“Julius—Whoa~”
When Eleanor saw the black-haired boy again, having just finished her meal, she covered her mouth in surprise. “What happened to you… did you go to the kitchen and start a fight with the flour?”
Julius stood stiffly in place, white powder falling silently from his black hair, standing out starkly against his dark uniform.
He instinctively raised his hand to brush it off, but worried about dirtying the carpet in the corridor, he awkwardly stopped his hand halfway.
“My sincerest apologies, Miss Eleanor.”
The boy bowed his head slightly, his ears flushed pink. “I accidentally bumped into a bag of flour in the kitchen.”
Eleanor blinked her deep blue eyes, then suddenly burst out laughing.
“This is… rare to see you looking so disheveled.”
She elegantly lifted her skirt and stepped back half a pace. “But what were you doing in the kitchen?”
Julius’s Adam’s apple bobbed as an image flashed before his eyes of him hiding with Helos in the storage room.
“I… I just heard some unusual noises while passing by.”
He answered stiffly, but as he met Eleanor’s amused gaze, he awkwardly averted his eyes. “I thought there might be an intruder, but I didn’t expect to knock over the flour bag.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
Eleanor lightly tapped her chin with her fingertip, her gaze falling on a streak of silver in his hair. “Be more careful.”
Julius’s Adam’s apple moved again as he was about to respond, but Eleanor suddenly pressed a finger to her lips.
“This afternoon, I’m going to study matters regarding the Saintess. Do you have any plans?”
“No other plans. I can accompany you.”
Julius’s voice was steady, as if rehearsed countless times, but the flour still dusting the hem of his uniform made his seriousness come across as slightly comical.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary.”
Unexpectedly, as soon as Julius finished speaking, Eleanor gently shook her head.
She looked out at the courtyard blooming with roses, a perfectly measured smile on her lips.
“You shouldn’t need to worry about security inside the mansion, right?”
“If you don’t have anything else, shall I have one of the maids take you on a tour around the mansion?”
Julius was momentarily taken aback, then lowered his eyes to hide the flicker of emotion.
He lightly brushed his right hand over his chest and gave a perfect Knight Salute.
“If possible, I would be grateful.”
He truly needed someone to show him around.
After all, the Duke’s Mansion was vast, and he had gotten lost several times these past few days.
The corridors twisted like a spiderweb, every corner seeming like a repeated copy of the last.
For Julius, who grew up in the church orphanage, this luxurious labyrinth was bewildering.
“Very well, then you should rest for now.”
Eleanor nodded gently, her dress shimmering faintly in the sunlight. “In the afternoon, I’ll have a maid come find you.”
***
Following the young lady’s instructions, Julius returned to his room after lunch.
He sat upright on the edge of the bed, hands resting flat on his knees—having grown up in the orphanage, he had no habit of napping, at most just closing his eyes to rest briefly.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, casting a patch of light on the floor, and time flowed as slowly as pulled malt sugar.
After about half an hour of resting his eyes, Julius opened them, his gaze falling on the sword by the bed.
He recalled the stern admonishment from the Holy Knight Captain a few days ago:
“The way of the sword is like rowing upstream; not advancing is retreating.”
He could still feel the captain’s calloused hand pressing heavily on his shoulder.
Lately, busy with ceremonial affairs, he had indeed neglected practice.
He instinctively made a gripping motion and found his palm was no longer as firm as before, causing his brow to furrow slightly.
Julius suddenly remembered the open training ground he had glimpsed when he first arrived at the Duke’s Mansion.
Although it was mainly for the eldest young master’s martial training, the guards seemed allowed to use it as well.
This thought made him stand up unbidden, fingers lightly tracing the familiar patterns on his sword hilt.
Taking advantage of the free time to practice a little shouldn’t be a problem, right?
Though only twelve years old, he possessed an extraordinary composure.
Younger than the other squire trainees by far, his talent in swordsmanship had already amazed the instructors.
All he lacked was experience.
The boy took a deep breath and straightened his still slight frame.
He knew precisely why he needed to strengthen his fundamentals all the more.
With this resolve, Julius rose lightly and deftly fastened his sword at his waist.
The clink of the scabbard against the belt rang crisply, especially clear in the quiet room.
As he pushed open the door, the early summer breeze carried the fragrance of roses in.
The distant training ground basked in the noon sun, empty of people.
Footprints from morning drills were still visible in the sand, and fresh sword marks on the wooden stakes gleamed in the sunlight.
Julius stood in the center of the ground, his shadow shrinking to a small patch beneath the afternoon sun.
He slowly drew his sword, the blade carving a silver arc in the light.
Though still slender, the boy’s grip was textbook perfect—thumb lightly pressing the crossguard, four fingers firmly wrapping the hilt, muscle memory honed by countless corrections.
Suddenly, he stepped forward; his left foot carved a half-circle in the sand.
The sword tip shot out like lightning, stopping abruptly just before the wooden stake.
After repeating this several times, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, lingering at his chin before dropping onto the scorching sand.
“Still not enough.”
He muttered to himself, stepping back three paces and resetting his stance.
This time, the blade moved faster, the whoosh of the air startling birds perched on the surrounding walls.
A fresh cut joined the weathered sword scars on the wooden stake.
While Julius was drenched in sweat under the blazing sun, he didn’t notice the unusual presence nearby.
Leaning lazily against a thick tree branch, a silver-haired girl rested, strands of hair stuck to her cheek by sweat.
She squinted her pale purple eyes, staring at the boy practicing swordplay below as if observing a rare creature.
Practicing swordsmanship in the middle of the midday heat?
Helos looked up at the merciless sun overhead.
Is his head stuck in a door? Or did he accidentally get into the flour again?
“Are these so-called magically gifted people not afraid of heat?”
She murmured, tugging at the tie at her collar.
Even the shade under the tree felt suffocatingly hot, let alone standing out there in the open sand—it was basically a griddle.
As Julius completed another thrust, sweat dripping from his chin onto the blazing ground, Helos rolled her eyes and couldn’t help but comment:
“Are the so-called Holy Knights just human barbecue skewers?”
“So… do we sprinkle cumin on top or not?”