Heavy footsteps broke the silence of the classroom.
A guard entered, his voice rough, unbending:"You. Out. Now."
He pointed at Adlof, who still stood in place, staring at the old man. He didn't move. Didn't answer.With quiet defiance, he said,"I'm not leaving. I haven't finished speaking."
The guard scowled, then drew his baton and hurled it toward him with sharp, practiced force.Adlof saw it coming—too fast for most—but something about it… it wasn't just a baton.He couldn't explain how he knew. But he did.
Without thinking, his hand shot out and caught it mid-air.
Time seemed to freeze.A stunned silence fell over the room.
He held it like it belonged to him. Natural. Fluid. Almost… instinctive.
Then, with calm precision, Adlof pulled his arm back and threw the baton across the room—just as he had once been taught.It flew like an arrow, grazing the guard's temple and embedding itself into the wall with a heavy crack.
The class gawked.Even the old man blinked, stunned."A commoner… using advanced technique?"
"Where did you learn that, boy?" he asked.
Adlof's mind flickered. A flash. A memory. A teacher.He didn't answer.
"Keeping secrets, are you?" the old man grinned."Follow me."
"What? Sir, he's just a peasant!" the guard objected.
"I said it's fine."
The guard turned to Adlof and barked:"Didn't you hear him? Move!"
Adlof followed. His thoughts were a storm."Who am I? Why does my body know things I've never been taught?"
They reached a storage room. The old man handed him a wooden training sword."Take this."
Adlof gripped it. Familiar. Like shaking the hand of an old friend.His feet shifted. His shoulders dropped. His stance settled.Reflex. Memory in the muscles.
The old man nodded."Good."
He led him to a large hall—an indoor training arena, wide and open, with wooden racks lining the walls, filled with mock weapons.
He called out to a student—one of the known strong ones."You. Step forward."
The student, older and sturdier than Adlof, smirked as he approached.He grabbed a wooden sword of his own and took his place across the arena.
For Adlof, this wasn't his first duel.Or maybe it was his thousandth.He didn't know anymore.But his body remembered.
He raised the sword. His stance sharpened.His eyes focused—not like a student, but a fighter.
The boy laughed, unaware.But Adlof was already watching, measuring, preparing.