With flushed cheeks, Nox ran out of the building and rushed toward the stables.

'What am I doing?" he thought. "I must have completely lost my mind. That wasn't a kiss... just a gentle brushing of lips. Heh, who am I kidding?" he scolded himself silently.

'I'm acting like a stupid child,' he thought bitterly.

His thoughts were a mess, not just because of what happened, but because of what it might mean. He didn't know what he wanted. He just knew it had caught him off guard.

In the stable, Gerhard greeted him. At the sight of him, Nox smiled with gratitude. The animal snorted joyfully, almost roaring with excitement.

"Shhh, easy, old friend," he whispered, running a hand down the stallion's neck. Gerhard snorted and stomped lightly, as if eager to move.

Nox quickly saddled Gerhard and led him quietly out of the stable, careful not to alert anyone inside. He kept glancing back at the stable door, as if expecting someone to appear.

As soon as they were outside, Nox mounted the horse, and they rode off together, leaving the estate behind. Yet in Nox's heart, a hollow feeling appeared, some sadness, longing, as if a part of his soul was being pulled back toward Torven.

'Hopefully, he is still asleep,' he thought. The idea brought a small, guilty sense of relief. "I'm being ridiculous," he told himself, again thinking about that kiss. "It was nothing. Just a moment. I left before it could become more." Still, he couldn't help but wonder: Had Torven woken up? Had he noticed his letter? Did he even care?

Nox shook his head, trying to push the questions aside. There was no point thinking about it now. He had made his choice. And right now, all he needed to focus on was the road ahead.

He knew it would take a few days before reaching his family home. Nox stopped from time to time to water Gerhard and stretch his legs. In a stream, he managed to catch a few fish, just enough to satisfy his hunger. After a couple of days, they reached a small town where Nox sold his old boots for a few coins.

The town felt crowded. Footsteps echoed against stone as people passed by in groups, their voices blending into a low, constant murmur. A small dog barked somewhere behind him, which made him jump for a moment. Then, a wagon rattled down the road, its driver muttering under his breath, and Nox had stepped aside when a group of travelers pushed past, barely glancing at him. Everyone had somewhere to be.

In the town square, a makeshift fighting area had been set up. A crowd had gathered around as swordsmen from different places battled for coin and glory. Nox paused, watching the duels for a moment.

After seeing a few fights, he decided to take part himself.

"Let's see how much this technique is really worth," he muttered to himself, and without hesitation, bet all the money he just earned on himself. He kept only a small coin in his pocket, a talisman given to him by Torven in that little town in the north.

The current match was nearing its end. Nox judged that neither of the fighters in the arena posed any real challenge to him. He stepped into the ring area and began stretching. But to his surprise, the crowd parted, and onto the platform stepped a warrior the size of a mountain.

"Seriously?" Nox sighed. "Just my luck."

Still, not for a second did he consider backing out.

His opponent was massive, nearly twice Nox's size, with a neck like a tree trunk and arms lined with scars. He carried a heavy sword. And his eyes were cold, the kind of gaze you earn after too many battles. The moment he stepped into the ring, the crowd fell silent. No cheers, no jeers. Just tension, thick and heavy.

Nox rolled his shoulders and drew his sword, a lighter, slimmer blade with a worn hilt. He calmed his breathing and slipped into the stance Torven taught him. Across from him, the giant gave a small, amused snort. He didn't look concerned.

That would be his mistake.

They heard the whistling signal for the start of the duel.

The giant moved first, fast for his size. He raised his sword and brought it down in a brutal arc, aiming to split Nox clean in two. Nox sidestepped, just barely avoiding the blow, and responded with a quick strike to the man's exposed side. Sparks flew.

He came at Nox again, swinging in wide, punishing arcs meant to crush or drive him back. Nox stayed close, weaving through the attacks, his blade flashing in short, sharp counters. He struck low, then high, then spun behind the larger man's guard and slashed at his leg. The giant stumbled.

Nox felt something unusual. His movements were sharper than before. Quicker. The technique Torven had taught him was incredible. His blade moved almost on instinct. But he felt as if there was something else there...

The brute was facing him again, this time more careful, his sword up in a proper guard. Nox watched the giant circling around and waited for an opening, then lunged. Their blades clashed, and steel rang out through the arena. Nox then, with a sharp pivot, he used the man's weight against him, disarming him with a twist of the wrist and a kick to the stomach that sent him staggering.

The crowd held its breath.

Without hesitation, Nox stepped forward and pressed the tip of his sword against the man's throat.

The giant froze.

He won.

Applause broke out like thunder.

Nox stood in the center of the ring, sword still raised, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Pain throbbed in his shoulder, and his fingers trembled with strain, but deep inside, he was happy. He proved himself.

Later that afternoon, Nox decided to stay for the night in the town tavern. It seemed warm and cozy, with a timber ceiling and a smell of roasted meat in the air. A fire crackled in the fireplace. The innkeeper, an older woman with gray hair tied in a bun, smiled at Nox and pointed him toward the stairs.

His room was simple but comfortable. The bed, clean and soft. Nox collapsed onto it with a sigh of relief.

Lying there, he thought about his childhood. Growing up, his father, a hardened warrior who, when no one was looking, showed his sons deep affection and care. Nox remembered the way he tousled his hair, carried him in his arms, and the proud gaze when he held a sword for the first time. And he thought of Abram too, his younger brother.

'It must've been hard for him... left alone with father, just waiting for his mark to begin fading.' Nox thought. He imagined Abram, a bit older now, maybe harder, trying to live up to some imaginary standard. The thought left an ache in his chest.

'Does he hate me for leaving? Nox wondered. 'Did he ever understand why I had to go?'

Sleep came slowly, his thoughts circling back to the road ahead and the people he'd left behind. Eventually, his body gave in to exhaustion. Nox closed his eyes and drifted into a restless sleep.