Paul woke up to the bright sunlight filtering through the gaps in the curtains.
Blinking, he slowly opened his eyes.
The room was filled with rays of light, and the scent of the past night still lingered in the air.
He reached out and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, chasing away the remnants of sleep. The world before him seemed slightly blurred. For Paul, the night had passed without dreams.
He sat up on the bed, rolling his shoulders. His body responded with a slight stiffness.
Getting up, he walked to the narrow window and cracked it open. Fresh wind burst into the room, carrying the smell of damp grass and a distant campfire. Paul closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaled. Something flickered in his mind — a vague thought. He had clearly forgotten something. But what exactly?
"Well, whatever, I guess it wasn't that important..." he decided, waving it off.
After spending a few minutes by the window, Paul headed to the kitchen. The room turned out to be spacious and bright, with high ceilings and large windows.
Zenith was there, but she hadn't noticed him yet.
She stood before the mirror, humming something under her breath as she brushed her long hair. Watching her from behind, Paul noticed how gracefully her body moved. His gaze lingered on Zenith, admiring her slender figure — her neck, smooth shoulders, and slim waist. She was surrounded by an aura of elegance and grace, even while doing something as simple as brushing her hair.
Paul smiled. He liked seeing Zenith like this: calm, graceful, free of any worries.
Unable to hold back any longer, he quickly closed the distance between them.
The physical strength of an experienced swordsman like him surpassed all human limits, so the unsuspecting girl had no chance to react.
A sharp movement — one hand landed on her chest, the other wrapped around her rounded rear. Zenith yelped, flinching from the sudden touch.
"Paul!" She spun around and hit him in the side with her elbow, but he only laughed.
"What? I just said good morning."
"Good?" Zenith narrowed her eyes. "Are you even capable of waking up without these antics of yours?"
Paul answered with a quiet groan and kept squeezing Zenith's chest in his hands.
"Not sure. Never checked." He leaned in closer, his breath touching her neck. "But if you want, we can find out together..."
Zenith sighed, but the corners of her lips twitched with a faint smile.
"Paul, darling, you're magnificent in battle," she drawled, "but in bed... Oh, forgive me, but sometimes it feels like you're swinging the wrong thing."
He narrowed his eyes.
"You didn't complain last night," his voice was quiet, with a hint of smugness.
"Well, you know... I'm just too kind. Didn't want to shatter your fragile ego."
Paul tightened his grip on her waist, making her bend forward slightly.
"So I should prove you wrong?"
She pretended to think.
"Hm... I don't know. After last time I'm seriously considering starting to pray to the goddess of patience."
Paul tightened his grip on her waist again, making her bend forward slightly.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. You won't have to endure that today."
"We'll see..."
He leaned toward her lips, but at the last moment Zenith dodged and sat down on a chair.
"That's it for today. You seem to have more important things to do."
Paul exhaled, shrugging.
"You're making this too complicated. I could've given you another unforgettable morning..."
Zenith only took a sip from her mug, pretending not to hear. Her attention shifted to the door, behind which Lilia had disappeared.
"Go wash up and sit down. The food is almost ready."
Paul smirked, lazily sat down at the table, and looked around.
"Is Rudy still asleep? He's usually already running around the house."
"Rudeus has been on top of the hill since five in the morning," Lilia replied calmly as she set the dishes on the table. "He might not even come for breakfast, not wanting to lose a single second of his 'great path.'"
"Would you like me to go fetch him, Master Paul?"
Paul winced.
"Lilia, come on. What kind of 'master' am I to you? We're all family here."
Lilia didn't even look at him, continuing to neatly arrange the utensils.
"You are the head of this house. I cannot address you otherwise."
Paul sighed heavily.
"Lilia, we've known each other for years. Why all this?"
She finally looked at him, but her voice remained unwavering.
"Duty is duty, Master Paul."
Paul rolled his eyes in defeat and waved a hand.
"Fine, I give up. Have it your way if you insist so much."
Zenith, lazily stirring her drink with a spoon, didn't even glance at Lilia. A faint smile flickered across her face.
"Darling, you shouldn't worry," she drawled sweetly, bringing the cup to her lips. "We have a hero-father who so passionately preached about the importance of training yesterday."
"Ah. Training. That's what I forgot." Paul froze.
She looked at Paul and slightly raised a brow, as if she had just remembered something important.
"Oh yes, dear, you said yourself that Rudy has to get used to a routine, be focused, disciplined..." she waved her hand, as though recalling the details.
"And he's probably sitting there now, poor thing, waiting for his wise mentor to grace him with his presence."
Zenith tilted her head and gave her husband a sly smile.
"Or were all those words just words, hm?"
Paul slowly lifted his gaze from his plate. Realization showed clearly on his face—he'd been neatly cornered.
"Mmm," he muttered as he stood up. "Alright, I'll go..."
Stepping outside, Paul took a deep breath of fresh air and followed the path leading to Rudeus's favorite spot—the hill.
***
"So where should I start?.." Paul rubbed his chin, pretending to think. "No, kidding. I remember everything just fine."
He looked around, considering where he really should begin.
We were not far from the house. Zenith's garden, where she grew flowers and herbs, stretched along the fence. A river flowed below, reflecting the sky.
Yesterday Paul had decided to start training, but he had neither a plan nor a clear idea of what to do next. Though he tried his best to pretend otherwise.
Somewhere in the back of my mind a thought flickered: wasn't it a bit strange to teach a five-year-old kid sword fighting? In my previous life I treated sports as something distant, and now—martial arts. And not just for self-defense, but as part of the culture. It was hard to imagine a world where people grew up with a sword in their hands.
"I held a sword since I was six, it'll be fine," Paul waved off, as if guessing my thoughts.
"We'll start with history..."
"Seriously? You want to bore me before I even start training?"
"Quiet, kid," he snapped, pointing a finger at me. "First, history is interesting. And second, you start with it because you need a foundation. Understand? You need to know why you're doing all this."
"Feels like all I do is study history with Aunt Lilia. Crests, mottos, banners..."
"Stop whining, brat. Listen to me."
Paul suddenly grew serious. That meant the topic mattered, and it was worth listening.
"So then... First you need to learn the main thing..."
Long ago, on another continent, there existed the Eternal Empire, ruled by the immortal emperor Laplace. His armies stretched from one end of the landmass to the other. No one could stop him, because Laplace couldn't be killed.
Right before Paul began explaining Laplace's history, I had to suppress a yawn. Not because I wasn't interested but… alright, no excuses. I just wanted to get to the sword already.
"He was almost like a god to his enemies. No matter how hard they fought, no matter what strategies they came up with, he always won."
"And how did he become immortal?" I asked, intrigued. "Was it magic or something else?"
Immortality. I'd be lying if I said it didn't sound tempting. It was something millions of people dreamed about—yet in this world it was possible! A shiver ran through me, and my thoughts were ready to drift, but Paul's voice interrupted.
"There are many theories, but no one knows for sure," Paul shook his head. "But he was defeated. The united forces of seven great heroes succeeded. One of them, Ars the Great, the future king of our country, issued a decree called the 'Act of the Sword.'"
It didn't matter what family you were born into—every person had to undergo mandatory sword training upon reaching ten years of age. Whether a prince or a street kid, everyone studied it. Why did Ars create this law?
"Because the strength of the sword saved the citizens of Asura."
He wanted to prepare everyone so they could face a new threat when it appeared. That's how Asura became known for its swordsmen and sword schools.
"Sword schools?" I repeated.
"Every year a tournament is held in a major city. The best fighters receive invitations and become elite swordsmen," Paul waved his hand, as if it wasn't anything special. "So even a boy from a farmer's family can hope to earn recognition."
I was about to say something else when I suddenly noticed an interesting detail.
"Are there many girls there?" I asked, turning my head.
In my previous life, swordsmanship was mostly considered a male pursuit. Yes, women also practiced martial arts, but in popular culture it was more of an exception. Here, though, it seemed things were different.
But the moment I asked about girls, Paul's wooden sword tapped me on the top of my head—light, but very noticeable.
"Ow! What was that for?!"
"You're not thinking about the right things... quite a few..." The last words slipped out almost casually.
Oh, sure. Not the right things. But the spark ignited inside me immediately.
Quite a few, huh? I narrowed my eyes.
Strength alone gave no guarantees. But if there was a chance to stand out, to become someone who wouldn't be locked in his room… It would be foolish to waste it.
The past no longer mattered. Everything was different now.
My back straightened on its own. Something new stirred in my chest.
"So what are we waiting for?! Let's start!"
Paul smirked. Something strange flickered in his eyes.
"What's with the enthusiasm?" he drawled lazily, but in the next moment, with a smooth motion, he drew his wooden sword.
Fast. Very fast. I didn't even have time to blink. Suddenly he looked like a completely different person.
"Today you'll learn to block," Paul said, his voice calm. "If you fail, you'll get hit in the head."
Great. The history lesson was over; practice had begun.
And for some reason I had the feeling I'd be getting hit in the head a lot in the near future.
***
"Defend yourself!"
Paul moved lightly and confidently, as if he weren't training his son but playing with him. The wooden sword slid forward and, with a sharp smack, knocked the weapon out of weak, childlike hands.
Rudy stumbled back, clenching his teeth.
"What the hell are you doing?! You're squeezing your elbows too much!" Paul's voice was strict. "A sword is an extension of your arm, and you're holding it like a laundry stick!"
He stepped back, giving the boy time to pick up the sword.
Zenith, watching them from the terrace, slowly swirled her glass, following the dark traces wine left on the glass. Below, dull thuds echoed—wood striking wood.
"Again."
Rudy panted but obeyed. He gripped the sword tighter and took a stance. Paul immediately moved in, testing his guard. Their wooden blades clashed again.
"Move," Paul ordered. "Think ahead!"
"But you'll just hit me right away…" Rudy muttered.
"Exactly! Don't wait for the strike—make me defend!"
The boy lunged forward, but Paul easily deflected the attack. Zenith smirked faintly. Paul took the training far too seriously.
Rudy trembled from the strain. His breathing faltered, but he pressed on.
Zenith took another sip of wine, feeling warmth spread through her body.
"Would madam like more?" came a soft voice.
She turned her head—Lilia stood beside her. As always, calm, though her gaze, too, occasionally flicked down to the training field.
"That's enough. Thank you, dear," Zenith smiled at Lilia, then looked back at her son. "It's amusing, don't you think?"
"It has educational value," Lilia replied evenly.
Zenith snorted softly, swirling the wine in her glass.
"Oh, is that so. So you believe Paul is right to teach him swordsmanship at such a young age?"
"Some begin at three years old."
"Sometimes I think such parents just have nothing better to do," Zenith took another sip, watching her son readjust his grip on the wooden sword.
"Perhaps. But the earlier the training begins, the higher the chances of survival. Paul only wants to give the young master an advantage," Lilia said—her tone held no judgment, only a statement of fact.
Lilia fell silent, watching Rudy rise again. Her lips thinned.
"Besides, the young master is different from other children," she added more quietly. "He started reading at three. Children that age don't even recognize letters. Where does he get such wisdom?"
Zenith didn't answer at once. She simply watched her son pick up the sword again.
"I don't know," she said at last.
She wanted to drop the subject, but Lilia did not.
"He sometimes behaves strangely," Lilia continued. "He can stay silent for a long time, just staring at one point. As if his mind is somewhere far away."
Zenith tilted her glass, lazily watching the wine ripple near the rim. Her voice carried a hint of mockery:
"Maybe he's a demon? A very patient one. Waiting for the right moment to kill us all in our sleep."
She chuckled, but Lilia didn't smile.
"Madam, please don't say that…" she answered quietly. "Sometimes I truly think… he's not like other children."
Zenith looked at her, lifting an eyebrow. Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
"You remember how he was born, Lilia?" she whispered.
"I…"
"He didn't breathe. Didn't move. Didn't cry."
Lilia looked away, her fingers curling around the hem of her dress.
"Sometimes children don't cry right at birth," she said carefully. "It… happens."
Zenith tilted her head, her lips forming a thin, tense smile.
"Uh-huh. Happens…" She took a sip without looking up. "But here's what's strange, Lilia. He didn't breathe. For a long time. Much longer than what 'happens.' And when he opened his eyes…"
She fell silent.
"It wasn't… like a child."
Lilia clutched the fabric tighter. She clearly didn't want to continue.
"But he did start breathing," she whispered. "It was… a miracle."
Zenith sighed through her nose, eyes half-lidded.
"A miracle?" she echoed, swirling the wine. "Or maybe not a blessing… but Laplace's Factor?"
Lilia snapped her head up.
"Madam, please…"
"They say it's a gift that can change fate. But I've heard other things too."
Lilia remained silent.
"A curse," Zenith breathed the word out as if it were bitter. "The mark of a dead god. They say Laplace didn't die—he's waiting. Waiting for his blood to be reborn in children. Changing them. Making them his. So that one day he may return."
The maid turned pale, her shoulders tensing.
Zenith looked down. Rudy was getting up again. Taking up the sword again.
"Not a child's gaze."
She set the glass on the table.
"Call them," she said quietly. "The food is getting cold…"
Lilia bowed silently and headed downstairs.