Chapter 9: The makings of a servant

*Kiro's POV*

“Have you packed everything, boy?” Father’s deep voice rumbled through the house.

“Yes, Father,” I muttered, double-checking my small satchel. A few books to read on the journey, and my rapier he had given me back. Not much else.

“Don’t forget the socks I put in,” Mother chimed from the corner, holding up a bundle wrapped neatly in cloth. “And this should last you a week.”

Her hands were quick, tucking folded shirts into the bag before I could protest. Then her eyes narrowed mischievously. “Ah, and here’s your underwear. I still remember when you wore diapers—”

“Mother!” My face turned bright red.

Father chuckled from his seat, polishing the hilt of his old rapier. “Back in my time, we didn’t even have cloth diapers. We used cured animal hide.”

I gagged. “That’s disgusting! ”

“Tch! You and your generation, that's why you're all so soft.” He shrugged, grinning like he’d just scored a point in sparring.

I buried my face in my hands while Mother giggled, clearly enjoying the scene.

The following morning, we set off. I sat on the edge of the wagon, legs dangling as the wheels creaked over the dirt road. The sky was a fresh, endless blue, dotted with drifting clouds.

The horse trotted steadily, manes gleaming in the sunlight. I leaned forward, curious. “Father, where did you get the horse? It looks amazing for a transport horse.”

Father’s expression softened. “That’s Brenda. My warhorse. She served me faithfully for decades, but I couldn’t bring her home until she was free to retire.”

“That's awesome.” I was in awe.

Brenda snorted happily and tossed her head, as if acknowledging my praise.

“She said thank you,” Father explained with a grin.

Mother reached forward to brush Brenda's mane, Brenda clicked her tongue. Mother pouted, puffing out her cheeks like a child.

“And I’ve been with her master for fifteen years, yet she still clicks her tongue at me! How rude.”

Father only shrugged again. “Your hunting dog acts the same way.”

I blinked, leaning forward. “Wait—you have a hunting dog, Mother?”

Her smile turned fond. “Of course. He’s been with me since childhood. He’s probably older than your father.”

“Older than—?!” My eyes widen. “Can a dog really live that long?”

“It seems I should teach you about familiars now,” Mother said gently. Showing me the back of her right hand, all of a sudden a crest appeared and light emanated from it. “This is a summoning crest. If a pet is bound with a familiar crest, the bond ties their lifespans together. The weaker of the two species inherits the strength of the other. It’s a blessing”

"Wait so Father can run like a horse?" I was kinda intrigued.

"What I inherited from Brenda is her stamina and strength, in terms of speed, I haven't lost to her in a quick dash"  he said proudly and Brenda just gave him a look. "But by only activating the crest will it give you power, since it constantly drains energy from you" he followed up.

"Yes, and it's also a double-edged sword, since it could also share feelings of anxiety, fear, and loneliness between the the two linked together" my mother lectured.

I swallowed hard, picturing a loyal dog sharing not just joy, but grief. “That sounds… dangerous.”

“It can be,” she admitted, her hand tightening on her lap. “That’s why I worry for him. We haven’t seen each other since you were born, my family had him left behind, as his crest is also an assurance that I'm alive and well”

Her words hung in the air, heavier than the rumble of wheels. Even Brenda lowered her head slightly, as if listening.

After a two-day trip, we finally arrived at the gates of the capital. We had passed a few villages along the way, but Father always made us camp outside, saying it was better to practice “real camping techniques” than to rely on an inn.

The capital was unlike anything I had ever seen. Tall stone walls embraced the city, their surfaces draped with vines waiting to bloom. Inside, the streets were alive with preparations—merchants unloading crates, children running with arms full of ribbons, and men hammering together wooden stalls. In the central plaza, garlands of flowers were strung between lampposts, though most of them hadn’t yet blossomed. It seemed like an unfinished beauty, like a painting still waiting for its colors.

Mother leaned over the side of the wagon, smiling. “It’s the Festival of Romance. A sacred time for—”

“It’s the day your mother confessed her feelings to me!” Father cut her off with a grin, his tone full of bravado.

Mother’s eyes narrowed before she pinched his ear sharply. “And who exactly confessed to whom, hmm? Men always rewrite history once they’re married!”

“Ow—ow! Have mercy!” Father yelped, which only made passersby chuckle.

I laughed along, though my gaze lingered on the unopened buds swaying above. Strange… a festival of romance, yet none of the flowers have bloomed.

Our wagon rolled to a stop before a massive gate. Two guards stood on either side, halberds crossed.

“State your name and business.”

Father hopped down, pulling out a crest. It was an eagle, plated with platinum, small, but it was elegant and noble looking.

“Jargo Lifesworn,” he said, steady as a stone. “Newly appointed captain of the Duke’s private army, and newly appointed personal guard.”

The guard stiffened, then called another soldier over, who ran through the gates. Minutes later he returned, breathless but saluting. “The duke has confirmed your identity. You and your family may enter. Forgive the delay, Duelist.”

So they recognized Father, but still asked for identification, I want guards like that for my house in the future.

The gates creaked open, and we were guided inside.

The mansion grounds weren’t what I expected—they were more. The path ahead was lined with white stone bricks, clean and even, with trimmed hedges on either side. At the center, a huge fountain shone under the moonlight, its water glistening like scattered jewels. A pair of gryphon statues guarded the basin, wings stretched as though ready to leap into the sky. The fountain stole my eyes for longer than I’d like to admit.

Past it stood the Duke’s mansion, its silhouette sharp against the night sky. The doors were tall, made of polished wood with golden handles that reflected the torchlight. It wasn’t just a house—it was a statement.

Inside, the marble floor reflected light from the chandeliers above. It was a little slippery, and I caught myself staring up at the staircase splitting into two grand paths, each leading to opposite wings of the house. In between hung a massive portrait of the Nirvoro family, each face so vivid it almost looked like they’d step out of the frame.

“Welcome.”

At the top of the stairs stood the Duke, tall and broad-shouldered, with a calm but commanding voice. His wife held onto his arm, graceful in every motion, and from behind her skirts I saw the faint outline of a child hiding.

Father bowed deeply. Mother did too. I followed suit.

“At ease,” the Duke said, lifting his hand. “No need for ceremony—we are comrades now.”

“Courtesy never hurt, Your Grace,” Father replied with a faint smile.

The Duke chuckled, then looked toward Mother. “And this must be Melinda, the famed healer.”

Mother groaned, crossing her arms. “Don’t remind me of that. Besides, your wife has talent of her own.”

The Duchess chuckled softly. “Not nearly so legendary.” The two exchanged an understanding glance.

Then the Duke’s gaze turned to me. “And here is the successor to the Duelist of the Kingdom.”

I bowed again. “Kiro Lifesworn, at your service.”

“Jeric Nirvoro grand Duke of the kingdom of Astailis” he said. And gently pointed to his wife.

"Gladys Nirvoro, grand Duchess of the house Nirvoro" She nudged her daughter gently forward.

The girl peeked out just long enough for our eyes to meet and I waved at her before darting back behind her mother. The ducchess sighed apologetically. “She used to be much more open. Now she’s terribly shy of people. Her name is Eudia Nirvoro. Second daughter of house Nirvoro, unfortunately, our eldest is in an expedition for the Academy.” she explained, as her voice proceeded to mumble in my head, so much explanation, it's not like I'm planning to work here.

Eudia… what happened to her?

The ducchess straightened. “From now on, she will be the one you serve.”

My jaw almost hit the marble floor. “P–Pardon?”

Father rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Did we forget to mention that?”

The Duke pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. Almost face palming at my Father. Mother gave the most awkward laugh I’d ever heard.

The ducchess quickly cut through the silence with a smile. “It’s late. Let us continue this over dinner. Come—the food will grow cold.”

The dining hall was large but warm, with a long oak table lit by rows of candelabras. Silverware gleamed neatly at each seat, and beyond the tall glass windows, the garden lanterns glowed like little stars. It wasn’t overbearing like the fountain or the crest—but it was enough to remind me this wasn’t just another house.

The Duchess motioned us to sit.

“Please, join us for dinner tonight,” she said with a smile.

Father raised his hand politely. “It isn’t proper courtesy for servants to dine with their masters.”

“Nonsense,” the Duke said, waving him off. “You don’t start until tomorrow. Don’t turn down our hospitality, old friends.” His grin was both welcoming and commanding.

We sat. Plates were filled by nimble-handed maids—roast meats, soups, vegetables, and a variety of breads. The first bite nearly made me choke; not because it was bad, but because I wasn’t used to such refinement.

The potatoes, though… bland. The meat? Tender but a little too gamey. I swallowed, and suddenly I wasn’t in the Nirvoro dining hall anymore. I was back home in my old world, standing by the stove, mashing potatoes and pan-searing steak whenever I had a bonus. I could almost smell the pepper and butter, hear Old Man Totsu grumble that I’d overcooked it, and see Miya sneaking bites before the plate even hit the table.

My chest tightened. Tears welled.

Mother noticed first. “Kiro? What’s wrong? Is it the food?”

I quickly shook my head, dabbing my eyes. “No, Mother. Something… just caught my eye, that’s all.”

The Duke tilted his head at me.

I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “What did you mean about becoming a… butler?”

Father cleared his throat, setting down his fork. “Kiro, right now the safest place in the capital is either the Duke's estate or the Royal Castle. That’s why I accepted the Duke’s offer to become his personal guard.”

I blinked. “But… what does that have to do with me and Mother?”

Father’s face grew firm. “The war grows fiercer. Our enemies have allied with another country, and every man who can wield a sword—so long as he is not an only child—must train and prepare to march. Young or old.”

My hand clenched on the napkin.

Father’s voice lowered. “And since your mother is with child, you were to be sent to the front once you came of age. But by serving the Nirvoros, you are exempt. The nobles must also be protected.”

So those in power stay protected?

It felt like Father read my thoughts, he smiled a little and continued saying "His majesty King Astailis IV is also joining the front as the commander-in-chief of the army"

I froze. The king… protecting his people instead of hiding behind walls?

Father smiled faintly. “King Astailis IV himself leads from the front. Alongside me. Alongside Jerix.” He gestured to the Duke at the table. “That alone has raised morale to heights never seen before”

Mother smirked. “Those three have been inseparable since the Academy. Best of friends.”

I stared at Father, astonished. The King himself… Father’s old comrade? If I ever reach the castle… maybe, just maybe, I can find a way home.

The Duchess joined in the laughter, teasing Mother. “Oh, Melinda was cold back then. Always on her guard, glaring at anyone who dared approach. Who knew she’d soften into such a doting wife?”

Mother flushed red. “Gladys! Please—”

The table filled with laughter and fond memories until the last course was cleared.

The Duchess clapped her hands lightly. “Head maid, show our guests to their quarters.”

But Father stopped her. “If I may, I would like to spend the night with my wife and son? Tomorrow I leave for the front.”

The Duke’s expression softened. “Of course"

The quarters were warm, lined with simple lamps. Mother fell asleep almost instantly, hand resting on her belly.

My Father nudged me to go outside with him "Let's burn some of that dinner, shall we?" 

We went towards the grounds, wide enough for a duel.

I reached for the wooden practice blade.

“Not that,” Father said quietly. He tossed me my steel rapier.

I caught it. “You’re serious?”

His eyes never left mine as he drew his dulled steel. “Fight me like you'll kill me.” I was stunned for a bit, but I understood. He wasn't playing around.

The courtyard was silent except for the fountain’s trickle. Moonlight gleamed along our blades. We squared off. Father didn’t speak, didn’t taunt—just pressed forward.

The first thrust came lightning-fast. I angled my wrist, catching his blade aside. Another followed, high to my shoulder, then low at my thigh. His footwork was measured, each step closing the gap like a predator stalking prey.

I kept him at distance, retreating, sweat dripping down my temple. Something was wrong. Normally he would’ve teased, laughed, corrected my stance. Tonight, he gave me nothing. Just silence.

His pace quickened. Steel blurred. A cut at my ribs, a thrust to my stomach, a slash meant to draw out my defense. My arm burned as I blocked, boots scraping against stone.

I needed to break his rhythm.

I shifted into the Lakoran stance, weight forward, tip aimed low. Then—I stabbed. A sharp, committed thrust at his side. But before the blade landed, I snapped my wrist, pulling back and angling high. A feint.

His rapier moved to meet it instantly. He’d seen through the trick. Too slow, his silence seemed to say that. His counter came like a storm.

Steel whistled. A flurry of precise strikes hammered my guard. Each impact rattled up my arms, driving me backward. Step, block, retreat—again and again. My breathing turned ragged.

Then came the killing blow. His point darted straight for my throat, the same checkmate he had ended me with before.

But this time, I was anticipating it.

I braced, my left foot sliding back to anchor. His thrust streaked forward—my blade snapped up, deflecting the strike clean aside with a sharp clang.

The motion flowed into the next. My grip shifted, my stance turned. Steel whirled into a counter riposte aimed at his neck.

For a fraction of a second, his eyes widened. Then his rapier rose like lightning, catching mine in a brutal parry. The force slammed through my arm. My calluses tore against the hilt, pain searing across my palm. Blood slicked my grip—my weapon flew from my hand and clattered onto the stone.

I staggered, clutching my hand.

Father finally broke his silence, voice low. “…Atta boy.”

He sheathed his blade and strode to me, pulling a handkerchief and pressing it firmly against my palm. His eyes were heavy, serious. “You anticipated me. And parried at the proper time, you've grown.”

I wanted to speak, but his grip tightened on my bleeding hand. His next words weighed more than any strike.

“Kiro. Protect your mother. Protect your sibling. But if it comes to it… leave her. Leave Melinda behind.”

I stuttered. “F-Father, I—”

“No.” His tone was iron. “Since the day you were born, we’ve been prepared to lay down our life for you. A parent would rather be buried than bury their child.”

The words carved into me deeper than his blade ever could.

“Do you understand?”

I wanted to argue. Everything in me wanted to. But at last, I hesitantly nodded. “…Yes.”

He smiled faintly, ruffling my hair with his calloused hand. “That’s my boy. Now go and rest.”

As I lay down later, my hand still throbbing, Father’s words echoed in my mind. If I wanted to see Miya again… I had to live.

No matter what.

Morning came, and the courtyard was alive with movement that morning—soldiers double-checking their gear, servants loading provisions onto carriages, the creak of wheels and the restless snort of horses filling the air. My father stood tall in the middle of it all, straightening his cloak, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his rapier.

Then, with that familiar grin of his, he leaned toward Mother and puckered his lips in a ridiculous display. “One last kiss for luck?”

Mother rolled her eyes, muttering, “Honestly…” Yet she stepped closer, wrapped her arms on his shoulder, and whispered, “Come home to me. Immediately.” She pulled him down into a kiss—steady, tender, enough to hush everybody surrounding them, it was as if she didn't care we were there.

The Duke, of course, couldn’t let it pass. He puffed his cheeks and leaned toward the Duchess with exaggeratedly puckered lips, mimicking Father’s stunt.

“Really now,” the Duchess said with a laugh, shaking her head. But instead of scolding, she embraced her husband tightly, rose up on her toes, and kissed him firmly on the lips. “Come back safely.”

That was more than enough for me. My face burned, and I turned away, pretending to fiddle with the strap on my boots. A quick glance showed Eudia whipping her head aside too, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. We didn’t need to say a word—we both knew our parents were unbearable sometimes.

Our fathers noticed our reactions, of course, and roared with laughter, their voices echoing across the courtyard.

The Duke then knelt down, his heavy cloak draping onto the cobblestones as his daughter flung herself into his arms. She clung to him tightly. “When will you be back?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He smiled gently, brushing her hair back. “Before you can even blink.”

Eudia blinked so many times in a split second, her eyes squeezing shut and open like she could force time to move faster. It was so earnest, that everyone smiled looking at them, like it was the warmest thing they had witnessed.

The Duke lifted her high for one last carry, kissed her on the cheek, His gaze looked down on me, and though he still smiled, there was a weight behind it. “Take care of my little one.” 

I stepped forward and bowed, placing a hand to my chest. “With my everything.” then set her gently back on her feet.

He nodded once, satisfied, and turned back toward the waiting carriage.

Father came over next, crouching down to ruffle my hair. “Don’t cry now”

I laughed. “I wasn’t planning to.”

He gave me that rare, softer smile. “Remember our promise.”

I met his eyes and nodded firmly. "I will"

Mother, curious, tilted her head. “What promise?”

“An oath between men,” Father said, straightening with a smirk.

With that, the Duke and Father boarded the carriage. The gates of the estate creaked open, and everyone stood watching as the wagon rolled through. Slowly, the golden bars swung shut behind them, separating us from the two men heading to war.

Eudia’s composure broke. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as sobs wracked her small frame. The Duchess knelt, wrapping her arms around her daughter, turning her around to face her and stroking her hair and whispering, “He’ll be back before you know it. So be strong for your Father, okay?”

Her cries softened into sniffles. She nodded, though her eyes stayed red.

As the crowd of servants and retainers began to disperse back into the estate, Eudia lingered, her steps faltering. I slowed to walk beside her, trying to catch her eye. “Come on. Let’s go in together.”

But she darted past me, running to cling onto the outer layers of her mother’s dress instead. I let out a quiet sigh, watching her small back retreat. This is going to be harder than I thought.