What's with him?
That was the first thing that came to Lilianne Fairmoore's mind when she had seen Luca Von Valentine swinging a wooden sword alone on the training field days ago.
She had walked by on a whim, not expecting anything. But there he was.
Not just physically different—but his eyes. Something about his eyes.
When Aiden had talked to him on the first day, those eyes had looked empty. Not dull, but distant, like he was scouring a horizon only he could see. Like someone who was lost and didn't even know what they were looking for.
But now?
Now they looked determined. Faintly but surely, like the light of someone who'd made a decision.
Tch. Still doesn't explain why he's swinging that sword like a possessed scarecrow.
She had watched Aiden train since they were children. His swordplay had always been fluid, fierce, alive.
Compared to that, Luca's clumsy movements were almost painful to watch.
No grace. No poise. Just... repetition. Wild, pointless repetition.
What is he even doing? Is this supposed to be training?
She scoffed and walked away.
The next day, she found herself at the same spot.
And the next.
And the next.
She told herself it was because Aiden was busy.
He had started spending more time with Kyle and Selene lately.
Kyle — the grandson of the Iron Duke — carried his lineage like a badge of steel. Ruthless in training, unwavering in discipline. A perfect partner for Aiden, whose charisma and talent naturally drew others in.
Selene — cold, composed, and brilliant. Her magic was as sharp as her eyes, and when she stood next to Aiden and Kyle, it was hard not to feel like she belonged there more than anyone else.
Lilianne wasn't part of that.
Not because they pushed her out.
But because she never learned how to step in.
She had always been at Aiden's side. Always. Since childhood, he had been hers. Her world had revolved around him like a fixed star. Wherever he went, she followed — not out of duty, but because she wanted to. Needed to.
And so, she never learned to make friends.
Why should she? What was the point, when she already had everything?
But now… Aiden was with others. Talking, laughing, training.
He belonged to a group that didn't include her.
And she didn't know how to take that.
No. It's just temporary. Aiden is still mine. He's only getting stronger. That's all.
They can play their little trio games all they want. In the end, he'll return to me. He always does.
So, with her mornings empty, she came to the training grounds.
And watched Luca.
Every day.
He never noticed. Never acknowledged her. Just swung that stupid sword until he looked ready to collapse.
Would it kill him to at least say something? A comment? A nod?
Hmph. I don't need it.
...But she kept coming.
Today, she came again.
But the field was empty.
No Luca.
The wooden dummy was still there. The footprints he left behind had faded.
She stood in the center of the field, arms crossed, wind brushing strands of pink hair across her face.
It was quiet.
Where did you go, wooden sword idiot?
She waited a moment longer.
Then turned and left.
Still saying nothing.
But wondering…
***
The crooked silhouette of the Old Clocktower loomed over the far edge of Arcadia Academy's grounds, its cracked spire reaching up into the morning mist like the fingers of a forgotten monument.
Luca stood before it, his breath calm, eyes narrowed. The ivy-covered structure didn't look particularly special — just another relic of a past age, tucked away and mostly ignored. Students avoided it, of course. Rumors said it was haunted. Some said cursed. Others claimed a spirit dwelled within, bound to the ticking heart of the tower.
They weren't wrong.
In the game, this place had always been one of the lesser-known hidden pieces. Not flashy, not grand. A forgotten path for those who explored every corner. Aiden, the protagonist, could have claimed it in the early chapters — and technically, he did. But because he was already powerful and wealthy as the heir to the Grand Dukedom, the reward meant little to him. A bit of experience, a minor buff, and a relic he later sold for a handful of coins.
For Luca, though — this was everything.
The piece hidden here was no blessing or enchanted sword. It was an elixir — a dense, alchemical tonic infused with ancient essence. A product of the spirit's lingering will and sacrifice. Once consumed, it wouldn't make Luca stronger overnight. But it would enhance his stamina, refine his physical structure, and reinforce the very foundation of his body. It was like giving water to parched roots — the beginning of true growth.
It was a stepping stone.
And Luca needed stepping stones more than anything.
He stepped through the broken archway at the tower's entrance. The inside was quiet, cold, the air stale with centuries of abandonment. Sunlight barely touched the stone floor, filtering in through cracked windows high above.
Dust swirled with every step he took.
Massive gears and rusted chains hung high within the tower, like the skeleton of a sleeping beast. The walls were lined with decayed wood and stone alcoves, some collapsed, others eerily intact. A spiraling staircase wound upward, its railing snapped in places. Shadows crawled along the walls, cast by the still form of the broken clock overhead.
Luca remembered the trigger.
Near the base of the tower, hidden behind a cracked pillar, was a rusted switch embedded in the floor — nearly invisible to the casual eye. He knelt beside it and pressed down.
A dull click echoed through the stone.
Then the gears above creaked. Somewhere in the tower's walls, something shifted — a hidden mechanism responding to the long-forgotten command.
A section of the stone wall at the rear of the tower rumbled, then slowly slid aside, revealing a hidden passageway. Cool air flowed from within — air that hadn't seen sunlight in centuries.
He stepped through.
The passage curved slightly downward, narrow and damp. It led to a circular chamber hidden in the tower's base — a room untouched by time. Lanterns glowed faintly with residual magic. And at the center stood a translucent figure clad in ancient plate armor.
A knight. Broad-shouldered, helmeted, motionless. A greatsword was strapped to his back, and in his presence, the room felt heavier.
Luca swallowed.
So this is it.
The spirit of the Fallen Watcher.
He wasn't hostile. Not yet. The trial hadn't begun.
Luca stepped forward, planting his wooden sword into the ground. "I'm here for your legacy," he whispered. "And I know what I have to do."
The knight raised his head slowly. The visor of his helm glowed faint blue — not in anger, but in recognition.
Then, with a sudden clang, he drew his blade.
The trial had begun.
Luca took a deep breath and reached behind his back.
This time, no wooden sword.
From the leather scabbard he brought from his room, he drew the ceremonial longsword engraved with the Valentine crest — an heirloom, gifted to him by his noble family. Beautiful, silver-edged, and far heavier than anything he was used to.
As soon as he gripped it, he could feel his arms strain.
Too heavy.
The blade drooped. His balance shifted. Just lifting it made his shoulders ache.
He had spent mornings practicing with a wooden sword — something light, manageable. But even then, his movements had been awkward and instinctive. He didn't know proper swordplay. His swings were born from desperation, not technique.
And now, with a real sword in his hand, it felt like he was holding a slab of steel rather than a weapon.
His first few swings were clumsy. Choppy. Off-balance.
The spirit knight didn't wait.
With a speed unnatural for something so heavily armored, it lunged forward — blade cleaving through the air.
Luca jumped back, barely avoiding the blow. Steel clashed against stone behind him, sending sparks flying.
He stumbled, gripping the sword with both hands now, sweat instantly beading on his forehead.
"Come on... move...!"
He tried to swing. The sword screamed through the air but missed its mark entirely, leaving him open —
Clang!
The knight backhanded him with its gauntlet. The impact sent Luca flying across the chamber.
He slammed into the stone floor, breath knocked from his lungs.
His vision blurred. Ribs throbbed. Hands trembling.
The knight advanced, no pause, no hesitation. Blade raised again.
Luca rolled aside. Just barely. The spirit's greatsword dug into the floor where he had been.
He scrambled to his feet, dragging his blade with him.
No style. No technique. Just desperate instinct.
Slash.
Parried.
Thrust.
Dodged.
Another blow grazed his arm, slicing through the outer layer of his uniform.
His grip slipped. His legs faltered. His breath came ragged.
He was losing.
Badly.
This isn't like training. This is real. I can die here.
His sword felt like lead.
He gritted his teeth, taking a shaky step back.
I thought I could do this. I thought just knowing the game was enough. That training for a week would give me the edge.
But this…
This was a battle.
And he was just a boy holding a sword too big for his hands.
A rough laugh escaped his lips, bitter and low.
"Looks like I overestimated myself…"
He raised the sword again, even as his arms screamed in protest.
"Just hope I don't die here."
[To be Continued]