Lyan returned to his room. The corridor was quiet, but the air seemed unusually tense, charged with an unspoken threat. The doors to his room were shut, yet something felt wrong. As he approached, he realized why—the door had been partially forced open, a subtle but unmistakable sign that someone had entered without permission.
Inside, an assassin waited. Not a clumsy intruder or an opportunistic thief, but a professional, one whose every movement carried deadly precision. The assassin's posture, the way his hands hovered near his weapons, the controlled breathing—all of it spoke of years of experience. Lyan's heart rate quickened, though not with fear; it was the sharp awareness of danger, the instinctive recognition that this was a fight for survival.
Though Lyan had not received formal combat training, and his Awakening had disappointed—placing both his physical and magical education on indefinite hold—he was not entirely unprepared. He had been taught the fundamentals as a Duke's son, basic hand-to-hand combat, observation of opponents' movements, and a developing sense of timing. It was far from mastery, but enough to give him a fighting chance.
The assassin struck first, a blur of motion aimed at Lyan's chest. Lyan sidestepped instinctively, barely avoiding the lethal blade. In the split second, he noticed something crucial: the assassin's overconfidence. The intruder moved swiftly, but there was an assumption that Lyan would falter, that he would hesitate. That single underestimation would prove to be the key to his survival.
The fight escalated. Lyan ducked under a sweeping kick, countering with a strike aimed not to defeat but to unbalance, to test the opponent's reactions. He observed every twitch of muscle, every shift in weight, and adjusted his movements accordingly. Though his attacks were simple—basic jabs, parries, and grabs—they were precise, exploiting small openings that the assassin assumed didn't exist.
Despite the assassin's skill, his arrogance was apparent. He underestimated the young man's awareness, his adaptability, and, above all, his ability to remain calm under pressure. With each exchange, Lyan felt a surge of confidence. Every narrowly avoided strike, every feint that drew a reaction, reinforced the fact that his survival depended not on power, but on perception and quick thinking.
Recognizing his limits, Lyan made a calculated decision. He feigned a stumble, retreating toward the door as if overwhelmed. The assassin's eyes narrowed, sensing victory, and in that moment, he left his guard down. Lyan seized the opportunity, flipping backward to create distance and calling for the household knights, the assassin realized his mistake
however it was too late.
The knights, trained and swift, responded immediately, rushing into the room and confronting the assassin.
The assassin faltered, caught between his own misjudgment and the sudden arrival of reinforcements.
As Lyan watched as the professional's panic realizing his evident demise, he realized that the margin between life and death could hinge on a single miscalculation. Within moments, the knights neutralized the threat, securing the intruder with efficiency born of training.
As silence returned to the room, Lyan's mind replayed the fight in meticulous detail. Every move, every decision, every near-miss was analyzed. He thought about the guardian who had been observing from the shadows,there was no way an assassin of that caliber could slip through the dutchy's defence not to mention the arrival of the guards was simply to timely. Did they wish for him to fail, testing his limits through danger? Or did they simply trust him, believing he could handle the threat on his own? The question lingered, unspoken, but it added fuel to his resolve.
He realized that his survival was as much a product of luck as of skill. The assassin had underestimated him, assuming that a lack of formal training equated to vulnerability. In reality, Lyan's instincts, honed through careful observation and prior challenges within the household, had allowed him to exploit that very assumption. It was a lesson in both humility and potential: strength was not only learned, but also existed in moments of sharp awareness.
In the quiet aftermath, Lyan reflected on the limits of his current abilities. The fight had exposed gaps: his techniques were still rudimentary, and his timing could improve. Yet it had also revealed latent potential, a capacity to adapt, to read opponents, and to survive against odds that should have overwhelmed him. His desire to grow stronger, to refine both body and mind, surged with renewed intensity.
He thought about his physical training, delayed because of his Awakening, and his magical studies, still on hold. Neither had advanced as he had hoped, but he knew that discipline, observation, and careful self-study could bridge the gap. He considered strategies, tactics, and lessons learned from the brief but intense confrontation. Each strike, each counter, each dodge became a point of reflection. How could he anticipate better? How could he control the flow of battle? How could he turn an opponent's confidence against them?
Above all, Lyan recognized the importance of perception. The assassin had made a single critical error: underestimating him. That misjudgment had created the opening for survival. It was a reminder that battles were not always won through raw strength or skill alone. Awareness, timing, and the ability to exploit the opponent's assumptions could tip the scales in unexpected ways.
As he settled into the quiet of his room, Lyan allowed himself a rare moment of introspection. The encounter had been a trial, yes, but also a revelation. It highlighted both weakness and potential, fear and courage, failure and triumph. It reminded him that growth was not a straight path; it was forged in struggle, in challenge, and in moments where life and death balanced on a knife's edge.
He looked inward for guidance, drawing on the lessons learned from observation, instinct, and reflection. The desire to grow stronger was no longer abstract—it was urgent, tangible, driving him to seek mastery in both combat and strategy. Every misstep, every hesitation, every underestimated opponent became a stepping stone toward a future where he would no longer be at the mercy of circumstance.
The guardian's silent watch lingered in his thoughts, a shadowy presence that may have guided him through subtle lessons or perhaps simply believed in his capacity to survive. Whatever the intent, it served as a quiet challenge, urging him to rise beyond current limitations.
And so, in the stillness of the Ducal household, Lyan began to plan. He would train, study, and sharpen every skill within his reach. The world outside the room was dangerous, filled with those who assumed weakness could be exploited. Yet Lyan had survived, not by luck alone, but by perception, adaptability, and the willingness to act decisively.
The encounter had been more than a fight. It was a trial of instincts, of awareness, and of resolve. It had tested his limits and forced him to confront both vulnerability and potential. And as he sat alone, the resolve within him crystallized: he would grow stronger, and the next time someone underestimated him, they would regret it.