It was midnight at the Northern Outpost.

  Most soldiers were asleep — or pretending to sleep — trying to forget the Tower looming in the distance. The cold cut like a blade.

  But there, under the training yard, there was sound. Rhythm. Impact.

  — THACK… THACK… THACK…

  The sound of wood against wood echoed between stone walls.

  Lukas Fernandes, shirtless, covered in sweat and fresh scars, trained alone with two wooden gladii, his bare feet sinking into the frozen mud. His hands were already bleeding. His joints swollen.

  But he kept going.

  — Faster. Lower. Step in. Turn. Cut.

  Each repeated sequence was like a mantra.

  He moved as if he were fighting ghosts. Or fighting his own memory.

  In the shadow of the wall, Alenna Fonseca watched.

  Her blond hair was loose, only a cloak covering her body. Her golden eyes followed Lukas’s muscles with a rare kind of fascination — not just desire… but hunger.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Sweat ran down his back. Each strike made his body tremble. And still, he did not stop.

  Alenna bit her lower lip, hesitated… then walked into the yard.

  — You’ll end up breaking your arms before reaching the fifth floor, she said softly.

  Lukas didn’t stop. Two more strikes. A spin. A double thrust.

  Then he stopped.

  Breathing like a cornered beast.

  — I’m learning to be fast with wood…

  — …so that the real blade strikes before death.

  She stepped closer. Her eyes traced the fresh scars on his hands, the swollen veins on his shoulders.

  — You really are unique.

  He glanced at her for only a second.

  Alenna smiled.

  — A man like you… if he were mine, I’d never let him train alone at night.

  — I’d be with him. Always.

  — As sword. As shield. As bed.

  Lukas turned his eyes away. But said nothing.

  She only touched his arm, lightly. And vanished back into the wall’s shadows.

  From the other side, another figure entered the yard.

  Luiz Copas. Shirtless too. A wooden short sword resting on his shoulder. A lazy grin on his face.

  — So this is how you spend your nights, Lukinhas?

  — This way I learn where it hurts most.

  Luiz spun the practice blade in his hand.

  — Come. I want to see if you can handle a Copas in the dark.

  They clashed.

  The impact was brutal.

  Luiz was faster. More technical. More cruel.

  But Lukas… did not fall. Did not back down. The practice shield cracked, but he fought on.

  When he finally dropped to his knees, bloodied and gasping, he was still looking upward.

  — I will defeat you one day, Copas.

  Luiz rested the sword on his shoulder, smiling.

  — And when you do, I’ll pretend I didn’t bet against you.

  On top of the wall, Kátia of the Copas, second-in-command of Luiz’s squad, watched the fight.

  Golden skin, violet eyes. A woman made of venom and grace.

  She laughed at the outcome.

  — He lost… but he lost beautifully.

  — Will he get better? — a recruit asked beside her.

  — One day he’ll win, Kátia said, her eyes fixed on Lukas. — And when he does… I want to be there to see it.

  On the other side of the yard, some soldiers and cadets of the Copas exchanged coins.

  — I told you!

  — Two minutes of straight combat and he’d bleed!

  — It went to three!

  — Lost by a spin!

  Laughter. Coins changing hands. And Lukas’s name echoing between bets and unspoken respect.

  But he didn’t care.

  He was on the ground. Bloodied. Eyes fixed on the sky.

  And he whispered only one thing:

  — One more time.

  End of Chapter 7.