Jacob tightened the last strap on his greaves and stood in front of the tiny scrap of mirror nailed to the wall.
The brigandine coat hugged his shoulders, plates hidden under dark fabric. Bracers wrapped his forearms, and the greaves covered his shins.
His enchanted shirt covered most of it, making him look more like a boy bundled for winter than someone heading to a duel.
The sword at his hip changed that.
He rested his palm on the hilt for a moment and felt the faint presence of his enchantments.
The coat, his greaves, the bracers, his boots, and the blade all settled into his awareness.
The floorboard behind him creaked.
"So that is what a poor farmer sends his son to market in now," Arthur said, leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded and a smile that did not quite hide the worry in his eyes. "I remember when a good shirt and clean boots were enough."
Jacob turned.
"I told you last night," he said. "If I want them to take me seriously about the dungeon, I have to prove I am not going to get turned into paste the moment something swings at me."
Arthur's gaze ran over the gear, measuring. He had watched Jacob enchant almost every piece. He knew exactly how much work sat in this room.
"Carlos agreed to this?" Arthur asked.
Jacob nodded.
"Training field behind the tavern at first light. I'll fight his scout. If I fall in one hit, I come home. If I hold my own, he will listen to my request."
Arthur snorted softly.
"Adventurers and their games."
He stepped forward and adjusted Jacob's collar, his fingers checking the straps at the shoulders with the same care he used on an ox harness.
"Listen to me," Arthur said, his voice dropping. "This is your Trial Year, which means you get to make your own mistakes. It also means you should learn how to fail without dying. If that scout is more than you can handle, you step back. You concede. You do not force your body to pay a debt it cannot afford."
Jacob held his father's gaze. "I'm not trying to win. I am trying to show them that my work holds up."
Arthur's mouth twitched.
"Oh, I know you are trying to win. You are my son. Just remember that there is more than one kind of victory. If they have to admit your armor resists their best blows, that counts as a win even if you end up on your backside."
The knot in Jacob's chest eased a little.
"I will be careful," he said.
Arthur clapped him on the shoulder, then winced and shook his hand out.
"Fine," he muttered. "Too many plates. Come on, your mother will flay both of us if you go to a fight without breakfast."
They ate quickly. May tried once to ask what exactly he was doing in town. Arthur gave her a look that said, very clearly, Trial Year. She pressed her lips together, then stacked more food on Jacob's plate and kissed the top of his head on his way out the door.
The air outside bit at Jacob's face, but the warmth runes in his clothes turned took the edge off of the cold.
He walked toward town with his hand resting lightly on his sword, feeling every piece of gear settle. With each step, his nerves untangled into a simple, steady thought.
Prove it.
The training field behind the tavern was a packed dirt rectangle scarred by old bootmarks and weapon cuts.
A few straw dummies leaned at odd angles along one side. Frost clung to the shaded edges where the sun had not yet reached.
Carlos and his group were already there.
The leader stood with his hands on his hips, his breath visible in the morning chill. The dwarf leaned against a massive iron shield, looking like a stationary wall.
The elf kept her hat low, and her cloak pulled tight, her wand tucked into her belt. Tamsin, the gnome scout, flipped a knife with mechanical precision, catching it without looking.
A few villagers had drifted over to watch, their eyes following Jacob as he approached.
Carlos spotted him and waved him closer.
Combat Insight Triggered
More powerful sword from unknown enchanter detected.
Suggested action: Identify source. Maintain favorable relations.
Carlos felt the familiar prickle at the back of his eyes and almost clicked his tongue. The skill had gone off the first time he had seen Jacobs' sword that now hung at his own hip.
Seeing it light up just because the kid walked onto a practice field was not comforting.
He buried the irritation and the unease together. Whatever the skill thought it saw, he was not about to start treating a farmer's son like a roaming calamity. Not where the boy or the villagers could see it, anyway.
He shook his head and put the thought aside as Jacob approached.
"Right on time," he said. "Good! I told Tamsin you were serious. He thought I was pulling his leg."
Tamsin gave Jacob a once-over, noting the proportions of the coat and the lack of a helmet.
"You brought real steel?" the gnome asked, nodding at the sword.
"Yes," Jacob said.
"You planning to use it?" Tamsin's tone was mild, but there was interest under it.
"If you are testing whether I can keep up, then I am not doing it with a stick."
Carlos clapped his hands once.
"Rules," he said. "No killing. No blinding. and no permanent damage. Tamsin will keep his blades to your armor as much as he can. If I say stop, we stop. If either of you yields, we stop. Are we clear?"
"Clear," Tamsin said.
"Clear," Jacob echoed.
The dwarf grunted.
"The boy is going to get flattened," he muttered, but he was watching closely.
The elf folded her arms, lips pressed thin, eyes sharp under the hat brim.
Carlos stepped back to the edge of the field.
"Take positions," he said.
Jacob drew his sword. The metal felt perfectly balanced, moving as if it were an extension of his own arm.
He took a guard stance, the blade held at an angle across his chest with his weight centered on the balls of his feet. His heart was loud, but his grip remained sure.
Tamsin rolled his shoulders and walked to the opposite side. He drew two short blades, one reverse-gripped, one forward, both dull silver in the weak light.
For a moment, he simply stood, loose and relaxed, then his whole posture shifted. The lazy air vanished, and a coiled readiness took its place.
Jacob swallowed.
'Good,' he told himself. 'If he holds back, none of this means anything.'
Carlos raised his arm.
"Begin."