Right before Vyron and Ethel had agreed to meet up at the arena first thing in the morning, the doors of the tower opened, revealing a young man with shaggy brown hair and deep brown eyes. The tunic of his uniform had turned damp from the steam that was coming out of the tower.

The most eye-catching thing you would see about him is the light sword that hung on his belt. As men often preferred to wield swords that were at least about as heavy as three kilos, his looked to weigh no more than a one.

He coughed, the heat pricking his eyes as he went to fetch his uniform by the small shed near the tower. When he walked past the gate of the tower, his nose tingled as he smelled the scent of mint in the air. Strange. He would usually smell the scent of the kitchens just a walk away from the tower, or the flowers that bloomed in early spring.

But it was not spring, it was late autumn. Had a young woman passed by here just a while ago? But it was an unusual scent for a woman. Usually when he came across these female students as sparring partners, it was the sickening scent of rose or lavender. If he was lucky, the subtle scent of jasmine. Otherwise, it was never mint.

It was refreshing and calmed his nerves. Weird. After changing out of his damp uniform and switching to the usual robes, he quietly walked to the west wing, where the male’s dormitory was located. He had to pass the central plaza, where the women flocked.

This time, instead of walking past the plaza, he did not feel like being surrounded with the sickening smell of those young women’s perfume. The training this time had drained him and he opted against feeling woozy in the head.

Maneuvering behind the tall trees and hedges, Carys was about to pass the central plaza when he caught a head of ink black hair in his peripheral vision. It was strange why he stopped in his tracks to look again.

The nagging feeling in his gut told him something weird, but he ignored it as he resumed his walk and headed straight for the dormitories. This time, without pit stops. As he was a student with excellent grades, he did not have any classes except sparring.

There are generally three ways to get admitted into Agora Institute. One, was through the normal means of enrolling and paying a quarterly tuition; Second, be specially admitted as a special student who showed superb talent and therefore does not need to pay tuition; And third, be personally invited by the headmaster.

He, of course, enrolled with the help of the headmaster, but with his circumstances it did not help to stand out. And so, he was given the option of self-studying. While he trained during most of the day, he also loved to read in the library whenever he didn’t feel like studying at all. If he was feeling up to it, occasionally attend theoretical classes.

When he arrived, he could see Vyron swinging that huge sword of his with a lot more seriousness than usual. An aura of focus surrounded him as his muscles tensed trying to swing it as fast as he could.

He walked up to him and said, “Since when have you decided to take your training seriously?” The sword in Vyron’s hand slipped and had embedded itself into one of the wooden columns. Vyron turned around and glared at him. Could this man get any quieter? He hadn’t noticed him arriving at all prior to the sudden voice behind his back. He put a hand on his chest as he reeled from the shock.

“Carys! Haven’t I told you not to sneak up on me?” Vyron grumbled as he went to pull out the heavy sword from the column. “Sir Owin is going to kill me again. He just got these wooden columns polished and sanded.”

Carys, on the other hand, ignored what he said and proceeded to pick up a spare sword on the weapon rack. There was a dummy in the small training hall that provided for a little warm ups in case the arena had been closed off. He began to lightly swing the sword and attacking the dummy’s vitals.

“How is it my fault that you aren’t able to sense my vitalis?” Carys retorted.

Vyron felt embarrassed. The only reason he hasn’t been able to sense a person’s vitalis is because he had been too prideful to have anyone teach him. He had also been stubborn about having his family teach him because he didn’t want to be made fun of by his older brothers and sister.

Recalling the deal he had made earlier, Vyron had half a mind to smile smugly, but held back and successfully managed to leave an ugly mark on the column where the sword had been.

“That might be the case now, but not tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Having expected a bland answer from him, Vyron stuck his tongue out and resumed his training. Silence ensued between the two of them. Only the sound of the dummy being mercilessly beaten and the swings of the sword remained.

“Have you heard about what happened earlier?” Vyron asked, stealing a glance at the almost stoic expression of Carys.

“I did.”

“I had a lost a match. Again.”

“You did.”

“I’m planning to win next time.”

Carys stopped. He glanced at Vyron, who wholeheartedly looked prepared for the next battle. Somehow the scene did not settle well with him as he noticed something odd.

“What happened?”

A grin spread on Vyron’s face as he finally caught his attention. “The match I had lost earlier. It’s against our new sparring teacher, Baron Kapfem. You should know him, right?”

Of course Carys knew him. Baron Kapfem was a retired swordsman hailing from that wretched region of Polskin, steadily rising up the ranks of mercenaries and eventually qualifying for a position in Solasta’s Imperial Knights. After 20 years of service, he had always been remembered as the last swordsman who won Mars.

Carys, who now had an incredulous look on his face, had wanted to ridicule this ignorant noble. Wasn’t he a noble? Why did it sound like he hadn’t been taught anything at all? And why was he, the one who wasn’t even a part of the formal classes held daily, knew more about the recent history of Karin thanvVyron, a noble whose lineage would be enough to provide a lifespan’s worth of knowledge? What he needed wasn’t training, no, he needed a big smack to the head.

He suspected that he might’ve been dropped as a baby, resulting in a screw loose in his head. Not only is he incredibly stubborn, but somehow also crazy?

Who was that student again, the one who he had sparred with once... Ah yes, Ethel. That girl was an absolute maniac. He had always seen her around campus everyday with a different weapon each time. And not only that, she looked like she knew how to wield them. It was bizarre, that girl.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Vyron scolded, a visible frown on his face.

Vyron didn’t like it one bit whenever Carys had looked at him like he was stupid. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t like reading books. There were too many words to process and there were no pictures. He liked to refer to himself as a visual learner, the kind who had to be demonstrated about how things worked, rather than using complicated words.

And just as soon as it had come, the look on Carys’ face had been wiped off as if it had never been there.

“As I was saying, he was a very strong man. Stronger than you, probably, since he knocked my zweihander almost effortlessly. And stronger than that brut – Ethel. I meant Ethel.” It was a good thing Vyron managed to stop the words from coming out of his mouth. He shuddered to think her two subordinates were in the same dormitory as he was. Just imagining those two extremities waiting around some corner waiting to pounce on him, Vyron didn’t want to continue that thought.

“I see,” Carys replied, not bothered at all that Vyron was visibly looking uncomfortable. “I’m going back to rest. See you.” He returned the sword from the rack.

And then he was gone. Vyron had been left standing there with his thoughts as he stomped on the floor. Of course he wasn’t going to continue any longer. Besides, his palm had bled trying to get the sword out of the column.

The next morning, Vyron had woken two hours earlier than usual. At this time, the only people awake were his roommate, the kitchen staff, and the cleaners.

Unfortunately by the time Vyron had finished warming up and stretching his body, Carys had long left, bringing his sword with him. With frazzled nerves and several thoughts occupying his mind, Vyron had ran off to the arena.

Carys, who hadn’t actually left the dormitory yet, had just returned from the training hall carrying his newly polished sword. Realizing that Vyron had gone, Carys sat on his bed and looked out the window of their room. The sun was nowhere to be found as the sky was back to its usual dull gray. His hands fiddled with the bracelet he had kept on himself for nearly six years. Even after the constant wear and tear, the bracelet remained practically untouched. The thought of not having seen his original appearance comforted him, as it meant that his secret was safe, but it also meant that he was not truly himself.

Similar to being forced to wear a mask to hide from the world, the bracelet acted like a leash that kept the true him locked away. Carys wondered when was the last time he had able to truly act like himself. Now though, it seemed as though his perfect disguise had been converted to be the truth, not being able to distinguish between this normal young man and the bastard child of high nobles.

The previous pale white skin had turned a healthy shade of alabaster. Those deep sunken eyes no longer sported exhaustion. His scrawny and almost stick figure who was all skin and bones had turned lean and fit. Having experienced a healthy lifestyle, one would find it hard to believe he was cursed. After dwelling on thoughts he insisted as unnecessary, Carys hurriedly put on his uniform and set off for his early run. Running along the paths that were now empty and desolate, he enjoyed the cold wind on his face. Breathing in steady intervals, he eventually found himself running along the walls of the arena.

Just as there was a fork in the path, he caught two figures together in the arena. The familiar ink black hair made him yet again stop in his tracks as he tilted his head. The faint scent of mint once again lingered in the air.

Vyron, who was currently holding a broadsword, had a confused expression on his face as one other person was patiently teaching him in exaggerated hand movements, holding a similar weapon. Strangely enough, a person most often held a sword in their right hand, but this person held it in their left hand.

Observing from a distance away, the two people in training looked focus, not at all noticing a new figure arrive at the scene. It looked interesting, he thought. Carys vaguely had the sense that what she was teaching was different from the teachers, with a lot of hand motions he were familiar with. Cross implementing techniques...?

His gaze traveled to the young woman. A tall and slender woman, who looked every bit clean and refreshing, had her hair up in a ponytail as she taught with a serious look on her face. He found himself quite dazed as he continued to stare. And when he realized it, he had scolded himself.

Deciding it was not good for him to stay, Carys resumed his run and ran off to continue his morning run.