Lucien's POV
Yesterday evening, the young master asked me to teach him the art of the scythe. The question nags at me even now: how can a child so small—with a height that isn't even half that of the scythe's length—choose such a weapon? Many children fancy the sword because it looks cool, but the scythe, on the other hand, is extraordinarily difficult to master. It is designed for mid- and short-range combat, requiring a unique blend of dexterity, strength, and balance. I cannot help but think: he must have a reason, a thought process that is ever so unexpected.
As I pondered these things, an idea struck me: though the young master is highly intellectual, he lacks in physical prowess. Now that he has set his mind to learning the scythe, who could be a better teacher than his father? My Lord Edric may seem austere, but he is a master of all weapons—a legend known for his bizarre combinations and uncanny skills. Surely, he will be overjoyed to know that his son has taken his first step into the world of battle.
Lost in these thoughts, I found my legs carrying me almost of their own accord to his father's office. I pushed open the door. There he was, seated and busy signing documents. He looked up and asked, "What brings you here, Luci?"
(He calls me "Luci" out of affection—a nickname I've had since I was taken in at the age of seven. He regards me as more than a servant.)
"I come with a request, my Lord. It is about the young master."
Edric glanced at me with his left eye. "What is it? Does he want a new book again? Tell him there…"
"No, my Lord," I interrupted firmly. "He wants to learn the set of scythe techniques—he has taken an interest in it."
For a long moment, his eyes widened in a mix of shock and joy, the kind only a father could feel upon learning that his son—who had spent five years holed up in the study—was venturing into something other than books.
"Are you serious?" he exclaimed.
I met his gaze evenly. "I do not jest, my Lord."
Edric's face slowly broke into a rare smile. "Luci, then see to it that Oswin handles the paperwork and call Neron to the training ground at once. I will teach him personally."
"As you command," I replied.
I left the office with a quiet thrill. The stage was now set for the young master to unveil his hidden potential—a prospect that, truthfully, excites me immensely.
---
Neron's POV
I was on my way to the training ground when Lucien informed me that my father wished to meet me there. I never asked anything of him before, but seeing Lucien's knowing smile told me everything: he must have mentioned my desire to learn the scythe. In my heart, I was elated. My father, skilled in every weapon, would be the ideal mentor. I hesitated only slightly; I had worried he might insist on the sword instead. Yet, thanks to Lucien's subtle influence, that fear was unfounded.
The training ground was nothing extraordinary—a flat expanse of sand marked with various dummies and scattered with an array of weapons gathered in one place. It was not grand, but it was sufficient to launch my journey into battle. There, standing confidently with a scythe in hand and clad in gym attire, was my father. I was already dressed in my own athletic gear, and I'd asked Hina to bring a towel and water for me afterward.
Upon seeing me enter, my father called out, "Are you ready?"
Without hesitation, I declared, "I am, master."
He nodded approvingly. "Oh, good! You at least know how to address me properly in the training ground. Now, let us begin. Show me what you have got."
And so began the rigorous physical training.
100 push-ups
100 squats
100 sit-ups
A 10‑kg weighted run
Then came agility drills, quick reflex training, flexibility routines, and endurance exercises. My father believed that these basics were indispensable—a martial artist must develop strength, endurance, patience, and flexibility, much like one must master the alphabet, grammar, and vocabulary to learn a language.
Throughout the grueling six-hour session, I couldn't help but steal glances at Hina. She dutifully carried a towel and water bottle, constantly wiping away my sweat. I felt a twinge of pity for her; it was her first day as a maid, and I could see that the world had not been kind to her.
When the physical training was finally over, I pulled Hina aside, speaking softly so that only she could hear. "Tell me, what is your wish? What do you desire?" I whispered into her ear. (I needed to keep this conversation discreet—Father must not hear.)
She replied in a timid voice, "I want to learn how to read."
It made sense. She had never known the world of language, etiquette, or ethics—she had been tortured from birth by neglect and harsh treatment. I looked over to my father, who, standing there with sweat-soaked hands on his hips, appeared refreshed by the training. This was a rare moment of joy for him, and I knew he would grant any reasonable request.
"Father, could you purchase a real scythe for me? It would motivate me to work even harder."
He considered the request. "Why not? It will help your training, but remember: you must not wield it in excitement. Your body needs time to grow first."
"I will keep that in mind," I promised.
Later, I turned to Hina. "Come to my room at 9 PM. I will teach you anything you wish to know about reading, and Mistress Mira will instruct you in proper manners. I've given you permission to learn the proper etiquette as well."
Her eyes overflowed with joy. It was the first wish she had ever dared to express, and my reply, though gruff, carried a hint of warmth. "Really?" she asked, looking up at me with bright, uncertain eyes.
"Really," I repeated. "But if you ask again, I will cancel it all."
I patted her head. "Don't forget—9 PM in my room daily. Now, get some rest."
---
Later That Night, in My Room at 9 PM
I spread out a collection of textbooks and began to teach Hina the basics of the alphabet. Tapping my finger on the table, I pointed to each letter as I questioned her.
"What is this called?" I asked, indicating a particular symbol.
She hesitated before answering.
"It's the name of a legend… a hero who once challenged the Devil Emperor," I explained with quiet intensity.
"Hero? Legend?" she whispered, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Why is he called a hero? Does he give food to people, like you, master?"
I smiled, charmed by her innocence. "No, Hina. It is something much greater than that. Today, I will tell you the tale of this legend. Are you interested in knowing why he is called a hero?"
"Yep, I really am," she replied eagerly.
"Then listen carefully," I began.
"In the year 1072, a hero named Kevin was born. Raised in the house of Duke Lionhearts, known for their mastery of the sword and their uncanny ability to manipulate auras, Kevin became an extraordinary warrior. By the age of twenty, he had slain many demons. When the war—The War of Humanity—broke out, demons attacked other races for their own gain and to seize control of the earth. Yet, the other races, led by determined priests, fought back for ten long years. In that day of despair, when hope was nearly lost, the priests pleaded for divine grace. In answer to their prayers, five legendary weapons were bestowed upon five individuals:
• A sword called Excalibur
• A bow known as Sloctice
• A hammer named Castrstriphe
• Dual blades called Twin Serpent
• And a wand known as Ignite
These mythic weapons became the symbols of the Hero's Party. Legend has it that Kevin, the chosen wielder of Excalibur, clashed with the Devil Emperor for five grueling days. Their battle was so fierce it split the very earth into continents. Though Kevin vanquished the Devil Emperor's forces, his own life was claimed by the exhaustion of battle—dying before his people could fully understand his sacrifice. Let us not forget the comrades who fought alongside him, who laid down their lives in the war of humanity."
A heavy silence filled the room as I observed Hina's eyes welling with tears at the tragic tale. "Hero… died for others," she murmured sadly.
I sighed, my tone reflective. "Indeed, that is the work of a hero—someone people admire and mourn. However, I have come to a different conclusion after studying countless books: I believe that neither he nor the Devil Emperor truly died. There is little evidence to prove that myth. I suspect that the past has been hidden from the people for reasons unknown."
"What did they hide? Tell me, please, master, please…" Hina's voice quivered with desperate curiosity.
"You are too young to understand this fully," I chided gently. "But the time will come. Now, it is late. Go back to your room—you will train with me again tomorrow."
She pouted, insisting to know more, but in the end, she left with a reluctant nod.
Afterward, I lay on my bed, thoughts swirling around the unknown—or rather, the forgotten past. My morning routine would resume as usual: six hours of physical training under my father's strict guidance, followed by daily notes of his teachings. And at night, I would retreat to Lucien's room for something of even greater importance.
---
End of the Chapter 3