Regulus grinned as he tossed the wooden swords into the air. The weapons spun gracefully against the morning sun before each combatant caught their own.

  Kaiser plucked his sword mid-spin and, without missing a beat, flipped it effortlessly through his fingers. The wooden blade twirled between his hands with practiced ease, rolling over his wrist, looping behind his back, and snapping into his grip once more. His movements were fluid, controlled and borderline theatrical.

  Regulus nearly vibrated with excitement. “Incredible! That was magnificent! Absolutely stunning technique!”

  Aria’s eyes sparkled. “That was amazing, Kaiser! You’re so cool!”

  Ivan, who had looked like death just moments ago, suddenly had life injected into him. His exhaustion forgotten, he clenched his fists with determination. “I need to learn how to do that!”

  Meanwhile, Mia remained completely soulless. Her dead eyes stared blankly at the horizon, as though her very existence had been sapped away by fate itself.

  Milo, however, just stared at Kaiser like he had juggled a bunch of sticks and expected applause.

  Then, without a single flourish, Milo got into his stance. He planted one foot behind the other, body turned slightly to the side, aligning himself perfectly behind his blade. His grip was firm but relaxed. He didn’t twirl the sword. He didn’t show off. He just stood there—silent, still, ready.

  Kaiser’s smirk faltered ever so slightly. He knew that stance. That wasn’t some idiot swinging a stick around for fun. That was the stance of a trained knight.

  Regulus stepped between them, raising a hand. “Alright! Here are the rules! First lethal hit wins. No powers. Just swordsmanship.”

  Kaiser smirked, rolling his shoulders. “You can still run away, you know. I’ll even be generous and say you’re still drunk from last night.”

  Milo’s grin widened. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine.”

  “Unfortunate.”

  Milo chuckled. “Let’s put something on the line, then. Make it interesting.”

  Kaiser raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

  Milo tilted his head toward Ivan, Mia, and Aria. “If I win, I’m taking them back to Arkhold with me. I’ll get them all jobs, a house and keep them safe until they get back on their feet.”

  Ivan and Aria immediately exploded. “NO WAY IN HELL!”

  Ivan pointed furiously at Milo. “I want to learn everything that Kaiser can teach me, didn't you see how cool that move just now was?!”

  Aria crossed her arms, looking downright insulted. “I’d rather die than be away from Kaiser.”

  Only Mia looked hopeful. She turned to Kaiser, her voice soft, desperate. “Please. Accept. Let him take Ivan with me.”

  Ivan shot her a betrayed look. “Mia—what the hell?!”

  Before he could protest further, she somehow forced her trembling, injured hands over his mouth, muffling his words. “Shush.”

  Milo sighed, rubbing his temples. “Alright, forget that pink-haired lunatic.” He gestured vaguely at Aria. “I’ll just take Mia and Ivan, then.”

  Kaiser smirked, tilting his head. “And what do I get when I win?”

  Milo blinked. His expression slowly soured. “...Shit.” He hadn’t thought of that.

  Kaiser’s grin widened, sharp and taunting. “Guess I’ll decide after I beat you.”

  Regulus, unable to contain his excitement, clapped his hands together. “Enough talk! Let’s get to the part where you two beat each other with sticks!”

  The shift in the atmosphere was almost palpable. The lighthearted banter faded, giving way to something heavier. A test. Kaiser and Milo stood a few paces apart, their grips tightening on their wooden swords. The wind had died down, the desert air thick with anticipation.

  Aria, who had been eagerly watching before, suddenly held her breath, as if afraid that even the slightest sound might break the tension.

  Ivan clenched his fists. His heart pounded in his chest, excitement and nervousness intertwining as he stared at the two warriors.

  Mia, however, was… mentally checking out. If she started walking now, maybe she could get far enough away before anyone noticed. Her eyes darted to the sides, scanning for possible escape routes. ‘Would they really chase me now?’

  Regulus raised his hand, looking between both fighters. His usual grin had faded, replaced with something more focused.

  “You both ready?”

  Milo exhaled through his nose, his stance still solid, his sword unmoving. He gave a single nod. Kaiser spun his wooden sword once, planting his feet. He grinned, but his red eyes gleamed with something else now.

  Regulus let the moment hang for just a second longer before he spoke again...

  “Begin!”

  The moment Regulus’s voice rang out neither fighter moved, the desert falling into absolute stillness as if the world itself had paused to witness what was about to unfold. The wind whispered through the desert, kicking up a soft veil of dust between them, but neither Kaiser nor Milo reacted, their gazes locked, bodies unmoving, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

  Then, Kaiser took a single step forward.

  It was subtle, almost lazy, but even that was enough to make Milo instinctively adjust his stance, his foot shifting ever so slightly back as if his body already understood the danger before his mind did.

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  But Kaiser didn’t press the attack. Instead, he spoke. “You know,” he mused, tilting his head slightly, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement, “Ever since I was little, my father made me train in a lot of fields.”

  Milo raised a brow, unimpressed. “Oh yeah?”

  “I mostly focused on swordsmanship, of course.” Kaiser rolled his shoulders as if loosening up for a warm-up rather than a fight. “But he also loved to teach me… dancing.”

  For a moment, no one knew how to respond. The tension in the air had been thick, charged with anticipation, but now it just felt… Off.

  Regulus blinked, his enthusiasm briefly stalled. Aria furrowed her brows, trying to decide if she had misheard. Ivan opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again before ultimately choosing to stay silent. Even Mia, who had been more focused on scanning for an escape route than the actual duel, glanced at him in sheer confusion.

  Then, just when the sheer absurdity of the statement had started to settle, Kaiser got into the most ridiculous stance they had ever seen.

  One leg bent, the other stretched behind him at an almost uncomfortable angle. One arm rested on his hip while the other delicately held the wooden sword aloft, fingers poised with the elegance of a performer rather than a warrior, as if the weapon were nothing more than a prop for a grand theatrical display.

  Ivan visibly cringed, looking like he wanted to fold in on himself and disappear. “What the hell is that?”

  Aria grimaced, folding her arms. “There’s no way dancing is gonna help you in a swordfight, right?”

  And Mia, utterly unfazed by whatever nonsense was happening in front of her, had already returned to calculating the best possible route to escape.

  Only Regulus and Milo remained silent.

  Kaiser ignored them all, his expression unwaveringly serious as he continued, “I love fighting on instinct—trading blows to land blows, feeling the rhythm of combat flow naturally, but after decades of relentless training, I realized something important.”

  Then, he moved.

  At first, it was subtle—a shift, a glide, a ripple through his entire body—but then his movements became more elaborate, his torso twisting with an unnatural flexibility as his feet barely seemed to touch the ground, his every motion as fluid as water yet as precise as a masterfully choreographed performance.

  “There’s value in discipline,” Kaiser’s voice remained calm, measured, yet his movements spoke louder than his words, flowing like a dancer, yet controlled like a seasoned fighter. “In refining every step, every motion, until nothing is wasted.”

  His sword, though held with almost delicate ease, moved with him, its position adjusting seamlessly as if it were not just a weapon, but an extension of his body, responding not to thought, but to instinct.

  “A form of my own creation,” he continued, red eyes never leaving Milo’s, his tone neither boastful nor uncertain but simply stating a fact. “A fusion of dance and swordsmanship into a single, beautiful art.”

  The sheer audacity of the claim hung heavy in the air.

  Ivan cringed harder, looking like his soul was trying to escape his body.

  Aria stared at him like he had just suggested fighting battles upside down. “Okay, but, like… why?”

  But Milo wasn’t laughing anymore. A single bead of sweat rolled down the side of his temple, not from the heat, but from something far more instinctive.

  Regulus, on the other hand, grinned. “Now this is getting good.”

  And then, Kaiser moved.

  There was no hesitation, no wind-up, just pure, fluid motion as he spun once, twice, three times, his body twisting in a flurry of motion so fast it blurred for a fraction of a second, and from that storm of movement, his wooden sword shot out like a flash of lightning.

  And Milo barely saw it. He had expected an attack, but later. Kaiser had been far outside the normal range for his sword. By all logic, his reach shouldn’t have been enough to strike.

  But instinct screamed at him to move, and Milo did. His body reacted before his mind could process the attack, his legs shifting as he barely dodged in time, the wooden blade whistling through the air, carving through the empty space his knee had occupied just a breath ago.

  Milo exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip on his sword, his usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. Now, he knew that this wasn’t just some ridiculous joke. Kaiser’s bizarre stance, his unpredictable movements… They worked. And if Milo wasn’t careful, he might just lose.

  Milo barely had time to recover before Kaiser was already moving again, spinning into another flourish, his wooden blade carving elegant arcs through the air. It was unlike anything Milo had ever seen—Kaiser’s entire body moved as if possessed by the rhythm of an invisible melody, his footwork impossibly light, his motions fluid yet erratic. He would twirl one moment, pivot sharply the next, each movement seamlessly bleeding into the next like an endless waltz of destruction.

  Milo’s eyes darted between Kaiser’s twisting limbs, trying to track the incoming attacks, but it was like staring at a whirlwind and trying to predict where the wind would strike next. Kaiser’s swordplay was mesmerizing, hypnotic even, but beneath the beauty of it was something deeply unsettling—it felt wrong, unnatural, like a force of nature that had no place in structured combat. It defied logic.

  “Okay, what the hell is that?” Ivan muttered, gripping his sleeve like it was some kind of security blanket.

  Aria, her expression caught between awe and secondhand embarrassment, folded her arms. “No way dancing is helping him in a fight…” she said, though there was doubt creeping into her voice.

  Regulus, on the other hand, had a massive grin hidden under his helmet, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “It’s working, though, isn’t it?”

  Milo gritted his teeth as another attack came, a deceptively slow twirl that abruptly exploded into a lightning-fast strike toward his ribs. He barely twisted out of the way in time, the wooden sword whistling past him, close enough that he felt the air shift against his skin. The moment he dodged, Kaiser spun again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other like a dancer lost in his own tempo, launching another unpredictable swing aimed at his shoulder.

  Milo raised his blade to block, but he was too late. The strike connected, a sharp sound rang out as wood smacked against his shoulder. The force wasn’t enough to knock him off balance, but the reality of the hit sent irritation crawling up his spine.

  “Point,” Kaiser said casually, as if he hadn’t just moved like a goddamn phantom.

  Milo scoffed, shaking out his shoulder. “We never agreed on points.”

  Kaiser merely smirked. “Oh? Then I’ll just keep hitting you until I land a lethal strike.”

  Milo’s grip tightened. “Try it, dancer boy.”

  Even as he taunted, a sour feeling gnawed at Milo. It wasn't just the crazy moves that pissed him off — it was that deep down, he could feel the gap between them growing wider with every exchange. And worse still, Kaiser had made that jab earlier, the one about Ivan surpassing him within a year. The thought burned more than he'd admit.

  Kaiser obliged his request with another sudden strike, feinting low before snapping upward toward Milo’s ribs. Milo barely managed to twist away, but the second he dodged, Kaiser was already pivoting into another move, seamlessly shifting between offense and defense, never in one place for more than a heartbeat.

  Milo swung at his midsection, trying to halt his momentum, but Kaiser just leaned into another twirl, his movements too smooth, too elusive. Every strike Milo attempted met only air, his opponent slipping past him like a shadow.

  Frustration began to bubble in his chest.

  Kaiser, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying himself, his footwork accelerating into a flurry of unpredictable spins, his blade snapping out at odd angles—sometimes looking far too slow to be a real attack, only to burst forward at the last moment, barely giving Milo enough time to react. Every block came a second too late, every counterattack missed by inches.

  “I hate this,” Milo growled under his breath, deflecting another strike aimed for his shoulder, only for Kaiser to immediately twirl into another.

  Aria clapped her hands together. “It’s like watching a tornado with a sword.”

  Ivan, who had been watching intensely, suddenly spoke, his voice flat. “I hate that this is actually working.”

  Milo agreed.

  His breath was coming harder now, beads of sweat forming at his temple. If he couldn’t predict Kaiser’s movements, then he’d stop playing defense.

  His eyes sharpened as he saw an opening.

  Kaiser was mid-spin, his momentum carrying him into another flourish. It was the perfect time to strike since he’d be overextended, just for a fraction of a second. 'Just long enough!' Milo lunged, his wooden blade cutting through the air in a sharp arc, aimed directly at Kaiser’s head.

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