It had been six grueling hours.
The sun was already sinking beneath the towering walls of Darkstar Castle, painting the training grounds in amber and gold.
The clang of steel echoed again — Nel's sword arcing through the air with stubborn desperation, only to clash against Seraphina's calm, unyielding blade.
He panted hard. Muscles tight. Hands blistered.
"Again," Naomi muttered through clenched teeth, swinging once more — a crooked arc, too open at the shoulders.
"Wrong stance," Seraphina said, stepping aside with flawless grace. Her ice-blue eyes watched every movement, calculating, silent.
Naomi reset his feet, drenched in sweat, legs trembling.
In the background, murmurs floated in the warm breeze. The castle guards and servants had stopped pretending not to watch.
"Six hours now… Has he lost his mind?"
"That's not the Nel I remember."
"That's not the Nel anyone remembers…"
Naomi swung again. And again. His arms were screaming now, the blade felt heavier with every breath.
Seraphina watched as his grip faltered.
"My lord," she said, stepping forward. "Enough. You've done more than—"
"No!" he snapped. "Not yet. Until I get it perfect, I won't stop."
He raised the blade one more time — and his body gave out. The sword slipped from his hand, clattering against the stone.
His knees buckled.
Seraphina moved in an instant, catching him before he hit the ground. His breathing was ragged, his eyes unfocused from exhaustion.
"That's enough," she said softly, more gently this time.
"I… I still can't—"
"You will," she said, lifting him in her arms like a knight bearing her wounded king. "But not by dying in the dirt."
From across the courtyard, hidden by the marble pillars of the outer gallery, a pair of violet eyes watched.
Lady Lilith Valeheart, Naomi's former fiancée, stood beside her personal maid.
She had come to say something. Or maybe just to observe. But what she saw was… unexpected.
The boy she had mocked just days ago — the pathetic worm with no strength, no pride — now lay unconscious in a knight's arms, collapsed from hours of relentless training.
And not just any knight. Seraphina — the Ice Fang of Darkstar, a woman feared even by captains.
Lilith didn't speak. Her eyes lingered on Naomi's hand, raw and bruised, clenched around nothing.
"…He really is different," she murmured under her breath.
Her maid tilted her head. "My lady?"
Lilith said nothing more. She turned away from the scene — but her gaze flickered with something between curiosity and something colder, something tighter.
Regret, perhaps.
Or fear.
Back in the castle, Seraphina pushed open the chamber door and gently laid Naomi onto the bed. She removed his boots, wiped his face with a cold cloth, and tucked the training cloak beside him. His breath had slowed.
She sat silently beside him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.
The night settled quietly over Darkstar Castle, but not all within its ancient walls found rest.
Seraphina sat by the bedside, tending to her lord with her usual, silent vigilance. Naomi—no, Nel, as the world still knew him—lay asleep beneath a blanket, his breaths steady, his form worn from the day's brutal training.
But then she saw it.
A flicker.
A faint, pulsing shimmer at the tips of his fingers—black.
Her eyes widened.
The aura was subtle at first, almost like a shadow curling around his skin. But Seraphina, the Ice Fang of Darkstar, had seen enough auras in battle to know what this was.
"…Black aura," she whispered, kneeling closer. "That's… impossible."
It coiled like smoke, thick with raw potential, not belonging to any elemental affinity. Not fire, not ice, not wind, not earth. No—it was something rarer. Something ancient.
Something untamed.
A dark aura. One that hadn't been seen in the Darkstar bloodline for generations.
She smiled faintly, brushing a silver strand from her face. "So… you do have a spirit, my lord," she whispered, a note of awe in her voice.
As the aura slowly faded, Naomi remained unaware, lost in deep sleep. But Seraphina did not sleep at all that night. For the first time in years, she felt the weight of destiny stirring in her bones.
This was no longer the weak boy she once rivaled.
This was something else.
The following morning broke clear and sharp.
Naomi was already on his feet before dawn, the dew still wet on the cobblestones as he sprinted through the lower fields of the castle grounds. His legs pushed harder than ever—10 kilometers nonstop. Then came the sword drills, and again, the ceaseless repetition of strikes and footwork.
Seraphina stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, watching silently.
She had to admit—he was changing.
The body that once collapsed after three swings was now taking dozens before showing signs of fatigue. Lean muscle had begun to form on his arms and torso. There was life in his eyes now—fire, even.
"My lord," she said as he slowed, panting and soaked in sweat, "your footwork is sharper today. You're holding your core tighter."
Naomi exhaled deeply, wiping his brow. "I feel… lighter. Like something's changed."
Seraphina nodded slowly. "You've begun to step beyond the mortal threshold. It's called Awakening."
"Awakening?" he repeated.
"It's when the spirit begins to align with the body. Aura flows naturally. Control becomes instinctive." She paused. "It is the sign of someone stepping into the path of a true warrior."
Naomi looked at his hands, the same ones that once trembled in fear. Now they pulsed with unfamiliar strength.
So... the training is paying off.
Seraphina tilted her head. "My lord, if I may ask... why are you training so hard? Why now, after all these years?"
Naomi didn't answer immediately. He gazed up at the vast blue sky above Darkstar's towering walls.
"I don't know," he said softly. "But something inside me says this peace… it won't last."
He turned toward her, eyes calm, voice heavier than his years.
"There may come a time when I'll need the strength to protect it. Peace, after all, is never permanent."
Seraphina blinked. The words sounded too mature. Too resolute. That was not Nel's voice.
It was someone else. Someone who had seen blood, who had known duty, who had lost things he didn't speak of.
She didn't press further. She simply nodded.
And Naomi, a former police officer from another world, returned to his training beneath the cold blue sky—knowing full well that the world he was in now would demand more from him than anything he'd ever faced before.
From the highest tower of Darkstar Castle, a figure stood alone behind frosted glass, the long cape of his robe brushing the cold marble floor.
Duke Arcturus Darkstar, the man feared across kingdoms, watched with narrowed eyes as the boy below trained with relentless fury.
Sword swings echoed like thunder in the courtyard, and even from this distance, the Duke could see the sweat, the blood, the determination in Nel's body.
"Six hours…" he muttered to himself. "And still not broken."
He folded his arms behind his back, silver hair catching the dim evening light, and spoke without turning.
"You may come in."
The heavy oak door opened with a soft creak, and a shadow stepped through. A young woman knelt on one knee behind him—her long chestnut hair tied back, face sharp with intelligence and quiet bitterness.
She wore the plain uniform of a maid, but once, long ago, she had been a daughter of a noble house—until ruin, scandal, and betrayal cast her down.
Now, she served the Duke.
"Faria," he said without emotion. "It seems the boy… is changing."
She lifted her gaze, cautious. "Yes, my lord. His schedule is brutal. Morning sprints. Sword drills. Meditation. He… never trained like this before."
"Indeed," the Duke murmured. "Nel was weak. Fragile. Barely a shadow in this house. And yet now…"
He turned finally, his eyes like carved obsidian.
"There is purpose in his steps. Fire in his gaze. And last night—" his voice dropped, "—he awakened a rare aura. Dark. That's no ordinary power."
Faria's brow furrowed. "Do you suspect him?"
The Duke's lips curved into something that might have once been a smile, but bore no warmth.
"I suspect everyone," he said. "But more than that, I must know."
He stepped closer to the maid and handed her a black envelope—sealed with the Darkstar crest.
"You will serve him," he said. "Not just as a maid—but as my eyes, my ears. Learn everything. His habits. His words. His past."
He turned to the window again, staring down at the boy.
"Find out if that is truly Nel… or an imposter who dares wear my blood."
Faria bowed low, the weight of the task pressing into her shoulders.
"Yes, Your Grace."
And as she left, vanishing into the stone corridors of the great castle, the Duke's voice whispered one final thing—more to himself than anyone.
"…Let's see who you really are, Nel."
—To Be Continued.