Hearing him, the three recoiled back in cringe, frowning at the same time.
"Hey, what are you even saying??" Salena asked in a disgusted tone, her lips curling slightly as if she had just tasted something bitter. Charlotte covered her mouth, clearly suppressing laughter but failing to hide her shaking shoulders. Vern just stared blankly, torn between amusement and second-hand embarrassment.
They were all equally repulsed by Edward's cringiness, though in their own ways.
"Why are you all making those kinds of faces?!" Edward suddenly screamed, his voice echoing louder than it should have. His fists clenched, his expression that of someone deeply wronged. "When I read about it, I got goosebumps! Goosebumps! So what's with this reaction?!" His tone was filled with grievance, like a performer whose masterpiece had just been mocked.
"Goosebumps?" Vern raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "More like nausea."
Charlotte finally burst into a laugh, while Salena looked away, trying hard not to join her.
Edward stomped his foot in frustration, "Tch! You people wouldn't understand true passion if it hit you in the face!"
Vern sighed, shaking his head, deciding it was pointless to argue further. "Okay, these things aside…" his eyes narrowed in curiosity as he turned toward the girls. "What do you mean you two got first place?"
His tone carried genuine interest. After all, just earlier they had claimed to have come despite taking the very same exam.
Charlotte and Salena exchanged glances, a smile tugging at the corners of their lips as if they were hiding something mischievous.
"You heard right," Charlotte said confidently, brushing back a strand of her hair. "We both got first place."
"How?" Edward asked in disbelief, his eyes widening as he looked at them with an astonished gaze, as though the very laws of the world had just been twisted.
"Well, Charlotte and I got the same marks in the exam, so… we both got first place," Salena explained calmly, her tone carrying a hint of pride.
"Oh, so that's how it is," Vern nodded in acknowledgement. It wasn't that odd that Charlotte had managed to get first place—her memorizing abilities were among the best, and he himself had personally made sure she studied properly. He remembered the long evenings of forcing her to revise even when she complained, her short temper often flaring, yet in the end, she had listened.
As they continued talking, the group passed through the tall gates and began making their way toward their lodgings. The lively chatter between them slowly faded into a more relaxed silence as the scenery around them demanded their attention.
For the first time, they truly noticed just how beautiful the capital was. The streets were wide and paved with smooth stone, lined with rows of towering buildings that glistened faintly under the light of dusk. Gardens of vibrant flowers bloomed in carefully tended corners, fountains sparkled with clear water, and elegant statues stood proudly, each carrying the weight of history and artistry.
Although the entire capital functioned as a vast institute, it was not without its charm. Scattered throughout were places worth visiting—tranquil courtyards, hidden libraries, and serene lakes where the reflections of lanterns danced at night.
Vern's gaze swept over it all, yet his eyes held no spark of excitement. He acknowledged the beauty but felt no desire to explore it. His mind was already occupied with thoughts of tomorrow, with goals far greater than enjoying fleeting sights.
*****
In his room, Vern sat cross-legged on the bed, his back straight, his breathing steady. His eyes were closed in deep concentration, the faint rhythm of his breath filling the otherwise silent chamber.
"Haa…" He slowly exhaled a deep breath, then opened his eyes.
A trace of weariness crossed his face as he whispered to himself, "Sigh… it'll take at least a year and a half before I can break through to the second severance."
He had carefully calculated and re-calculated the time, accounting for his talent, his resources, and the demands of his cultivation path. No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't shorten it any further. His lips pressed into a thin line.
"But still…" Vern muttered, his gaze shifting to the window where the faint glow of the capital's lanterns shimmered against the night. His reflection overlapped with the view outside, half-shadow, half-light.
"I should be able to get what I want within that time." His voice was low, but firm.
The night breeze slipped through the slightly open window, stirring the curtain. Vern's eyes hardened, resolve flickering within them. His journey was only beginning, and though the road ahead was long, his heart carried no hesitation.
Vern got off his bed and, with a thought, drew Enkris from his subspace.
The moment the blade slid free from its scabbard, a faint black gleam rippled across its edge. The light wasn't dazzling but subtle—mysterious, mesmerizing, as though the sword itself carried whispers of the abyss. Vern's gaze lingered on it for a moment before a quiet hum escaped his throat.
"Hmm."
With a soft sound of steel cutting air, he began swinging the sword within the confined space of his room. He didn't employ any techniques—he knew too well that even the most basic of them could tear apart his surroundings. Instead, he focused on the fundamentals: the clean precision of a downward slash, the balance of a horizontal cut, the sharp intent of a thrust.
Each motion was deliberate, practiced, honed through repetition.
Yet to an outsider's eyes, it wouldn't have looked like mere training. The blade's arcs traced a rhythm in the air, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. It was less like combat, more like a dance—graceful, controlled, yet brimming with a quiet lethality.
The faint whistling sound of the sword cut through the silence, filling the room with a cadence that only Vern could command. His expression remained calm, but in the flicker of his eyes, a resolve sharper than Enkris itself could be seen.
Knock, knock.
As Vern's sword cut through the air in another clean arc, a sudden knocking sound interrupted the rhythm. He stopped mid-swing, lowered Enkris, and walked forward to open the door.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Edward greeted casually, leaning against the doorframe with that usual carefree tone.
Vern raised an eyebrow. "What do you think I'm doing?" He stepped forward, revealing his sweat-drenched clothes and the sheen on his skin, clearly the result of intense training.
Edward blinked, momentarily speechless. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were lost in thought. After a brief silence, he made a decision and spoke.
"Wanna spar?"
"Huh?" Vern's mouth fell open in disbelief. "Here? In my room? You want me to spar in this place?" His tone was laced with sarcasm.
"Hehe," Edward chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "You don't know anything, my friend." He paused for dramatic effect, then continued smugly, "There's a gymnasium in the lodgings. I had my father arrange it right after our duel, so we'd have a proper place to fight whenever we wanted."
Vern blinked once. Twice. Then his mouth gaped open again. "Huh? A whole gymnasium? Built in just five days? Are you joking?"
Edward grinned ear to ear, puffing his chest out with pride. "Who said anything about building? It was already there. My father just… added a few things. You'll see."
"Let's go then," Vern said, stepping out of his room and gesturing for Edward to lead the way.
Edward happily took the lead, his voice already running ahead of him. "You know, I read this story the other day about a protagonist who fought a dragon with his bare hands! Can you imagine? No sword, no armor—just fists and guts!"
Vern walked beside him in silence, his expression blank, though inwardly he was already questioning why he agreed to this.
"Of course, dragons haven't been seen for… well, forever," Edward continued, waving his hands as though trying to summon an image of one. "But still, they're supposed to be these massive mythical beasts. Do you know they say the second Sword Saint once fought one? Bare-handed, too!"
"That so?" Vern asked flatly, not really impressed.
"Yeah! Though…" Edward rubbed his chin. "There's no real evidence, since it was, what… a million years ago? Not many historical records survived from that era."
Vern's gaze shifted forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "A million years ago, huh… That long, and people still cling to stories instead of facts."
Edward laughed, unbothered. "Hey, myths are what make the world interesting! Who cares if they're true or not? Besides, doesn't it sound way cooler to imagine a lone man punching a dragon to death?"
Vern sighed, muttering under his breath, "Or way dumber…"
Edward only grinned wider, taking Vern's mutter as quiet agreement.
After talking for a while, they finally reached their destination. Edward pushed the gate open and stepped inside first, his voice carrying a hint of pride as he gestured at the interior.
Although the gymnasium wasn't as grand as the one in Kael House, it was still impressive in its own right—wide enough to host multiple sparring matches at once, with weapon racks neatly lined along the walls and open space designed purely for training.
"Change your clothes," Edward pointed toward the adjoining changing rooms, his tone casual but firm.
Vern gave a small nod. Without another word, he turned and headed inside.
A few minutes later, he emerged dressed in simple training attire, the weight of Enkris still at his side, his eyes calm yet carrying a subtle sharpness.