The training yard was already alive when Jiang Ning stepped through the outer arch.
Evening had settled over the estate, the sky painted in deep blues and fading gold. Lanterns burned along the stone walls, their light casting long, wavering shadows across the packed earth. The air smelled of sweat, oil, and trampled grass, familiar, grounding.
Knights were scattered across the yard.
A pair near the racks practiced gun drills with training pieces, cycling motions and footwork rather than firing. Others sparred with dulled steel, the steady clang of metal echoing in slow, deliberate rhythms.
Jiang didn't announce himself.
He didn't need to.
One of the sparring pairs noticed first, a half-beat of hesitation rippling through their movements. Another knight glanced up, then another. Conversations softened, then stilled, not from command but from instinct.
Someone let out a low whistle.
"Looks like the young lord's back already."
Jiang set the case containing the Golden Eagle down near the weapon racks and rolled his shoulders once, easing the stiffness from the ride. "You lot look energetic," he said lightly. "Did I interrupt something?"
"Interrupt?" Rigor's booming voice cut through the yard as the massive knight strode over, armor clanking softly with each step. His grin was wide beneath his beard. "You couldn't have picked a better time."
Henry followed at a calmer pace, hands resting loosely at his sides, sharp eyes already flicking toward the long case by the racks. Aldrin came last, spear slung over one shoulder, excitement barely contained behind a polite smile.
"Well?" Aldrin asked. "Are the rumors true?"
Jiang arched a brow. "Depends which ones you've heard."
"That you came back with a named weapon," Henry said evenly. "And that you're not letting anyone touch it."
Jiang huffed a short laugh. "I never said that."
Rigor cracked his knuckles. "Good. Because we were arguing over who gets the first go."
A few of the surrounding knights laughed. Someone shouted, "Winner buys the loser drinks!"
Jiang looked at the small gathering, then nodded once. "Alright. But don't expect a performance. If we're doing this, we're doing it properly."
Henry's lips twitched. "That's what we were hoping you'd say."
They didn't bother clearing the yard. Knights simply shifted, forming a loose ring, leaning on weapons or sitting along the edge of the stonework. Ronan was already there, standing near the shadows with his arms crossed, helm tucked under one arm. He inclined his head slightly when Jiang glanced his way.
Jiang opened the case.
Even under lantern light, the Golden Eagle drew eyes. The long barrel wasn't straight but subtly segmented, the metal shaped to guide force rather than resist it. The reinforced stock looked heavy, was heavy, and the balance was unforgiving if mishandled.
Rigor let out a low sound. "That thing's mean."
"It doesn't forgive mistakes," Jiang replied, lifting it free. "So don't expect me to go easy."
Aldrin stepped forward first, spear held low, posture relaxed but ready. "I'll start. Just testing range."
Jiang nodded and raised the rifle.
The exchange was brief but sharp.
Aldrin advanced, spear flicking out in probing strikes while Jiang repositioned, firing controlled shots into the ground and nearby posts. The ricochets forced Aldrin to adjust, footwork tightening, eyes tracking angles rather than the muzzle itself.
It wasn't dominance. It was pressure.
Aldrin disengaged after a minute, breathing a little harder than before. He laughed as he stepped back. "Alright. That's… frustrating."
Henry took his place next.
The older knight didn't rush. He moved like he always had, economical and patient, blade never straying far from centerline. Jiang felt it almost immediately, the way Henry read his stance, the way his sword hovered at the edge of threat.
Henry punished overextension.
When Jiang leaned too far into a ricochet setup, Henry's blade tapped the rifle's stock with a sharp crack, forcing him to reset.
"Too committed," Henry said calmly. "You're thinking three steps ahead, but your body's still on the first."
Jiang nodded, absorbing it without argument. They went again.
Rigor was different.
Where Henry tested precision, Rigor tested resolve. Shield up, broadsword heavy and brutal, he advanced through ricochets with sheer presence, forcing Jiang to reposition repeatedly. The ground shook when Rigor moved. When Jiang tried to rely purely on spacing, Rigor closed it anyway.
"You're burning stamina," Rigor rumbled between exchanges. "Even without mana, momentum costs something."
That was when Ronan spoke, voice low but clear. "He's not feathering mana at all."
Jiang paused, lowering the weapon slightly. "I was trying not to rely on it."
Ronan shook his head. "There's a difference between relying on it and using it efficiently. Small reinforcement. Just enough to absorb recoil and save your muscles."
Henry nodded. "Think of it like breathing. You don't hold it forever, but you don't stop either."
They adjusted.
The next round felt different. Jiang let a thread of mana flow, not enough to amplify power, just enough to ease strain. The rifle settled more naturally against his shoulder. His footwork grew steadier, less reactive.
He still made mistakes.
Henry caught him once with a clean tap to the ribs. Aldrin forced him into an awkward angle that nearly overextended his wrist. Rigor laughed when Jiang skidded back half a step too far.
But Jiang learned.
And so did they.
By the time the lanterns burned brighter and the sky deepened toward night, the yard buzzed with low conversation and shared critique. Knights exchanged observations freely, what worked, what didn't, how ricochets changed engagement lines, how the gun altered spacing in ways they weren't used to.
Rigor wiped sweat from his brow. "I don't like fighting that thing," he admitted cheerfully. "Which means it works."
Aldrin nodded. "You force decisions. Fast ones."
Henry rested his hands on the pommel of his sword and studied Jiang thoughtfully. "You're not finished with it yet," he said. "But you will be."
Jiang looked down at the Golden Eagle, feeling the weight settle properly this time. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I know."
The training yard was easing back into its usual rhythm, pairs reforming, laughter fading into focused murmurs, the scrape of boots against dirt steady and familiar. Knights returned to their drills, some still discussing angles and mana control, others already testing what they'd learned.
And in the far corner, half-lit by a single lantern, Rasmus stood alone.
He hadn't joined the others after the sparring ended. His wooden sword was still in his hands, but his posture had gone slack, shoulders slightly hunched as he stared at the ground in front of him. He went through the motions of a form, slow and careful, but there was hesitation there now, tiny pauses that hadn't been present earlier when he saw him that morning.
Jiang didn't call out to him.
He set the Golden Eagle back into its case, secured it, and walked over at an easy pace, boots crunching softly over the dirt.
Rasmus noticed him a heartbeat too late and straightened quickly. "M-My lord."
Jiang waved a hand. "Relax. I'm not inspecting you."
That earned a faint, awkward smile, but it didn't quite reach the boy's eyes.
They stood there for a moment, the sounds of the yard filling the space between them. Jiang leaned back against the low stone wall nearby, arms folding loosely. "So," he said, casual. "How's training?"
Rasmus hesitated.
His fingers tightened around the grip of the wooden sword, then loosened again. He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed.
"…It's fine," he said at first.
Jiang waited.
The lantern flickered. Somewhere behind them, steel rang against steel.
Rasmus exhaled slowly. "I mean, Sir Henry says I'm improving. And Sir Ronan says my stance isn't bad." He laughed quietly, a short, breathless sound. "But…"
"But," Jiang prompted gently.
Rasmus stared down at his hands. "I don't think I'll be useful when it actually matters."
The words came out faster after that, like they'd been waiting.
"When danger comes," he continued, voice low, "when things get serious… I'm scared I won't be strong enough. That I'll just be in the way." His jaw clenched. "I don't want to fail you, my lord."
There was no self-pity in his tone. Just fear. Honest and raw.
Jiang didn't answer right away.
He looked at Rasmus and, unbidden, another image overlaid the boy in front of him.
Rasmus in armor, older, scarred. Standing in formation. A sword steady in his hands even as the ground shook with artillery fire. A man who didn't hesitate when ordered forward.
In my last life… Jiang thought, I met you much later.
Back then, Rasmus had already crossed whatever line turned boys into soldiers. He'd already become a knight by the time Jiang noticed him, quiet, reliable, deadly when he needed to be.
Jiang had never known what pushed him there.
Only that he'd arrived.
I don't know what broke you into shape, Jiang realized. but I don't want to recreate it.
He pushed off the wall.
Instead of answering, Jiang reached for one of the practice swords resting nearby and lifted it. The weight was familiar, comforting in its simplicity.
Rasmus blinked. "My lord?"
"Come on," Jiang said, stepping a few paces back. "Humor me."
Rasmus hesitated, then raised his wooden sword and moved into position.
They didn't bow. They didn't formalize it.
They just started.
Jiang kept his movements restrained, matching Rasmus's pace. When Rasmus overextended, Jiang tapped the opening lightly, not punishing it. When Rasmus hesitated, Jiang pressed just enough to force a response, then eased off again.
"You know," Jiang said between exchanges, "I wasn't good with a sword when I started either."
Rasmus frowned. "That's not true."
Jiang snorted. "It absolutely is."
He parried a clumsy swing and nudged Rasmus's blade aside. "I was worse than this. Awkward grip. Bad footwork. I relied on instinct more than technique."
They circled.
"I'm still not exceptional," Jiang continued. "Not with swords. Guns are where my talent really is. That's just how it turned out."
Rasmus's eyes flicked up, uncertain. "But… you're strong."
Jiang met his strike and pushed it away. "I'm persistent. There's a difference."
He stepped back and lowered his sword slightly. "I don't need everyone around me to be perfect. I need people I can trust."
Rasmus's breathing was a little uneven now, but he held his stance.
Jiang looked at him properly then. "I need a sword," he said plainly.
Rasmus froze.
"A sword that stands where I can't," Jiang went on. "Someone who holds the line when things get ugly. Someone I know won't run, not because they're fearless, but because they've chosen not to."
He lifted his practice blade and rested it against his shoulder. "I think you can be that."
Rasmus's grip tightened.
"I'm not saying you have to be," Jiang added. "And I'm not rushing you. Strength takes time. So does confidence." His voice softened. "And if all this makes you miserable, then it's not worth it."
They stood there, lantern light catching in Rasmus's eyes.
"I want you strong," Jiang said. "But I also want you happy."
For a long moment, Rasmus didn't speak.
Then he straightened, just a little. His shoulders squared. He raised his sword again, not perfectly, but more firmly than before.
"…Okay," he said quietly.
Jiang nodded once, satisfied.
They resumed training, the exchange light but steady. Jiang corrected a stance here, a grip there, never raising his voice, never pressing too hard. After a few minutes, he stepped back and lowered his blade.
"I'll leave you to it," he said.
Rasmus nodded, already resetting his position.
Jiang watched for a brief moment longer, then turned and walked away, the sounds of the yard closing in behind him.
I didn't fix anything, he thought.
But as Rasmus's movements steadied, something quieter and stronger settled in his chest.
Trust is enough for now.