Mikkel looked directly at Kene, his expression solemn, his voice measured with practiced restraint.

  “Master Ester, it has been impressive watching your growth, your confidence, your willingness to take responsibility within your territory. Especially after the attempt on your life. I am genuinely relieved by that.” He paused, then continued more carefully. “But I fear this newfound resolve may be blinding you to the danger you would be subjecting yourself to.”

  Kene understood the concern immediately. Mikkel had been with Ester the longest, long before the regression, long before the sudden changes. While he had no formal authority to command him, Mikkel felt responsible nonetheless. In truth, no one in the room had the right to order Ester around, but that would not stop them from trying to protect him.

  And it wasn’t only a concern. To them, Ester was a liability. A Mage’s son with no battlefield experience. If something went wrong, no one wanted to shoulder the consequences of letting him walk into a raid and die. Least of all them.

  Kene wasn’t surprised by the resistance. None of them knew of his past life. None of them knew he had decades of combat experience burned into his instincts. To them, he was a noble youth playing at leadership.

  With that in mind, Kene had no intention of forcing the issue. Throwing his weight around would only fracture the trust he had built and worse, it would make the guards focus on protecting him instead of completing the mission. That would get people killed.

  He turned to Merva.

  She met his gaze, her expression conflicted. After a brief pause, she spoke.

  “Respectfully, Young Master, I must agree with Butler Mikkel. You’ve read the report, you know how unforgiving the battlefield is. Even with trained guards and mage support, we still suffered casualties.”

  She hesitated, just slightly.

  “…Young Master, while I cannot ultimately stop you, I cannot in good conscience give my blessing for your participation. You simply lack the combat experience required for volatile situations like this.”

  Kene caught it immediately. he realized.

  Mikkel nodded in agreement.

  Kene thought.

  “Your concerns are valid,” Kene said calmly. “And I will take them seriously. I am no stranger to how fragile my life is—especially after what happened earlier this week.”

  The room was quiet as he continued.

  “However, I would like to explain what I will be contributing to this second raid. And then, perhaps, we can reach a compromise.”

  He paused deliberately.

  “First,” Kene said, “the guard unit will be outfitted with enchanted equipment.”

  The reaction was immediate. Surprise rippled through the room.

  “Knight Merva,” Kene continued, “you detailed how your unit struggled to properly engage the Tier 2 variants, and how limited mage shielding forced you to rotate coverage. That problem will be addressed. You will receive improved weaponry and barrier rings.”

  Merva frowned, her tone cautious rather than dismissive.

  “Your dedication is admirable, Young Master. But emptying your coffers for this would be unwise. Enchanted equipment is extraordinarily costly. Those resources would be better invested in Greymare.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Even a Tier 1 enchanted item could cost the equivalent of several years’ wages. In his previous life, such pricing would have been absurd—but this era played by different rules.

  “I agree,” Kene said. “Which is why I won’t be commissioning the Artificers’ Guild. This will be a joint effort—myself, our mages, and our blacksmiths. The costs will be considerably lower.”

  Merva stiffened. “Young Master—”

  “You’re worried about quality,” Kene said evenly. “Because I have no formal artificing experience.”

  “…Yes.”

  “Then we begin with prototypes,” Kene replied. “If they meet your standards, we proceed with production.”

  After a long moment, Merva inclined her head.

  “As you wish.”

  “There’s more,” Kene added. “I’ve also been assisting our mages. Celiel?”

  Celiel stepped forward.

  “Under the Young Master’s guidance, we’ve restructured our spell arrays. The result is a twenty-five percent efficiency increase, along with a modest potency gain. Reduced mana consumption will significantly extend our operational endurance during the raid.”

  Merva’s interest sharpened.

  “Does this apply to lower-circle mages?”

  “It benefits them most,” Celiel replied. “Efficiency matters more when reserves are limited.”

  She bowed slightly to Kene.

  “Regardless of his participation, Master Ester has already strengthened our forces.”

  Mikkel exhaled slowly. “That still does not justify you risking your life, Young Master.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Kene met his gaze. “Then allow me to earn that right.”

  Merva studied him closely. “…Explain.”

  “I propose that Knight Merva increase my training and place me in active combat roles of her choosing—guard duty, clearing aberrant wildlife along our perimeter, escorting merchant caravans. Whatever you deem appropriate. If you judge me sufficiently competent and give your blessing, I will participate in the raid.”

  Mikkel turned to Merva, his expression unreadable. The knight commander did not answer immediately, studying Kene in silence.

  “I believe that is… reasonable,” she said at last. “Though, with all due respect, I am not convinced you can meet my standards in only a few weeks. Combat is not measured by raw power alone.”

  Very on the nose, Kene thought.

  Merva’s gaze shifted briefly to her second-in-command before returning to Kene.

  “I would also add one final condition. If you wish for my blessing, you will defeat Gorjan here in a formal duel.”

  The tall man looked down at Kene, skepticism plain on his face, but he remained silent.

  Kene turned toward Mikkel. The butler let out a slow breath, then nodded.

  “So be it, Young Master.”

  “I agree to your terms, Knight Merva,” Kene said.

  He straightened slightly.

  “That concludes this week’s meeting. We will reconvene on the same day next week. Thank you all.”

  The chairs scraped softly as everyone rose and filed out of the room.

  Kene remained seated for a moment longer.

  I have my work cut out for me, he thought.

  ***

  Three days had passed since the meeting, and while the routines remained familiar, the intensity had not. As agreed between Kene and Merva, the training had escalated. Seven full laps were now mandatory, regardless of placement. Kene didn’t mind — in fact, the standard pace was already starting to feel insufficient for proper cultivation.

  Merva hadn’t stopped there. At Kene’s own suggestion, a weighted pack had been added. Even while circulating mana through his body during the laps, the strain pushed his stamina to its limits. Some of the guards whispered that Merva was deliberately punishing him. Kene found the idea amusing, considering he’d been the one to propose it.

  The weights stayed on during strength training as well. He only removed them during breaks. In the mess hall, reactions varied — pity from some, open respect from others, and no small amount of savage delight from a few who enjoyed watching him suffer.

  Gorjan, who had attended the meeting, met his eyes and gave a short nod, gesturing to the seat beside him. Henrir and Mael occupied the rest of the table. A few guards hesitated, then quietly excused themselves under flimsy pretenses. None of them returned.

  Henrir avoided eye contact entirely, staring at his tray as though it might leap at him.

  “Young Master—” someone muttered. Gorjan’s voice was the loudest.

  “It’s good to see you again, Gorjan,” Kene said, breaking the tension. “I don’t think we’ve spoken since the meeting.”

  “Aye,” Gorjan replied. “It’s good to see you holding to your word, training so diligently.”

  “That means a lot,” Kene said. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask.”

  The table stiffened. He felt it immediately.

  “I noticed people seem… uneasy around me. I don’t recall interacting with most of the guards before this week. Have I done something I’m unaware of?”

  Gorjan cleared his throat, brows drawing together. The man was built like a smaller version of Quach — still massive enough that the awkwardness of the expression almost looked comical.

  “It’s about the assassination attempt,” Gorjan said carefully. “It happened on our watch. Worse — the infiltrator was one of ours. Many are afraid you’ll hold it against us.”

  Henrir finally spoke, his tone sharp. “Nobles and mages have a habit of making examples of commoners.”

  “I’ve already discussed the matter with Knight Merva,” Kene said evenly. “I don’t blame any of you.”

  The tension eased. Shoulders lowered. Conversation resumed in low murmurs — all except Henrir, who remained unconvinced.

  “That’s fine,” Kene thought.

  “Regardless,” Kene added, “you’ll all have the chance to prove yourselves during the raid.”

  Gorjan nodded grimly.

  Whispers rippled outward through the hall.

  “So the rumours are true—”

  “We’re going back there?”

  “No way the young lord convinced Great Mage Alton—”

  “Shut up—”

  Kene thought, glancing at Gorjan’s sheepish expression.

  The bell rang, ending the break.

  “It was good speaking with you,” Kene said, standing. “Let’s continue this tomorrow.”

  “You too, Young Master,” Gorjan replied.

  ***

  Kene practiced the spear drills, the muscle memory from his past life slowly returning to him. With each repetition, his movements grew sharper, more economical. He was becoming deadlier — not through strength, but precision.

  He was no martial master like Quach or Hiro. His training had been compulsory at the mage tower, and once he had surpassed the average standard, it had largely stopped. Well… above average by Golden Era standards, at least. So far, nothing he had seen during the spars stood out — but that was to be expected.

  There was no enforcer culture yet. Battle arts had not been refined or systematized. Compared to the average enforcer of the Golden Era, Kene was still little more than an amateur. In this era, however, he would likely be considered .

  That raised the real question: how much should he show?

  If he held back too much, neither the men nor Merva would take him seriously enough to include him in the raid. But revealing too much carried its own risks. He needed a balance — enough to establish credibility, not enough to invite scrutiny.

  Twenty minutes later, as agreed, Kene was allowed to remain for sparring practice.

  “Everyone, line up!” Knight Merva commanded.

  “We’ll proceed as usual. Since Master Ester is joining us today, we have an odd number. To compensate, one of you will spar with me.”

  She began calling out the pairs. Four matches would run at a time while the others observed.

  One of the guards, Jenna, was assigned to Merva. She was fast and nimble, her footwork clean, but the gap in skill was obvious. After a brief exchange to read her patterns, Merva dismantled her with clinical efficiency.

  Kene thought. ‘Then he paused.

  ‘

  The next set of names was called. Gorjan and Henrir stepped forward.

  As expected, Gorjan fought with overwhelming power. His thrusts were well-leveraged, his footwork surprisingly nimble for his build. Henrir, on the other hand, was a far trickier opponent, always angling for counters, redirecting Gorjan’s momentum instead of contesting it outright.

  But Henrir lacked patience.

  In one exchange, he overcommitted.

  Gorjan seized the opening instantly and ended the bout.

  Kene noted.

  The following matches passed without anything particularly noteworthy. Then another batch. And then—

  “Ester Flamebearer”

  He stepped into the marked circle, spear in hand. He felt the weight of attention settle on him, Merva’s gaze included and deliberately pushed the sensation aside.

  The man facing him had messy hair and a lifeless expression, as though permanently disinterested in the world around him. Kene had already learned that this wasn’t hostility; that was simply how the man looked.

  “What’s your name?” Kene asked, settling into his stance.

  “Ayre, Young Master,” the man replied quietly.

  “It’s good to meet you, Ayre.”

  Ayre mirrored his stance, grip firm but relaxed.

  “Commence when you’re ready,” Merva called out.

  No further words were needed.

  Both lunged forward at the same instant.