CHAPTER 257: NYRA [3]

Thud!

Alaric’s fist cut through empty air as Nyra sidestepped smoothly. Before he could recover, her hand snapped out in a palm strike aimed at his ribs.

He twisted, blocking with his forearm. The impact jarred his bones.

She wasn’t holding back as much.

He immediately countered with a low sweep, trying to take out her legs. Nyra jumped backward, creating distance, her violet eyes tracking his every movement with unsettling focus.

They circled each other in the private training room, one of the privileges granted to Silver Crown students.

Spacious, well-lit, with padded floors and walls lined with practice weapons. The door was locked, ensuring privacy.

No essence. No techniques. Just hand-to-hand combat.

And Nyra was good.

Better than good.

Alaric feinted left, then drove forward with a straight punch. She deflected it with minimal effort, redirecting his momentum and forcing him off-balance. Her counter came immediately, an elbow strike toward his temple.

He barely ducked in time, feeling the displacement of air as her arm passed overhead.

How did this even happen?

He’d only brought her here for a break. After hours of campaign strategizing with Verelia, he’d needed to clear his head, move his body, work out the mental tension through physical exertion.

Nyra had been in his room when he returned, organizing his materials as usual.

"I’m going to the training hall," he’d said. "Just to blow off some steam."

"Would you like company, young master?" Her tone had been perfectly neutral, professional.

"If you want."

So she’d followed. Changed into simpler clothes more suitable for movement, dark tunic and pants, hair tied back.

He’d started with basic forms. Practicing combinations against the air.

And she’d watched.

After a few minutes, she’d stepped forward. "Your third strike, the cross, you’re telegraphing it. Your shoulder drops slightly before the punch."

He’d paused, surprised. "You notice that?"

"May I demonstrate?"

That’s how they’d ended up here. Her correcting his form. Then showing him alternatives. Then—somehow—actually sparring.

And now Alaric was realizing he’d severely underestimated his attendant.

He’d always thought of Nyra as... well, a maid. Competent, reliable, efficient at her duties. Nothing more.

But lately, doubts had been creeping in.

That night with the Valtair’s when he’d confronted them in the rain, eliminated the sons, dealt with Vivienne. And then that girl had appeared. The one on the rooftop with the tail and those crimson eyes that had knocked him unconscious with a glance.

He’d woken in his own bed, no memory of how he’d gotten there.

Nyra had been the one to tell him she’d "found him" and brought him back.

At the time, he’d accepted it. Assumed the strange girl had just left after knocking him out. That Nyra had somehow tracked him down and retrieved him.

But now, watching her move with this level of skill, that explanation felt... incomplete.

Or maybe she interrupted something.

Alaric pushed the thoughts aside.

Focus. Right now, she was coming at him again.

Nyra advanced with a combination, jab, cross, hook. Each strike precise, no wasted movement. He blocked the first two, but the hook clipped his shoulder, spinning him slightly.

She didn’t press the advantage. Just reset her stance, waiting.

"You’re fast," Alaric said, breathing harder now. "Where did you learn to fight like this?"

"Here and there, young master." Her expression remained neutral. "One picks things up."

"That’s not an answer."

"No," she agreed. "It isn’t."

She came at him again.

This time Alaric was ready. He met her advance, blocking and countering with a knee strike aimed at her midsection. She twisted away, but he followed immediately with an elbow.

She caught his arm mid-strike, used his momentum against him, and threw him.

Alaric hit the padded floor hard, rolling instinctively and coming up in a defensive crouch.

Okay. She’s definitely more than just a maid.

Nyra stood calmly, not even breathing hard. "Your commitment to attacks is good, young master. But you sometimes overextend when you think you have an opening. Against a skilled opponent, that becomes a vulnerability."

Alaric stood slowly, processing that. She wasn’t wrong. He had overcommitted on that last combination.

"Show me," he said.

She nodded and moved into position. "Again. Same attack pattern."

He repeated the sequence, knee, elbow. This time, she moved in slow motion, demonstrating exactly where his balance shifted too far forward, where he left himself exposed.

"Here," she said, adjusting his stance slightly with her hands. "Keep your weight centered. Commit to the strike but maintain the ability to withdraw or redirect."

He tried again. Better. Still not perfect, but better.

"Good," Nyra said. She stepped back. "Again. Full speed."

They continued for another twenty minutes. Sparring, correcting, refining.

Alaric tried to gather information with his system. But it didn’t showed her stats, just name and occupation.

Which meant her rank was higher.

She wasn’t just competent. She was trained. Really trained. The kind of training that came from years of practice, possibly combat experience.

Who are you really, Nyra?

Finally, they called a stop. Both breathing harder now, a light sheen of sweat on their skin.

Alaric grabbed a towel from the wall rack, wiping his face. Nyra did the same, her movements still composed despite the exertion.

"Thank you," Alaric said. "That was... instructive."

"You’re skilled, young master. You just need refinement in a few areas."

"And you’re more skilled than any ’ordinary attendant’ should be."

Nyra’s expression didn’t change. "I serve to the best of my ability. That requires certain... competencies."

"Competencies," Alaric repeated. "Right."

He studied her for a long moment. She met his gaze calmly, giving nothing away.

She’s hiding something.

But pushing now wouldn’t yield answers. Nyra would reveal what she wanted when she wanted. He’d learned that much.

"We should head back," he said finally. "It’s getting late."

"As you wish, young master."

They gathered their things and left the training room, making their way back through the empty corridors toward Silver Crown House.

As they walked, Alaric’s mind worked through possibilities.

Nyra’s skills. Her presence that night with the strange girl. The way she’d "found" him so conveniently.

She was involved in something. Connected to forces he didn’t fully understand yet.

But she was also loyal. That much he was certain of. Whatever secrets she kept, they didn’t threaten him directly.

At least, not yet.

Another piece on the board, he thought. And I still don’t know which side she’s really playing for.

They reached the dormitory in comfortable silence.

"Good night, young master," Nyra said with a small bow before heading toward the attendants’ quarters on the ground floor.

"Good night."

Alaric climbed the stairs to his room, muscles tired from the workout.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges. More campaign work with Verelia.

But tonight, he’d learned something valuable.

His attendant was far more than she appeared.

He closed his door, locked it, and prepared for another night of planning.

The board was getting more complex.

But that was fine.

Complex games were his specialty.