After the hellish training, Vladislav and Athelstan slowly made their way back to the mansion for dinner. Their bodies ached, every step reminding them of the relentless drills and sparring that had pushed them past their limits.
On the cobblestone path leading up to the estate, Athelstan let out a groan and rubbed his sore shoulders.
"Uncle really went all out. I don't even know if I'll be able to hold a fork to eat," he muttered with exaggerated misery.
Vladislav, limping slightly, gave only a grunt of agreement. His chest still burned from all the breathing exercises, and his arms trembled each time he swung them. Even groaning felt like wasted energy.
Athelstan looked at his brother's exhausted expression and chuckled weakly. "You look worse than me. I bet you'll fall asleep at the table before you finish your soup."
"Soup would be too heavy right now," Vladislav rasped. "Maybe air is enough."
Vladislav looked at the moon, which shone brightly in the night.
Despite their joking, they both knew this was the hardest day they had endured since training began.
Finally, they reached the family mansion. The sprawling estate loomed before them like a fortress, with tall windows glowing warmly in the twilight. The familiar scent of cooked meat and bread drifted faintly through the night air, making their stomachs rumble even as their muscles screamed in protest.
Once inside, they parted ways to wash up before dinner.
Vladislav walked to his room, his legs heavy as stone. When he finally reached his room, he pushed the door open and let his sword and katana clatter onto the polished wooden floor.
As he moved inside his room, he stopped.
He glanced at his bed longingly. Just five minutes of rest before washing up… five minutes won't hurt.
With that thought, he collapsed onto the mattress. His legs dangled over the edge, boots still on, but he didn't care. The moment his cheek touched the pillow, he slipped into unconsciousness.
---
Meanwhile, in the grand dining hall, the family had already gathered. The long mahogany table stretched across the room, glimmering under the golden light of the chandeliers. Silver cutlery and porcelain plates reflected the flickering glow of candles, filling the space with warmth and refinement.
Everyone was present—except Vladislav and his grandfather. Even Jian had come, which was unusual, since he rarely joined family dinners.
"Where's Vladislav, Athelstan?" Geneviève asked, her tone gentle as her eyes lingered on the younger brother.
Athelstan, who sat slumped in his chair, barely managed to raise his head. "I don't know. We parted ways to wash up. He's probably still in his room."
Geneviève smiled softly and lifted a spoonful of rice to Athelstan's lips. He opened his mouth obediently, his hands too weak to even hold a fork.
"He most likely fainted from the intense training Jian gave him," Mikhail remarked dryly, casting a pointed glance at Jian across the table.
"And look at poor Athelstan. My nephew can't even eat on his own."
Jian smirked as he stabbed a piece of roasted meat with his fork. "If they want to be strong like Vladimir, they have to endure harsh training. Strength doesn't come from comfort."
Mary, seated gracefully at Vladimir's left, looked at Jian with a sharp gaze. "Just don't push them too hard," she warned. "Otherwise, I'll make you undergo training yourself."
Jian paled slightly, his bravado evaporating under his mother's stare. "Y-yes, Mother," he stammered, quickly looking back down at his plate.
Mikhail burst out laughing. "Hahaha! Look at him—he only listens to Mother."
The mood at the table lightened as chuckles passed between them. Vladimir, calm as always, leaned back against his chair. "Let them rest," he said in his deep voice. "They had a long day."
The conversation shifted, and Jian cleared his throat. "By the way, brother… they both chose the sword, just like you. But Vladislav… he picked a secondary weapon as well."
Geneviève's eyes brightened with curiosity. "Oh? I was hoping one of them might follow my path and become a mage. But that's alright. Everyone must walk their own road." She smiled tenderly as she fed Athelstan another bite.
"You never know, sister-in-law," Mikhail said thoughtfully. "It's still early. One of them might yet develop a talent for magic. If either of them does, the world itself will tremble."
Vladimir gave a small grin. "I knew the sword would suit them. Hehe… what weapon did Vladislav choose?"
"A katana," Jian answered casually.
The dining room fell into silence.
All eyes widened—except for Athelstan. Even the clinking of cutlery stopped.
"Really?" Mikhail asked in disbelief.
"Yes. Why would I lie?" Jian replied flatly.
Athelstan tilted his head. "Why is it surprising, Dad?"
Vladimir folded his arms and studied his son. "Because, Athelstan, the only one in our family who has ever wielded a katana… is your grandmother."
Mary nodded with calm dignity. "That's right. Neither your uncles nor your father could master it. They all took after your grandfather's style instead."
"If Vladislav can truly wield the katana…" Vladimir began.
"…then it will be something extraordinary," Mikhail finished his thought.
Athelstan's eyes widened with new understanding. "I see…"
Mary chuckled, her voice rich with pride. "Hehe, my grandson takes after me. At last, I'll be able to pass down the way of the katana. I've waited so long for this."
The others exchanged glances, each realizing what a rare path Vladislav had unknowingly stepped into.
Dinner continued with lively chatter. They ate, laughed, and discussed the future late into the evening before eventually retiring to their rooms.
---
The mansion grew quiet as night deepened. The moon's silver glow streamed through tall windows, casting soft light on marble floors and rich tapestries.
Geneviève walked gracefully through the corridors, her steps light but purposeful. She soon arrived at Vladislav's door and knocked softly.
There was no answer.
With a faint smile, she pushed the door open.
The first thing she noticed was the discarded sword and katana on the floor, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Then her eyes fell on Vladislav—lying face-down on the bed, boots still on, his feet hanging awkwardly over the edge.
"You really were exhausted, my baby," she whispered, her voice warm with affection. "You couldn't even cover yourself. You'll catch a cold like this."
She walked to his bedside and gazed at his peaceful face, softened in sleep. A smile spread across her lips.
Gently, she lifted his legs onto the bed and drew the blanket over him. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she reached out and brushed her fingers through his black hair, so much like her own.
Leaning down, she kissed his forehead. "Sleep well, my child," she whispered. Then she rose, silently left the room, and closed the door behind her.
---
The next morning
A warmth pressed against Vladislav's eyelids. He stirred, groaning as sunlight filtered directly into his face.
Then came a soft voice:
"Young master… wake up, young master. It's already morning."
He grumbled and sat up, stretching his arms, making crack sounds. He shielded his eyes. "Who… the hell opened the curtains?"
"It was me," the feminine voice answered calmly.
He turned to his left—and froze.
Standing beside his bed was a young woman, dressed in a black maid's outfit. Her dirty-blonde hair cascaded in gentle waves down her back, a few golden locks framing her delicate face. Her golden eyes sparkled warmly, filled with familiarity and affection.
Vladislav blinked several times. Am I dreaming? great, I trained so hard that I'm now imagining things ,tsk.
"Are my eyes deceiving me?" he muttered, rubbing his face. But when he looked again, she was still there—smiling gently.
"No, young master, you're not dreaming. It's me—Laura. I'm back," she said, her voice brimming with warmth.
Vladislav's jaw dropped.
Laura tilted her head and pouted playfully. "So you're not going to say anything? Not even give me a hug? tsk, I guess you don't like me anymore."
"Ah—no, no! It's not like that," Vladislav stammered, quickly pulling her into a tight embrace. "I'm just shocked to see you."
Laura giggled softly, returning the hug. "Hehe, it seems young master was stunned by how much more beautiful I've become."
Vladislav rolled his eyes and patted her back. "If that's what helps you sleep at night, then sure," he said with a teasing smile.
"You're so mean, young master. I just came back and you're already teasing me," Laura complained, pouting again.
"It's because you teased me first," Vladislav retorted.
Their laughter filled the room, light and genuine.
"It's good to see you, Laura," Vladislav said at last, his tone sincere.
"It's good to see you too, young master," she replied softly.
He pulled back slightly, studying her face. "Now, tell me—what have you been up to all this time? And how come you are already back so early?"
Laura's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Oh, I have so much to tell you, young master."
And with that, the morning truly began.
******
[EDIT]: I made a mistake with the uncle's name. Petrus was what I was going with in the beginning, but I changed to Mikhail, which made me confused when re-reading this chapter, cause i wrote Petrus instead of Mikhail. Sorry for the inconvenience.