"Lucien?"
I turned my head.
A boy stood a few steps away.
Seventeen at most.
Brown hair fell messily over his forehead, his eyes sharp despite the plain clothes he wore.
His build was average, but he carried himself with ease.
He pointed a finger at me.
"You... Are you Lucien Ashspire?"
The name made me flinch.
'Ashspire.'
I hated hearing it.
Not because it was false, but because of them.
Anton and Favian.
They had turned it into a burden.
My jaw tightened before I answered.
"Yes."
His eyes narrowed slightly, lips twitching.
"You look like shit."
I blinked, caught off guard by his remark.
He wasn't done.
Covering his nose, he spoke again.
"And you smell like shit."
My mouth opened in disbelief before words finally came out.
"What?"
He tilted his head, smiling as he studied me.
"Your clothes are torn, your hair's a mess, and you smell like the ship that brought you. You look less like a noble and more like a beggar."
I frowned.
I pulled out my Whisper and channeled mana into it.
A silver screen shimmered to life above the sphere.
I tapped it twice, and the glow shifted into a reflection of my face.
My tunic was frayed, my coat blackened with dirt. Blond hair tangled and darkened by grime.
He was right.
The journey had made me look more like a beggar than a noble.
A bitter laugh slipped out as I dimmed the screen and slid the Whisper back into my coat.
"Yeah. I need a bath."
My gaze shifted back to him.
"Did Master Swert send you?"
He nodded, lips curling into a half-smile.
"Yes. I was told to meet you here and bring you along. The name's Sam."
He extended his hand.
I took it.
His grip was firm, rougher than mine.
"Lucien."
He grinned as he let go.
"I know. Come on, follow me."
He turned around and walked into the stream of people.
I followed after a breath.
The streets pressed close, lined with shops and stalls.
Men shouted prices over bolts of cloth, women haggled over baskets of fruit.
My eyes darted from face to face.
People were everywhere.
'Strange. In Ashspire, most walked with their heads lowered. Here, they looked forward.'
Sam glanced back, smiling.
"First time in the Center?"
I nodded.
He stepped around a porter carrying a crate, talking as he moved.
"There are five islands and four cities. Brassport, Ironward, Karnexus, and Toran. We are now on the eastern island, and if you ask me, the best of them all. City of innovation. Academies, labs, towers, and all that. Quite nice."
He paused as we turned a corner.
"Toran doesn't belong to any king or noble. The Center governs itself."
The words rang with pride.
I had read about it.
The Center.
The continent was directly in the middle of the world, surrounded by all other continents.
A continent with five islands connected by bridges.
Four cities, and the ancient ruins on the middle isle.
Sam kept leading me through the market until we reached the living district.
The houses towered over us.
Each had at least two floors, most even more.
Their stone facades were painted in bright colors.
As we walked, I glanced through the windows.
Families lived there.
They looked...happy.
Sam's voice pulled me forward.
"There."
He pointed ahead.
Near the end of the street stood a three-story building.
The stone was stained, and the roof tiles faded.
A sign swung above the door, with one chain broken, making it hang crooked.
[Swert School]
Compared to the shining towers I had seen from the sea, it looked shabby.
I asked, disappointment slipping into my voice.
"That's it?"
Sam grinned as we drew closer.
He stopped in front of the building, spreading his arms wide in mock grandeur.
"Welcome to Swert School."
I stared at him, lips twitching at his showmanship, but I held back a laugh.
His grin faltered.
He turned and muttered under his breath.
"Tough crowd."
He pushed the door open and waved me in.
"Come in."
I followed after Sam.
Inside was a dining hall.
To the left stood scattered tables, their surfaces worn down from years of use.
A bar counter stretched along the right wall, the faint clatter of dishes echoing from the kitchen behind it.
Ahead rose a staircase, a few steps cracked and broken.
Beside it stretched a corridor lined with doors, an old door waiting at its far end.
The smell of old wood and cooking broth drifted through the hall.
Sam turned, gesturing toward a chair.
"Wait here while I fetch Master."
Then he headed down the corridor.
I didn't sit.
I stayed standing, eyes following his back until he reached the far door.
He swung the door open and walked out.
For a moment, I glimpsed the garden beyond.
Trees swaying faintly in the background.
"Master, I'm back! And I brought the boy you mentioned!"
His voice rang for a moment.
Then—
Thud.
The door shut.
Silence settled.
My thoughts drifted back to Master Swert and the letter that had brought me here as I waited.
I had met him only once, after a youth tournament for swordsmen.
He spoke to me after my fight.
Told me I had talent, that he would send a letter.
Later that day, our estate knights told me of his identity.
Bertram Swert.
The renowned warrior from the Center.
A man who had created his own weapon art and forged his own path to stand amongst the finest warriors of the world.
I never imagined I would stand here, in Toran, accepting his proposal.
'But here I stand…'
Adonis.
Theodora.
Mother.
The ones I swore to protect.
'For them.'
The door creaked open.
Sam stepped in first, his voice following.
"Master, I'd advise you to check his ID. You said he was a noble, but he looks more like a begg—"
My jaw tightened.
Sam stopped mid-sentence, grinning shamelessly as he caught my expression.
He walked toward me, but heavier steps followed him.
The door swung wider.
Even before I saw him, I felt it.
A pressure descended over me.
My chest tightened.
Drops of sweat ran down my neck.
The air felt suffocating.
Then—
Step.
He appeared.
Bertram Swert.
His frame filled the doorway as he entered with slow, measured steps.
He looked no older than thirty.
Brown, unruly long hair, sharp features, a lean frame with no wasted muscle.
But I knew the truth.
He was well past sixty, his body renewed by reconstruction.
Sam stopped a few steps away from me.
Swert closed the distance, his gaze sweeping the hall before fixing on me.
His voice rumbled low, edged with annoyance.
"Sam, how many times have I told you not to drag beggars into my school? I admire your charity, but this isn't a shelter."