Luck Or Skill?

The Penny Prince stepped out of his carriage, already able to see the smoke wafting from the fenced property in front of him.

Walking through the gate, he paused to take a long look at the smoking remains of the third Swordsman's secret manor. The once beautiful house was now a husk of charred wood and crumbling stone, its walls blackened by the inferno that had raged for the past few hours. 

He adjusted the cuffs of his coat, taking a slow, deliberate breath as he moved, stepping over the rubble, his golden eyes gleaming with curiosity rather than concern.

The chaos was long gone and the damage had been controlled, but the stench of burnt flesh and soot still clung to the air. 

The city officials had been sent away. His people, who were also palace soldiers, picked through the remains, speaking in hushed tones as they investigated the destruction.