Chapter 10: A Shadow of Grief

The journey back toward the barony began under a crisp sky. Claire rode ahead, her shoulders straight, pride in her riding form. Behind her, two soldiers followed at a respectful distance, their armor muted against the green and gold tapestry of rolling fields. And walking beside her horse, measured and silent, was Kageno. He had agreed to come, though he had given no reasons and offered no promises. Claire accepted this quietly, hoping his decision meant trust might yet blossom between them.

He preferred to walk... riding on a horse was tiring and he wasn't sure if the horse wasn't out to get him. Let his own two feet be his guide, thank you very much!

As they passed scattered farmsteads and entered the outskirts of a lively township, they caught curious stares. This was the heartland of Baron Kagenou's domain—prosperous once, though the air now held a tension that Claire had grown accustomed to. In recent years, her father had become colder, more distant. He had taken on a stern obsession with maintaining order and training a larger militia. Villagers and tenants whispered that the Baron, once known for his gentle spirit, had changed after a personal tragedy no one dared to name in front of Claire.

By the time she was three, Claire's mother had grown heavy with child. The keep was a place of anticipation and soft laughter—Claire remembered that much. Yet those memories became murky and painful, never fully explained. The baby had never drawn breath, stillborn in silence and sorrow. Though Claire had been too young to grasp the meaning of death, she felt its weight throughout her childhood. Her father's hair began to thin and recede prematurely, his temples streaked with gray. By his early forties, he was balding under the strain, as if that lost child had carried away something vital from him. His once-warm smile vanished, replaced by a frosty demeanor and a relentless interest in militarism. Claire knew he grieved something, but he never spoke of it, and she dared not ask.

Her father had been unpredictable in those moments. Lots of smashed and destroyed things in his office was proof of that.

Now, leading Kageno into the township, Claire noticed farmers and shopkeepers pausing their work to stare. Whispers traveled swiftly. Some of the older folk pressed trembling fingers to their lips, while a few apprentices and stablehands stared in wide-eyed astonishment. As the group passed a stall selling dried herbs, a middle-aged woman clutched her apron, leaning over to an old man who was fumbling with his spectacles.

"He looks like the Baron's son," the woman said in a hushed voice. "The son he never got to raise. Look at his features… the resemblance is uncanny."

Claire caught that last phrase and frowned. She tugged her reins, bringing her mare to a halt. "You're mistaken," she called firmly, scanning the faces turned toward her. "This is Kageno. He's a newcomer who assisted in defending Karstal." But her words did little to quell the rising murmur, as though the villagers were caught in a swell of long-buried hopes and superstitions.

Before Claire could push through the crowd, a sudden commotion sounded down the street. A troop of the Baron's household guards marched briskly into view. They wore the Baron's crest proudly and moved with a precision that hinted at long, disciplined drills. At their head strode Baron Kagenou himself. He was a man past his prime too soon, the top of his head balding under the sun's glare, his thinning hair salted with gray. His face, once known for kindness, was now a carved mask of stern lines. His gaze swept over the crowd and landed on Claire—and then, unerringly, on Kageno.

Claire raised a hand. "Father, I've returned. I—" But her greeting died on her tongue as she saw his expression. For a long moment, Baron Kagenou said nothing, staring at Kageno with disbelief etched into every taut muscle of his face. Claire had witnessed her father's cold disapproval many times, had known his stern glares and silent judgments, but she had never seen him look like this. His eyes shone with a sorrow so deep it threatened to break through the hard shell of discipline he'd worn for years. He appeared wounded, as if recalling a memory that lay buried beneath the wintery fields of his heart.

"Guards," he finally said, voice low and trembling, "take that boy into custody."

Claire's eyes widened. "Father!" she cried, dismounting in a rush. "What are you doing? Kageno has done nothing wrong. He helped Karstal—saved lives there. Why arrest him?" Her voice rose, unsteady, as she positioned herself between her father's guards and the newcomer.

Baron Kagenou's lips thinned. He did not bark at her, did not assert his will with the booming authority she had expected. Instead, he lifted a shaking hand, almost pleading. "Claire," he said, voice quieter, more desperate than she had ever heard it.

"Do not interfere. I must… I must question him."

The subtle break in his voice struck Claire like a blow. The Baron's soldiers wavered, unsure whose orders to follow. They respected Claire, but the Baron was lord here, and his tone warned them this was no time for disobedience.

Claire turned to face him fully, and saw, to her shock, that tears trembled at the corners of his eyes—tears he fought to contain. What could possibly bring her father, a man who had long since buried his emotions, to the brink of weeping? She thought of the village whispers, of the sibling she never knew (She never did find out the gender of her sibling... well at least until now. It was a boy.). Had Kageno's face awakened that old wound, reminding her father of the child who never drew breath?

"Father, please," Claire said softly, confusion and fear welling inside her. "What is this about?"

The Baron closed his eyes, as if shutting out the world. "Claire… step aside."

Her heart clenched. She recognized that tone—unwavering command tinged with heartbreak. She swallowed hard, stepped back, and let the guards pass. She wanted to scream that this was unfair, that Kageno did not deserve this treatment. But how could she, when she knew nothing of the ghosts that haunted her father's mind?

Kageno, for his part, stood calmly, though a shadow of worry crossed his features as the guards bound his wrists. He did not resist. He seemed as puzzled as Claire, caught in a web of grief and misunderstanding he never wove. The onlookers watched, hushed and uncertain, some lowering their heads, others gaping openly at the drama unfolding before them.

Claire could do nothing but follow in silent dread as the guards led Kageno away. The Baron turned, shoulders trembling beneath his fine cloak. He did not look at his daughter, as if ashamed to let her see the cracks in his armor.

In that stifling silence, Claire realized how little she truly knew about the pain that had reshaped her father's soul. And somewhere behind the fortress walls, an old story waited to be told—one of loss, guilt, and longing that demanded answers, answers that might tear them all apart.

~!~

The room Baron Kagenou led Kageno to was more a scholar's retreat than a prison cell. A heavy table, a shelf of musty ledgers, and a single oil lamp lent it a quiet dignity. Two guards hovered at the door, neither hostile nor friendly, but vigilant. The Baron stood facing Kageno, his balding crown catching the lamplight, the stress lines around his eyes deepened by uncertainty and longing.

Kageno, only eleven years old, stood with a calm beyond his years. He carried no blade—only the memory of struggles he'd survived. Compared to the towering figure of Baron Kagenou and the thirteen-year-old Claire he'd traveled with, Kageno still had a boyish roundness to his face. Yet something about his bearing suggested an old soul, a gravity one would not expect from a child on the cusp of adolescence.

The Baron's voice, when he finally spoke, trembled slightly. "Tell me… who are you? And why do you bear the face of someone who should never have lived to stand before me now?"

Kageno blinked. "My Lord, I'm Kageno. I'm a traveler, I suppose, and recently I've done some good deeds for Karstal. That's all." He tried to keep his voice steady. He did not understand what tormented the Baron so, but the tension in the room pressed on his chest.

The Baron gripped the back of a chair, knuckles white. "Have you heard of me, Kageno? I am Baron Gaius Kagenou. My wife, Elaina Kagenou—do you recognize our names? Does the name Claire stir any memory? She is my daughter." His voice was low, urgent, as if naming these people might unlock some hidden door in Kageno's mind.

Kageno shook his head, confusion filling his young eyes. "I know Claire because she found me. She helped me trust in your barony's goodwill. But I've never seen you before today. Nor your Lady. I'm sorry."

The Baron's face tightened. He had hoped, foolishly, that his words would spark recognition. He remembered eleven years ago, when Claire was just shy of three. His wife had gone into labor with their second child, a boy whose name they never spoke aloud now. At the end came a harrowing stillness, the midwives carrying out a tiny, lifeless body. He and Elaina wept for the son they would never know. They had never questioned the finality of that tragedy. Why would they?

Yet here stood a child at just the right age, the right complexion, something so hauntingly familiar in his features—features that should have belonged to that lost babe. It was a puzzle that defied logic, but the heart is not logical. A buried grief stirred and twisted inside the Baron's chest.

Kageno took a hesitant step forward. "I don't understand what you're asking of me. I'm not your son. I'm just… me. I can't explain why I look familiar to you."

The Baron's eyes glistened under the lamplight. This was no defiance, just confusion and honesty. He breathed out, shoulders sagging. "Then we have nothing more to say tonight. You will remain here. You are under my watch, Kageno." His voice quieted, softened. "You won't be harmed, but you may not leave."

Kageno bowed slightly in acknowledgement. There was no point in protest. The guards stepped forward as the Baron slipped out, their presence an unspoken promise that he was a guest and a prisoner both.

Later that night, in the Baron's private room, Lady Elaina sat by a small window where moonlight spilled onto the stone floor. She glanced up when Gaius entered, her gentle features creased with worry. She had heard rumors fluttering through the corridors like trapped birds: that a child had arrived who bore an uncanny resemblance to their lost son.

Gaius knelt beside her chair. They had tried not to speak of the tragedy in years. He had poured his grief into discipline and militarism; she had cloaked hers in quiet compassion and prayer. Neither had truly healed. Tonight, that wound bled anew.

"He looks so much like him," Gaius said, voice rough with sorrow. "The boy we never knew… if he had lived, would he stand before us now with those same eyes?"

Elaina's breath caught. She remembered the silence of that birth, the weight of a tiny body that never cried, never opened its eyes. The bundle they buried with trembling hands. All these years she had told herself no miracle could undo that cruel fact. Yet now Gaius described this Kageno, this child who seemed to have stepped from the future they were denied.

"It can't be," she whispered, her throat tight. "We saw him stillborn. The midwives… they gave us nothing but heartbreak that night."

Gaius bowed his head, tears slipping free. "I know. It's impossible. Yet, seeing him—my heart doesn't care about logic. It yearns for him to be ours."

Elaina gently placed her hand on his shoulder. "We must not lose ourselves to false hope," she said, though her voice wavered. "We must remember what truly happened. We lost a son before we ever had the chance to know him."

In that quiet chamber, the titles and duties they wore by day fell away. They were not Baron and Baroness now; they were two grieving parents, mourning a boy they never saw grow beyond that single, silent moment. They whispered the name they had chosen for him long ago—Aedric—a name heavy with longing and love. They remembered the cradle prepared in the corner, the tiny blanket embroidered with the family crest, the wooden toys Claire would have shared with a baby brother who would trail after her steps.

The world outside went on: servants stoked hearth fires, guards changed shifts, and Claire likely lay restless in her bed, wondering what made her father so harsh tonight. But inside this room, only sorrow and memory held court. They cried quietly for the life stolen from them before it began, and for the strange twist of fate that forced them to confront a likeness too close to dismiss without pain.

Dawn would come, and with it, perhaps more questions. For now, they wept and embraced, the raw ache of loss as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. And in another part of the keep, an eleven-year-old boy waited, caught in a story he neither asked for nor understood, the moonlight casting his shadow long across the silent floor.

A pale dawn mist curled around the parapets of Baron Kagenou's keep, blurring the edges of towers and ramparts. Within those walls, Kageno—still under guard—emerged from the chamber that had become his temporary home. He walked quietly at a measured pace, flanked by two armed retainers. There were no shackles, no harsh words, but the message was clear: he was not free to come and go as he pleased. At least not yet.

The guards led him through a series of corridors and stone arches, finally passing into a courtyard. Here, straw and dust danced in weak sunlight, and the clang of metal punctuated the air. Kageno might have expected a barony's heartland to bustle with merchants, traders, and the pleasant hum of daily life. Instead, he found himself in a place shaped by discipline and vigilance.

A small squad of soldiers performed drill exercises with spears and shields. Another group tested heavy crossbows near a far wall, under a watchful captain's stern eye. Stable boys tended horses fit for war, not leisurely rides. Even a blacksmith's forge chimed relentlessly as new weapons were hammered into shape. It all felt less like a village of peaceful crafts and commerce, and more like a military outpost braced against unseen threats.

Kageno paused near the training grounds, observing the soldiers run through combat formations. He found himself impressed by their precision and resolve, yet also unsettled. Had Baron Kagenou's grief over his lost son turned him into this steeled commander, forging the barony into a well-drilled fortress? The villagers outside these walls must accept a stricter order than most, and it was easy to imagine the fear and submission this regime demanded.

"Move along," one of the guards said gently, not unkind. "We can't linger." Kageno nodded and continued walking, letting these impressions etch themselves into his memory. He wondered if he could ask Claire about it, but he had not seen her since the previous day's turmoil. He recalled her confusion and concern, the softness in her voice when she defended him.

Claire stood in the library's loft, an alcove lined with shelves and old tapestries. Here, the dust motes drifted lazily, illuminated by a high, narrow window. She had come to seek silence, but found no peace. Her heart twisted with a strange ache as she recalled her father's face, contorted with sorrow at the sight of Kageno.

A gentle step on the stair made her look up. Lady Elaina, her mother, approached with careful grace. A hand rose to hush Claire's immediate flurry of questions. They faced each other, and for a long moment, neither spoke. It was Elaina who finally touched Claire's cheek softly, a sorrowful smile on her lips.

"You know now, don't you?" Elaina said, voice barely above a whisper.

Claire swallowed, eyes misting. "I… remember something," she replied, words caught in her throat. "When I was little, I… I was told there would be a baby, my brother. I was so happy—I remember mother, you were showing me tiny clothes and a wooden rattle carved for him. Then one day, everything was quiet and sad, and father stopped smiling as he used to." She pressed a hand to her temple as if trying to ease a sudden ache. "I think I blocked it out. I never saw him, never held him, but I know now… he never awakened, did he?"

Elaina's eyes shimmered with tears, and she nodded. "Yes, my darling. You were almost three years old. We never spoke much of it, did we? It was too painful. We convinced ourselves that you were too young to understand, so we buried our grief and spoke of it rarely. Your father…" Her voice trembled. "Your father tried to drown his sorrow in discipline and order. He became distant, consumed by the idea that no more harm would ever befall his family and lands. He trained our men-at-arms with a fervor that worried me, shaped the barony into a fortress. He never spoke of it to you, to anyone, because facing that pain was too hard."

Claire bowed her head, tears escaping down her cheeks. She understood better now. The distant look in her father's eyes, the stiffness of his posture, his obsession with defense. The child that should have been her brother, who never lived beyond the womb, had somehow reappeared as a phantom in Kageno's face—and it tore open old wounds.

"He thinks Kageno is some cruel trick," Claire said softly, voice cracking. "Part of him wants to believe it's his son, my brother returned from the grave, but the other part knows it can't be." She closed her eyes. "I feel sorry for him, mother. And for Kageno."

Elaina pulled Claire gently into a comforting embrace. "Your father needs time. He needs to understand that Kageno is not Aedric—" The name hung in the air, finally spoken aloud, and Claire's chest tightened at the sound of it, a brother's name she would never call. "—but also not an enemy or a threat. That this is a strange coincidence, or fate playing tricks, but not malicious."

Claire nodded against her mother's shoulder, drawing strength from the warm familiarity of her presence. "I will help him see it. I owe Kageno that much. He saved our people, and he deserves at least our fairness."

Elaina stepped back, wiping Claire's tears. "I trust you, Claire. You have always had a just heart. We cannot undo the past, but we can choose how to face it. Perhaps this strange boy can bring us some measure of peace, if we allow it."

Late that afternoon, Kageno stood beneath a large oak tree in the courtyard. The guards allowed him to rest there, provided he did not try to scale the walls or slip away. The training sessions had ended for now, and the yard was quieter. He could hear distant murmurs—servants hurrying about, a knight instructing a squire, the distant ring of a hammer in the smithy.

From this vantage, he surveyed a barony kept in tension, molded by loss and fear. Soldiers patrolled as if war loomed near, and the people within seemed cowed and uneasy. He wondered where Claire was. He wanted to ask her about these strange events, about the grief and the resemblance that haunted the Baron. But for now, he had only silence and unanswered questions.

A subtle chill in the breeze made him tuck his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He had seen cruelty before—bandits preying on the weak, villagers turning on their own out of fear. Here was a different sort of cruelty: the quiet ache of a family that had lost its future and tried to barricade its heart behind soldier's steel.

If he was to remain here, even temporarily, he might find a way to help them. Not by sword, for that skill eluded him, but perhaps by understanding, by patience. Let them call him a prisoner-guest; let them wonder at his likeness. He would hold to what he knew: kindness, quiet resolve, and the hope that someday, they would see him for who he truly was, and not for the phantom he resembled.

~!~

Days slipped into a tentative rhythm within the Baron's keep. Though Kageno remained under gentle guard, he had grown used to the watchful eyes following him through the stone corridors and courtyards. He ate simple meals in a small dining alcove, slept in a modest guest room, and spent much of his time roaming the grounds as permitted. No one mistreated him, but no one let him forget he was not free to leave, either.

It wasn't long before Baron Kagenou visited again, arriving one morning accompanied by two guards. The Baron had his balding crown uncovered, the thinning gray hair above his ears stirring in a faint draft. His eyes, though still burdened, held a calmer focus as he approached Kageno, who had been admiring the keep's herb garden from a safe distance.

"Boy," the Baron began, voice controlled but not unkind, "I need to ask again—do you remember anything from before you were found in these lands? Any hint that would explain your resemblance to… to someone we lost?"

Kageno's shoulders stiffened. He had answered this question twice already. "My Lord," he said, voice steady, "I've told you all I know. I have no memories that would tie me to you or your family. I'm just Kageno." He paused, meeting the Baron's gaze, and something pricked at him. A hint of frustration he could not hold back. After all the tension and sadness directed at him, he felt a need to push back.

"Is that so hard to accept?"

The Baron tensed, surprised by the boy's tone. The guards shifted uncomfortably. Kageno realized what he had done and cleared his throat. Before he could apologize or refine his words, the Baron sighed, weary and sad. "It is difficult," he said quietly, and turned away. The question weighed no less heavily, but he saw no sense in pressing a child who clearly had no answers. The trio departed, leaving Kageno biting the inside of his cheek. He hadn't meant to sound disrespectful, but perhaps a part of him did. He was weary of the scrutiny, the unspoken accusation that he should know something he did not.

He wouldn't have long to brood over it. Before midday had fully brightened the sky, Claire and Lady Elaina found him near a well in the central courtyard, where a traveling minstrel once entertained but now only soldiers practiced footwork. The Lady's eyes were kind but misted with regret and confusion. Claire, on the other hand, studied him as if he were an unpredictable puzzle.

"Kageno," Claire said, voice balanced on the edge of authority and curiosity, "my mother and I wished to see you." She hesitated, casting a glance at Elaina. "We wanted to… understand."

Kageno met their gazes. He tried to soften his tone, recalling how delicate their situation was. Yet the frustration from earlier still simmered. He couldn't control his mouth.

"Understand what? That I'm not a ghost of your past? I've told all I know." His words came out sharper than he intended, and he watched Claire's brows pinch together.

Elaina's lips parted, and the sadness in her eyes deepened. She recognized pain layered atop pain: he was as trapped by their family's past as they were. "We never meant to burden you," she said softly. "It's just… you remind us so much of someone we expected to love and never got to meet."

A pang of guilt struck Kageno. He tried to imagine the sorrow of losing a child—he was only a child himself, but he was old enough to feel empathy. "I'm sorry," he said, voice softer now. "I know this must hurt, but I can't be who you want me to be."

Claire's posture tightened. Something about his tone, the veiled resentment, nettled her. She was used to respect, to people deferring to her. This boy, younger than herself, dared speak so freely—even rudely—to her father and mother. Didn't he understand how precarious his position was?

When he noticed her scowl, Kageno's mouth twitched. "What is it, Claire? Something caught in your throat?" He let a note of sarcastic mockery slip in—partly to test her reaction, partly because he was tired of everyone's expectations.

A flash of anger lit Claire's eyes. Lady Elaina reached for her daughter's shoulder, but Claire stepped away, advancing on Kageno. "Listen here, you insolent brat," she snapped, voice rising. "My family took you in—guest or not, we've fed you, given you shelter, and you think you can mock me, mock our pain?" She finished, her fury unleashed.

Kageno's guards stirred uneasily. They were supposed to keep him from escaping, not prevent the Baron's heir from throttling him. But orders were orders, and they couldn't let Claire simply beat the prisoner-guest senseless, no matter her status.

Kageno shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. Inside, his heart thumped. Claire was older, taller, and clearly trained in martial pursuits. He doubted he could hold his own if she attacked. Still, he couldn't resist one last barb. "I didn't ask for this hospitality, my Lady."

That did it. Claire's face flushed, and she lunged forward. "Why, you little—!"

The guards stepped in just in time, forming a human barrier as Claire tried to push past them. One guard cleared his throat anxiously, "My Lady, please—he's just a boy."

"A boy who needs some manners taught!" Claire snapped, trying to wriggle around the guards who held their arms out like living bars. Kageno managed to keep a neutral expression, though his heart was pounding. He hadn't meant to provoke such a reaction. It was almost comical, in a way—the poised heiress of a barony reduced to a flustered would-be brawler by his words.

Lady Elaina placed a hand on her chest, shocked and dismayed at the display. She could hardly scold Claire in front of the guards and Kageno, but neither could she stand by idly. "Claire," she said, voice firm, "this is not the way."

Claire glared at Kageno over the guards' shoulders, her anger too hot to swallow immediately. She spun on her heel, huffing away without another word. Lady Elaina lingered a moment, casting Kageno a look that was half apology, half sorrow, before following her daughter.

Kageno exhaled slowly, alone again with the guards. The tension in the courtyard dissipated, leaving him with a flutter of triumph and regret. He had stood his ground, shown he wouldn't be caged by their expectations—but at what cost?

In the Baron's receiving chamber, Claire marched in, cheeks still pink and voice hurried. "Father, I must ask something."

The Baron, seated behind a desk cluttered with scrolls, looked up warily. He suspected this had to do with Kageno, and he wasn't wrong. Claire set her fists on the table, staring him down. "I want to train that boy," she declared. "Properly. He thinks he can get away with insults just because he's younger and a guest (she refused to call him a guest-prisoner). If he's going to stay here, he should learn some discipline."

Her father raised an eyebrow. "Train him? In what?"

"Swordsmanship, spear-work—anything," Claire insisted, frustration simmering in her voice. "I can't stand being mocked by a child. Let me teach him respect. If he truly can fight as he claims—" she caught herself, remembering their earlier test with a sword "—or even if he can't, I'll make sure he never tries such insolence again."

Baron Kagenou eyed his daughter silently. He knew Claire was proud and passionate, but he also saw something else: a desire to restore order and dignity to a situation fraught with strange emotions. His first instinct was to refuse—Kageno was fragile territory, and training him might complicate matters. But perhaps this was a way forward, a way to channel their tensions into something constructive rather than leaving them to fester.

At length, he nodded. "Very well. You may train him. But remember—he is still our guest, however unwilling. Do not mistreat him."

Claire bowed stiffly. "I understand, Father." Then she left, heart pounding with determination. If Kageno thought he could outwit her with a few sarcastic remarks, he was in for a rude awakening. She would teach him discipline, and perhaps in doing so, find a way to unravel the tensions and mysteries binding them all.

Far away, in his guest room that night, Kageno mulled over his choices, wondering if his sarcasm had sealed a difficult fate. Unbeknownst to him, a new chapter of his strange stay in the barony had just begun—one with wooden swords, bruises, and the forging of unexpected bonds.

~!~

~Let's rewind a bit~

Extra Chapter: A Duel

The sun hung low in the sky, its golden rays casting long shadows across the quiet road. Claire's horse trotted steadily, her posture perfect as she guided the reins with practiced ease. Behind her, Kageno sat in the saddle, silent as ever, his expression unreadable.

They had just passed the boundary of her barony's lands, the last stretch of their journey before she dropped him off at an inn just outside her family's territory. The ride had been uneventful, save for Claire's occasional questions about his life. Kageno's answers were polite but vague, offering little insight into the boy she had decided to take under her wing.

But there was one thing Claire couldn't ignore—a rumor she had heard from a villager back in Karstal.

The villager, clearly one of the more excitable types, had described Kageno as a swordsman of unmatched skill. "A blade so fast, it seemed to cut through the very air," the man had gushed. It was, of course, a ridiculous claim—one that Claire found hard to believe, especially considering the boy had no sword to speak of.

Still, it had piqued her curiosity.

As they neared the inn, she slowed her horse and glanced back at him. "Kageno," she began, her voice calm but firm, "humor me for a moment."

He tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting hers. "About what?"

"I heard something interesting back in Karstal," she said, turning fully in the saddle to face him. "A villager claimed you're a swordsman of no peer. Naturally, I find this hard to believe."

Kageno sighed, already sensing where this was going. "I'm not a swordsman," he said plainly.

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Not even a little? You didn't train under anyone? Not even pick up a blade once in your life?"

"Not unless you count the sticks I used to fend off stray dogs," he replied dryly.

Claire narrowed her eyes, her curiosity now mixed with disbelief. "That can't be true. Surely you've held a sword at some point."

Kageno shrugged. "Not really my thing."

Her expression hardened. "Prove it."

"What?"

"I said, prove it," she repeated, sliding off her horse with practiced grace. She drew her sword—a finely crafted blade that glinted in the fading sunlight—and gestured toward him. "I challenge you to a duel. You don't even have to win; I just want to see how bad you really are."

Kageno blinked, his face caught somewhere between bemusement and exasperation. "I don't have a sword," he pointed out.

Claire smirked, tossing him a wooden practice blade from her saddlebag. "Then use this."

~!~

Kageno stood in the middle of the dirt road, the wooden sword resting awkwardly in his hand. He held it loosely, as though it were a foreign object he wasn't quite sure how to use. Claire stood across from him, her own sword at the ready, her stance impeccable.

"Ready?" she asked, her tone edged with challenge.

"Not really," Kageno replied, his voice deadpan.

Claire frowned. "At least pretend to take this seriously."

"I am," he said. "That's the problem."

She sighed, already regretting her decision. "Fine. Let's begin."

The moment she stepped forward, Kageno attempted an awkward swing. It was slow, clumsy, and telegraphed from a mile away. Claire easily sidestepped it, her frustration growing as she watched him fumble with the wooden blade.

"You weren't joking," she muttered, parrying another halfhearted strike.

"Told you," Kageno said, his tone devoid of embarrassment.

Claire pressed the attack, her blade sweeping toward him in a series of quick, calculated strikes. Kageno stumbled back, barely managing to block each one. His movements were stiff and uncoordinated, more akin to flailing than proper swordplay.

It wasn't long before Claire knocked the wooden blade from his hand, the clatter echoing in the quiet road. Kageno raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression calm despite his obvious defeat.

"Well?" he asked. "Satisfied?"

Claire lowered her sword, staring at him in disbelief. "You really… don't know how to use a sword at all."

"Not even a little," he confirmed.

She sheathed her blade, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe it. A boy your age, wandering around without knowing how to wield a sword. What were you even thinking?"

"Probably not about swords," Kageno replied with a shrug.

Claire glared at him, her frustration now mixed with a hint of pity. "You're hopeless."

He offered a faint smile, his tone light. "Thanks."

~!~

As they continued their journey to the inn, Claire couldn't help but steal glances at Kageno. The duel had only deepened the mystery surrounding him. Who was this boy, really? He wasn't a swordsman, that much was clear. And yet, there was something about him—something she couldn't quite put into words.

For now, she resolved to let it go. But one thing was certain: if Kageno was going to stay anywhere near her barony, he was going to learn how to use a sword—whether he liked it or not.