CHAPTER 72: MAKE

The next morning, quiet preparations stirred in the garden. The air was cool, yet the sky was clear; light streamed through the branches, casting uneven shadows upon the stone ground. I examined the two wooden swords in my hands, weighing them carefully.

They weren’t ready to bear the weight of real steel yet, so for now, they would begin with these toys.

Magnus stood before me, his expression serious. The way he lifted his chin, the determination in his eyes, despite his young age — it already hinted at the seed of a true warrior. Lucareth, on the other hand, approached more reluctantly, dragging his feet and pouting, clearly still convinced this was nothing more than a game.

I had decided to train these two brats. After all, because of my presence, they might very well end up weaker than they should have been. Since they were still so young, I would only teach them the basics of swordsmanship. I wasn’t exactly a master myself, but I could at least give them the fundamentals.

And besides... in my previous life, I had consumed far too many movies, shows, anime, manga, and novels. I had been endlessly exposed to those clichéd arcs of training and growth. Inevitably, all that left a lasting impression, embedding those ideas deep into my mind.

"Good. Then this lesson is even more important for you, because the sword can return your spirit to you."

Their eyes lit up; my words struck them like sparks of legend. Then, with the tip of a stick, I drew a small circle on the ground. "Our first exercise is simple. You will stay inside this circle. Whoever steps out loses. Here, you will learn balance, not the sword."

Magnus wasted no time stepping inside. Lucareth muttered something under his breath but followed. As they raised their swords, I could see the fire of rivalry ignite in their eyes.

Leaning against the stone wall, I thought to myself: Yes, the future rests on these two children’s shoulders. But perhaps here, in this garden amidst the fragrance of flowers and the shade of green trees, their steps might alter the course of that future.

Magnus struck first. He shoved Lucareth lightly and swung his sword. Lucareth staggered but planted his foot firmly within the circle at the last moment. Seeing the stubborn fire in his eyes, I couldn’t help but smile.

"That’s it!" I called. "The sword isn’t just for striking. It’s also for standing firm. Your enemy will try to bring you down, you must learn not to fall."

They clashed with growing intensity. Magnus’s movements were measured, deliberate; Lucareth’s were instinctive yet stubborn. Their difference told me much: one reflected a hero resigned to fate, the other, a child who would fight against it.

Lucareth scowled, glancing at the ground. "This circle’s too small! No one won’t fight me in such a tiny space!"

"Yes," I replied with a faint smile, "but the space he commands did not n’t measure a swordsman’s greatness. It’s in being able to stand tall even when cornered. If one day you’re trapped, what you learn here will save you."

Magnus immediately pressed the attack, trying to corner him further, even hooking a foot to trip him. The seriousness on his young face didn’t suit his age, but that was what made it striking.

Lucareth snapped, his voice sharp with anger. "You’re cheating!"

"No," I answered calmly, "in battle, there is no cheating. Only smarter moves."

Magnus’s eyes gleamed, while Lucareth’s brow furrowed deeper. Then, in a sudden burst of speed, Lucareth darted to the side and thrust at Magnus’s opening. Magnus staggered but didn’t fall; his foot landed right on the circle’s edge, keeping his balance.

I clapped my hands together. "Excellent! That’s what you must learn. Even when you’re about to fall, find your footing and regain your balance. Remember: in battle, one careless moment can cost you a lifetime of regret."

Breathless, the boys locked eyes again as a gentle breeze rustled the camellias. And in their gaze, I sensed it; they were testing me as much as themselves.

Magnus lowered his sword slightly and asked, "Have you ever lost your balance, Count Leonardo?"

Lucareth added quickly, narrowing his eyes, "Or have you always managed to stay standing?"

I paused. Their question seemed innocent, yet it cut sharper than I expected. Stepping closer, I smiled.

"Me? I’ve fallen countless times. But I learned to rise again. That is why I still stand tall before you. You too will fall sometimes because of others, sometimes because of your own mistakes. But what matters most is not remaining where you fall."

Silence followed my words. On Magnus’s face, I saw solemnity; on Lucareth’s, a mixture of defiance and reluctant admiration. Both raised their swords once more, my answer having only fueled their determination.

Looking at them, I no longer found it surprising that one would become a Hero and the other a Villain. Yet because of my presence, these two prodigies might look at each other as brothers and, more importantly, they would come to see me as their father. At least, that was my plan.

Magnus advanced again, pressing hard. But this time Lucareth clenched his jaw and met the strike head-on. The wooden swords clashed with a sharp crack, shattering the garden’s stillness.

"Good," I said, "you’ve forgotten the circle. That is where the actual test begins."

Lucareth frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The circle was only a reminder. The true circle lies within your mind. What limits you isn’t your opponent, but your own fear, your own boundaries. If you fear defeat, you will draw the circle yourself, right beneath your feet."

Bloody hell... am I Morpheus or something? I have no idea where these sentences are coming from. Anyway, focus. I’m going to be mentoring the two most powerful kids in the world.

Magnus fixed his gaze on me, his small frame carrying the weight of a warrior’s gravity. "And if we erase the circle completely?"

At that, I smiled without meaning to. "Then, Magnus, you either become a hero or a tyrant. Erasing the circle is like living without rules. Such a person leaves their mark on history... but it could also end in a tragic death, or with a statue being erected in their honour."

Their swords clashed harder than before. Magnus’s strikes grew sharper, more deliberate. Lucareth’s stubbornness blazed like fire. Clearly, he was the one who longed to "erase the circle."

Suddenly, Lucareth locked Magnus’s arm and shoved him back. Magnus stumbled toward the edge of the circle, breath knocked from his chest, though he didn’t fall. Lucareth laughed triumphantly.

"That’s how it’ll be! I’ll push you back every time!"

Flushed with anger, Magnus shouted, "No! Every time I fall, I’ll rise stronger!"

And in that moment, I saw them both: one who drew power from defiance, the other who fed on his wounds. Two paths, two fates yet both shaped under the same sky, in the same garden.

I straightened and clapped my hands. "Enough. That’s all for today."

They wanted to protest, but my voice carried finality. "Remember this: it is not the sword that exhausts you, but the weight of your mind. If you can bear that weight, the sword will always feel light in your hand."

Panting, the boys looked at me, and in their eyes gleamed the proof that my plan was working; they were already beginning to see me as their mentor.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed someone watching us. Those silver eyes were impossible to mistake. Willabelle stood there with a barely perceptible smile. Clearly, seeing her nephew trained had pleased her.

After handing Magnus and Lucareth over to the servants to be cleaned up, I walked toward Willabelle. Though she was technically my slave, she had never been treated as one while staying in this manor.

Her gaze when it met mine, spoke louder than words. It was as though she had memorized everything that had just transpired: Magnus’s calm, Lucareth’s defiance, the roles I had given them and somewhere in all of that, she was calculating her own place.

"Are you fathering them?" She asked softly, her voice like the whisper of the wind yet sharp in its implication.

"I am teaching them," I replied, perhaps a bit too quickly.

She caught it, of course. The corner of her lips curled ever so slightly, as though she knew far more. "Call it what you will. When children look at you like that, they can no longer tell the difference between teacher and father. Just like with that circle you spoke of."

Was it mockery? Admiration? I couldn’t tell. But one thing was certain. Willabelle was not looking at me as a mere slave would, but as a woman weighing the future.

I returned her gaze with an involuntary smile. "Fatherhood means bearing responsibility for what you teach. It means holding them up, letting them fall and rise again. If that is so, then perhaps... yes, I am fathering them."

Willabelle nodded silently, her silver eyes glinting. "That’s good to hear. For Magnus’s fate was to lose his father. If you intend to change that, it pleases me greatly."

Her words pierced deeper than the morning chill. And in that moment, I realized the faint curl of her lips was no simple smile. It carried a challenge, perhaps even an invitation.

Yes, she was my slave. But in those silver eyes, I had never once seen the look one would give a master. Perhaps that was why I couldn’t look away.

I stepped closer. Birdsong and the rustle of leaves broke the garden’s quiet only. As the distance between us narrowed, my smile hardened into something more solemn.

"Willabelle... sometimes, I don’t understand you."

Her smile deepened, her silver eyes glowing softly in the morning light. For a heartbeat, she seemed in no hurry to answer. Then slowly she spoke:

"You don’t have to, my lord. I don’t fully understand you either." The playful curve of her lips sharpened her words.

I closed the space between us, step by step. Picking a blue flower from the garden, I let it sway in the breeze before tucking it gently into her hair. The gesture was tender yet possessive.

"What’s curious," I said, "is that sometimes when I watch you, I lose sight of myself. You are my slave. If I wished, no one could stop me from claiming you. And frankly, as one who once betrayed me, I believe you’ve lost the right to decide who you share yourself with. So why haven’t I taken you to my bed yet?"

Surprised by my bluntness, Willabelle showed no other emotion. "Because you believe that if you give me enough time... I will come to you willingly, my lord."

"And? Am I right?"

Her silver eyes sharpened in the morning light, as though the storm within her threatened to spill over. Her lips parted slowly, and at last, she answered, her voice soft but edged like a blade: "Yes... you are right."

I stepped closer still, the flower’s petals brushing against her hair. "Then... shall we hasten time?" I whispered, my voice warming the cool air.

She glanced around, ensuring no one was watching. Then, rising on her toes to close the gap, Willabelle pressed her soft lips against mine.