Chapter 20: The Midnight Raven Takes Flight

Lorin lay on his bed, staring at the dark ceiling, but sleep refused to come. Marla's words gnawed at him.

"I should have told you to make your own place. Not wait for them to give it to you."

She had always been the one voice of warmth in this cold, wretched estate. Yet even she had once believed he could carve a place for himself among the Frex. And now? Now she told him to leave. To abandon it all.

It should have made things easier. Should have cemented his decision. So why did it feel like something in his chest was pulling in two directions at once?

Tch. Overthinking wouldn't change anything.

He sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. If sleep wouldn't come, he'd pass the time another way.

Pulling on his boots, he stepped out into the halls. The silence of the estate felt heavier at night—thick, pressing, filled with ghosts of memories he didn't care to entertain. His feet moved on their own, leading him through the familiar corridors until he reached the training grounds.

The moment he stepped outside, he heard it—the sharp clang of steel against steel.

Lorin's eyes narrowed. Someone was here.

His gaze landed on the lone figure at the center of the training ground, moving through precise, fluid motions under the moonlight. A long, slender blade gleamed in his hand, flickering through the air like a shadow taking flight.

Julius.

Lorin exhaled through his nose. Of course. His oldest brother had always been the type to train at odd hours. But watching him now, there was something different—something sharper.

"Care for a spar?" Lorin asked, stepping forward.

Julius stilled, lowering his blade slightly. Then, without turning, he answered, "Yes."

Lorin smirked and stepped onto the field.

Julius took his stance, his rapier held lightly but with perfect balance. The tip never wavered, even as the night wind whispered around them.

Lorin drew his cutlass with a shing, rolling his shoulders. The weight was familiar, comforting. He fell into his own stance—lower, more aggressive.

"Come, then," Julius said, his voice calm.

Lorin didn't need a second invitation. He surged forward, cutlass swinging in a wide arc.

"SPILLED WINE: FIRST POUR!"

His blade moved unpredictably, shifting mid-swing as if slipping through fingers. It was a technique that mimicked the erratic spill of liquid, striking from unexpected angles.

Julius barely moved, only a flicker of motion—CLANG!—and the cutlass was deflected.

Lorin's eyes widened. That was fast!

Julius twisted his wrist, stepping in.

"MIDNIGHT RAVEN: WINGBEAT!"

A single thrust—blindingly quick. Lorin barely twisted in time, feeling the tip graze past his ribs. He rolled backward, resetting his stance.

"Tch. Guess you've gotten faster."

Julius didn't reply. His stance was as steady as before, his expression unreadable.

Lorin grinned and rushed in again. This time, he feinted left, then twisted right—

"SPILLED WINE: WAVERING GLASS!"

His blade curved unpredictably, seeking the smallest opening.

Julius sighed.

"MIDNIGHT RAVEN: SHADOW STEP."

He vanished.

Lorin's stomach dropped. He felt it—a shift in the air, a presence behind him—

SHINK!

A precise strike hit his shoulder, not deep, but enough to tell him this fight was already over.

Lorin staggered forward, spinning to face his brother. What the hell was that?!

Julius' blade was still raised, and for the first time, Lorin noticed—his rapier was glowing. Faint wisps of mana trailed from the tip, dispersing into the night.

"You… projected mana through your blade?" Lorin breathed.

Julius gave a small nod. "A necessity at Vanguard level."

Lorin's grip on his cutlass tightened. Julius had already reached Vanguard? Two full levels above him?

His brother exhaled and lowered his blade. "You're strong, Lorin. But you're still playing catch-up."

Lorin clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the hilt of his cutlass. His shoulder ached from the clean strike Julius had landed, but it was his pride that hurt more.

"Damn it." He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulder. "I didn't even see that last move."

Julius sheathed his rapier with a smooth, practiced motion. The faint glow of mana that had flickered along the blade faded into the cold night air.

"You shouldn't have," he said simply. "That's what it means to be at Vanguard."

Lorin's eyes narrowed. "You weren't at that level last time we fought."

Julius met his gaze, expression unreadable. Then, after a pause, he said, "No. I wasn't."

Lorin scoffed. "So what? You just woke up one day and leveled up?"

Julius exhaled. "I trained. Harder than you."

The words stung, and Lorin knew that was the point he was still at Journeysman. He sheathed his cutlass with a sharp click and folded his arms.

"You always did think you were better than me."

Julius tilted his head slightly. "I don't think it, Lorin. I proved it."

Lorin let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Hah. Same arrogant prick as always."

Julius didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he studied Lorin for a long moment before speaking again.

"Why did you come back?"

Lorin rolled his shoulders. "Father called me."

Julius' expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted.

"And you just came running?"

Lorin frowned. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Julius took a step closer, his voice quiet but firm. "You left, Lorin. You walked away from all of this—our family, our house, everything. You've spent years living in the lower districts, playing mercenary, throwing away your potential."

Lorin bristled. "And what? You think I should have stayed here? Let Father use me like a damn chess piece?"

Julius' eyes darkened. "We five are all chess pieces, Lorin. The only difference is who plays the game better."

Lorin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, well. I don't play."

Julius studied him for a moment longer, then nodded slightly, as if confirming something to himself.

"Then you'll never win."

Lorin scoffed. "Right. And what is it you're winning, exactly? Father's approval? His throne?"

Julius smirked, but there was no humor in it. "If you have to ask, then you already lost."

Lorin's fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to say something, to throw another sharp remark back in his brother's face, but for once, the words didn't come.

Because deep down, he knew Julius wasn't wrong.

Silence stretched between them, tense and heavy. Then, finally, Julius turned away.

"You're still weak, Lorin." His voice was calm, almost indifferent. "Come back when you're worth sparring against."

Without another word, he walked away, leaving Lorin standing alone in the moonlit training grounds, his pride bleeding deeper than the cut on his shoulder