Chapter 310: Where the Cold Drizzle Settles

A full day had passed since the memorial.

After my mother called out to me at the edge of the courtyard yesterday, I spent the rest of the day with her and Mia. She didn’t push me about the fight or make me explain anything ; she just wanted to make sure I was alive and breathing.

We stayed together until late into the night, a quiet moment of warmth while the city outside slowly went cold. But even that peaceful time couldn’t fully lift the heavy weight of the memorial service, which had now faded into the foggy autumn air.

By morning, the academy grounds were nearly empty. The one-week shutdown had forced the remaining students to pack their bags, use transportation gates, or head toward the airship docks. Most of the students were already gone.

Roan and Lyssaria had been picked up early by a royal elven escort ; their father, the Elven King, had ordered them to return to the Elf domain to recover. Given the political fires burning across the continent, it made sense.

Cordelia had left quietly with her family’s remaining knights, her face pale, her newly cut hair hidden under a dark hood. Riven had left without saying a word to anyone, and even Elisabeth had returned to her family’s territory.

Only a handful stayed behind: either because they had nowhere left to go, or because, like Alice and Malva, they refused to step away from the training grounds while the taste of defeat was still fresh in their mouths.

I stood on the boarding platform near the private Celestial family jet, my hands shoved deep into my pants pockets. The cold air hung heavy over the ground, but the air beneath the jet’s engines was warm and dry.

"Are you sure you two don’t want to come back to the estate first?" My mother’s voice was gentle, filled with a mother’s concern she couldn’t hide behind her calm face.

She stood wrapped in a dark, fur-lined cloak, her silver hair pinned up neatly. Beside her, little Mia was practically glued to my leg, her messy black hair falling over her face as she chewed on a half-eaten piece of candy, her bright blue eyes looking up at me.

"We have things to finish here, Mother," Sylvia spoke up before I could answer. She stood a half-step behind me, her arms crossed over her chest. "The council has to clear the remaining reports before the Union seal takes effect."

"I will stay here too," I added softly, looking down at Mia. I reached out, my fingers gently ruffling her messy hair until she let out a tiny giggle. "I’m not going anywhere, Mother. Also, tell Dad I’m good."

Isabella searched my face for a moment, her soft green eyes lingering on the quiet distance in my expression. She knew better than to push. Her gaze shifted between Sylvia and me, taking both of her children in at once. Gently,

she stepped forward and pulled both Sylvia and me into a warm, tight embrace.

"No matter what choices you make, or what mistakes you think you’ve made," she whispered softly, her breath resting against both of our shoulders, "there will always be someone out there who loves you for who you are. I don’t care what either of you become, or what paths you walk. Just make sure that as you grow, you remain good, humble people. That is all I will ever ask of my children."

She pulled back, giving my arm a firm, warm squeeze before turning toward the boarding ramp.

Standing near the luggage lift were Lyra and Julian. Lyra stood with her usual calm, still posture, her green eyes quietly watching the area.

Beside her, Julian, swallowed by an oversized woolen coat, stood with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His messy dark hair stuck out in uneven tufts, his sharp silver eyes glaring at the ground like a wild cat trapped in a cage.

I walked over to them, stopping in front of the kid.

"Try not to burn down the estate while I’m not there to leash you," I said, leaning down slightly.

Julian snapped his head up, his silver eyes flashing with fury. "I’m not a dog, you white-haired demon! Who would burn down a house?! Worry about your own useless head!"

I smirked, reaching out and flicking him hard right on the forehead.

"Ow! Stop that!" Julian yelled, clutching his forehead and taking a defensive step back, his face flushing red as he glared daggers at me.

"Keep practicing," I told him, stepping past his glare. "And don’t bother asking Lyra to go easy on you. I told her to double your sword drills."

"I didn’t ask for your advice, you bastard!" Julian muttered under his breath, crossing his arms and huffing loudly, though he didn’t move away.

I turned my gaze to Lyra. "Keep an eye on him. Make sure he actually trains instead of hiding in the library."

Lyra bowed her head. "Understood, Young Master. I shall oversee Julian’s training and ensure Lady Isabella’s safety until your return."

Within ten minutes, the jet’s doors sealed with a deep hiss. The engines hummed to life, blowing warm air across the ground as the aircraft lifted smoothly into the gray sky, disappearing past the clouds.

Only Sylvia and I remained on the empty platform.

The silence between us stretched for several long seconds, broken only by the steady sound of rain hitting the metal frame.

"So..." I broke the quiet, my voice flat as I turned my head slightly toward her. "Are you finally going to tell me where Seris is? She didn’t show up yesterday during the memorial."

Sylvia’s ocean-blue eyes flicked toward me, sharp and cold, though there was a faint flicker of annoyance in her brow. "Since when did you start caring so much about her whereabouts?"

"She saved my life," I replied bluntly, meeting her gaze without flinching. "Come on. Can’t I at least check if she’s breathing?"

Sylvia stared at me for a long moment before letting out a slow, tired sigh. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "A transport from the Astra Union took her early yesterday morning. She had an urgent meeting to attend

The Astra Union? My mind raced. Why would she be summoned to the Union headquarters right after a Grade 8 breach? The only reason that made sense... was a summons from the Oracle. Only that person could ask to meet with her.

"Is she okay?" I asked, keeping my tone guarded. "When is she coming back?"

"Her core is stabilized, but she is far from recovered," Sylvia answered coldly. "She will return before the week ends. Now, if you’re done asking questions, I have three dozen casualty reports waiting on my desk."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked toward the main administrative building.

Left alone on the platform, I stared at the empty gray horizon. No classes. No monsters attacking the gates. Most of my friends were gone, and the quiet of the academy felt less like a break and more like a cage.

What should I do now?

I didn’t want to sit in an empty room staring at the walls. I didn’t want to think about the dead, the medal in my pocket that meant nothing, or how far I still had to go. There was only one thing that ever cleared my head.

I should just train...

I turned away from the docks and headed toward my dorm building. The hallways were empty, my footsteps echoing off the walls. Instead of going to my private training room, my feet carried me to the open hall on the ground floor.

I thought no one would be in the hall.

But I was wrong.

At the far end of the polished wooden floor stood a single figure.

Arthur Vale.

He was stripped down to a dark shirt and trousers, his skin slick with sweat. He held a wooden training sword, swinging it in a clean, overhead strike that cut through the quiet air with a sharp whoosh.

At the sound of the doors closing behind me, Arthur froze mid-motion. He wiped his brow with his arm and turned around. His golden eyes, usually bright and steady, looked hollow and tired, but his posture stayed straight and firm.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke. The silence hung between us like a wall, heavy, thick, and filled with unsaid words, broken promises, and old bitterness.

"..."

"..."

"You didn’t go back?" I asked, breaking the quiet as my boots echoed against the floor.

Arthur lowered his wooden sword, letting out a dry breath. "I don’t feel like going back to the Holy Kingdom. Amelia and Nyra went back to their family estates this morning."

I nodded once, my expression unreadable. I hadn’t expected either of them to stay behind anyway.

He continued, his golden eyes fixing on me with a quiet, unreadable depth. "What about you? What are you doing here? I thought you’d be resting."

I let out a low, dry chuckle, crossing my arms. "I don’t know, Arthur. What does a guy usually come to a training hall for? A picnic?"

Arthur stared at me for a second before his shoulders relaxed slightly, a faint, raspy cough escaping his chest. "Right. Training."

I walked over to the weapon rack against the wall, passed by the heavy broadswords, and picked up a thin wooden training katana. The wood felt smooth and well-balanced. I gave it a quick flick, testing its weight as the tip cut through the air.

I rolled my wrist, feeling the balance. I turned back to face him and stepped onto the dueling mat.

"Wanna spar?" I said, my voice calm. "No mana or affinities. Just technique."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. A subtle shift occurred in his demeanor, the tired posture vanished, replaced instantly by the instinct of a prodigy who had held a blade since he was a kid.

A sparring match?" Arthur asked, adjusting his grip on his double-edged wooden sword. "Are you sure? You know I’ve trained more than you, and my swordsmanship is better without mana.

I knew he was right.

In terms of pure sword mastery, Arthur was in a completely different realm. His blade work was refined, disciplined, and backed by a passive Sword Affinity that naturally attuned his body to every angle, edge, and weight of a blade.

Every swing he made was clean and textbook perfect. My own style was an ugly, desperate mess, a rough, predatory hybrid forged in the mud of my past battles and refined through brute survival. But talking about our problems wasn’t going to happen today.

A fight, on the other hand? That was a language we both understood.

"I know..." I said, dropping into a low, wide stance. My left hand rested at my hip like I was holding a scabbard, and my right hand sat lightly on the wooden hilt. "That’s exactly why I’m asking."

Arthur stared at me for a long moment, reading the calm resolve in my eyes. The hesitation in his posture vanished.

Arthur didn’t waste time with more words. He adjusted his footing, stepping into a classic high-guard stance.

The difference between us was clear: Arthur stood like a textbook knight, perfectly balanced, his posture carrying the weight of years of refined noble training. I stood low, rough, and predatory, a style forged not in royal academies, but in the dirty, brutal fights.

Tap!

Arthur moved first.

He closed the gap in a heartbeat. Even without mana, his footwork was terrifyingly fast. His wooden sword came down in a fast diagonal slash aimed at my left shoulder.

I didn’t block. Blocking a sword from someone with a passive Sword Mastery was suicide, his edge alignment would shatter my guard. I stepped inside his reach, angling my wooden katana upward to glance his blade off mine.

Clack!

Wood scraped against wood. The vibration shot up my arm, but I used the momentum to spin on my heel, slipping behind his shoulder and driving a sideways strike at his ribs.

Arthur didn’t panic. His body moved on pure instinct.

Without looking, he dropped his elbow, using the pommel of his wooden sword to catch my blade mid-swing with sharp precision.

The impact rattled my teeth.

"Too wide, Leo," Arthur muttered, his eyes narrowing as he instantly rolled his wrist, converting his defense into a thrust straight toward my throat.

I snapped my head back, the tip of his wooden sword grazing my collarbone by a hair.

I didn’t back off. I drove forward, pressing my shoulder into his chest to throw off his stance. Arthur absorbed the hit, his lower body rooted like a mountain, but the sudden close-quarters jam gave me the split-second I needed.

I reversed my grip on the katana, dragging the wooden edge upward in a jagged, diagonal slash at his chin. Arthur’s eyes widened slightly. He threw his head back, the wooden blade whistling past his nose, but before he could reset, I swept my leg around to hook his front ankle.

Crack!

Our wooden weapons clashed in mid-air as Arthur brought his guard down just in time to stop my strike, the sheer force of our muscles making the air between us pop. We locked weapons, chest to chest, both breathing hard, our eyes locked.

You fight like you’re trying to murder the floor you’re standing on," Arthur grunted, his forearms trembling as he pushed back against my blade with precision.

"But you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" I hissed back, shifting my weight to force his sword downward.

With a sudden burst, we both pushed off each other and sprang backward to reset the distance. Sweat dripped from my nose onto the floor. My chest heaved, my grip tight on the wooden katana until my knuckles turned white.

Arthur brought his sword back to a mid-level guard, his eyes burning with a quiet fire that hadn’t been there when I first walked in. The hollow exhaustion in his face was gone, replaced by the focus of a rival who realized he was inches away from losing his edge.

"Again," Arthur said, lowering his stance.

A sharp, faint smirk tugged at my lips. "Come on then."

I lunged.

The raw physical strain hit immediately. Without mana to cushion our joints or lighten gravity, every step felt heavy, real, and punishing.

I closed the gap with a fast flurry of wild strikes, three high thrusts to force his guard up, followed by a low, brutal sweep at his knee. It wasn’t pretty. There was no noble rhythm to it, just raw speed and dirty angles meant to overwhelm his senses.

Arthur didn’t give an inch. His wooden sword moved in tiny, effortless arcs, parrying every thrust with perfect accuracy. He met my low sweep by driving his heel into the floor, catching the flat of my katana with the base of his blade and redirecting my momentum into the open space beside him.

"Your weight is off on the fourth strike," Arthur said, his voice clipped as he instantly swung a horizontal slash at my head.

I didn’t try to parry. I dropped beneath the arc, ducking so low my knee scraped the floor, and drove my elbow into his solar plexus.

Bang!

Arthur grunted as the hit connected, the force knocking the air out of his lungs, but he didn’t stumble backward. Instead, he wrapped his left arm around my neck, trapping me in a tight headlock while whipping the pommel of his wooden sword down toward my spine.

I twisted violently before the blow could land, slamming my hip into his thigh to throw off his balance. We tumbled to the floor together, rolling across the slick wood in a messy tangle of limbs, wooden blades, and harsh, desperate breaths.

Thud!

I planted my hand on the ground and pushed off, throwing a kick straight toward his face as he rolled to his feet. Arthur raised his forearm to block, the force of my heel driving him back two paces, his boots squealing against the polished floorboards.

Both of us sprang back up almost simultaneously, bruised, drenched in sweat, and breathing like overworked engines. My hands were throbbing, my knuckles raw and red. Arthur’s dark hair was plastered to his forehead, a faint streak of red blooming on his lower lip where my elbow had grazed him.

"Hey, that was cheating!" Arthur muttered, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes shining with an intensity I hadn’t seen in him in months.

"Shut up and swing," I growled, shifting into an inverted grip, the tip of the wooden katana pointing backward along my forearm.

Arthur took a deep breath, his whole body dropping into a steady, unwavering guard. For the first time all day, there was no shadow in his posture, no guilt, no grief, no weight on his shoulders. Just a swordsman looking at the man across from him.

He surged forward, his speed exploding beyond what should have been possible without mana. His blade became a blur of strikes, raining down on me from every angle, high, low, left, right, each one landing with heavy, crushing force.

Clack!

I gave ground, step by step, my blade whistling through the air as I deflected, ducked, and countered every strike by a hair’s breadth. Wood split against wood, small splinters flying into the air as the sheer force of our impact began to destroy the training weapons.

My muscles burned like fire. My lungs screamed for air.

But as our blades clashed for the hundredth time, the heavy silence that had stood between us for months finally shattered into pieces.

I ducked beneath a terrifying overhead strike, stepped into his inner guard, and swung my broken katana upward with everything I had left as Arthur’s blade came sweeping around toward my neck.

Crack!

Both of our wooden weapons shattered down the middle, sending broken chunks of wood spinning through the air. The sharp, jagged stubs of our broken training swords stopped at the same time, my broken tip pressed against the center of Arthur’s chest, and his jagged edge resting against the side of my throat.

Neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed. Sweat dripped from my chin, landing softly on his broken blade. Silence reclaimed the vast, empty hall, save for the ragged, heavy sound of our chests heaving in unison.

Arthur stared into my eyes, his chest rising and falling violently, before the tension in his face completely snapped. A real, genuine laugh burst from his throat raw, and lighter than anything I’d heard from him in years.

"You really... never make it easy, do you, Leo?" Arthur wheezed, lowering his broken hilt.

I lowered mine as well, tossing the splintered wood onto the floor, a faint, dry smirk playing on my lips. "If it were easy, you’d get bored."