"Who—"
The word cut off as Riven saw who stood behind him.
The woman facing him had short dark hair tied loosely behind her head, a few strands falling across her sharp features. Unlike most of the noble ladies earlier that evening, she wore no elaborate gown—only a fitted black suit.
Serin Valcourt.
Alric's fiancée.
She lowered her hand slowly, clearly surprised that her grab had missed.
"Not bad."
Her voice was calm, almost approving.
Riven straightened slightly.
"…Thanks."
He wasn't exactly amused.
Serin tilted her head a little.
"Don't try to run."
There was a short pause.
Then she crossed her arms.
"I told you earlier," she said matter-of-factly. "We are going to fight."
Riven blinked once.
Right.
He had almost forgotten that.
Behind them, the noise of celebration was drifting back toward the manor as the nobles followed Cassian to drink. The training grounds themselves were already emptying.
Serin glanced toward the arena.
"Looks like we have the field."
Without waiting for his answer, she stepped toward the packed earth.
So much for going home early.
He followed.
It would be a lie if he said he wasn't curious about Alric's fiancée.
As for why she wanted to fight?
Did it really matter?
A small speck of excitement flickered in his eyes.
The lantern light cast long shadows across the empty arena as the two of them stepped into the center.
Serin rolled her shoulders once.
Then she raised her hands.
Her stance was unusual.
One foot pointed forward.
The other angled sideways.
Her arms floated loosely in front of her—not tight fists like most fighters, but open palms and relaxed fingers.
Almost like she was holding invisible threads.
Riven noticed immediately.
Not a standard martial stance.
Interesting.
Serin studied him quietly.
"You're not weak."
Riven shrugged.
"Should I be?"
"Your arm—"
She glanced briefly at the empty sleeve.
"Yes."
She shook her head.
"Whatever."
Then she moved, seemingly not wanting to continue the conversation.
Her hand flicked forward.
Something thin flashed in the lantern light.
Riven instinctively shifted sideways—
Too late.
A sharp sting cut across his shoulder.
He stepped back immediately.
For a moment he didn't even see what had hit him.
Then the lantern light caught it.
A thin silver thread stretched between Serin's fingers.
Actual thread.
But faint qi flowed along its length, giving it a pale glow.
Riven glanced down.
His robe had a clean slice through the fabric.
Beneath it, a shallow line of blood had appeared across his shoulder.
A flesh wound.
Serin tilted her head slightly.
"…That's it?"
Her brows furrowed.
"How?"
Riven didn't answer.
His body had already begun slowing the bleeding.
His physical strength was starting to show more clearly now—not just in power, but durability.
A normal cultivator at his stage might have taken a much deeper cut.
But for him it didn't even count as an inconvenience.
Serin flicked her wrist.
The thread snapped through the air again.
Riven stepped back.
This time he was quick enough.
Snap.
Controlling the thread didn't seem that easy.
It carved another thin line across the ground beside him.
Tch.
He preferred close quarters.
But getting close meant passing through several attacks of those threads.
Even if they only caused shallow wounds, his robe wouldn't survive it.
And he had no interest in explaining why he suddenly looked like he'd fought a pack of knives.
His mind ran quickly through his options.
Transform.
No.
That was his ace.
Divine Speed.
Possible.
But the recoil wasn't worth it here.
Needles.
His hand moved toward a pocket, preparing to pretend as if he wanted to pull something out from there.
But then he stopped.
He had another idea.
Something he hadn't used in quite a while.
Another thread snapped toward him.
But instead of dodging—
Riven stepped forward.
He raised his palm.
Serin's eyes widened slightly.
"Idiot—"
The thread struck his hand.
Pain flared instantly as it sliced into his palm.
A thin line of blood appeared.
Riven ignored it.
He was used to worse.
Serin wasn't worried about him grabbing the thread.
That would only lead to more wounds.
Still, she pulled the thread back.
If she wanted to maximize the attack's power, she'd need more distance.
And in that moment Riven moved.
Qi surged through his palm.
Frostbind Chains.
A faint shimmer formed between his hand and the thread.
Then—
A small translucent chain appeared.
It snapped into existence with a soft metallic chime.
Serin's eyes widened.
"What—"
She tried to pull the thread back.
Too late.
Riven yanked the chain toward himself.
The sudden force traveled through the chain—
And into the thread Serin was holding.
Her balance broke instantly.
She stumbled forward and her hand let go of the thread.
Riven moved.
His foot slid across the ground.
Qi surged down his leg.
Spirals of compressed force twisted around his calf.
Falconburst Kick.
His leg shot forward.
Serin's eyes widened as the kick closed in.
And stopped—
A single centimeter from her waist.
The air around the strike trembled from the pressure alone.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then Serin slowly looked down at the foot hovering beside her.
Her eyes widened further.
"You—"
She looked back up at him.
Her gaze flicked between his missing arm and the kick that had nearly sent her flying.
"…How are you this strong?"
Riven lowered his leg and stepped back as the speck of excitement in his eyes faded.
He knew what she meant.
Serin wasn't weak. Far from it. Judging from the way she had fought, she had already reached the middle stage of Inner Condensation.
Among the younger generation of the city, that was impressive.
She could probably give Lucian a decent fight.
And Lucian had just been one half of what the crowd called the elite of Greyford.
Yet here she stood, staring at the one-armed fiancé she had expected to defeat easily.
It probably didn't make sense to her.
But then again.
Riven had a feeling that the original Alric would also have beaten her.
He shrugged lightly.
"Ever heard that setbacks make you stronger?"
Serin blinked.
"…What?"
Riven waved his hand.
"Never mind."
Then he looked at her more seriously.
"So."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Are you going to tell me what this was about?"
Only then did Serin seem to fully process the situation.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"…Shit."
She immediately raised her hands again.
"Fight again."
Riven stared at her.
Is this really a noble lady?
Then he took another step back.
"No thank you."
She frowned.
"What?"
He already knew how strong she was.
There was nothing much he could learn from this.
Another fight would just be a waste of time.
Riven shrugged.
"You're not my match."
For a moment she froze.
Then, she calmed down—
"…You're right."
Riven blinked.
That was not the reaction he had expected.
He had expected her to lash out again.
Try to secure the advantage.
But nothing happened.
"So?"
He waited for her to explain.
She didn't.
Instead she turned away.
"I'll beat you next time."
And began walking off.
Riven stared after her.
"Wait—"
She didn't stop.
Within a few moments she had already disappeared.
Riven stood there for a second longer.
Then he shook his head slowly.
What the hell is wrong with the people here?
He turned to leave as well.
But as he did—
Something caught his eye.
At the edge of the lantern light, near the garden path.
Someone was standing there.
Watching.
A familiar pale dress.
And beside the left eye—
A small star-shaped birthmark.
Mirelle.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Riven blinked once.
What is she doing here?
He could have sworn she had already returned to the manor with the others after Cassian's victory.
But he didn't ask.
Instead he simply gave her a small nod as he stepped past her.
She returned the gesture just as quietly.
Neither of them said a word.
Their shoulders passed within arm's reach before Mirelle continued walking toward the now empty training grounds.
Riven didn't look back.
The lantern-lit path guided him through the garden and back toward the manor.
By the time he returned, most of the nobles had already gathered inside the large reception hall again. Laughter and loud voices echoed through the open doors as servants moved back and forth carrying trays of wine.
The celebration had clearly begun.
Riven stepped inside briefly.
It didn't take long to spot Leyla.
She was standing with a group of girls near one of the long tables, holding a small cup while someone enthusiastically refilled it.
He frowned faintly.
"Leyla."
She turned immediately.
"Oh!"
Her eyes brightened.
"Did you see the fight? Cassian actually—"
Riven took the cup from her hand.
"That's enough."
Leyla blinked.
"But I only had—"
Riven handed the cup to a passing servant.
"We're leaving."
Leyla frowned slightly but didn't protest as she followed him toward the exit.
Behind them, the hall remained loud with celebration.
Cassian's victory was clearly the only thing anyone wanted to talk about tonight.
Outside, the night air felt cool and quiet again.
A carriage from Silvercrest Manor was already waiting.
The ride back through the city was peaceful.
Leyla eventually grew quiet, leaning slightly against the carriage wall as the lanterns of Greyford passed by outside the window.
Riven watched Leyla silently.
He wasn't her real brother.
So maybe he wasn't in a position to critique her actions.
But he was an elder brother nonetheless.
And the thought of her already getting dragged into the same careless habits as the nobles in that hall didn't sit well with him.
He looked away.
Before long the carriage rolled through the gates of Silvercrest Manor.
The guards greeted them as they stepped down.
Leyla yawned loudly.
"I'm going to bed," she mumbled before wandering off toward the inner halls.
Riven watched her go before turning toward his own quarters.
The manor was quiet at this hour.
Most of the servants had already retired.
Riven opened the door to his room and stepped inside.
Everything looked exactly the way he had left it.
He closed the door behind him and walked toward the window.
Riven flexed his fingers slightly.
Practice tomorrow.
He needed to refine several things.
His usage of the Frostbind Chains had inspired him.
He had a feeling that he could reach a higher proficiency with that soon.
Guess I'll have to adjust my plans.
His lips curved.
Then a faint sound echoed somewhere outside his room.
Soft footsteps on gravel.
He looked outside.
A shadow was passing through the manor.
If he hadn't looked out in time he would have never noticed it.
A young man in a dark robe passed the corridor.
The light revealed a face almost identical to Riven's.
He's back.