As they stepped inside, the familiar creak of the Iron Matron’s heavy wooden door swung shut behind them. The warm, cozy hum of the inn embraced them, the smell of roasted meats and herbs mingling with the low murmur of voices from other patrons.
Valeria glanced around, instinctively scouting for an ideal seat and, spotting one by the fire, made her way to the left side of the inn. Meanwhile, Lucavion drifted toward a different corner on the right, drawn to the quiet and slightly secluded booth by the window.
“Perfect spot,” “This place seems fine,” they both muttered under their breath, their voices overlapping as they looked at each other, realizing their divided choices.
Lucavion’s lips twitched with amusement, but instead of speaking, he turned and crossed over to where Valeria stood. He gave her a small nod, then sat down at the table she’d chosen, placing his arms leisurely on the table, watching her with that faintly knowing smirk. Valeria, after a brief hesitation, took the seat across from him, her gaze shifting between the spot she’d originally noticed by the fire and the table they now occupied.
“Second thoughts, hm?” Lucavion murmured, eyeing her expression as if reading her thoughts.
Valeria straightened her posture, waving off his comment with a flick of her hand. “I made my choice,” she said, lifting her chin, though her gaze darted again, almost unconsciously, to the warmer spot she had reluctantly given up.
“Ah, but I don’t think you’re entirely satisfied with it,” Lucavion observed with a grin, stretching one arm casually over the back of the chair. “We could always sit there instead.”
“No,” she replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I’m fine here. This spot is just as good as any other.”
Lucavion chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Well, I can’t have you sitting there, pouting over a better choice. Come on—follow me.” He stood, gesturing with a lazy sweep of his arm toward the fireside table.
Valeria opened her mouth to protest, but the faint smirk on his lips said he’d already won. Huffing softly, she rose and strode to the fireside table, determined to sit without a hint of hesitation, though the faintest hint of color rose to her cheeks.
Once settled, Valeria felt the warmth of the fire settle around her, and she glanced over at Lucavion with a glint of appreciation, though her expression remained composed. “Happy now?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Lucavion’s grin only grew. “Very.”
On the other hand, as Lucavion and Valeria settled by the fireside table, a familiar figure approached them—Jorkin, a stout man with a calm, dependable demeanor and a knack for remembering patrons’ preferences.
He was one of the more seasoned workers at the Iron Matron and had already marked both Lucavion and Valeria as distinguished guests, owing to their frequent visits and, more importantly, the Iron Matron’s unofficial endorsement to treat them well.
“Well, well,” Jorkin greeted them, his voice a low rumble as he stopped beside their table. “I see our favorite fighters have found the best seat in the house tonight.” He cast a quick glance between them, his eyes twinkling with a kind of knowing amusement.
“….” Valeria nodded curtly. She was still not comfortable with the hospitality that they were receiving, since she couldn’t quite understand the reason.
It all happened even before when her name was spread, as when she followed Lucavion here, suddenly the treatment was different. She asked him what this was about, but she didn’t get an answer as usual.
Lucavion leaned back, his usual grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Ah, Mister Jorkin, you make it sound as if we’re royalty,” he drawled, glancing over at Valeria. “Or perhaps you’re just thrilled we’re keeping your inn in business with our ‘fighting spirit,’ eh?”
Jorkin chuckled, unfazed by Lucavion’s teasing. “Well, you indeed bring a certain light to this place. But mate, you seem to get yourself a new alias. Phantom Blade?”
Lucavion’s grin widened as he leaned back, clearly enjoying Jorkin’s comment. “Ah, the Phantom Blade, is it? Seems I’m collecting titles these days,” he remarked, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Though you know how these things go—titles come and go as fast as the next fight.”
Valeria’s gaze flicked to him, arching an eyebrow. “Dramatic,” she murmured, her tone laced with an edge of skepticism.
Lucavion shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Dramatic, maybe, but it keeps things interesting. People love a mystery, after all. And if it gives them something to talk about while they sip their ale, who am I to disappoint?” He shot her a sidelong glance, clearly anticipating some jab from her.
Valeria didn’t disappoint. “Interesting how you talk about ‘titles’ as if they’re little favors you’re granting the public,” she replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Maybe you’re just enjoying it more than you let on.”
“Now, now, I’d hardly call it enjoying,” he drawled, though the amusement never left his face. “More like… adapting. I find it practical to let people’s imaginations do the work for me. Easier that way.”
She shook her head slightly, unable to hide the faintest smile as she leaned back. “Adapt all you want, Lucavion, but you’d better be ready to live up to this ‘phantom’ business.”
“Why should I? If I don’t live up to that name, people will find a new one for me. Eventually, I will get a title that will be fitting for me.”
“Humph. You have an answer for everything.”
“I tend to think a lot to myself.”
Seeing the two talking to each other, Jorkin just sighed and returned with their orders, setting down the steaming bowls of venison stew along with Lucavion’s ale and Valeria’s water. “Enjoy your meal, Phantom Blade,” he quipped with a grin, clearly amused at the moniker’s growing popularity.
Valeria’s gaze tightened, her hand instinctively drifting toward the hilt of her sword as she watched the approaching figures. The Cloud Heavens Sect disciples moved with a calculated poise, their gazes steady as they cut through the bustle of the inn. They hadn’t approached her since the last incident, but their presence now seemed anything but casual. Her jaw set, ready for whatever confrontation they might bring.
Across the table, Lucavion remained unruffled, casually lifting his ale to his lips as if completely oblivious to the tension thickening in the air. But Valeria knew better; his relaxed demeanor was a facade. His eyes held a faint glimmer, taking in the group with a calm sharpness that belied his outward ease.
The lead disciple stopped just a few paces from their table, bowing with a shallow respect that felt almost perfunctory.
But contrary to what she had expected, this time their words were different.
“You, Lucavion. Come with us, we need to talk.”
This time, their target was Lucavion.
********
Over the past few days, the disciples of the Cloud Heavens Sect had been closely observing Lucavion, their eyes trained on his every move.
Initially, their interest had been sparked by his unexpected interruption during their first encounter with Valeria, a disruption they had dismissed as little more than arrogance from an upstart.
But as the tournament continued, and as word of Lucavion’s prowess spread through the city, their perceptions began to shift. What they had brushed off as bravado was now revealing itself as something else entirely—skill, precision, and an unsettling ease that only deepened their wariness.
At first, they’d tried subtle ways to undermine him. Knowing Lucavion’s next opponents, they had discreetly arranged for those challengers to receive high-quality weapons, each imbued with mana to give them an edge.
But despite their careful meddling, Lucavion had dismissed his opponents with effortless precision, not once allowing them to push him past a few calculated moves. Their tactics, which had worked countless times before, had failed against him, fueling both frustration and unease among the disciples.
Each victory he secured in the arena only solidified his reputation, whispers of his “Phantom Blade” moniker filling the city’s taverns and streets.
It was only after a few particularly swift victories that they began to recognize the true threat Lucavion posed.
His opponents left the arena visibly shaken, muttering of an almost supernatural finesse—of how he seemed to predict their moves before they even struck. Lucavion’s skill was becoming more than a rumor; it was proving a barrier between them and their intentions.
The Cloud Heavens Sect disciples, each accustomed to power and respect, found themselves grappling with a growing sense of inadequacy as they watched him dominate the tournament.
And…..the final blow to their patience came when the tournament’s top thirty-two competitors were announced.
Their sect had only six disciples left in the tournament, which was not bad considering its scale, as more than five hundred people were rumored to have joined.
It was normal for each of their sect’s six disciples who had advanced would face off against a formidable opponent, but for one disciple, the name they’d drawn was what brought them here at that moment.
–Lucavion.
And that was why, now they were facing them here.
Zerah who had been somehow the person who was in charge of matters regarding him now stood here.
“You, Lucavion. Come with us. We need to talk.”
And she ordered.