Chapter 181: Resolve

Defeat. It was a feeling he was not unfamiliar with, though this humiliation was only shared with one other bout in his past. He remembered it so clearly; he was but ten winters old.

The training grounds were a vast expanse, with a number of training dummies lined up on one side and different sections outlined for various methods of training. Structures containing equipment were scattered about, and all around, spars erupted with basic training from physical exercise to archery practice and more. The atmosphere was charged with activity.

However, young Lukas could not pay attention to what was around him.

"Gah!" As he fell on his rear, pain shot through his body, the bruises and scratches stinging more. Dressed in a simple white tunic with black trousers and boots, his attire was as damaged as his body.

"Honestly, Lukas, I'm holding back because of your mother, yet you can't even handle this meager damage?" He glanced up with a wince; the source of his pain stood there.

Elisa Stark, or Elisa Gregory as she was known now. The most renowned knight, known for her tactical brilliance and immense strength. A brutal warrior loyal to the nation of Galadriel, tales of her might spread through every corner of the world. A woman capable of handling entire armies single-handedly. A woman who was also his aunt, she looked at him with those cold, deep blue eyes, and he could not gauge what she was feeling. Her lush black hair tied into a simple ponytail swished with the wind, her black button shirt clung to her generous frame, as did her trousers and boots. Simplistic as the attire was, her beauty was not contained even with such an outfit.

"S-sorry," Lukas whimpered, the pain still fresh on his body.

"I don't want meaningless apologies, boy," she harshly spat. She placed a hand on her hip as she gazed at him, her eyes holding no affection, not even for her own blood. It would be chilling to see how she handled actual enemies. "You've not made any progress despite undergoing the Oath of Purification. Even Agatha excels more in physical combat than you."

He could only look down at the dirty ground, not even having the courage to look his aunt in the eyes.

A mighty knight who fought for the kingdom. That is what he wanted to become, a knight of great renown known by all and feared by his enemies. A righteous and honorable knight who stood up for the good people. A hero in essence, he looked up to his aunt for that very reason. Tales of her accomplishments sat on his mind every day. He could not help but admire the woman despite her slight distaste for him.

Though the path to knighthood was paved with hardships. His dark blue eyes scanned the training area, refusing to look his aunt in her eyes. Everyone was engulfed in rigorous training, pushing themselves to the utmost limit. The knights of Galadriel, yet within this training pit, his eyes latched onto two figures.

One a girl, younger than he was. Her appearance was almost angelic, with a head of wavy long snow-white hair, pale porcelain skin, and fiery red eyes. She wore a simple short-sleeved black tunic and trousers with boots, and though her appearance was ethereal, he could not help but wince when he saw her. Deep gashes and bruises littered her body, and she bled profusely from her head, with her left eye tightly shut. Loosely clutched in her hand was a wooden short sword.

A few paces in front of her stood the source of her injuries. A mountain of a man, clad in bulky silver armor adorned in gold. On his chest, an emblem of dual swords crossing, the knight's emblem. He too wielded a wooden blade. Yet as he stared at the severely injured, panting girl, his eyes were blank, holding no feelings of sympathy.

Looking at the girl even younger than him, he could not help but frown and stare in disbelief. ("W-why isn't anyone stopping them...she's seriously hurt!")

"You should not look so appalled, boy," Elisa advised. "The spawn of Octavia's training is harsher than any. Poor thing, but 'tis at the king's behest that they mold her into the perfect warrior. See? Your training is not a tenth of what she's experiencing; you've no time to sit and whimper."

His eyes were glued to her battered frame, his mind not comprehending why they would put her through this. There had to be better alternatives to training someone, no? Unfortunately, that was simply the reality for such exceptional people; they are pushed to the brink in order to grow and adapt. To better serve, he could not look any more as the brutal training continued. His eyes wandered to the other person who stood out in this grueling training area.

Her light blue hair neatly styled into a long ponytail, clung to her small frame was a white shirt adorned with straps of sleek armor, grieves, and sabatons decorating her black trousers and boots. Her steely blue eyes were narrowed in focus, a wooden sword tightly clutched in her right hand, her fighting stance unrefined and stiff. Like the other knight, she too faced one outfitted in standard armor.

She seemed around his age, maybe a bit older. Though he could not help but watch how gracefully she moved, how swiftly she dodged the knight's attacks, and how quickly she responded with her own, striking expertly at the gaps in his armor while quickly retreating.

"Who...who is that?" He questioned, sluggishly rising to his feet.

Elisa raised a brow at the sudden interest. Following his gaze, she smirked. "Crown Princess Astrid. What, boy, are you smitten?"

"N-no!" He denied quickly, and Elisa had to refrain from snorting upon seeing his flushed expression. "S-she's just so skilled." He clarified the reason for his interest.

"Nothing but perfection is expected of her," Elisa looked at the girl with an unreadable expression on her face. "Anything less is unacceptable, though they are more lenient with her. As such, she is extraordinary in many aspects, be it magic or martial arts."

"Whoa..." He had never heard his aunt compliment anyone like that before. But it was understandable when looking at the skillful girl.

"Say, Lukas, why do you want to become a knight?" The sudden question from his aunt caught him off guard. Yet even so, his answer was already at the forefront of his mind.

"I w-want to help people, I want to be of service to Galadriel," He answered. He immediately regretted his honesty; he expected his aunt to mock his lofty and far-fetched ideals. Instead, she hummed in interest.

"You're similar to the princess with those kinds of ideals," Elisa mused. "As her personal guard, I fall victim to the yammering of her ideals more often than not: 'I want to be a hero,' 'I want to save others,' 'I want to make Galadriel better,' and such. It's enough to give me a headache, but those are not lofty words from a mere child. She speaks with solid conviction not easily found."

Lukas could not help but now look at the princess in a different light. His aunt's eye was critical, and she was not the type to just hand out such praise haphazardly. She meant what she said about the crown princess.

"Now tell me, Lukas...do you think you could stand beside someone like that one day?" His aunt posed a simple question, yet he could not answer.

He looked at Astrid, her furrowed brows, her uneven stance, her hair in slight disarray. So imperfect, yet one thing was set: the steely look in her eyes. As if she had her mind set on an important decision, a decision that required all of her conviction. With but a look, he could see her drive dwarfed his own. He wondered if he could ever stand side by side with someone like that.

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[Present]

Lukas snapped back to reality, the uncomfortable mush of mud staining his armor as he looked up at the gray clouds that slowly parted to reveal the blue sky. He was on the ground, he realized. His mana all but spent, and his body sore and unmoving. He had lost, such utter defeat made him want to laugh at how pitiful it was.

He heard approaching footsteps as a figure loomed over him. The victor, his dark armor ominous and wet, smudged with dirt. He looked down at him, and Lukas saw a gleam of red beyond his visor. What expression did Mikoto wear, he wondered. Maybe a glare? A smirk? A pompous look? A mocking one?

It would be understandable; to the boy, most were beneath him, no doubt. ("Someone...someone as strong as this. Heh, more worthy than someone as worthless as me,") He felt like chuckling at his state of mind. Not long ago, he was looking down on this boy, yet a short duel was enough to shake his core convictions. Someone as pitiful as him was not worthy of standing beside someone as radiant as Astrid. He did not deserve that right.

His convictions were weak; he merely wanted to be a symbol of glory. Like his aunt, like the great knight Ysabel. He was but selfish in his want for more, to be more than a mere knight. Honestly, it would be an insult to say he had any conviction in the first place. He merely wanted to be side by side with someone who truly had that which he sought. He really was not cut out to be a knight.

"Satisfied now, chīsana kishi?" Mikoto's voice rang out, his voice carrying through the devastating landscape. Uprooted trees sprawled about or reduced to nothing, with craters and fissures now littering the ground. "See how meaningless this all turned out to be?" Mikoto's voice was not mocking; in fact, it sounded soothing, oddly enough. "To be honest, I take no pleasure in this victory; it's hollow."

Lukas grunted, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. This...seemed like an entirely different person. He did not know Mikoto long, but with what he did know of the boy, he could come to a conclusion: someone arrogant because of their great power. He showcased that in their duel, but now he seemed different. He expected degrading at this humiliating defeat, but instead, Mikoto Yukio did not revel in this victory of his. It was as if something had shaken him as well. With a flick of his wrist, Sabre was dispelled in a burst of red. Even his movements seemed dull and uneven; what could possibly be going on in his head? What turmoil did he experience?

The clapping of hands interrupted any pondering. "Well done, quite the spectacle." Guinevere's soothing voice rang out, her clapping seeming mocking in a way. She did not seem to mind trudging through the muddy, ruined ground; she came to a halt beside Mikoto, looking down at Lukas's battered form.

"Well, Lukas, do you yield? I need a proper answer to conclude this little bout," Guinevere seemed to put emphasis on 'little'; it seemed she was of the same mind as Mikoto. To them, this duel was meaningless and but a waste of time. Contrary, he saw this as a battle to steady his resolve as a knight, to beat one who would disrespect the king and negatively influence the princess. Someone who spits in the face of what he served.

"I-I yield," he eventually grunted out; no amount of stubbornness would do him any good here. Mikoto was not an opponent he could beat; the gap in their strength was just too immense.

"And that concludes everything. The others will be along shortly. Come, Mikoto, walk with me for a moment," Guinevere did not wait for any confirmation as she leisurely strolled past, avoiding the craters and debris. Mikoto cast one glance at Lukas before following after her.