Newfear

Aqua stood beside him. At that moment, the cold wind blew faintly. Meanwhile, Lucas Nightover watched the scene in silence. His sharp eyes, accustomed to the battlefield, seemed to carry the weight of years of war. But this time, he wasn't looking at an enemy... he was looking at something far more complicated… his son.

Not long after, Count Julian Hartley joined him, standing quietly at his side before speaking in a calm voice tinged with warmth.

Julian: "The youth, huh… You must be proud of him."

Lucas did not shift his gaze. Instead, he answered in a low voice, devoid of any clear emotion.

Lucas: "Proud of what exactly?"

Julian looked at him in surprise, then gave a slight smile and shrugged.

Julian: "Your son, of course. He has made a name for himself that nearly surpasses all of Arcadia. They call him 'Ice death,' the young lord who has fought in five battles and has never lost. The second youngest in history to earn the title of 'Swod Master'."

Lucas remained silent for a moment, as if the words stirred nothing within him, then he replied coldly.

Lucas: "And is that something to be proud of?"

Julian raised his eyebrows slightly, then let out a soft, sarcastic laugh.

Julian: "To the people? Of course. Especially Blatir. If he were in your place now, he would be proclaiming his achievements at every gathering. He would probably even try to make him king…"

Lucas finally turned his gaze to him, his voice low but sharp.

Lucas: "I wouldn't be surprised. He would have done that… if only his son had wanted to inherit him. Speaking of sons… Raymond, he is the opposite of mine. I see him as wiser, more cunning than his age might suggest. Though he hasn't even reached twenty, he has stood alongside his father in three brutal battles... not just as a mere fighter, but as a merciless sword, ending the battle before his foes even realized they had lost.

His swordsmanship far exceeds his years. He doesn't rely on strength alone, but on quick thinking and the ability to exploit every weakness. It's as if he sees battle as painting a canvas, choosing precisely when to strike, where, and how to finish everything with a single decisive move."

He fell silent for a moment, took a deep breath, then continued in a quiet voice, as if recalling memories.

Lucas: "He once dueled the Tenth King, Rohayden. He was still a teenager then, but he wasn't just a boy wielding a sword… he was the heir of Vanheim, and the blood in his veins would not accept defeat.

To him, it was all just a joke. Ten moves... that's all it took to bring the king to his knees, leaving him there, questioning how a boy his age could defeat him. He meant no insult by it, merely the innocent playfulness of a teenager who had yet to learn that the thrones of kings do not tolerate jokes. But Rohayden saw it differently... he saw only an insult, a wound to his pride, a slap to his arrogant ego.

He was not a man who accepted defeat… not even in a mere display between two swords. So, the moment he stood back up, he did not look at Raymond. Instead, he looked at the guards who had witnessed his fall.

He did not speak, did not shout. He simply raised his hand… and ordered the beheading of every single guard who had seen the duel. He did not hesitate, did not retract, did not explain. One by one, they fell before him, their eyes still carrying the shock, as if they had not yet realized they were dead. The sound of swords slicing through flesh, the thud of heads hitting the ground, the scent of blood soaking the air… it was not just punishment... it was a lesson.

And in less than a minute, heads rolled to the ground.

Raymond did not move. He did not scream. He did not try to stop the massacre. He stood there, watching in silence, his eyes wandering between the piled corpses, the eyes that had not yet closed, the blood tracing long lines on the arena floor.

And when it was all over, the king finally lifted his gaze to him and spoke in a low voice, yet one that carried everything he needed to say....

This is your fault...

Then he stepped closer, placed a hand on his shoulder, and whispered in a cold voice.

Never forget, Raymond, some lessons are etched in blood.

Then he turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.

That was the moment Raymond Vanheim realized... monsters are not born… they are made."

A heavy silence followed, as if the weight of Lucas's words had settled upon Julian's shoulders. He showed no obvious shock, but he could not hide the slight shift in his expression.... the fleeting distraction in his eyes, as though trying to process the scene Lucas had just painted before him.

Slowly, he turned, letting his gaze drift across the field until it settled on Raymond, standing in the distance beside Aqua. He wasn't doing anything remarkable... just standing still, arms crossed, head tilted slightly, as if their conversation meant nothing to him.

But Julian didn't need more than that.

In Raymond's eyes, there was no sorrow, no regret, not even pride. Only a deadly calm... the kind that resembles the silence before a storm, or perhaps… the silence that follows one.

Julian exhaled softly, as if the weight of the words he had heard was seeping into his breath. He wasn't sure what disturbed him more... the story itself, or the way Lucas had told it, with chilling indifference, as if what had happened was just another detail in a long tale of blood and silence.

He let his gaze shift away from Raymond, stopping at Aqua, who stood beside him, silent as always. But there was something in his eyes that made Julian wonder. That look he carried held something of a challenge, but Julian knew it was merely a hint of suppressed emotions... perhaps due to the restraints imposed upon him by his father.

Julian: "Well… on another note, do you plan to do anything for your son?"

Lucas returned his gaze to the horizon, as if the question didn't concern him, then replied dryly.

Lucas: "Like what, Lord Hartley?"

Julian turned his gaze back to Lucas and spoke calmly, but firmly.

Julian: "What is your problem with him?"

His tone was more of an inquiry than an objection, but he was irritated by the constant pressure Lucas placed on Aqua.

Julian: "Your son is not a child, Lucas. You can't keep caging him like this, as if you fear every step he might take. Perhaps it's time to let him find his own path, rather than making these restraints an obstacle in his way."

Lucas's tone suddenly sharpened, as if the words had struck a sensitive nerve.

Lucas: "He is emotional, Julian."

Julian frowned slightly, trying to understand what he meant, then asked cautiously.

Julian: "And what's wrong with that?"

Lucas exhaled in frustration, his eyes gleaming with something akin to suppressed anger.

Lucas: "My son is not a hero, nor a seeker of glory, nor even a man who makes decisions with a rational mind. He is a fighter... not because war is his duty, but because it is his pleasure. He stands on the battlefield not to win, nor to protect anyone, but because he enjoys the feel of the sword in his hand and the thrill that courses through his veins with every strike.

He is not sick, not sadistic, nor does he seek blood for blood's sake… but he also does not fight for a cause. He chooses the most dangerous path, not out of necessity, but because he desires it. He follows his passion, not his reason, and that… that is what frightens me."

Lucas fell silent for a moment, then added in a heavy voice.

Lucas: "A soldier fights for his homeland. A king wages war for his throne. A man defends those he loves. But what of someone who fights simply because he loves to fight?"

His voice grew colder.

Lucas: "My son is a child in a warrior's body. And the question I do not have an answer for is…"

He paused, then added in a grim tone.

"When will he understand that war is not just a game? And when will he realize that those who love battle… either kill, or get killed?"

Julian sighed and averted his gaze forward as if trying to see things from a different perspective. Then, he spoke in a calm voice.

Julian: "You're just exaggerating."

Lucas turned to him, fixing him with a cold stare before speaking in a tone devoid of any hesitation.

Lucas: "He lost in the Draxul battle."

Julian frowned visibly, trying to recall the details, then spoke slowly.

Julian: "What? No, he didn't. He won."

But Lucas didn't seem convinced. Instead, he clenched his jaw and responded with a sharper voice.

Lucas: "If it weren't for the intervention of Blatir's eldest son and Count Nicholas Sparoff, he would be buried under our feet right now!"

The cold wind rose again, dragging behind it a heavy silence, like a shadow stretching between those standing there. Breaking it was harder than anyone dared to attempt. But suddenly, a voice came from the left... quiet, yet sharp as a blade, making them turn instinctively.

"I agree with you."

Lucas turned to his left, his eyes landing on Duchess Atris Starkov, who approached with confident steps until she stood beside him.

Atris, in a steady yet reproachful tone: In truth, your son acted recklessly in that battle. Do you know where he was while the soldiers were training and preparing for the attack? … He was sleeping.

She paused for a moment, as if granting her words additional weight, then continued sharply.

Atris: He woke up to fight in his nightclothes... without armor, not even a helmet.

Silence crept back, but this time it was heavier, charged with something invisible. Then, Lucas broke it, his voice low yet carrying his anger, as he muttered to himself, gritting his teeth.

Lucas, in a sharp tone: "Thousands of men died that night… and he was playing around…

He turned to Count Julian directly, his eyes narrowing with determination.

Lucas: "This is what I meant, Lord Hartley."

But his words halted suddenly when he noticed Julian's face. He wasn't listening. Instead, he was staring intently at Atris, as if her presence had stirred something deep within him.

As for her, she kept her gaze fixed forward, indifferent to the eyes watching her.

Lucas sighed and broke the tension by stepping forward, drawing closer to Julian and whispering in a low voice.

Lucas: "Her former husband… was the very man who saved my son last night, Lord Hartley."

For a moment, it seemed as if Julian had registered those words, but he didn't show any immediate reaction. He merely remained silent before replying without averting his gaze from her.

Julian, with cold sarcasm: "You said it yourself...'former'…"

Lucas didn't comment, nor did he wait for a response. He simply continued on his way, uninterested in whatever remained of the unspoken conversation.

Meanwhile, Aqua stood beside Raymond, watching him with a curious gaze before asking in a calm, unassuming tone.

Aqua: "How are you? I haven't seen you since the end of the battle."

Raymond didn't turn to him. He merely whispered in a trembling voice, as if forcing the words out.

Raymond: "I'm not okay."

Then, without warning, he moved away quickly, heading toward the cliff's edge.

Raymond: "Come, let's go quickly."

A faint smile formed on Aqua's lips, not one of understanding or confusion.

Aqua: "Where to?"

But Raymond didn't answer. He simply continued along the massive rocks forming a rugged path leading to a natural arena... no fences, no boundaries, just a flat rock hanging over the ocean, resembling a dueling ground destined to be the last for anyone who set foot on it.

Aqua stood at the edge, looking down at the crashing waves below. He exhaled audibly before whispering with indifference.

Aqua: "You do know that if you fall from here, the only thing left of you will be a story to tell… don't you?"

But before he could finish his words, something flashed before his eyes... a blade rushing toward him with deadly speed. Raymond lunged forward, attacking without warning, without mercy, aiming a brutal, lethal strike straight to the heart.

Raymond: "That is… if I lose."

Aqua didn't think... he moved instantly. His body flowed like water, dodging the attack with seamless grace, but the wind from the strike sent strands of his hair flying. Raymond fixed him with burning eyes, his lips stiff with rage.

Aqua stared at him for a moment, then smiled... a clear smirk of mockery.

Aqua: "So that's it… you want to take your anger out on me?"

Raymond, shouting: Shut up and draw your sword!

Aqua didn't argue. He simply unsheathed his sword. The movement was slow, almost ritualistic. He raised it before his face, studying the blade for a moment as if greeting an old companion… then steadied his stance.

Raymond charged like a storm, moving with brutal speed, his sword cutting through the air with ferocity.

The swords clashed.

Sparks flew, the echoes of metal filled the space. Strike, evade, another strike, a swift turn, then a quick retreat.

It was a fight between two men without much difference between them… but in this moment, one was fighting to escape something inside him... while the other was merely observing.

And the observer… always had the upper hand.