Chapter 191 - 136 : Year 31 - 36 Sabian Veymont (1)

Chapter 191: Chapter 136 : Year 31 - 36 Sabian Veymont (1)

"Then I’ll keep going until I catch up to you."

The words came without hesitation. There was no embarrassment in Gabriel’s voice, no attempt to pretend that the gap between them did not exist. He knew Trevor was stronger. He had felt it in every blocked punch and every time he found himself looking up at the sky. But the gap only gave him something else to chase.

Trevor’s teasing expression softened for a moment. Then he raised his hands again.

"All right, then. Show me."

Gabriel lunged.

Before he could land his next strike, the retainer’s walking stick struck the ground with a sharp crack.

"Enough."

A faint pulse of force travelled across the packed earth. The dust near the old man’s feet stirred, and Gabriel stopped halfway through his advance. Even Trevor straightened at once.

"I said enough for today," the retainer repeated.

Gabriel lowered his fists, though his expression suggested he had not finished fighting. "But I was just getting started."

"You have been getting started for the better part of an hour."

"One more round."

"No."

Gabriel opened his mouth again.

The old retainer fixed him with a look.

The boy closed it.

Trevor walked past him, still grinning. "Looks like Teacher just saved you from getting knocked out again. You should thank him."

Gabriel turned on him. "He saved you from having to explain to Mother why you keep beating up your own brother."

"I’m sure she’ll survive the news."

"Keep laughing. I’ll remember this."

"I hope you do. Perhaps it’ll help you remember what a proper stance looks like next time."

Gabriel scoffed and kicked a little dust toward his brother’s boots. Trevor stepped aside, laughing, while the old retainer tapped his stick against the ground a second time.

"Both of you. Go wash up. Trevor, you will report to your father after midday. Gabriel, you will repeat your footwork exercises tomorrow until I am satisfied with them."

Gabriel’s face fell.

"All of them?"

"Every one."

Trevor gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder that was far from convincing.

"Try not to cry."

Gabriel swatted his hand away. "Get lost."

The two brothers left the training space still arguing, their voices fading into the bustle of the castle.

Trevor’s martial progress had become one of the clearest signs of his exceptional talent. At twenty-two, he had already reached Bone Tempering, building on a foundation that most young men could only hope to establish after many more years of training. Gabriel, thirteen and nearing the threshold of the same stage, was remarkable in his own right. The younger boy’s physique and relentless appetite for training had pushed him to the peak of Skin Tempering far earlier than most would have expected.

Their achievements were all the more striking when compared with their father. At twenty-five, Lucian had still been a Skin Tempering martial artist. His sons were advancing far more quickly, though neither their talent nor their progress meant that they had reached the limits of what their training demanded.

The old retainer was careful to remind them of that distinction. Trevor’s breakthrough had strengthened his body, but it did not make him an expert fighter or excuse him from correcting weaknesses. Gabriel’s natural aptitude and stamina were equally promising, yet his eagerness still left him open to mistakes. The retainer expected both boys to continue working on the fundamentals rather than becoming satisfied with their progress.

Trevor’s life had also begun to extend beyond the training yard. As the eldest son, he was increasingly expected to learn the responsibilities that would one day fall to him. He accompanied Lucian during inspections, listened to reports from estate officials, and spent time with the garrison commander learning how security arrangements were planned.

During the earlier years of rebuilding, he had often watched his father decide which road needed repair, which mine deserved more investment, or which village could be given assistance. Now he was beginning to understand the work behind those decisions. A patrol required more than an order to ride out. The men needed provisions, someone had to select their route, and the commander had to consider what would happen if they encountered a threat beyond their strength. A shipment of grain required more than an agreement with a merchant. It had to be transported, protected, stored, and distributed without being wasted or stolen.

Lucian increasingly invited Trevor to consider such matters for himself. Sometimes his son reached a sound conclusion; at other times, he overlooked a cost or a risk that his father or the commander had learned to anticipate. Lucian corrected him without turning every mistake into a public lesson. He explained why a decision might fail and asked what else could be done.

Trevor was learning that good intentions could not replace careful planning. A ruler had to consider not only what he wanted to accomplish, but what might happen after his orders were carried out.

Lucian was proud of his eldest son’s progress, both in martial training and in the administration of the fiefdom. Yet he was more interested in seeing Trevor develop good judgment than in watching him accumulate strength. A talented fighter could help defend the house, but a capable leader had to know when fighting was necessary, when negotiation offered a better answer, and when patience would cost less than haste.

Trevor had much left to learn, but he was beginning to understand the difference between being strong enough to protect his family and being capable of leading it.

The sound of hammering and sawing carried across a worksite near one of House Veymont’s mines. Timber beams lay stacked beside the unfinished structure, and a pair of workers were fitting a brace into place while another checked the length of a rope hanging from a rough wooden frame. Sawdust clung to the ground, mingling with dirt and wood shavings tracked in on the workers’ boots.

In the middle of the activity, Sabian bent over a broad plank resting across two trestles. He had stripped off his outer tunic, leaving his upper body bare beneath the afternoon sun. Sweat ran along his back and down his arms, darkening the dust that clung to his skin.

His build was lean, shaped more by years of physical work than by a gift for martial training. His shoulders and arms had grown stronger from years of physical work, but he remained slimmer than Trevor and Gabriel, whose years of martial training had given them broader shoulders and more powerful builds.

His hands told their own story. Calluses covered his palms and fingers, and small scratches marked his forearms. A smear of dust crossed his cheek, and his light brown hair, golden where the sun struck it, had grown damp and unruly around his forehead.

Without the fine clothes and careful bearing expected of a nobleman, there was little about his appearance to distinguish him from the other young workers at the site. The resemblance to Lucian showed most clearly in his hair.