Thudd.
The sound rattled through the training hall like thunder.
"Young master, this technique is called Piercing Descent," Clara said, her wooden sword already bearing down on me. It came straight for my head, a vertical strike that would've split me in two if not for my quick reflexes. I shoved my sword up horizontally, blocking the blow, the wood vibrating in my hands from the sheer force.
But Clara wasn't done. Oh no, she never is. She pressed harder, forcing my blade down, then vaulted even higher into the air.
For a moment she was above me, like some graceful hawk preparing to swoop in for the kill. Then she did swoop, hurling herself down like a spear aimed directly at my chest.
I didn't even think. Inspect showed me the trajectory, and with the boost in my agility, I barely dodged in time. Barely. Blocking it? Yeah, that would've been suicidal. That wooden sword would've gone through mine, my ribs, and then my heart like it was checking off a grocery list.
We're really playing with death in the name of training now.
Clara landed and straightened herself like nothing happened. "This technique," she explained calmly, "uses the opponent's guard to gain momentum. By climbing higher with the enemy's resistance, the user creates overwhelming force, descending as a spear to pierce even layered defenses. If not dodged, it guarantees fatal damage."
"Well, that's… nice and all," I said, catching my breath. "But, umm… is there no way you can explain these things without turning me into your live demonstration dummy?"
Her lips pressed together like I'd just stolen a child's favorite toy. "That will not do, young master. Techniques are not learned, they are drilled. They must be incorporated into your body until your instincts wield them without thought."
Of course. Why did I even ask?
Sylvia, meanwhile, just stood at the edge of the hall, watching like she'd paid for the front-row ticket to a teleportation show. The way her eyes were following Clara, I half-expected her to start clapping.
And so I was drilled with five more techniques. All assassin-based. All equally homicidal. Each one targeted a vital spot — throat, heart, spine, you name it. Clara's training philosophy was basically: "No unnecessary blows, just go straight for the kill." Comforting.
Thing is, assassin techniques are amazing for instant execution or disappearing without a trace. They depend on agility, precision, and split-second reactions. But endurance? Yeah, that stat gets thrown out the window.
Four hours in, I was sweating like a pig at a sauna and half-convinced Clara was trying to assassinate me in the name of teaching assassination.
Still, I had to admit, every time she lunged at my vitals, my "instinct of familiarity" screamed louder, faster. It was being hammered into me with every near-death dodge. Effective training, sure. Sadistic, also yes.
Once I get back to the castle though? I'm definitely finding a proper master to teach me techniques that aren't designed exclusively for stabbing jugulars. Preferably something that doesn't risk snapping my ribs every five seconds.
***
"See to it that you secure the deals, Hugo, according to the plan of action you submitted," Father said, placing a hand on my shoulder. There was a smirk on his face, which meant the deals weren't really optional.
I bent slightly, just enough to show respect without shrugging his hand off. Gotta keep the old man pleased.
Then he turned to Granny. "Please take—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. He's my disciple now," she interrupted, waving him off like he was some kid begging for candy. "Just get going already. You came, you finished your business, no need to chatter with this old lady."
I swear, the way she said it, you'd think she was sending off a street merchant, not one of the most dangerous men alive.
Father smirked again. "Next time I visit the Elvian kingdom, I'll make sure to spend more time with you, Master."
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Granny clicked her tongue, absolutely unimpressed. "Tsk. Off with you." She literally shooed him away with her hand.
I wanted to laugh, but also… I liked my life, so I didn't.
Father's gaze shifted to Orion. "Viscount Orion, I am putting my son under your care. Please take care of him."
Now, when Father says "please," it doesn't mean "please." It means, "fail and I'll personally cut off your head." Nice little Falcon-family translation.
Orion bowed so deeply I thought his spine might crack. "Of course, my lord. Do not worry about a thing here."
Father nodded, then looked at Sylvia. "Take care, little lady. Let us meet again soon."
She bowed gracefully. "Of course, my lord. It would be my honor."
Then came the next bit of fun. Apparently, the spies hiding in Orion's crew were confirmed to be from Griffinvale, and on top of that, they were working with Ashen. Great. Because nothing screams 'welcome to your study-abroad program' like international espionage.
Father didn't pause, though. "Well, Hugo, I heard Juliette's Velmere drills. The Academy's campaign is in two months."
I nodded, all proper and heir-like. "Of course, Father. I will receive her well."
"I had originally planned to accompany her to Velmere and visit you at the same time," he continued, "but I must attend the third princess's coming-of-age ceremony in the Imperial Palace."
Then he dropped it. "She will accompany Juliette in my place."
"She?" I asked carefully.
He smiled. "The one you asked me about… the head of Falcon's intelligence network."
Ah. So he really took that request seriously.
I don't know her.. but I can sense another granny incoming. I mean "Falcon's intelligence netwrok", the name has such a ring to it and the one who is leading it will natually have the wrinkles do the talking fot her.
Then Everard turned his attention to the one bowing the most in the room.
"Clara," he said.
She immediately straightened, answering in that perfectly disciplined voice of hers. "Yes, Your Grace."
Without even looking behind him, Father raised his hand and pointed his thumb toward the carriage, the other four fingers curled as if the entire gesture was too beneath him to warrant effort.
"Get inside. I need to talk to you a bit."
And just like that, Everard, Sebastian, and Clara stepped into the carriage.
Now, according to his earlier words, he was supposed to be heading to the princess's coming-of-age ceremony. You know, that boring month-long aristocrat mixer at the royal palace where dukes and marquises pretend to care about one another's children while secretly planning how to stab each other in the back later.
But Father? No. He is not the type to waste his time sipping overpriced wine and applauding some princess's new dress. In fact, I wouldn't be shocked if he ditched the entire ceremony altogether.
Which only means one thing—he found something else. Something bigger than Griffinvale and Ashen's little backroom partnership.
Imperial Hidden Blade Ashen, working for Griffinvale… that's already nasty enough, so if Father's ignoring all that, there must be a whole pot of background gravy simmering somewhere.
Well… he'll tell me if it's worth telling. And if not, I'll just pretend I didn't want to know anyway.
After ten minutes, Clara finally stepped out of the carriage. Her skin under the eyes was pink, the kind that said she had been crying and then made the rookie mistake of rubbing them to cover it up. Smooth, Clara. Real smooth.
[Ding. The target, Clara Flinch, favorability rose to 89%.]
Huh? I blinked, pulling up the Inspect window
But when she looked at me, there was something else—warmth, like a kid being given their favorite dessert after being denied it for far too long. A little unsettling, honestly.
I asked, keeping my tone formal
She bowed and softly said, "Thank you."
"…Welcome?"
what did I just get thanked for? Existing? Standing here? Being confused?
Did my father say something other than what I asked him to tell you?
Before I could untangle that puzzle, my father's voice came from inside the carriage. "Take care, everyone."
We all bowed in unison, a neat little synchronized display. Even Sebastian bowed from inside the cramped carriage. From the outside, it probably looked decent enough—like proper noble etiquette. But if anyone inside actually saw him trying to bend in that little box of a space, they'd probably think he was wrestling with invisible demons.
The carriage moved, slow at first, and then before I knew it, it had already rolled out of sight. Just like that—gone.
Something's brewing, I could feel it. And if this is how the story's setting itself up, I should head back as soon as the task here is finished. Being too far away from the main plot only means one thing: a late start. And I'm not exactly fond of falling behind in my own story.
Clara, though… she was still staring at me. Not with the professional sharpness she usually carried, but with that same look from earlier—like a child staring at candy through the shop window. Honestly, it was getting a little hard to know where to look.
[Ding. The target, Clara Flinch, favorability rose to 94%.]
...Alright, what on earth did Father say to her?
*************
Author's Note:
This marks the end of Volume 1 of RALLDTD. Thank you for reading and supporting me through this journey!
I will soon be starting Volume 2. At the moment, I am working on publishing this first volume on Amazon, and once that process is complete, I'll begin releasing the second volume here on Royal Road.
In the meantime, I'm also planning to start another novel. Once I finish preparing the pre-release stuff, I'll publish an announcement here that will include its theme, genres, main characters, and synopsis. I truly hope you'll support it as well.
Just a little teaser — it will feature reincarnation and regression themes, with a faster-paced romance and... might contain 18+ elements. So please look forward to it!
Thank you once again for your support.
Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.