After dinner, Fenric and Lucien went to sleep. They slept outside the house, as there wasn't enough space inside. Next to the bath, there was a small area that looked like a horse stable. Their "beds" were just piles of straw, and their covers were made of sheep's wool, hand-stitched by Ravenna. It wasn't a place fit for children—too cold, too rough—but they had gotten used to it.
After climbing onto the straw, Lucien was trying to fall asleep when Fenric started talking.
"Hey Lucien, you're not asleep yet, are you?"
Lucien replied, clearly annoyed, "I'm trying to. Why are you asking?"
"I was just thinking," Fenric said. "When do you think we'll become Royal Knights? I mean… when's the next Royal Knight selection?"
Lucien groaned. "Can't you do some simple math?"
"Come on, man, just help me a little," Fenric replied.
Lucien sat up and sighed. "Okay, okay. Princess Liora is fourteen now, right? Everyone knows she'll take the throne when she turns twenty. That means she'll get her Royal Knights on her birthday. So, simple math—we have six years to train."
Fenric's eyes widened. "You're so smart! I'm glad you're my friend."
Lucien stared at him, deadpan. "Are you that stupid?"
Fenric nudged him on the shoulder and grinned. "Shut up!"
Lucien lay back down with a groan. Just as he was about to doze off, Fenric whispered:
"I'll get strong… I'll lead the Royal Knights. And I'll protect Princess Liora with my life."
Lucien responded in a challenging tone, "I'm the one who's going to lead the Royal Knights."
Fenric smirked. "We'll see... Now let's get some sleep—it's already midnight."
The next morning
Fenric and Lucien reentered the house. Fenric headed straight for his mother and asked, "Mom, what's for breakfast?"
Ravenna gave him a playful nudge on the head. "You should start by saying good morning."
Lucien followed close behind and greeted politely, "Good morning, Mrs. Ravenna. How are you doing today?"
Ravenna turned to Lucien with a smile. "Good morning, Lucien. I'm good, thank you for asking." Then she looked back at Fenric, half amused, half scolding. "Why can't you be more like Lucien? You need to learn from him."
As they sat down at the table for breakfast, Daemon and Mira entered the house. Daemon was carrying two wooden buckets filled with water, one in each hand, while Mira struggled to carry a smaller one.
The moment she saw Fenric sitting at the table, she dropped her bucket without hesitation—water splashing everywhere—and ran to her brother, her big brown eyes sparkling with excitement.
Fenric stood up from his chair and scooped her into his arms.
"Good morning, Mira. Did you miss me?" he asked with a smile, looking into her eyes.
"Yes, Fenric!!" she beamed. "Today I carried my bucket all the way to the house!"
Fenric grinned and said, "My little sister is getting stronger. I'm proud of you."
He placed Mira gently on his chair and began patting her head. Mira closed her eyes contentedly, like a purring cat.
The Carter family—and most people living in the third ring—get their water from the river about a kilometer away from Fenric's house. Usually, Daemon and Mira were the ones who fetched it. Since Mira was only eight years old, she had always struggled to carry even her small bucket when it was filled with water. Most of the time, she would spill it halfway back home. That's why she was so happy this time—she hadn't spilled a drop.
Daemon set the buckets down and went to sit in his chair, while Fenric grabbed a cloth and started cleaning the mess Mira had made.
After breakfast, Fenric and Lucien headed straight to the river to begin their training. Their routine was simple: fight each other until they were too exhausted to move, then return home.
Once they reached the river, Fenric smirked and looked Lucien in the eye.
"This is our 467th fight. I'm going to win again today."
Lucien gave him a deadpan look and corrected him. "It's the 432nd."
Then, realizing what Fenric had actually Lucien raised his voice and shouted, "I'm the one who's going to win today—not you!"
Lucien took his stance, looked at Fenric, and said, "Here I go." He charged forward and threw a punch with his dominant right hand. Fenric easily dodged it, but his guard was down—and a sudden left hook from Lucien landed square on his face. Fenric dropped to the ground but quickly got back up, took a few steps back, and glared at Lucien.
"Damn it! I let my guard down," he muttered.
Lucien didn't respond. He launched another attack, this time with a strong right punch. Fenric blocked it, grabbed Lucien by the arm, and threw him to the ground.
Not far away, an older man sitting on a rock by the river had been fishing. He wore a straw hat and had deep wrinkles lining his face, showing the weight of years.
The moment he noticed the kids fighting, he tossed aside his fishing rod and rushed toward them. With surprising speed, he stepped between the two boys and shoved them apart, breaking up the fight.
The old man started breathing heavily, glaring at the two boys.
"Kids, what are you doing? Why are you fighting—and what for?"
Fenric looked at him and asked bluntly, "Who are you, old man?"
The man's eye twitched. "I'm only 53. I'm not old," he snapped.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Calm yourself, Azel... he's just a kid," he muttered under his breath.
Then, forcing a smile, he looked back at Fenric and asked, "What were you two doing? Why were you fighting?"
"We were training," Fenric replied casually.
"Training? Training for what?" Azel asked.
Lucien got up from the ground, dusted himself off, and said, "We want to become Royal Knights. We owe the Queen so much. Protecting the Princess with our lives is the least we can do."
Azel stared at the boys with his deep black eyes. "Interesting... but fighting like wild monkeys won't get you anywhere. You need to learn a proper fighting style."
Fenric's eyes lit up. "What do you mean by a fighting style, old man?
Azel frowned again. "Hey, kid, my name isn't 'old man.' It's Azel. Azel Eldemire."
Azel calmed himself again and answered, "Think about it like a math problem—you can't solve it if you don't know the rules."
He paused mid-sentence, realizing that Fenric's brain was practically melting trying to follow along.
Azel sighed and started thinking of an easier way to explain. Then he said, "Alright, think about it like eating fish. If you eat it randomly, you'll choke on a fish bone."
Fenric's eyes lit up. That he understood.
Azel glanced at Fenric and confirmed his suspicion: this kid isn't the brightest.
Lucien, more composed, looked at Azel and asked, "Then how can we learn a fighting style?"
Azel puffed out his chest proudly. "I can teach you. I'm bored these days, so I'll train you how to fight."
Fenric squinted at him, clearly not convinced. "You? You're just an old man. What do you even know about fighting?"
Azel's face twitched at the disrespect. "Watch this," he said.
He walked over to the large rock he'd been sitting on, tossed aside his straw hat, and placed one hand on the stone. Closing his eyes for a moment, he then exhaled and applied pressure.
The rock began to crack. Then, with a grunt, he lifted it—with just one arm. The thing had to weigh at least half a ton.
Fenric and Lucien stood there, stunned, their jaws practically on the ground, as Azel hurled the massive rock across the river like it was nothing.
Azel let out a sigh, looking a little disappointed. "Damn it," he muttered to himself. "I've lost my touch."
Fenric ran up to him, eyes burning with excitement. Azel glanced at him—and for a brief moment, he saw something in the boy's gaze.
"He looks just like him," Azel whispered under his breath.
"Teach me that! Teach me now!" Fenric shouted.
Azel gave him a small smirk. "Not yet, kid. First, you need to learn how to fight properly."