Two months had passed since the victory against the invaders. The Empire breathed again — but it was a tense breath, as if everyone knew nothing was truly resolved.

  Lukas spent his nights in silence, sitting atop the rebuilt walls, staring at the horizon where once stood the towers of the Capital of Sorriso. Even surrounded by banners of victory, he felt nothing but emptiness.

  Inside, every memory weighed on him like an anchor. The fire. The dragon’s roar. His father’s body, standing tall and lifeless with a hole in his chest.

  When the sun rose, he walked down alone, heavy steps carrying him to the training yard inside the fortress.

  He had decided he would remain there until he learned to fight like a true warrior — not just an animal fueled by rage. Even if it meant swallowing his pride.

  Luiz, of the Cups, was already waiting. He leaned against a stone pillar, short sword resting on his shoulder as if it were nothing more than routine.

  Behind him, half a dozen veterans observed in silence. They had fought on the same fields where Lukas earned his name, but here, no one seemed to care about the fame of the Blood Demon.

  — So you finally decided to show up, Luiz said flatly. — I thought you’d spend another night haunting the walls.

  Lukas lifted his chin. His heart pounded, but his voice was steady.

  — I came because I won’t die without learning to fight properly.

  — Then come. Luiz lowered the sword, pointing it at him. — Show me what you’ve got.

  The yard was cold as steel. Dawn painted the walls gray. Lukas drew a deep breath, clenched his teeth — and charged.

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  His blade cut through the air, fueled by brute strength — and fury.

  Luiz shifted a single step aside, letting the strike fall into emptiness. His fist rose and slammed into Lukas’ diaphragm.

  The world turned white. Air fled his lungs in a desperate gasp. Lukas fell to his knees, bile rising in his throat.

  — That’s it? Luiz murmured. — Three years killing barbarians and you don’t even know how to keep your stance?

  Lukas tried to rise. His arm failed. His body trembled.

  — I... I killed kings... he growled. — I—

  — You killed kings who didn’t know how to wield a sword. Luiz stepped forward and kicked him aside, sending him sprawling again. — Show me something real.

  Lukas clenched his teeth. He hated that calm tone. He hated the condescension. He hated knowing Luiz was right.

  He rolled on the ground, dragging his short sword upward.

  Luiz shifted just half a step — enough to evade — and drove his boot into Lukas’ chest.

  A crack. Air slipped away like water through his fingers.

  Lukas hit the ground, his sword clattering from his grip.

  — This “style” of yours... Luiz’s voice dripped with disdain. — It isn’t a style. It’s just anger wrapped in muscle. Trash.

  — Don’t you dare... Lukas spat blood, his jaw trembling. — Don’t you dare call my path trash...

  — Your path will lead you to death. Luiz pointed his sword at him. — And it will drag down anyone who fights by your side. Want me to say it again? Until you draw my blood, I won’t recognize anything you do.

  Lukas tried to rise. His legs failed. The world spun with black spots.

  — If you want to survive, Luiz said, — join my squad. I’ll teach you the techniques of the Cups. You’ll learn to fight like a man, not a beast. But if you join, forget about leading your own unit. You’ll be a soldier. Nothing more.

  Silence lingered. The cold wind sliced skin like a blade. The veterans exchanged uneasy looks, but none dared speak.

  Lukas raised his head, humiliation burning in his eyes.

  — Never, he whispered. — I’ll create my own techniques. He spat blood. — And when I defeat you, you’ll swallow every word.

  For an instant, Luiz’s lips curved in something that resembled pity.

  — With that trash?

  His sword lowered slowly, its tip brushing Lukas’ chest.

  — Then come. Prove me wrong.

  Lukas roared. He leapt with all the strength left in him. His blade cut the air — and struck nothing.

  Luiz slid aside, turned his body, and slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of Lukas’ neck.

  A flash.

  Darkness.

  When He Awoke

  He lay on the cold floor. His head throbbed. His chest burned.

  Luiz crouched beside him, voice low:

  — Cruel, yes. Because I’d rather see you humiliated here than dead to a Disaster.

  Lukas didn’t answer. He shut his eyes and breathed. Each heartbeat felt like shards of glass.

  When he finally rose, blood dripped down his chin.

  But he stood. Even if he staggered.

  — I will be stronger than all of you, he said, his voice hoarse. — Even if my body breaks a thousand times.

  The wind swept between them, cold as judgment.

  Luiz said nothing. He only watched as Lukas walked away, leaving a trail of blood on the ground.

  And that dawn, the Blood Demon swore to himself that no one would ever make him kneel again.

  End of Chapter 7