While everyone enjoyed their breakfast, Aziz and Astrid lingered, mother and son sharing a closeness that quietly crossed the line between simple affection and something deeper—something that spoke of warmth, of presence, of bonds that neither of them could name.
Sofia, who could no longer stand watching the two so comfortably entwined, finally broke the silence.
"Aziz, how about I show you what weapon I really fight with?"
Aziz tilted his head, feigning innocence.
"What do you mean? Aren't you a swordswoman like me?"
"Hehe... actually, no. My real weapon is something else. Don't ask me what—it's a surprise. When we get to the training field, you'll see," she said, with a confident smile blooming across her face.
"I promise—you'll be surprised."
Aziz noticed the excitement in her voice. She was already halfway up, almost glowing with anticipation.
He raised his hand gently, grounding her.
"Alright. But first, let's finish eating, okay?"
"Okay... fine," Sofia grumbled, calming herself and stuffing her mouth with sweets to distract from her own eagerness.
Once breakfast was done, Sofia stood with a graceful little hop and dashed toward the door of the dining hall.
She stopped at the threshold, turned to Aziz, and spoke in a tone that felt both mysterious and strangely self-assured.
"Wait for me at the training grounds. I'm going to get my weapon."
She disappeared into the palace corridors before he could respond.
Aziz arched a brow at the dramatics. All this mystery, over a weapon?
He considered asking Lady Stella what Sofia really used in combat.
But then, he decided against it.
It wouldn't be right to ruin a surprise she clearly wanted to show him herself.
And even if he asked, he doubted Stella would tell him.
"Alright... guess I'm going. Now I'm curious," he said, taking one last sip of juice and rising from his chair.
"You two coming?" he asked Astrid and Isis.
"No, you go ahead. Isis and I will watch with Stella and Sylvia."
He exchanged a look with them, saw their small nods, and calmly made his way out.
---
A few minutes later, Aziz stood in the training area, a simple wooden sword in hand—one he'd taken from the nearby weapons cabinet.
"She's taking longer than I thought," he muttered, lightly stretching his arms, loosening his body.
Step. Step. Step.
He turned his head slowly toward the source of the sound.
And froze.
Sofia entered without a word.
Her walk was silent, smooth.
Her face no longer bore the softness of childhood.
It had changed. Or perhaps, something had awakened behind her eyes.
She looked serene.
Unshakably so.
But it wasn't her eyes that stunned Aziz.
It was the weapon she held.
A scythe. Dark. Majestic. Unearthly.
Its curved shaft, black as a starless void, looked like it had been carved from wood forgotten by time—or maybe forged from ancient metal that swallowed light instead of reflecting it.
Red spiral patterns crawled along its length, as if etched by something alive... something ancient, humming with power.
The blade...
It shimmered with a crimson edge, like a whisper of blood under moonlight.
It curved like the claw of some mythical beast—elegant, precise, and deadly.
It did not belong in ordinary hands.
And yet, there she stood.
Nine years old.
Holding it as if it had always belonged to her.
"Surprised, aren't you?" she asked, now standing before him.
Her golden eyes pierced his, and in their reflection—Aziz saw his own shock.
"Honestly... I expected anything but a scythe."
"Hehe. Appearances deceive. You of all people should know."
"True enough. So—are you just going to show it off, or are we fighting?"
"If you're using that toy in your hand, you're going to lose badly," she said, nodding toward the wooden sword.
Aziz blinked. Looked down. Scratched his head.
Right. He'd forgotten about that detail.
"Ahem... I don't have a real sword to use right now," he coughed, trying to brush past his embarrassment.
Sofia sighed, hands on her hips.
"And here I thought you looked all calm and imposing..."
Before he could respond, Sylvia appeared at the entrance, carrying a sleek silver sword and a black box.
"Here. This one will do just fine for your little match," she said, handing him the blade.
She opened the box, revealing two polished bracelets.
"These are for safety. They'll form a magical barrier over your vital points. You can fight seriously—but no going overboard."
With that, she turned and left the way she came.
---
Left alone again, they each clasped the bracelet onto their wrists.
A pulse—almost like a heartbeat—spread through their bodies.
They could feel it.
A second skin made of mana.
Thin, invisible, but there.
Like a translucent armor.
"Interesting... it feels like I'm covered in something soft but unbreakable," Aziz murmured.
He looked at the sword, saw his reflection in its mirrored steel.
He weighed it, tested the grip.
It felt right.
He stepped back.
"I'm ready. Ready to lose again, little fox?" he said, falling into a steady stance.
"Hehehe. You're going to regret that," Sofia answered, stepping into position with her scythe.
Their eyes met.
No smiles. No teasing.
Just... focus.
Time thinned. The air thickened.
The world vanished.
Only the duel remained.
With a breath—
They moved.
CLANG!
Their weapons collided, a screech of tension splitting the silence.
Locked in that clash, they stopped.
And looked.
Not just looked—they stared into each other, into places deeper than names or gestures could reach.
It felt like time didn't just slow—it fractured.
Two children.
Two souls.
Two eternities reflected in each other's eyes.
A heartbeat passed.
And they broke apart.
No words.
Only understanding.
Then—
They clashed again.
Aziz used his "Fundamental Essence of the Sword."
Sofia met him, not with brute force, but precision.
He was stunned.
Even with a technique gifted by the system—she kept up.
Not with power.
But skill.
Refinement.
Experience.
Another strike.
A crack in the air.
Aziz leapt back, panting.
"Haa... you... you're good."
"Haa... haa... Surprised? You haven't seen anything yet," she replied—and attacked again.
Aziz blocked. The scythe's blade slid down his sword. He tilted it, redirecting it low, hoping to force an opening.
He found one.
But—
It was a trap.
Sofia spun on her heel, momentum pulling her into a sweep.
Aziz lifted his sword too late.
CRACK!
The scythe hit his guard.
He staggered.
Lost his footing.
An opening.
Sofia didn't miss it.
With precision and force, she delivered a strike that shattered any defense he had left.
One feint.
One twist.
A scythe strike angled upward—right at the wrist.
CLANG!
His sword flew from his hand.
Before he could even blink—
She advanced.
Swept his legs.
He hit the ground, hard.
And the tip of the scythe pressed against his neck.
"Haaa... haa... I... won," Sofia whispered, her golden eyes shining with something ancient, almost divine.
---
Aziz stared at the ceiling.
Breath shallow.
Heart beating slow.
He didn't feel pain.
Not in the body.
What he felt was something else.
Something breaking.
In all his past life—nineteen years of contests, tournaments, games—he had never lost.
Not once.
He had always been first.
Always the best.
Even as a child, he had never known anything but victory.
And now—
At nine years old—
In this new world—
He had lost.
Not by accident.
Not by weakness.
But because someone was truly better.
And as he lay there...
He didn't feel rage.
He didn't cry.
He just stared upward—
And felt the first real crack inside himself.
A fracture in something he hadn't even known was there.
Something deeper than pride.
Something older than either of his lives.