The next morning, Kael stood on the edge of a stone courtyard within the Durell estate. Sword strikes echoed through the morning mist as two young nobles dueled under the eyes of bored spectators.
They moved with sharp footwork and empty pride. Every swing screamed of academy training and overconfidence.
Kael watched in silence, hands behind his back.
They treat combat like theater. A stage for applause, not survival.
Lord Silas approached from behind, wine already in hand despite the early hour.
"Care to test your steel, Lord Veyran?" he asked with a grin. "Our little duels are good fun."
Kael smiled politely. "I wouldn't want to embarrass myself. I'm a merchant's diplomat, not a duelist."
Silas laughed. "Even diplomats bleed."
Before Kael could decline again, a wooden training blade was tossed his way.
"Come then, 'Lord Veyran,'" said a young noble—Orin Vale, tall, smirking, and already looking down on him.
"Let's see if the south still teaches its nobles how to hold a sword."
Kael caught the blade with ease.
The weight was familiar—surprisingly so.
A faint twinge moved through his fingers, something deep in his bones responding like instinct.
Or not instinct, he thought. Something… remembered.
He stepped into the dueling circle.
The crowd chuckled. Murmurs passed through the small audience.
Kael didn't care. He wasn't here to win their respect.
He was here to control their attention.
Orin lunged first. Fast, but predictable.
Kael sidestepped neatly and deflected the blow, letting it pass him harmlessly. The crowd stirred.
Another strike—this one aimed high.
Kael leaned back, then twisted his wrist in a motion that made Orin stumble.
Still, Kael didn't strike.
He simply watched.
Measured.
On the third exchange, Kael moved. Smooth, clean, and decisive.
He stepped to the side, let Orin's weight carry him forward—then reversed the blade and brought it gently against the boy's throat.
The duel stopped.
Everyone fell silent.
Orin's face went pale.
Kael lowered the weapon with calm grace and stepped back, bowing his head politely.
"I yield," he said.
The room remained frozen a moment longer.
Then Lord Silas clapped. "Well done, well done! Subtle but effective."
Some laughed. Others looked confused. Velana, from a distance, looked intrigued.
Good, Kael thought. Let them wonder. Uncertainty is stronger than fear.
Later, in the estate's upper library, Kael was summoned once more.
Lady Velana stood near the window, moonlight streaming over her even in daylight. Her expression was unreadable.
"You toyed with him," she said.
Kael replied calmly, "I spared him."
"Is that mercy or calculation?"
He tilted his head. "Why not both?"
She stepped closer, watching his every movement. "You're not who you say you are."
"And yet, I wear the crest. I speak the words. I pass your tests."
"For now."
Silence stretched between them.
Then she spoke again, quieter. "You're dangerous."
Kael didn't deny it.
"You haven't exposed me," he said. "Which means you're not just suspicious—you're interested."
Velana's gaze sharpened.
"I want to know what you're after."
"And if I told you?"
"I'd be disappointed," she said. "Half the fun is figuring it out."
She turned, and just before leaving, added, "Be careful, Kael Ardyn."
Kael froze.
But Velana didn't look back.
Alone now, Kael exhaled slowly. His fingers brushed the inside of his coat where the System sigil still pulsed faintly against his skin.
No messages. No rewards.
But something subtle shifted within his mind.
A presence.
Watching. Not guiding. Merely… recording.
[ Passive Quest Progression: Class Evolution – 2/3 ]
Target Influenced: Lady Velana Durell
Target Intimidated: Orin Vale (Partial)
──────
System Observation: Satisfactory
Kael let the whisper fade.
The dragon doesn't roar until the world is quiet enough to hear it.
And in this world?
No one was listening yet.
But soon… they would.