a shadow gliding across the ground.
Valerian barely managed to dodge the first attack, but he felt something cold brush against his cheek before realizing that Kyle wasn't joking.
A drop of blood slipped down his face, but he didn't care.
This wasn't just ordinary training… It was a harsh lesson, one that was just beginning.
Kyle finally threw away the dagger.,perhaps as an act of mercy for Valerian, or simply to mock him.
Valerian lunged forward like an arrow, having learned that taking the initiative provided an advantage. But before the edge of his blade could even touch flesh, he found his hand pushed back in a smooth motion—one he hadn't even noticed until it was too late. Suddenly, Kyle was behind him, patting his shoulder as if they were just two friends on a casual stroll.
"You're wielding daggers like swords," his voice was calm, devoid of blame, yet sharp as the very blade itself. "They're not heavy weapons; they are an extension of your hand. Don't let them drag you forward more than necessary."
Valerian stepped back, caught his breath, felt the sweat trickling down his face, and tried again. He circled his opponent, searching for an opening, then struck swiftly, his dagger aimed at the ribs,where the wound would be fatal. But once again, his strength was turned against him. Kyle shifted his body at the last moment, leaving the young man lunging into nothingness before seizing his wrist with a quick motion and gently throwing him to the ground, as if he were tossing a towel onto a chair.
"Your attacks are too obvious," the instructor said, gazing at him with a scrutinizing look. "A dagger fighter is not a spear wielder. Don't seek power,seek opportunity. Learn to hide your intent, to make every move seem like a deliberate mistake. And when your opponent leans in to exploit that mistake… that's when you strike."
The young man rose again, this time with more caution. He took a deep breath, lightened his stance, standing on the balls of his feet as if dancing. He circled Kyle in tighter loops until his movements became nearly silent whispers. Then, suddenly, he made a deceptive motion, shifting his weight forward as if he were about to attack…but he didn't.
Kyle reacted, leaning slightly, about to counter,yet the young man had already moved. His dagger shot toward the side, aiming for the waist this time.
The blade stopped a hair's breadth from Kyle's skin.
The instructor looked at him for a moment, then smiled faintly.
"Finally..." he said quietly. "You're beginning to understand."
At first, everything moved too fast for him to comprehend. His heartbeat pounded inside his chest like a hammer, and though his hands clutched the daggers tightly, they felt as if they were grasping nothing but air. Every time he lunged, he chased an untouchable shadow; every time he tried to think, his body moved a step ahead of him, as if he were walking on the edge of an unseen abyss.
His breaths grew heavier,not just from exhaustion, but from the anger creeping into him like embers beneath his skin.
How could an unarmed man strip him of all his attacks so effortlessly? Why did every attempt end in emptiness, as if he were stabbing at mist?
For a brief moment, he felt like a child playing with a weapon he didn't truly know how to wield. And that thought alone hurt more than any dagger.
Damn it…
That was the only phrase running through his mind.
There was nothing pleasant about this fight. He felt only weakness,the weakness that had followed him from his past life into this one.
He kept attacking, but with every strike, he learned something new.until Kyle finally stopped him with just a single finger, halting his advance with overwhelming ease.
Valerian looked at the instructor, clenching his fists in frustration.
"Alright..." he muttered, masking his disappointment behind a calm facade.
Without another word, they each went their separate ways.
Kyle felt nothing but boredom,not even Valerian had been a source of entertainment for him.
As for Valerian, he turned to glance at Kyle one last time before whispering a single word:
"Theft."
A warmth spread through his hand as it glowed golden, and once again, the screen appeared before him:
[Theft Failed]
[Penalty: None]
[Remaining Theft Attempts: 0]
From the start, he hadn't expected success, but he had tried his luck anyway.
Gradually…
Jealousy seeped into his chest, creeping in like a cold hand squeezing his heart every time he witnessed others' success.
It wasn't just a desire for what they had,it was a suffocating sensation, as if he were trapped in a narrow room filled with the smoke of envy, struggling to breathe but finding no clean air.
He knew this feeling was ugly, but logic alone couldn't suppress emotions that festered in the shadows.
Every smile of success he saw felt like a shard of glass piercing his soul, reminding him of his failures, his shortcomings, the vast distance between him and the place he longed to reach.
He tried to convince himself that everyone had their own path, but a cynical voice inside him whispered:
"Why not you? Why do they keep moving forward while you remain in place?"
His mind wavered between admiration and resentment, between hope and despair. Sometimes, he wished success was fair. Other times, he burned with the urge to rip it from others' hands.
Jealousy wasn't just a fire smoldering within him,it was a beast whispering in his ear, feeding on every new sight.
His servant, Carlos, sensed his master's emotions, but he had no words to offer.
"My lord, I will always protect you."
That had been his only purpose since he was assigned as Valerian's servant as a child, and he would allow nothing to harm him… not anymore.
And so, they simply continued walking.
A silent walk,perhaps something both of them needed to sort out their thoughts, to find a moment of quiet.
Meanwhile…
The time for Valerian's departure from the manor drew near.