Chapter 13: Last Spurt
Armored Dragon Calendar Year 415 – Claude, Age 10
[Claude POV]
Roa was larger than I had imagined.
The Boreas family's territory sprawled across the landscape, a city of stone and commerce that dwarfed anything in our quiet village.
Walls rose from the earth like the bones of some ancient giant, encircling streets that pulsed with activity from dawn until well past dusk.
Merchants crowded the streets, their voices a constant noise, carts rumbling over cobblestones and carrying goods from every corner of the continent.
The air smelled of spices and livestock, too many people packed into too small a space.
I had read about cities like this in the memories that haunted my dreams. But reading and experiencing were different things entirely, the sheer density of humanity pressing against my senses, overwhelming in ways I hadn't anticipated.
Mike guided me through the chaos. He had made this journey many times before, his merchant persona flawless, the nervous boy gone, replaced by a trader at home in the crowd.
"The merchant guilds control the main thoroughfares," he said quietly as we navigated a particularly crowded intersection. "Stay close and don't attract attention."
I pulled my hood lower, hiding features that were still young enough to draw curiosity.
An eleven-year-old traveling alone would raise questions. An eleven-year-old accompanied by a merchant's apprentice was merely unusual.
The cover story Mike had prepared was simple but effective: I was his distant cousin, learning the trade by accompanying him on his rounds.
Anyone who questioned the relationship would receive a story about family obligations, reluctant mentorship that was common enough to be boring.
Our contacts were waiting in a tavern near the market district. The establishment was called The Copper Scale, its sign depicting a merchant's balance weighted with gleaming coins.
Inside, the air was thick with pipe smoke and the smell of spilled ale. Men and women who dealt in information rather than goods occupied the back tables, their eyes sharp and their loyalties flexible.
These were the people who made cities like Roa function, the brokers and fixers who knew things that official records never captured.
I listened more than I spoke, letting Mike conduct the negotiations while I observed.
I catalogued everything without meaning to: power dynamics visible in how people positioned themselves, hidden agendas revealed through careful word choices, potential weaknesses that might be exploited later, stored away for reference.
Useful information.
'The woman in the corner controls this group. Others defer without realizing it. Approach her directly for serious matters.'
When Mike finished his initial negotiations, I caught the woman's eye and gave a slight nod. Her expression flickered with surprise before settling into professional interest.
By evening, we had established three new informant relationships, identified two merchants who might be willing to support our operations.
It was productive work, but it wasn't why I had really come.
The Boreas estate loomed on the hill above the city, its towers catching the last light of the setting sun. Red banners bearing the family crest fluttered in the evening breeze, a declaration of power that dominated the landscape.
Somewhere in that sprawling complex, Rudeus was teaching a noble girl how to control her temper, and Ghislaine was watching over them both.
"Are you sure about this?" Mike asked as we approached the estate gates.
The guards here were professional, their armor well-maintained and their eyes watchful. This wasn't a household that took security lightly.
"No. But I'm doing it anyway."
The guards let us pass after I produced my letter. We were expected, apparently. Rudeus had received my message and arranged a visit.
The estate grounds were impressive, manicured gardens surrounding a central courtyard where servants moved with practiced efficiency.
Wealth was evident in every detail, from the quality of the stonework to the expensive glass in the windows.
I found Rudeus in the training yard. Eris Boreas Greyrat was trying to dismantle a dummy with more enthusiasm than technique, the red-haired girl older than I had expected, her movements carrying wild energy that never held back.
Crash.
Her sword crashed into the dummy's torso, hard enough to send splinters flying. She followed with a combination that was more rage than skill, each blow powered by emotion rather than technique.
"She's improving," Rudeus said without turning, apparently sensing my approach. "She used to destroy the dummies in half the time. Now she actually tries to hit specific targets."
"Progress of a sort."
He laughed, the sound carrying genuine warmth. Standing beside him, her beast ears twitching at our approach, was Ghislaine.
The Sword King hadn't changed since Buena Village, still carrying herself with the predatory grace of a born fighter, still watching everything with those golden eyes that missed nothing.
"Claude." Rudeus's face split into a grin. "You actually came."
"Did you think I wouldn't?"
"Honestly? Yes."
He crossed the yard to clasp my hand, and I was struck by how much he had changed. Taller now, more confident, the nervousness I remembered had settled into something steadier.
His grip was stronger too, the soft hands of a child become the callused hands of someone who trained regularly. Whatever struggles he faced with Eris, at least the physical conditioning was working.
But his eyes still held shadows, still carried weight that didn't belong to someone his age.
We understood each other in that moment. Two souls burdened with knowledge that shouldn't exist, two people pretending to be normal children while carrying the weight of impossible truths.
"Introduce me to your student," I said.
"Eris." Rudeus called over his shoulder. "This is Claude. The friend I told you about."
The red-haired girl abandoned her assault on the training dummy, approaching with the wariness of a wild animal sizing up a potential threat.
Her eyes swept over me, assessing, calculating in a way that suggested more intelligence than her violent training style implied.
"You're smaller than I expected."
"And you're louder than I expected."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Rudeus tensed, clearly preparing to intervene before his student decided to test whether I was as fragile as I looked.
Then Eris laughed, a sharp sound of genuine amusement that transformed her face entirely. The wildness was still there, but it was tempered by something that might have been approval.
"I like him. He doesn't talk to me like I'm going to break."
"That's because I don't think you will." I met her gaze steadily. "People who break easily don't carry themselves the way you do."
Her grin was fierce with approval. "Rudy, you should have brought him here sooner."
Ghislaine had been watching our exchange in silence. Now she stepped forward, her beast eyes fixed on me with predatory intensity.
"You've improved," she said. "Since I last saw you train."
"A little."
"Show me."
It wasn't a request. The words carried the absolute authority of someone who expected to be obeyed.
I glanced at Rudeus, who shrugged with a helplessness that suggested arguing with Ghislaine wasn't worth the effort.
"She's been curious ever since she got back from visiting Buena. Paul apparently said things."
Of course he had. Paul's ability to keep his mouth shut was legendary for all the wrong reasons. Whatever he had told Ghislaine about my strange abilities had apparently made enough of an impression to spark her interest.
Ghislaine was already selecting wooden practice swords, tossing one to me with a casual flick of her wrist.
I caught it without thinking, my grip adjusting automatically to the weapon's balance.
The sword was heavier than the ones I usually trained with, designed for adult hands rather than a child's. But my body compensated without conscious direction, adjusting my stance to account for the weight difference.
"Full contact," she said. "Show me what you've learned."
The combat presence stirred in anticipation.
We faced each other across the training yard, Rudeus and Eris watching from the sidelines. The evening air was cool against my skin, carrying the scent of distant fires and approaching night.
For a moment, everything was still. Ghislaine stood with perfect relaxation, her sword held loosely at her side, and I could see no openings in her stance, no weaknesses that might be exploited.
Then she moved first.
She was fast, faster than Paul, faster than anyone I had ever faced. Her sword was a blur of motion, striking from angles that should have been impossible.
The combat presence took over. My body moved without conscious direction, flowing through defensive patterns that I hadn't practiced but somehow knew.
'Left side opening. Step right. No, feint. Retreat.'
The wooden sword met hers.
Clack.
It deflected a blow that would have ended the match instantly.
Ghislaine's attacks came harder, faster, testing the limits of my abilities. Each strike was precisely controlled: powerful enough to end the fight if it connected, but not powerful enough to cause permanent damage.
She was holding back. Even in my heightened state, I could see that. A Sword King at full power would have ended this in the first exchange.
The knowledge came without context, without explanation.
'Low sweep incoming. Jump, no, use the momentum. Deflect and counter.'
My body executed techniques I had never learned, drawing on expertise that belonged to someone else entirely.
For a few glorious seconds, I actually pressed her, found angles that forced her to adjust her stance, executed a combination that almost, almost created an opening.
Then she stopped playing.
The next strike came faster than thought, faster than the combat presence could analyze. My sword flew from my hands, and I found myself on the ground with her blade pressed against my throat.
The match had lasted perhaps ninety seconds. It felt like hours.
"Better," she said, not even breathing hard. "Much better."
I retrieved my practice sword, my arms aching from the effort, every muscle complaining from moving beyond my limits. The combat presence had pushed my body farther than it was meant to go, and now I was paying the price.
"Not good enough."
"No. Not yet."
She tilted her head, studying me with those unreadable beast eyes. "But you're closer than you should be. Paul was right to be confused."
Rudeus approached after I caught my breath, his expression thoughtful. "That wasn't normal training, was it? The way you moved..."
The temptation to tell him everything rose like bile in my throat. He would understand. Of everyone I had met in this world, Rudeus was the one person who might actually believe me.
But the analytical presence whispered caution.
'Too dangerous. Too exposed. Eyes are always watching.'
I didn't know whose eyes, didn't know why the warning felt so urgent. But I had learned to trust those instincts, even when I didn't understand them.
"I've been training for a long time," I said instead. "Paul taught me well."
It wasn't a lie, exactly. Just not the whole truth.
Rudeus studied me for a long moment, and I saw recognition in his eyes. Not of what I was hiding, but of the fact that I was hiding something. He understood secrets. He carried his own.
"Fair enough." He didn't push. "But if you ever want to talk about it..."
"I'll find you."
We stood in comfortable silence, watching Eris demolish another training dummy. The red-haired girl fought with a ferocity that was almost admirable, even if her technique still needed work.
"She's going to be something special," I said.
"She already is." Rudeus's voice carried a warmth that surprised me. "She just doesn't know it yet."
The visit ended the next morning. Mike and I departed with new contacts, new information, and the satisfaction of strengthened alliances. Ghislaine watched us leave from the estate gates, her beast eyes unreadable.
I didn't tell Rudeus about the orb, didn't tell him about the disaster I knew was coming. The knowledge burned in my chest, desperate to be shared.
But some burdens had to be carried alone.
At least for now.
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