The moment Isabella left, the four of them wordlessly decided to train. No one wanted to waste even a second before their trial. They made their way to the vast training hangar—vaulted like a cathedral, lined with racks of weapons, dummies, and marked rings for sparring. It was the same place Lucien had sweated through endless drills with Aurelius and Juan.
Matteo broke the silence with a wry grin.
"The best way to make peace," he said, "is to fight it out. Besides… it's the fastest way to learn each other's strengths."
Naturally, the first pairing was Ino and Juan.
Ino unsheathed his blade—a thin, black sword that shimmered unnaturally, its surface coated with some alchemical sheen. He held it low and steady, every inch the disciplined duelist. Juan answered with his curved sabre, gleaming even under the dim torchlight. Sparks of tension filled the air as both hunters squared off.
They were just about to lunge when Lucien barked:
"Have you both lost your minds? You'll gut each other!"
Before either could argue, Lucien hurled two wooden training swords their way. The clatter echoed against the stone floor.
"Use those," he said, voice firm. "This isn't the Colosseum yet."
Ino scowled, clearly insulted. Juan only smirked and twirled the wooden sabre in his hand.
From the sidelines, Matteo tilted his head curiously. "Tell me… you weren't joking back there, were you? When you said you're Aurelius's pupil."
Lucien's mask hid his expression, but his shoulders stiffened.
"There are already whispers," Matteo continued. "Among Wardens, among their disciples. After the High Table supper—everyone's talking about the Grandmaster's mysterious masked student. Gives them chills." He grinned faintly. "Brrr."
Lucien tried to deflect. "And you? Whose disciple are you?"
"Disciple?" Matteo chuckled. "I'm no one's disciple. I'm here as an independent."
Lucien blinked. "…Independent?"
Matteo's tone sobered, but his eyes didn't waver. "My parents were hunters. They died in battle at the dawn of the Golden Age—when Johann still led the Order. I sold their home to pay the entry fee for this initiation." He gave a small shrug. "That's the hunter's fate."
Lucien lowered his head slightly. "I'm sorry."
Matteo shook it off. "No need. What's done is done. If anything, I'm lucky. Some independents got sponsorships from the Order itself. And this time…" He exhaled. "The Order and the Church are spending more money than ever before. I still can't believe the Vatican gave its blessing."
Inside Lucien's head, Johann's voice hummed with quiet approval: "Take note of him. This boy has the heart of a hunter."
The thought lingered—until a wooden sword flew across their line of sight.
They spun around.
Ino stood panting, empty-handed. Across from him, Juan clutched his wooden sabre, chest heaving, a grin plastered across his face.
Lucien clapped once.
"Well. Looks like that's settled." His gaze slid to Matteo. "Our turn. Come on."