"Splaaash—!"

The sharp, wet sound cut through the air as blood arced outward in a vivid spray, catching the light of the afternoon for a fleeting instant before scattering across the stone courtyard, marking the ground with violent strokes of red.

What had begun as a controlled exchange had long since lost its restraint, the measured discipline of a spar dissolving into something far more raw, far more primal.

Damon and the guard stood facing each other, both stripped of their weapons, both breathing heavily as their bodies bore the unmistakable signs of a drawn-out fight. Bruises had already begun to bloom across exposed skin, cuts split open along knuckles and forearms, and streaks of blood traced down from where blows had landed cleanly.

Around them, a few guards already lay on the ground, not unconscious but clearly unable to continue, their chests rising and falling as they tried to recover from the relentless exchange that had preceded this moment.

And yet—

The atmosphere was not tense.

It was alive.

"Wooooo!"

"Hahahaha—!"

"Woo! Woo! Woo!"

The remaining guards shouted with unrestrained enthusiasm, their earlier restraint completely gone as they watched, not with fear, but with a kind of exhilaration that only came from witnessing something worthy.

Their voices rose and fell, laughter mixing with cheers, the energy in the courtyard building with every passing second.

Damon stepped forward again.

His breath came heavy, uneven, each inhale sharp, each exhale rough, yet his eyes remained clear, locked onto his opponent with unwavering focus. Across from him, the guard mirrored that state, his own chest heaving as he steadied his stance, his body bruised yet unyielding.

Then—They moved at the same time.

"Aaahhh—!"

The guard surged forward, his fist cutting through the air with force, while Damon stepped in to meet him rather than retreat, his own strike following immediately after.

"Uff—!"

The impact landed.

Bone met flesh with a dull, heavy sound as both attacks connected almost simultaneously, the force traveling through their bodies as neither gave way, neither stepping back, as though retreat had simply ceased to exist between them.

Another exchange followed.

And another. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Blow after blow, each one heavier than the last, each one carrying the weight of exhaustion, yet neither slowing, neither hesitating, as though the very act of continuing had become the only thing that mattered.

Their breaths grew harsher.

Their movements slower—Yet stronger.

"Aah—!"

"Ugh—!"

Each strike was punctuated by strained sounds forced from their lungs, the rhythm of the fight no longer clean or technical, but raw, driven by will more than precision.

Then—

Damon broke the pattern.

Instead of meeting the next strike head-on, he shifted his weight and surged forward, closing the distance entirely as he drove into the guard’s body, his shoulder colliding with him as he pushed through with what little strength remained.

The guard lost balance as both of them fell.

Their bodies hit the ground hard, the impact echoing across the courtyard as Damon landed above him, not giving him even a moment to recover.

His fist rose.

And came down.

Thud!

THud!

THUd

THUD!

Each punch carried less refinement and more force, the strikes no longer measured but driven by something deeper, something unfiltered, as Damon continued until the resistance beneath him finally gave way, the guard’s body going slack beneath the barrage.

Silence crept in slowly as Damon’s arm stilled.

His fist hovered for a moment longer before dropping to his side as the last of his strength seemed to leave him all at once. He pushed himself back, sliding off the opponent and collapsing onto the ground beside him, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion he had forced aside.

His chest rose and fell heavily.

Each breath labored.

And then—A sound escaped him.

"Ha..."

A short breath followed by another.

"Ha... haha—"

And then—

It broke into laughter.

"—hahahahaha...!"

The sound was rough, uneven, almost breathless, yet unmistakably real as it echoed into the now-quiet courtyard, the earlier cheers fading into silence as every guard present turned their gaze toward him.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

They simply watched—

As Damon lay there, bloodied, exhausted, and laughing.

Damon remained on the ground for a moment longer, his laughter fading into slow, heavy breaths as he steadied himself, drawing in the air that still felt thick with the intensity of the fight.

With a measured effort, he pushed himself up, his movements deliberate as he rose to his feet, the lingering exhaustion evident in the slight tension of his posture, yet his composure gradually returning as he faced the guards once more.

His gaze moved across each of them, not as an observer now, but as someone who had shared that moment with them, and finally, with his breath still uneven, he spoke.

"Thank... you..."

The words came quieter than before, carrying sincerity rather than authority, as he allowed himself a brief pause before straightening fully, his breathing stabilizing with visible control.

"I will send someone to treat their injuries," he added, his tone regaining its firmness.

The leader of the guards stepped forward at once, shaking his head respectfully as he replied.

"Do not worry, young master... these are nothing more than surface wounds... they will heal on their own."

Damon’s expression did not soften.

Instead, he shook his head once, slowly, as he spoke again, his voice calm, yet carrying a weight that silenced any further dismissal.

"You are the guards of the Valecrest Manor... the first line of defense," he said, his gaze steady as it moved across them. "What if a breach were to open here without warning... or anywhere within the territory?"

The words settled.

Heavy and measured.

"Do not take even the smallest injury lightly," he continued, his tone unwavering. "Something insignificant can shift the outcome of an entire battle... it can cost not only your life, but the lives of those who stand beside you."

The courtyard fell silent once more, not out of tension this time, but out of attention.

"Ensure that you always remain in your best condition."

No one spoke.

The guards stood still, their earlier energy replaced with something else entirely, their eyes fixed on Damon with a mixture of surprise and realization, as though the words had struck deeper than they had expected.

Damon observed them briefly.

And in that moment—

The leader seemed to come back to himself.

He bowed quickly, his posture firm, his voice carrying both respect and acknowledgment.

"Forgive me for my ignorance, young master... I will ensure that every man remains in peak condition."

Behind him, the rest of the guards followed suit, bowing in unison, their earlier enthusiasm now grounded in a renewed sense of purpose.

Damon looked at them for a moment longer before giving a small nod, accepting their response without further comment.

Then—

"Thud... thud... thud..."

The sound reached him.

Faint but distinct sound of footsteps of someone running.

Damon’s gaze shifted slightly in the direction of the sound, a fleeting thought crossing his mind.

...Was someone watching?

He did not pursue it.

Instead, he turned and walked away, leaving the courtyard behind as he made his way back toward the manor, his steps steady despite the blood that still marked his body.

The grand doors opened as he entered.

And the moment he stepped inside—

The reaction was immediate.

Maids and attendants who caught sight of him froze for a fraction of a second before their composure shattered, some stepping back instinctively, others losing balance entirely as they collapsed onto their knees or the floor, fear overtaking them at the sight of his bloodied state.

Damon paused beside one such attendant, his gaze lowering slightly as it settled on the trembling figure before him, whose body shook uncontrollably under the weight of that silent attention.

"Fetch bandages and medicine for the guards outside," Damon said calmly.

The attendant nodded rapidly, barely able to form a response as he scrambled to comply.

Damon resumed walking.

His steps echoed through the corridor—

And then—

"AAAAAAAAhhhh—!"

Damon stopped mid-step as the scream echoed through the corridor, his expression tightening just slightly before he let out a quiet breath, already recognizing the source of the panic.

"Can you tone it down... Sahira?" he said, his tone calm despite the situation.

Sahira stood a few steps away from him, her eyes wide with alarm as she rushed forward, her composure completely gone as she began moving around him in a frantic attempt to assess his condition. Her hands hovered uncertainly near his shoulders and arms, unsure where to touch, her voice tumbling over itself in panic.

"Y-young master... w-what happened to you?" she asked, her eyes darting over every visible injury. "D-did someone attack you? A-are you badly hurt...?"

Damon remained where he stood, unmoving, allowing her to circle him like a storm of worry, his expression settling into something almost blank as he waited for her to exhaust herself.

"I was sparring with the guards," he said simply.

But Sahira did not seem to hear him.

Her thoughts had already run far ahead, her voice continuing in a flustered rush as she shook her head repeatedly.

"W-we need medicine... n-no, not medicine... a healing potion... something stronger...!"

Damon let out a faint breath, his gaze following her as she continued her frantic movements.

"These are just surface wounds," he said, his tone steady, almost dismissive. "Nothing serious."

Again—

She did not listen.

Before he could say anything further, Sahira grabbed his hand firmly—far more decisively than her usual timid demeanor would suggest—and began leading him through the corridor with surprising urgency. Damon allowed himself to be pulled along, his steps falling into rhythm with hers as he watched her from the side, a quiet thought passing through his mind.

...Where does her timidity disappear at times like this...?

They reached his room quickly, and the moment they stepped inside, Sahira released his hand and turned toward him, her voice still carrying that same anxious edge.

"Sit down, young master."

Damon did not argue, moving toward the bed and sitting down without resistance as Sahira immediately turned away, opening cabinets with hurried movements as she searched for something specific.

Drawers were shifted, boxes moved aside, until finally she found what she was looking for—a small first-aid kit—which she grabbed and turned back toward him.

Her breath was still uneven.

Her movements still quick.

She stepped closer, stopping just in front of him as she spoke, her voice lowering slightly, though the urgency remained.

"T-take off your shirt..."

Damon looked at her, his brows lifting faintly as he gave a quiet response.

"...Hmm?"

Sahira’s face flushed almost instantly, the realization of her own words catching up to her as she struggled to maintain composure.

"I-I need to treat your bruises...!" she said quickly, her voice wavering despite her determination.

***

"Where are Saffron and Cecelia?"