Rei examined it closely. Old model, combination lock, heavy but not impossible.
"Do you remember anything about the night Lucien lost the county? Dates? Numbers? Anything significant?"
Darius frowned, thinking. "It was... autumn. Three years ago. October 12th, 449 A.R. I remember because it was the Count's birthday, Aldric's birthday, and Lucien was supposed to be at the celebration. Instead, he was here, gambling away his inheritance."
October 12, 449.
Rei tried various combinations: 10-12-449. Nothing. 12-10-449. Nothing. 449-10-12. Nothing.
"The amount," Rei said suddenly. "How much did Lucien bet? How much was the county valued at?"
Darius' expression darkened. "The final bet was for 850,000 gold. The county's entire assessed value."
850,000.
Rei tried: 85-00-00. Nothing. 08-50-00. Nothing.
He sat back, thinking. A gambling house like this would have kept records organized by... what? Dates? Amounts? Names?
"Varen," Rei muttered. "The name. If they organized files by family name..."
He tried to think like a record keeper. Like someone creating a system.
V-A-R-E-N.
Letters to numbers. V=22, A=1, R=18, E=5, N=14.
He tried: 22-18-14.
The safe clicked.
The door swung open.
"You've got to be kidding me," Darius breathed.
Inside were stacks of yellowed papers, ledgers, contracts, betting slips. Years of records that were supposed to have been destroyed.
Rei's hands shook as he pulled out the files, searching for October 449.
And there it was.
October 12, 449 A.R.Player: Lucien VarenOpponent: Marlen CrestGame: Five-Card Draw, High StakesWager: Varen County (assessed value: 850,000 gold)Witnesses: Lord Petros of Emberfall, Lady Sienna of Irongate, Merchant Aldous Grey, Merchant Helena VossResult: Crest wins with Royal Flush (Hearts). Varen holds Three of a Kind (Kings).Debt transferred: Complete ownership of Varen County territories, including mineral rights, trade routes, and governance authority.
Rei stared at the document, his mind cataloging every detail.
The witnesses. The exact game. The exact cards. This isn't just proof—this is a complete record of how the transfer happened.
"We're taking these," Rei said.
"All of them?" Darius looked at the stacks.
"Everything from 449. Everything related to the Varens. Everything that proves how this happened."
They worked quickly, stuffing documents into a bag Darius had brought. Records of previous bets Lucien had made and lost. Records of Aldric's gambling debts. Records of other nobles who'd fallen to similar schemes.
A complete archive of corruption and manipulation.
When the bag was full, Rei looked around the room one more time.
"Destroy the rest," he said quietly.
Darius raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because if anyone else comes looking, the Order, Marlen Crest, anyone, I don't want them finding what we just found." Rei's expression was cold. "Burn it. All of it."
Darius hesitated, then nodded slowly. He found an old lamp, still containing oil, and methodically began setting fires throughout the basement, controlled, deliberate, ensuring the flames would consume everything but give them time to escape.
By the time they made it back outside, smoke was beginning to seep through the building's broken windows.
"That's going to attract attention," Darius observed.
"Good," Rei replied. "Let them think it was vandals. Squatters. Anything but someone deliberately stealing records."
They made it back to the clinic just as the first emergency bells began ringing in the distance, fire crews responding to the blaze.
Darius helped Rei back into bed, then set the bag of stolen documents on the table.
"Now what?" he asked.
Rei looked at the documents, proof of how House Varen fell, evidence that could be used in court, blackmail material against the witnesses who'd stood by and watched it happen.
"Now," Rei said slowly, "I need you to teach me something."
"Teach you what?"
"Swordplay. Everything you know. But not practical, I can't exactly stand, let alone train. Theory. Stances. Techniques. Strategy. Everything a bodyguard to a Count would have learned."
Darius stared at him. "Why?"
"Because time," Rei replied simply. "Because I'm stuck in this body every night, and I need to do something productive with it. Because in another timeline, " He stopped himself, realizing he'd said too much.
But Darius just looked at him with that assessing gaze.
"You keep saying strange things," the former bodyguard said quietly. "Talking about other timelines. Acting like you know things you shouldn't. You're either insane, or..." He trailed off.
"Or?"
"Or something happened to you that I don't understand. Something that gave you knowledge you shouldn't have." Darius sat down heavily. "I'm too tired to figure out which. But alright. If you want to learn swordplay theory from a cripple to teach... someone else? Sure. Why the hell not. This night can't get any stranger."
Rei smiled faintly. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm a harsh teacher. And if we're doing this, we're doing it right."
Over the next several hours, until exhaustion finally dragged Rei back across time, Darius began.
He described stances with the precision of someone who'd drilled them ten thousand times. He explained weight distribution, balance points, how different sword types required different approaches. He drew diagrams on scraps of paper showing footwork patterns, attack angles, defensive positions.
He talked about reading opponents, the tiny tells that indicated an attack, the breathing patterns that showed fatigue, the psychological warfare that happened before blades ever crossed.
"The best swordsmen," Darius said, "aren't the ones with the fastest strikes or the strongest arms. They're the ones who think three moves ahead. Who understand that every position opens some opportunities while closing others. Who treat combat like chess played at lethal speed."
Rei absorbed every word, committing it to memory with the desperate intensity of someone who knew he'd need this knowledge in a body that could actually use it.
When darkness finally pulled him under, consciousness stretching across five years like a rope being pulled taut, Rei carried with him two invaluable things:
Proof of how House Varen fell.
And the theoretical foundation of how to fight like someone who deserved to reclaim it.
June 19, 447 A.R. – Dawn (Past Timeline)
Rei's eyes snapped open in his childhood bed.
Whole body. Working legs. Hands that didn't shake.
And a mind full of sword techniques he couldn't wait to try.
He rolled out of bed, grabbed his training gear, and climbed through the window into the pre-dawn darkness.
In the alley, he took his stance, but this time, it was different.
This time, he understood why his feet needed to be positioned exactly so.
Weight on the balls of your feet, ready to move. Knees bent to lower your center of gravity. Back straight to maintain balance. Shoulders loose so you can react without tension slowing you down.
He moved through the footwork drills with new precision.
Forward step, push off the back foot, don't lift and place. Lateral movement—slide, don't step, keep your guard up. Pivot, use your hips, not just your feet, let the whole body turn as one unit.
Each movement Darius had described in theory, Rei now practiced in reality.
And slowly, painfully slowly, but undeniably, he began to understand.
The sword wasn't just a weapon.
It was an extension of thought made physical.
And Rei was learning to think in a language written in steel.