The Rosen estate was a half-day's ride from Re-Estize, tucked into the gentle hills overlooking the outer farmlands. It was neither grand nor poor—a modest manor with red-tiled roofs and pale stone walls, flanked by olive groves and a small personal training ground. To Rowan, it looked like something out of a different world.
Because it was.
He had arrived the night before, soaked in sweat and dust from the march, and was given a small room near the servant's wing. The bed had a mattress. Actual stuffing. That alone made him suspicious.
He rose early the next day, nerves buzzing under his skin. No screaming sergeants. No line drills. Just the quiet hum of estate life.
Vos, the steward, greeted him at dawn with a nod and a once-over. "You eat yet?"
Rowan shook his head.
"Good. Eat fast. Then report to the yard. Captain Halrick wants to see if you can hold a sword without embarrassing yourself."
Captain Halrick was a stocky man with a face like weathered leather and a voice like a breaking branch. He watched Rowan approach with all the warmth of a meat merchant inspecting cuts.
"You're the one Lord Rosen picked out of the mud. Let's see what he's found."
Rowan squared off against a boy maybe three years older, dressed in a clean tunic and padded vest. "Donas," Halrick said, gesturing. "Show him how the house trains."
Donas stepped into the circle with the quiet confidence of someone who had trained under watchful eyes his entire life. He held his training sword in a textbook high guard, feet angled, posture straight. The boy's tunic was clean, his boots polished. By contrast, Rowan's stance was looser—lower, coiled like a spring. His borrowed blade was scuffed and slightly too long for his reach, but he gripped it like it belonged there.
Captain Halrick barked, "Begin."
Donas struck first, a fluid downward cut meant to test Rowan's guard. Rowan didn't block—he slipped left, letting the sword whistle past. Donas pivoted, impressed by the speed, and brought the sword back around in a rising arc aimed at Rowan's ribs.
Rowan caught the blade with the flat of his own, deflecting it with a heavy clang. He didn't retreat. He surged in.
His shoulder rammed into Donas's chest, breaking the older boy's balance. Rowan's follow-up slash was a tight, diagonal cut—not graceful, but brutally fast. Donas barely got his weapon up in time. Steel clanged. Sparks flew. The blow knocked Donas back, heels skidding in the dirt.
He recovered fast and tried to circle right, aiming for Rowan's blind side. But Rowan's instincts flared again. His footwork shifted mid-step—one foot planted, the other swept. A low kick took Donas's legs out from under him.
The older boy hit the ground with a grunt, sword skittering across the yard. Rowan stood over him, blade pressed lightly to his neck.
Captain Halrick raised an eyebrow. "Round one, beastling."
They circled each other again. This time, Donas didn't rush. His stance was tighter, sword lower, eyes locked on Rowan's feet. He'd learned.
Rowan moved first—a fast feint to the left, then a sweeping arc from the right. Donas stepped back, parried cleanly, and immediately lunged with a thrust toward Rowan's gut.
The point nearly connected.
Rowan twisted just in time, feeling the tip graze his shirt. He countered with a snap cut, but Donas retreated, using the full length of his blade to keep Rowan at bay.
"Better," Halrick muttered under his breath.
Rowan exhaled sharply, shifting tactics. He began testing Donas with half-steps and probing slashes. Donas met each one calmly, blocking or dodging with practiced form. But Rowan wasn't trying to hit. He was learning Donas's rhythm.
Then he broke it.
Rowan lunged in with what looked like another feint, but at the last second twisted his wrist and struck high, forcing Donas to block awkwardly. Before the swords even disengaged, Rowan's elbow snapped forward, slamming into Donas's shoulder.
Donas staggered.
Rowan pivoted, kicked the back of his opponent's knee, and swept him to the ground. In a blur of motion, he planted one foot on Donas's wrist and pressed his blade to the boy's collarbone.
Donas didn't move.
Rowan didn't speak.
Halrick called it off before the third.
"You fight like a beast cornered," he muttered. "Good instinct. Terrible discipline. That can be fixed."
Rowan nodded, sweat dripping from his brow. He didn't care about form. He wanted strength.
"You'll train with the guard squad twice daily," Halrick said. "Outside of that, Vos has orders to keep you busy. Lord Rosen doesn't like idle hands."
That afternoon, Rowan found himself helping tally supply lists with Vos.
"You're not here to be a servant," the steward said as he scribbled numbers, "but Lord Rosen wants you to understand how a house runs. Swordarms break. Brains last."
Rowan didn't reply. His focus drifted out the open window, to the guard yard below. That was where his real education was.
Vos noticed.
"You'll get your chance. Halrick's no fool. He knows talent when he sees it. But you want to get stronger fast, don't you?"
Rowan met his gaze.
"Then learn everything. Even this. Logistics, terrain, numbers, morale. A sword cuts better when the hand behind it knows when to swing."
Three days into his new life, Rowan was summoned to a private meeting with Lord Rosen.
The noble sat alone in a study of old maps and swords mounted like trophies. His expression was unreadable.
"You've made an impression," he said simply. "Even Halrick looks at you twice now."
Rowan waited.
"You have talent. More than most born into it. But talent is wasted without vision. What do you want, boy? Why accept a sword when a plow would feed you longer?"
Rowan's mind flickered to goblins, to dead eyes, to power overwhelming and unfeeling.
"To survive," he answered.
Rosen nodded slowly. "Then serve well. Learn fast. And when the time comes, we will test what you've built."
Rowan bowed.
As he left the study, a faint blue glow shimmered before his eyes.
[XP Gained: 12 XP]
[New Quest Thread: Noble's Path - Progression 1/5]