**Chapter 18: The Edge of Blade.
**
The late-night warmth of the private dining hall lingered with Lucien long after he returned to his personal quarters. Standing on his balcony, the cool night breeze brushed against his skin, carrying the crisp scent of pine from the surrounding Valerian pine forests.
For the first time since waking up in this world, the suffocating weight in his chest felt lighter. Reconnecting with Isolde hadn't just repaired a broken family bond—it had given him an anchor in a house full of snakes.
‘Victor,’
Lucien thought, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the stone balustrade.
‘You thought you could isolate me and sweep me aside. But you’ve lost your hold over Mother, and soon, you’ll lose your standing in this estate.’
Before the morning mist had even cleared from the courtyard, the sharp, rhythmic
clack
of iron-wood practice swords echoed across the grounds.
Sir Brandon, the Duchy’s head knight commander, stood with his arms crossed, his keen eyes tracking Lucien’s fluid footwork.
Where a month ago Lucien would have been gasping for breath, he now moved with precise, effortless control. Every strike was calculated; every parry had a purpose.
"Your form has tightened up considerably, Young Master," Brandon noted, stepping into Lucien's guard with a swift sweep of his training blade.
Lucien anticipated the move, stepping back smoothly and pivoting to counter with a sharp upward slash that brought his sword within an inch of Brandon's throat.
Brandon blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden velocity of the counter, before letting out a boisterous laugh that shook his broad chest. "Impressive! A month ago, you would have overextended and left your flank wide open. Now, you’re hunting for openings before I even make them."
Lucien lowered his practice sword, wiping a trail of sweat from his forehead. "Victor won't fight with wooden swords, Sir Brandon. He’s spent years sharpening his swordsmanship under the royal instructors. I can't afford to just be
good
—I have to be decisive."
Brandon’s smile faded into a grim, serious expression. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Speaking of Master Victor... you should be careful, Lucien. Word of your secret dinner with the Duchess last night has already reached his ears. I saw his personal attendant heading toward the eastern wing at dawn. Victor knows the Duchess has thrown her full backing behind you again."
"Let him know," Lucien said calmly, taking a towel from a nearby rack. "It only shortens the time he has to panic."
Meanwhile, inside the sunlit conservatory of the estate's eastern wing, the atmosphere was far from serene.
A crystal tea cup shattered against the marble floor, spraying porcelain shards and dark liquid across the rug.
"He did
what?
" Victor Valerian demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and fury.
His personal attendant, Marcus, bowed low, trembling. "The head maid confirmed it, Lord Victor. The Duchess cooked the meal herself. They spent hours talking, and... witnesses say she left the dining room with tears of relief. She has officially restored his full stipend and ordered the guards to double the security around his quarters."
Victor paced back and forth, his fine silk robes rustling angrily. His sharp, aristocratic face contorted into a snarl.
"That useless, shiftless bastard..." Victor muttered under his breath. "He was supposed to rot in his room until the duel! How is he suddenly swinging a sword like a knight commander and charming Mother back to his side?"
A quiet, sinister voice spoke from the shadowed corner of the conservatory.
"It seems your half-brother has grown far bolder than you anticipated, Victor."
A tall man stepped out from the shadows, draped in the dark velvet cloak of the Royal Court’s aristocratic faction—Lord Kaelen, Victor's political sponsor As well as he is the man who gave Lucien poison from victor, 7 years ago.
"Do not let emotion cloud your judgment," Kaelen warned smoothly, twirling a signet ring on his finger. "The duel is in two months. The terms are absolute. Even if the Duchess favors him now, a formal defeat on the dueling arena in front of the entire vassal nobility will permanently strip him of any claim to the Duchy's succession."
Victor slowed his pacing, taking a deep breath to steady his pulse. A cold, ruthless grin gradually spread across his face.
"You're right, Lord Kaelen," Victor murmured, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Let him enjoy his fleeting warm reunion with Mother. On the sand of the arena, there are no mothers to save him. I will make sure he never walks properly again."
Back in his study, Lucien sat before a map of the Valerian Duchy and its surrounding territories.
A small leather-bound ledger lay open beside him—a hidden record of the estate's recent grain shipments that he had requested from Martha earlier that afternoon.
As his fingers traced the discrepancy in numbers between the eastern granaries and the main treasury, his eyes narrowed.
‘So Victor wasn't just trying to humiliate me,’
Lucien realized, comparing the dates.
‘He’s been skimming Duchy funds to secure favors with the Royal Court's faction. The duel isn't just about pride—it's his distraction to hide this before the annual audit.’
Lucien closed the ledger with a quiet thud, a cold smile touching his lips.
The upcoming duel was no longer just a fight for survival. It was the trap that would dismantle Victor’s entire foundation in the Valerian Duchy once and for all.