Taking the teakwood sword from the soldier's trembling hands, Len's fingers froze against its cold, smooth surface. He gripped the wooden hilt so tightly that the skin over his knuckles turned white.
Amidst the swirling dust of the courtyard, the small boy stood as immovable as an ancient crag. A flicker of admiration ignited in Ethos's deep eyes—a spark that was as captivating as it was terrifying.
He took a step forward. Ethos's physique was like a sculpted monument; though he was significantly older than Astria, there wasn't a single mark of age upon his face. His skin was as smooth as marble.
Possessing the presence of a seasoned warrior at the very peak of his prime. "Tell me your full name, Len," Ethos's voice resonated like the low, rhythmic beat of a heavy war drum.
"In this empire, every warrior's identity is measured by the depth of their name." Len did not bow his head. He anchored his icy gaze directly onto Ethos's face. "I don't know," Len said in a voice.
It was low yet remarkably steady. "My name is simply Len." A faint smile ghosted across Ethos's features—a smile that carried the echo of 'authority' rather than affection.
With a chilling dignity, he spoke softly, "No matter. If the past gave you no identity, then I shall find a name for you myself—one worthy of the brilliance of this royal brooch and our lineage."
"There is no need," Len's words cut through Ethos's gentleness like a serrated blade through silk. "I like my name. You may call me by it." Ethos lowered his eyelids for a moment.
As if savoring the boy's innocent defiance. Ignoring Len's protest, he simply maintained his poised, statuesque stance. Then, Len tightened his grip on his sword and, staring into those ancient eyes, asked.
"What is your full name?" The powerful man straightened his back, his silhouette growing even more grand and mysterious under the fading afternoon light. "The entire realm knows me as 'Grand Duke Ethos'."
"Shadow Master of the Eternal Council.'" Len weighed those heavy words in his mind. "What does it mean?" Ethos took a step closer, his shadow completely engulfing the small boy.
"The meaning is profound, child. 'Grand Duke' is the testament to the title I hold to protect this throne. But my true power lies hidden in the second part of my name—'Shadow Master.'"
He lowered his voice further, until it hummed like an incantation directly into Len's ears. "A shadow never loses, Len. It moves without a footfall, it exists in every secret corner, and most importantly..."
"It veils the 'truth' that the world lacks the courage to face. The 'Eternal Council' is the supreme assembly where the fates of this immortal world are written. I am the Master of that assembly."
"The one who decides where the light shall fall and whom the darkness shall swallow." Len listened to his words, but his mind was elsewhere. In that name, he did not feel 'protection'—he felt a 'poisonous web.'
The heavy words of the 'Eternal Council' still seemed to drift in the scorching air of the courtyard. Len narrowed his small eyes, as if trying to peer through those grand titles.
To find the real man hidden behind them. "You may call me by any name you wish," Ethos said, softening his voice slightly, though it still carried the unmistakable authority of a mentor.
"Len, you may address me in whatever way feels right to you." Len loosened his grip for a fleeting second, took a deep breath, and spoke. "Fine... I will call you 'Grand Duke'."
A measured look of approval crossed Ethos's face. "Very well. Most within the corridors of this empire address me by that title anyway. Formalities keep relationships clear." He clasped his hands behind his back.
He gestured with a cold gaze toward a training dummy standing nearby. "Now, turn your words into your blade. Consider that wooden dummy your target. I wish to see the level of power."
"Flowing through your veins. Try the basic strikes, Len." Without a word, Len walked over and stood before the weathered wooden dummy. Sunlight played in the cracks of the timber.
For a few moments, a heavy silence descended over the grounds. Len didn't move an inch; his eyes were locked onto the very center of the dummy, as if he could see the weakest point.
Deep within the wood. Suddenly, the silence shattered with a sharp, whistling cry. Len swung his wooden sword with the speed of a lightning bolt. The strike was so forceful and precise.
That the sound of the air being sliced was audible. The training sword, meant only for practice, collided with the hard torso of the dummy. A loud, splintering crack echoed—the dummy split into two.
The upper half flew through the air and thudded into the sand, while the lower half remained embedded in the ground, quivering. Len still held the remaining half of his shattered sword.
But his breathing remained perfectly calm. His gaze stayed anchored to the fallen debris. Ethos's pupils dilated for a split second. Abandoning his cold, statuesque posture, he leaned forward slightly to inspect.
He looked at the broken wood. In his silence lay a mixture of surprise and a deep, underlying suspense. He shifted his gaze toward Len, who still stood as rigid as a stone statue.
"Indeed... a magnificent strike," Ethos's voice was now even more grave. "You possess raw power, Len. But a warrior needs more than just strength; he needs disciplined practice and patience."
"You have the potential, and soon you will earn the right to leave this wood behind and grasp real steel." Ethos reached out and took another wooden sword from a nearby rack.
His movement was as effortless as a drifting shadow. He stepped in front of a second dummy and held his sword at a specific, calculated angle. "Striking is not merely about hitting, Len."
Ethos said, drawing his sword back. "It is the harmony between your soul and your weapon. Watch, this is how the strike should be executed." In the next heartbeat, Ethos's sword blurred.
Through the air like a streak of gray mist. Amidst the silent echoes of the training grounds, Ethos lowered his wooden sword with effortless grace. His breathing was as steady as someone in slumber.
For a few moments, everything seemed normal, but then suddenly—without any external pressure—the dummy's head slid cleanly from its shoulders and thudded into the sand. There wasn't a single scratch on his sword.
The strike had been so fine and precise that the wood hadn't even realized it had been severed. He turned his icy gaze toward Len. "Strength can break stone, Len, but precision wins empires."
Ethos's voice was as cold as a mountain breeze. "The basics I am teaching you are not merely drills; they are the only way to survive. Focus your mind." Len didn't utter a word.
But his pupils were capturing Ethos's every movement into his memory. He wasn't just watching; he was reading the tension in Ethos's muscles and the exact angle of the blade. "Stand straight."
"Adjust the distance between your feet to be battle-ready," Ethos commanded. Len adjusted his stance instantly. He anchored his feet firmly into the sand, distributed his weight evenly, and gripped the hilt.
As if it were an extension of his own body. His posture was that of a seasoned predator, becoming perfectly still before the leap. In the next heartbeat, Len moved like a shadow.
His first strike wasn't just an imitation of Ethos; it was far more lethal. Len's sword collided directly with the dummy's shoulder joint. With a dry crack, one arm severed and fell into the dust.
A wave of surprise flickered in Ethos's eyes, but Len didn't stop there. He pivoted his blade mid-air and delivered a second blow to the dummy's other arm. The second piece of wood went flying.
And before anyone could blink, Len launched his third and final attack directly at the dummy's base—its leg—that connected it to the earth. As the wooden strike slammed into the base.
The lifeless dummy collapsed onto the sand like a butchered corpse. A terrifying silence descended over the grounds once more. Len stood before the fallen wreckage, his face showing neither pride nor excitement.
His eyes held that same old 'cold brilliance,' revealing that he hadn't just practiced; in his mind, he had 'killed' the dummy.