The library was housed in a vast hall surrounded by majestic columns. Its high ceilings and the still-unfinished dome lent the place a sense of grandeur left incomplete. Yet in stark contrast to the size of the room, the shelves were sparse; the books formed thin lines within massive shelves, some sections remained entirely empty. It was more like a library defined not by its contents, but by its future potential. Since the academy’s construction began, Baral had allocated a serious budget for this space, ordering handwritten works, philosophical compilations, and historical records from both nearby and distant kingdoms. But even that wasn’t enough to fill such an immense library.

  A quiet hum reigned in the space; the scratch of quills on parchment blended with the heavy footsteps of scholars walking by. As Ellsa had said, many of the scholars here spent their time on knowledge far beyond what children could comprehend. Some were alone, others worked with young students. These children, likely around fourteen or fifteen, bore expressions of striking seriousness for their age. They had likely earned the favor of these esteemed men through exceptional intelligence or dedication. Since the library’s dome was yet incomplete, rays of sunlight filtered in through the stone arches above, weaving through particles of dust as they descended, lending the space an otherworldly atmosphere.

  The armored warrior guiding Corvus pointed to a young man sitting in a corner against the wall. Raising his index finger, he silently indicated Volmir. But Corvus didn’t notice the gesture right away; his eyes were still drifting to the ceiling, the shelves, and the striking youths. When he finally spotted Volmir, a slight smile formed on his lips. Raising his hand, he called out loudly:

  “Hey Volmir! Look over here, I’m here!”

  His voice instantly tore through the library’s still air. Not only Volmir, but nearly everyone in the library lifted their heads and turned toward Corvus. Their gazes held both surprise and a hint of anger. Silence was a sacred rule in this place, and Corvus, albeit unintentionally, had broken it like an axe through glass. Volmir immediately rose and hurried toward his brother. His head was bowed, eyes fixed to the ground as he walked—it was clear from his posture that he was embarrassed. Corvus, trying to make sense of what had just happened, turned to the warrior beside him.

  “Did I do something wrong?” he asked quietly.

  The warrior looked at him with the kind of astonishment one might reserve for someone who’d just heard a well-known rule for the first time. Then, he whispered:

  “Sir… We must remain silent in libraries.”

  The word “library” in that sentence stood out. Of course, Rhazgord language had words like “archive” or “book”, but there was no fully established equivalent yet for “library”. So the warrior had used the term in Adler’s language. However, he pronounced it in a rather strange way—like someone hearing the word for the first time and mimicking it with their own accent. The information he so proudly offered was likely something he had only recently learned himself.

  As soon as Volmir reached Corvus, he grabbed his brother’s arm without saying a word and gently but firmly pulled him outside. The moment they stepped out of the library, the heavy atmosphere inside gave way to the refreshing open air. Corvus immediately noticed Ellsa just ahead, now surrounded by even more scholars. Their numbers had increased. The poor woman was so busy jotting down the scholars’ endless requests with pen and paper that she hadn’t even noticed Corvus approaching. The exhaustion on her shoulders was evident in the few drops of sweat that had fallen to her brow.

  “You’re not supposed to speak loudly in libraries!” Volmir suddenly said, his tone sharp. What he said was likely true, but the expression on his face revealed that he immediately regretted how he’d said it. He quickly dropped his gaze to the ground and added, voice trembling:

  “I apologize for raising my voice at you, sir!”

  The academy’s environment had clearly made him forget the days he spent at military camp. His relationship with authority was no longer as rigid as it once had been. But Corvus didn’t mind his brother’s behavior. With a soft smile, he patted Volmir’s head, his fingers running through his messy hair.

  “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  As soon as he finished speaking, his eyes caught the book Volmir had tucked under his arm. On the cover, in large and elegant letters, was the title: "The Origins of the Lightstone". The volume looked quite old; the edges of its pages had yellowed, and the cover was slightly worn. Corvus had never read this book. Up until now, he’d only read texts on war strategy, military history, and a few essential works recommended by Belisarius and Baral.

  “You’re interested in the Lightstone?” he asked in a slightly teasing but warm tone. Then, an unexpected seriousness crossed his face.

  “I was hoping you’d be studying politics and economics.”

  Volmir’s small body, as he tried to press the book to his chest like a fragile treasure, betrayed both his embarrassment and excitement. But when he saw the soft expression on Corvus’s face, he felt a bit of relief. He could sense that his brother wasn’t angry.

  “I mean… it’s just a hobby, brother.” he said, his voice sheepish.

  “I read to pass the time.”

  Corvus looked at his brother attentively for a moment. The book in his hand was written in Adler’s language, and the fact that Volmir could already read and understand it after just a few months was impressive. This complex language, structurally almost unrelated to Rhazgord, had taken Corvus years of military training and personal effort to learn. Volmir’s progress showed not only memory but a deep determination and hunger to learn.

  “Just a hobby?” Corvus asked, tilting his head slightly.

  “What a shame… I was hoping to consult you about Lightstone energy.”

  With those words, Volmir’s expression changed in an instant. He locked eyes with his brother, trying to determine whether he was serious. At first, he was skeptical about Corvus’s knowledge of the subject—after all, his brother had no formal academic education. But then he remembered who he was speaking to. This was Corvus Tiamat, whose name was whispered on the every corner of Rhazgord, who wielded the energy of the Lightstone with instinctive mastery. Perhaps he really had discovered something about it. A spark of excitement lit up in Volmir’s eyes. Corvus, noticing his brother’s passion, smiled and turned to the warrior beside him.

  “Go on, rest for the day.” he said simply. The warrior obeyed without question and walked away from the library. Corvus turned back to his brother.

  “Is there a place in this academy where we won’t be disturbed? Scholar Volmir.” he said with a wink.

  Volmir nodded immediately and led his brother toward the back of the academy. There stood a large, unfinished structure whose construction had been temporarily halted. Normally, students and instructors were forbidden from entering this area. But those who knew who Volmir was either turned a blind eye or ignored it. He had discovered this building on his own just a few days ago and had spent his free time there alone. He had especially used the space to practice the combat techniques Corvus had taught him.

  When they entered the building, they found a few unmoved tables, thick beams, and scattered construction materials. The smell of dust still hung in the air, but the space carried the aura of a secret retreat. Corvus didn’t want to make Volmir wait any longer. He took out a leather-bound notebook tucked into his belt and handed it to his brother. Volmir received it as if it were a sacred relic, immediately opened it, and began to read.

  In the pages of the notebook were Corvus’s personal notes based on his own observations about the energy of the Lightstone, alternative usage methods, and his discoveries about "Power Nests". Each page was filled with information he had found through direct experiments on his own body. This was far more valuable than the dry information learned from books. Volmir was quickly flipping through the pages, asking questions wherever he paused.

  “Brother, you’ve written that to transfer energy faster, the right ‘Power Nests’ must be used. What do you mean by transferring energy? Isn’t the Lightstone something that moves instinctively through the body? There’s no detail here.”

  Corvus was pleased to see his excitement, though he was silently amused. The points that Volmir got stuck on were typically those that could only be understood by someone who had consumed the Lightstone and used its energy in practice—things that couldn’t be described with words. The notebook was entirely based on Corvus’s field experiences; it contained intuitive observations, not technical terms. It was hard for Volmir—who had never consumed a Lightstone in his life—to comprehend.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  After about an hour of this intense information exchange, Volmir had become unable to put the notebook down. His own notebook was now full of writings, with the corners decorated with marks and symbols. When he looked back at Corvus, it was obvious that a desire was swelling within him. His eyes were shining, his lips trembling.

  “Don’t hold back, just say it.” Corvus said in a soft voice.

  “Sir… No, brother! Please let me work on the information in this notebook with other scholars!” said Volmir, swallowing his words.

  “This… What you’ve discovered here is revolutionary!”

  But Corvus immediately reached out and slowly took the notebook from his brother’s hands. The joy in Volmir’s eyes instantly faded, his lips tightened, and he looked down at the ground.

  “You can’t show it to the scholars.” Corvus said firmly.

  “Nor can you explain its contents. I’ll entrust this notebook to you only when you’re by my side.”

  Volmir still held onto hope. At least he would be able to continue working with the information. A small seed of joy bloomed inside him. As he raised his head, lost in thought, he was startled by the metallic sound of Corvus drawing his swords from their scabbards. Corvus had drawn both of his swords. There was a slight look of challenge in his eyes.

  “Where’s your sword, Volmir?” he said, slightly raising his eyebrows.

  “Go get it so I can see how much you’ve improved.”

  Volmir immediately jumped up and ran outside the building. His breathing had quickened, his eyes were resolute. Shortly after, he returned with a short sword. It seemed he had hidden his weapon nearby since he frequently practiced here. He drew his sword from his belt; the shining steel gleamed for a brief moment in the pale morning light. Volmir stepped back two paces, bent his knees slightly, lowered his body to drop his center of gravity, and took a fighting stance. His slim but firm muscles were tense; the slight trembling in his palms was not from fear but intense focus.

  The fighting technique Corvus had taught him wasn’t one suitable for classical duels. It was a technique more useful in the shadows, in narrow alleys, and in ambushes—a style built on striking suddenly and disappearing swiftly. It focused particularly on back and side attacks. Moreover, light weapons like a short sword were at a disadvantage in direct confrontations against swords, spears, or axes. The longer the fight lasted, the less chance a short sword had. But Corvus had taught Volmir this technique for a reason. Volmir may have been weaker and less resilient than his peers, but his agility and extraordinary speed were his real weapons. If he could combine these talents with the right technique, he could develop an unusual, unique fighting style—deadly yet unpredictable.

  “Attack to kill!” Corvus said—not shouting, nor commanding—but the resolve in his voice pierced Volmir’s mind like a blade. He didn’t want his brother to fear the steel in his hand. Besides, no matter what Volmir did, he couldn’t hurt him.

  The duel began.

  Corvus didn’t move from his spot. His feet were firmly planted on the ground, every muscle in his body relaxed but ready. Volmir began circling around him. He silently traced circles, looking for an opening. But Corvus’s loose shoulders, slightly bowed head, and hanging swords did not reveal any vulnerability—rather, they created an invisible defensive circle around him. The young boy hesitated for a moment. His eyes followed Corvus’s breathing, trying to guess his center of gravity. But there were no signs of imbalance or openings. Everything was too calm. “Whatever happens, let it happen!” he thought and lunged forward.

  Lowering his body close to the ground as if glued to the earth, he dashed to Corvus’s right side with a sharp, blade-like movement. He launched his attack by swinging his short sword upward from below. Corvus simply lifted his sword slightly to deflect it. But Volmir’s attack didn’t end there. While his sword was still in the air, he spun his body with incredible agility and suddenly kicked backward. It was the kind of move that could surprise even Corvus. Turning and delivering a kick from such a low position required superhuman balance and speed. However, Volmir’s heel barely grazed Corvus’s ribs and lacked power. The kick was more like a blow delivered in a child’s rage. Corvus didn’t budge, not even a flicker crossed his gaze. He looked into Volmir’s eyes—calm, even instructive. Then Volmir quickly pulled back, breathless.

  Corvus was still standing in place. His shoulders were relaxed, his swords still hanging loosely at his sides. His chest wasn’t heaving, nor were his breaths visible. Volmir had begun circling him again. His eyes were sharper this time. He analyzed the tension in Corvus’s muscles, the angles in his posture, the direction of his eyes—one by one. But still, no openings. Everything was too perfect. It was as if Corvus’s seemingly vulnerable stance was itself a trap.

  Suddenly, Volmir attacked again. This time he crouched even lower, almost like a four-legged beast, diving toward Corvus’s knee. His target was clear: to break his balance. Corvus, however, simply took a step back. With a quick strike of the sword in his right hand, he stopped Volmir’s blade mid-air. But the boy had already transitioned to another move. He straightened his body and leapt into the air. While airborne, he swung his sword downward like a spear stabbing into the ground. The direction and speed of the attack were dangerous, but Corvus blocked it easily by raising the sword in his left hand.

  The sound of two blades clashing echoed off the stone walls of the empty building. The noise was not only the clash of steel—it was the brief collision of two different fighting worlds.

  Volmir immediately rolled backward to open some distance in the confined space. His eyes were still vivid. He gripped his sword tightly and leapt to the left to slip out of Corvus’s line of sight. Corvus didn’t even turn his head; he merely flicked his wrist to defend. At that moment, Volmir tried to move behind Corvus. But Corvus, without turning in place, changed direction with a single step and guarded his back. Volmir’s maneuver failed. For a moment, their breathing grew heavier.

  “You need to control your breathing better!” said Corvus. There was still not the slightest sign that he was struggling.

  Volmir didn’t respond. This time, he made a move without any warning. He pretended to rush toward Corvus, then suddenly dropped to the ground and swiftly slid toward his legs. At the same time, he whipped his sword like a snake toward Corvus’ calf. Corvus drove one of his swords into the ground and bent the other to block the attack, but Volmir’s move wasn’t over. As he retracted his sword, he let it go from his hand, then quickly extended his left hand and snatched the short dagger Corvus carried at his waist.

  “Nice!” said Corvus in response to the unexpected move. But Volmir had no intention of stopping. Gripping the dagger in a reverse hold, he spun and tried to drive it into Corvus’ ribs. Corvus raised his left arm and deflected the blow with his elbow.

  The steel struck only air.

  At that very moment, Volmir feinted a retreat by throwing his body backward, but suddenly bent his knees and dropped low, applying pressure under Corvus’ knee with his left hand. Simultaneously, he raised the dagger in his right hand like holding a pen and —with a slight head movement that drew Corvus’ gaze upward for a split second— tried to distract him. Corvus reacted to the feint for the briefest instant. And in that moment… Volmir’s dagger slid slightly forward. Its sharp edge grazed just beneath Corvus’ cheek.

  Snap!

  A soft slicing sound was heard. The silence that followed was as powerful as thunder.

  Corvus didn’t retreat. The dagger had left only a scratch on his cheek. But it was there. A definite, clear cut. Small, but real. Corvus took a step back. He touched his cheek, and the warm, thin drop of blood that came to his fingers met with a fleeting, proud smile.

  Volmir had dropped the dagger and was now sitting on the ground, breathing heavily. His strength was spent. Sweat dripped from his brow, but his eyes were still fixed upward, watching Corvus.

  “How many moves ahead is he thinking…” Corvus wondered silently.

  “Like a game played with the patience of a clever mind.”

  Volmir silently nodded.

  “I lost.”

  Corvus lowered his head and stepped toward him.

  “But this wound… is proof of your skill.”

  This time, the silence turned into a form of respect born of exhaustion. The echoing breaths in the empty hall slowly calmed. Volmir closed his eyes. He was tired… but no longer ordinary.

  After a few minutes, Corvus spoke, his voice heavy and steady as stone.

  “Now, let’s see what you can do under real pressure.”

  Until that moment, Corvus had remained inwardly calm. But now his gaze darkened. A faint glow began to emanate from his fingertips, spreading through his veins like a ripple. As the sharp energy of the Lightstone enveloped his skin, the air around him grew dense. It was as if an invisible wave had spread through the room, slowing time itself.

  It was as though an unseen hand clutched at Volmir’s throat. His shoulders collapsed under what felt like a fifty-kilogram weight on his back. His breath became erratic, and his hands started to tremble. His older brother, standing before him, seemed to grow taller—no longer a man, but a stone-carved giant figure. Every breath felt like a knife in his lungs, but he did not kneel. Determination still gleamed in his eyes. He raised his sword and braced his legs firmly to remain standing.

  But the assault had already begun.

  Volmir’s eyes couldn’t track Corvus’ movements. Only a blur—the shadow of a shadow—and then bam! Corvus was suddenly several steps away. His sword was in the air, but it did not come down. He was deliberately slowing the strike. This was so Volmir could perceive it. But seeing didn’t mean escaping. When the sword finally descended, Volmir barely managed to leap backward. The tip just grazed his hair.

  There was no time to breathe before the second and third attacks came. This time from different angles, different directions. Corvus left Volmir a “gap” to escape each time—but immediately followed by narrowing it. This wasn’t just a fight; it was training.

  After a few blows, Volmir realized something. His brother’s strikes weren’t random. There was a rhythm, a harmony in this deadly dance. Corvus was only targeting the openings Volmir gave him. And at the end of every assault wave, Corvus unintentionally left himself slightly exposed.

  A tired but confident smile appeared on Volmir’s face.

  Over time, his moves changed. The panicked dodges were replaced by controlled evasions. Muscle memory had kicked in. With each attack, he grew faster, more precise. Corvus was giving him less and less time to react, but Volmir had adapted. And he had learned to close his openings.

  Corvus narrowed his eyes. Volmir’s breathing had grown heavy. His shoulders rose and fell, sweat dripping from his brow to the ground. He seemed to be nearing the limits of his endurance. Corvus briefly lowered his sword. He vanished into the shadows, then suddenly appeared behind Volmir.

  Volmir hadn’t even turned his head when he flinched from a light pain on back of his head.

  A flick. A snap from Corvus’ thumb and index finger that echoed through his skull. Volmir’s knees trembled again. He nearly collapsed. But he didn’t fall.

  “Well done. But don’t get cocky.”

  Corvus’ voice was stern, but there was a subtle trace of satisfaction hidden in its tone. This phrase had become almost a tradition in the army camp. It was the highest praise instructors gave to talented students. No excess flattery, no ego boost—just a cold acknowledgment and a warning.