The world went silent.
All I could hear was the wind slicing as the man's fist came straight for me.
— "Huh...?"
The punch landed squarely in my stomach. It wasn't just pain. My body simply... couldn't handle it.
My diaphragm locked. My breath disappeared. My legs gave out. And in that same instant—darkness.
I collapsed like a lifeless sack of meat.
I passed out immediately.
---
Hours Later — Inside Duke Ravenhart's Office
— "You're completely insane." — The Duke's voice shattered the heavy silence. He sat back in his leather chair, swirling a glass of wine in his hand.
Standing before him, arms crossed, face unreadable, was Darius.
— "Am I?" — Darius raised an eyebrow, showing no hint of regret. — "If that kid had died from a simple punch like that, it would've been a favor to the world. But... he didn't."
The Duke spun his glass slowly, watching the red liquid trace the rim. His sharp eyes revealed calculation rather than concern.
— "And...?" — he asked, flatly.
— "And... he's exactly what I thought he was." — Darius stepped toward the window, hands behind his back, staring at the mansion's gardens. — "You always had damn good luck, Leonard. Where the hell did you find that boy?"
The Duke stayed silent for a moment before answering.
— "Right place... right time."
Darius snorted. — "Right... 'luck.' If that's what you want to call it."
He turned, arms crossed again, locking eyes with the Duke.
— "Anyway, I'm not here to argue about luck." — His tone hardened, heavy with weight. — "Starting tomorrow... the kid's coming with me."
The Duke raised an eyebrow. — "You... what?"
— "I'm going to train him." — Darius said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. — "I'll take him to one of my training grounds. He'll live by my rules, eat my food... and if he survives—he'll learn to fight."
The Duke didn't reply immediately. A subtle, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at his lips.
— "Heh... You're this interested in him?"
— "Leonard, I've seen many. Tons of prodigies, fighters, arrogant brats... But that kid... that look in his eyes..." — Darius clenched his fist. — "That's the look of someone who refuses to die. Someone who refuses to be weak. Someone willing to do absolutely anything to survive."
The Duke inhaled deeply. — "And you think he has the potential?"
Darius smiled, but it wasn't gentle. It was... predatory.
— "I don't think. I know." — His gaze sharpened. — "That boy... if he doesn't die... could become something the entire world fears. And Leonard..." — His voice dropped, tone dangerous. — "I want to be the one who forges that."
The Duke leaned back, relaxing in his chair. — "Hmph. I expected nothing less from you."
Darius continued, — "He's coming with me for two months. During that time... if he's half as capable as I think, he'll reach the second stage of Mantra. Maybe... just maybe... push close to the third. But that... depends if he doesn't break first."
Silence. Thick.
The two men stared at each other. This wasn't a request. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a decision, made by one of the most dangerous warriors alive.
The Duke lifted the wine glass to his lips, took a long sip, and set it back down.
— "Fine." — His eyes went cold. — "If he dies, it's just one more corpse to bury. But if he survives... well... you better not ruin him. Because if you do..." — His voice sharpened — "I'll tear him from your hands myself."
Darius let out a loud, amused laugh. — "There's the Leonard I know. So... affectionate as always."
The Duke ignored him, standing and adjusting the cloak on his shoulders. — "You leave tomorrow. I've already arranged supplies, transport, and... enough space for you to play torturer."
Darius turned back to the window, staring at the glowing moon. — "Good. Because tomorrow... that kid's going to learn what it really means... to want to survive."
And while the two men sealed the boy's fate... in a room not far away... Clint remained unconscious. Completely unaware that starting tomorrow... his life would never be the same.