The clang of wooden swords echoed through the misty valley, disciples moving in ragged unison across the training grounds. Shouts of effort mixed with the bark of instructors correcting stances.
Joshua joined the line of outer disciples without a word. His plain robe clung to his narrow frame, sleeves frayed at the edges. The wooden sword felt heavy in his hands, this frail body lacking even the strength to lift it properly — yet his movements were steady, deliberate.
Strike. Recover. Step. His pace was slower than the others, but every motion carried a sharp clarity that didn't match Mo Xuanyu's reputation.
The jeers from earlier still clung to the edges of the field.
"Look at him. Can't even swing fast."
"Still trash. Just quieter trash."
Joshua ignored them, eyes fixed ahead. The world narrowed to blade and breath.
"Hey."
The voice came from behind, lazy and amused.
Joshua felt it before he turned — the weight of someone's gaze, sharp but not hostile.
He turned his head slightly.
A senior disciple leaned against the practice rack, sunlight catching in his golden eyes. His black hair was tied loosely, his robe neat but worn with comfort, and his grin carried a kind of careless arrogance.
Lucian.
He looked at Joshua as though he'd found something curious in a sea of monotony.
"…What?" Joshua asked, his voice flat.
Lucian straightened, strolling over. "You don't flinch."
Joshua frowned. "And?"
Lucian tilted his head. "Everyone else stares when they're whispered about. You? You just swing your sword like you're alone. That's new."
The instructor shouted another command. Disciples moved. Joshua returned to practice, blade cutting through the air with calm precision.
Lucian stayed where he was, arms crossed, watching like it was a private show. After a while, he spoke again.
"Your grip's stiff. Like you're strangling the sword instead of holding it."
Joshua ignored him.
"Your face hasn't changed once. Do you practice looking that bored?"
Still silence.
Lucian chuckled, stepping closer. "Careful. If you keep glaring at the ground, someone might mistake you for interesting."
This time Joshua's eyes flicked toward him, cold and sharp. "…You're noisy."
Lucian's grin widened, unbothered. "Finally, a reply. I was starting to think you were mute."
When training ended, disciples scattered, sweat-soaked and exhausted. Joshua set his sword back on the rack, turning to leave.
Lucian blocked his path effortlessly, standing just a half-step too close.
"You know," Lucian said cheerfully, "ignoring me won't work. I've decided — you're my new project."
Joshua stared at him, unreadable. "…Project?"
"Mm. I'll crack that silence of yours." Lucian tapped his chin as if pondering. "Make you talk. Maybe even laugh."
Joshua's expression didn't flicker. His voice came quiet, clipped. "…Ridiculous."
He stepped past him.
Lucian watched him go, golden eyes glinting. The smirk remained, but there was something else beneath it — a spark he couldn't name, a pull he didn't understand.
He whispered to himself, amused, "Ridiculous or not… I think I've just found my entertainment."
And with long, lazy strides, he followed.