Chapter 29—Steel Tempered

The twenty-ninth dawn since the summons found Raiden in the training grounds once again. Mist clung to the flagstones, though not as heavily as it had on that first morning. The square walls and open sky felt less like a gallows and more like an anvil now, each blow of training having reshaped him bit by bit.

Liana’s projectiles blazed toward him—jets of flame, shards of ice, compressed air that cracked the stones. Raiden ducked, twisted, rolled, each movement sharper, more decisive than the last. His chest still burned with effort, his tunic plastered to him, but his feet no longer stumbled as they once had.

The final strike was a sudden column of earth erupting beneath his heels. He leapt aside, too late—stone grazed his hip and sent him sprawling. He rolled to his knees, sword in hand, gasping.

“Better,” Liana said, lowering her staff. “Not enough to win. But better.”

Raiden grimaced through his ragged breath, then gave a small nod. Better was enough for now.

From the sidelines, Randall whistled low. “You’re not half-dead after a round with her. That’s practically a miracle.”

“Quarter-dead,” Raiden rasped.

“Don’t get cocky,” Ophelin said sharply, though her eyes betrayed relief.

It was then that Randall’s gaze shifted past the field. He straightened. “We’ve got company.”

At the edge of the training ground, cloaked in travel dust but unmistakable in presence, stood Einfried.

The knight walked forward slowly, surveying the scene. His pale eyes narrowed as Raiden staggered upright, still catching his breath, yet with more steadiness than the man had expected. He looked to Liana, then to the circle of friends gathered by the bench.

“Who taught him to last that long?” Einfried asked, voice low, almost incredulous.

Ophelin answered before anyone else. “She did.” Her chin inclined toward Liana.

Einfried’s brows rose. “Truly?”

“I half-expected her to laugh off the task,” he said, surprised. “Or to toy with him at best. But it seems she took it to heart.”

The knight’s gaze lingered on Raiden, then shifted as footsteps approached from the opposite end. Ledios Arkantez strode into the field, followed by his sister Halia and brother Rudo. Their presence lent a certain weight; three scions of Arkantez standing witness to the boy who would face Barowen.

Einfried addressed Rudo first. “First time you’ve seen your cousin train?”

Rudo’s arms were folded, his face unreadable. “I wanted to picture tomorrow’s result.”

A hush fell over the field at the words. Tomorrow. The duel was no longer a distant specter. It was the next sunrise.

The spar ended, and Raiden leaned heavily on his knees, sweat dripping from his jaw. His lungs burned, but the exhaustion was not the collapse of a month ago—it was tempered, trained. He could still stand. That, in itself, was victory.

When he straightened at last, he noticed Einfried among the onlookers. Their eyes met. Raiden tried to bow, but his body only managed a half-dip.

Liana approached the knight, tugging her gloves free. “My job is finished. Our bet is square.”

A ripple of surprise ran through the listeners. Randall blinked. “Bet?”

Liana smirked. “Einfried thought I couldn’t be bothered to train him seriously. I proved him wrong.”

Even Ophelin looked taken aback. “You did all this… because of a bet?”

Liana tilted her head. “Because I was asked to. And because he’s interesting.” Her eyes flicked once toward Raiden, unreadable, before she turned.

Einfried stepped forward. “What made you take it seriously?”

“Because he needed it,” she said simply. “And because… I wanted to see what he would become.”

Then, without ceremony, she swept from the field. Her staff clicked against the stone, the wide brim of her hat bobbing until she vanished beyond the wall.

Conversations broke into smaller circles once she left.

Raiden slumped on the bench, Randall handing him a waterskin while Tadari muttered critiques about wasted footwork.

“You still drop your shoulder when you turn,” Tadari said. “Fix that, or Garid will gut you.”

Randall snorted. “Give him a minute to breathe, drillmaster.”

“Garid won’t give him a minute.”

Halia, sitting nearby, wrung her hands. “You’ll kill him before the duel at this rate.”

Her worry was so earnest that Randall chuckled. “Careful, Raiden. She’s starting to sound like your mother.”

Ophelin actually laughed, sharp and short.

Meanwhile, Einfried had drawn Ledios and Rudo aside. Their words carried, low but distinct:

“Security will be tight,” Ledios said. “Barowen won’t have free rein.”

“We’ll bring enough guards to sweep the grounds,” Einfried added. “No interference. No sabotage.”

“Still,” Rudo murmured, “Garid doesn’t need sabotage to win.”

Silence met his words, heavy as lead.

Later, Ophelin tapped her stick against the bench, drawing Raiden’s attention.

“My leg’s healed,” she said bluntly.

Raiden blinked. “What?”

“Three, maybe four days ago. I jogged here this morning.” She flexed it to prove the point. “Faster than the healers predicted. I’ve started training my left hand, but…” She squeezed her right fist. “The grip’s coming back too.”

Randall let out a low whistle. “You’re full of surprises.”

Ophelin only shrugged, though her eyes flickered briefly toward Raiden. A thought unspoken lingered between them: Why? How?

He said nothing. Neither did she.

By afternoon, the group dispersed. Raiden left with the Arkantez trio, exhaustion in his limbs but a restless fire in his chest. Tomorrow was no longer a far-off trial. Tomorrow was the cliff edge.

That evening, elsewhere in the Academy’s sprawling gardens, a hut stood among the culture plots—sheds for students who studied magical flora. Within one of them, a lamp burned low, illuminating three figures.

Liana entered first, casting off her hat with a sigh. Waiting for her were two girls.

One was Lynda, who smiled as she rose.

The other was younger, nearer Raiden’s age, her presence quiet but commanding. Shadows cloaked her features, but her voice was soft when she asked, “How went his training?”

Liana’s mouth curved wryly. “Earned my graduation approval with flying colors.”

Lynda’s face lit with relief, as though it were cause for celebration. But the younger girl only smiled faintly, calm and certain. “I expected no less.”

Liana rested against the table, arms folded. “I only hope it’s enough for what he faces tomorrow.”

Lynda echoed her, voice hushed. “I hope so too.”

The mystery girl looked at them both, her gaze steady, almost luminous in the lamplight. “It will be. He will endure.”

The words settled in the air like a quiet benediction.

And so, the month of sweat and pain, of bruises and lessons, drew to its close. The training ground that had once felt like judgment now stood empty in the evening air. Tomorrow, no practice would be waged there—only truth.

The duel awaited.

And Raiden would walk into it carrying not only his sword, but the weight of every hour endured, every bruise borne, every hand that had lifted him to his feet.

The hour of reckoning was fast approaching.