Change Is Coming (10)

The dimly lit halls of Drexsic Manor stretched long and quiet, the soft patter of footsteps echoing faintly off the marble floors.

A lone maid walked briskly, her face composed yet her grip tense — knuckles whitening as she held a singular book in her arms. Its cover was dark, almost charcoal-black, with faintly embossed silver designs curling along the edges like smoke. At the center of the cover lay a striking image — a crimson boxing glove clenching the hilt of a sword, both wrapped in iron chains. The title was etched boldly in silver script:

"The Way of the Blade and Fist" — Volume I

The book's spine showed signs of wear — cracks along the leather binding hinted at its age, yet the pages within seemed meticulously maintained. This wasn't a common text found in noble libraries; rather, it was a relic of practical, grounded combat.

The maid stopped in front of Vryne's door. She hesitated — inhaling softly to calm her nerves — then raised her hand and knocked.

Knock. Knock.

"Who is it?" A voice called from within.

The maid straightened her posture, stifling her nerves. "I-It's me, sir. I brought the book you requested…"

Silence.

Then, with the soft creak of a handle turning, the door opened — and the sight that greeted her made her breath hitch.

Vryne stood in the doorway, his body glistening with sweat. His white buttoned shirt clung tightly to his torso, dampened and wrinkled from hours of exertion. The top few buttons were undone, revealing his collarbone and the faint definition of his chest. His bright amber hair was a disheveled mess, sticking to his forehead. The glasses he typically wore rested atop his head, barely clinging to his tangled hair. His breathing came heavy, yet steady.

The maid's eyes involuntarily flicked toward the exposed sliver of his chest — the beads of sweat trickling down his skin drawing her gaze before she sharply turned her head away, face faintly flushed.

"I-It's just the first volume," she stammered awkwardly, thrusting the book toward him. "The staff hopes you don't mind…"

Vryne accepted the book, one brow arched in faint amusement. "…Is something wrong?"

The maid's eyes flicked up again — unintentionally catching sight of another drop of sweat trailing down his neck — and immediately turned away once more.

"N-No! Nothing at all!" she sputtered. "Apologies for disturbing you!"

Without another word, she turned sharply and briskly walked down the hall — nearly tripping over her own feet as she stumbled around the corner.

Vryne stood there, watching her with a tilted head.

"…Weird," he muttered before stepping back inside his room.

—

Vryne's room was in mild disarray. Books lay scattered in a neat yet deliberate pattern across the floor. Each volume belonged to a distinct study — a reflection of the various disciplines Vryne planned to master.

He settled cross-legged in the center of the organized mess, laying "The Way of the Blade and Fist" before him. His gaze shifted across the other tomes.

The Path Of The Spear — "The Reach of the Iron Fang"

The spear manual's cover displayed a silver spear piercing through a black silhouette — a design symbolizing the spear's mastery in both range and precision.

Vryne understood why spear training was essential.

"The spear is versatile — an extension of my body with reach beyond a sword's limits. If I can't get close, I'll strike from afar. If I'm disarmed, I can improvise with any pole or staff."

His strategy was simple — learn to turn even mundane objects like broomsticks, flagpoles, or shattered debris into deadly tools.

The Path Of The Bow — "Eyes of the Hunter"

The archery manual's cover bore the image of a lone figure aiming a longbow, their eyes glowing faintly — a representation of the famed "Hunter's Focus."

Archers excelled in awareness — their senses sharpened by constant vigilance. Their ability to detect movement, killing intent, and hidden threats gave them an edge few warriors possessed.

"I need that heightened perception. If I can improve my focus… my odds of survival skyrocket."

The Path Of The Fist — "The Way of the Blade and Fist"

The newly acquired boxing manual intrigued Vryne most. Boxing — considered crude and unsophisticated by nobles — was seen as mere brawling. Yet to Vryne, it was something else entirely:

"Boxing is control."

Footwork. Balance. Precision. Timing.

It was practical, direct, and brutally efficient — the perfect backup when swords and spears, or other weapons failed him.

"Boxing's movement and positioning will strengthen my swordsmanship… the footwork will refine my spear training… and learning to read an opponent's stance will sharpen my instincts in every fight."

And more importantly — if he was ever unarmed, his fists would be his last line of defense.

—

Vryne leaned back on his palms, his gaze flickering upward toward the ceiling. His muscles ached, his mind felt strained — yet he knew none of this was enough.

"All of this…" he muttered, voice low and tired. "All this effort… just to avoid dying."

His eyes trailed toward the far wall — to the worn calendar pinned above his desk. The current date read:

[April 18th, 1512]

And scrawled in bold ink three months away was a grim reminder:

[July 24th — Academy Enrollment]

Vryne stared at the date in silence. In the original novel, that day marked the beginning of a devastating chain of events — betrayals, assassinations, and bloodshed that culminated in Vryne's gruesome death.

"Three months… that's all I have."

He knew playing it safe wasn't enough. He had to disrupt the narrative — throw wrenches into the plans of those who would set the story's tragedies in motion.

He exhaled deeply, clenching his fists as determination hardened his gaze.

"If I can't avoid the storm… then I'll tear it apart before it even forms."