Charles stood at the dical area’s reception, his black tunic dry and clean thanks to Nora’s help.
Across from him, the receptionist, with a pin reading "Clara" on her lapel, eyed him with a mix of surprise and concern as she reviewed his file.
Charles scratched his neck, forcing a carefree smile.
"I wanna check out," he said, leaning on the counter. "I’m feeling fine, no reason to stick around."
Clara adjusted her glasses, scanning the report closely.
"Mr. Rian..." she said, polite but firm, "the doctor recomnded at least two more weeks of observation. Your hands suffered severe damage, and though they seem functional now, any strain could delay recovery."
Charles shook his head, shrugging.
"I’ll be back in two days, promise," he said, trying to sound convincing. "Probably. Got a duel tomorrow, you know? Can’t just sit here twiddling my thumbs."
Clara’s jaw dropped, eyes wide.
"A duel...?" she repeated, incredulous.
She glanced at Charles’s hands, still lightly bandaged to hide their true condition.
’Is this guy nuts?’ she thought, a mix of awe and worry. ’No one in their right mind would fight like that.’
But then, recalling rumors about his surna, she sighed inwardly.
’Definitely a Cole,’ she thought, a faint, resigned smile forming.
"Understood," she said, reverting to her professional tone. "I’ll inform the dical team of your decision. Please sign here to confirm your voluntary discharge."
Charles scribbled his signature, giving a quick nod of thanks.
"Thanks, Clara, you’re the best," he said, winking before turning to leave.
As he walked through the Storm Clan’s halls, he muttered, "System, guide to my new room."
A blue panel appeared, projecting an arrow to show the way.
[Proceed straight 50 ters, then turn right at the main hallway. Your room is in the Warrior sector, third floor, door 312.]
Charles followed the directions, climbing the stairs with tired steps.
The day had been long: chasing lightning, tussling with Nora in the river, and now the uncertainty of tomorrow’s duel.
’Need to rest,’ he thought, rubbing his eyes.
But a spark of excitent flickered at the thought of his new Warrior-rank room.
’Hope it’s better than the last one,’ he thought, recalling the cramped Novice closet he’d had.
When he opened door 312, he found a space larger than expected, though still modest.
There was a single bed with clean sheets, a small wooden table with a chair, and a window overlooking the training fields, now dark under the rain.
The walls were plain, undecorated, and the floor was clean but worn.
"Not bad," Charles muttered, flopping onto the bed.
The mattress creaked under his weight but was comfier than his old one.
"Could get used to this," he said, stretching with a yawn.
Staring at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted to Nora.
’Is she soone I can trust?’ he thought, frowning.
In their encounters, Nora seed relaxed, lazy, even carefree—always joking, napping in trees, or dragging him into absurd situations like the river.
But when they’d sparred days ago, he’d seen another side.
Her movents were sharp, her air control flawless, and her eyes had a cold, almost intimidating edge.
’If she’d gone all out that day...’ he thought, ’not sure I could’ve won.’
The thought made him shiver.
One of tomorrow’s opponents, Darion Veth, was a Master-rank, supposedly trained since childhood by multiple ntors.
’If Nora’s that good and barely tries...’ he thought, ’what’s soone who lives for this like?’
Charles sighed, running a hand through his black hair.
He’d barely practiced the basic stances Lira and the system had taught him.
"System," he whispered, sitting up, "show the basic stances again. Gotta review."
Before the blue panel could respond, a knock interrupted.
Knock knock knock knock
"Co in!" Charles shouted, hoping it wasn’t trouble.
The door swung open, and Lira stepped in, her expression half-annoyed, half-curious.
She wore a dark tunic, her hair in a high ponytail, giving her an authoritative air.
Lira raised an eyebrow, seeing him poised on the bed like he was about to train.
"Well, you don’t waste ti, huh?" she said, crossing her arms. "Thought you’d be passed out after your... stroll."
Charles grinned, shrugging.
"Wanna be ready for tomorrow’s duel," he said, more serious. "Can’t afford to fall behind."
Lira studied him silently for a few seconds, as if gauging his resolve.
"You really gonna fight?" she asked, her tone more warning than question.
"Yeah," Charles replied, no hesitation.
But sothing in Lira’s gaze gave him pause.
There was worry in her eyes, sothing he hadn’t expected.
Lira sighed, leaning against the doorfra.
"You don’t have to, Rian," she said, softer. "That duel’s not mandatory. You can back out, no one’ll judge you."
Charles frowned, surprised by her words.
"Why say that?" he asked, leaning forward. "Don’t think I can win?"
Lira rolled her eyes but didn’t answer right away.
Her question, though, made Charles doubt himself for the first ti.
’Why do I wanna fight?’ he thought, looking at his hands.
In the real world, Charles wasn’t confrontational.
He avoided fights, even argunts, seeing them as a waste of ti.
If soone provoked him, he’d brush it off or change the subject.
But since waking in this body, sothing was different.
Every challenge sparked an urge, almost an instinct, to face it head-on.
’Is it this body?’ he thought, confused. ’Or a side effect of reincarnation?’
The idea unnerved him.
Logically, Lira was right.
The duel was an unnecessary risk.
Losing could an becoming a slave, a fate he wasn’t willing to accept.
But backing out left a bitter taste.
’I don’t wanna run...’ he thought, clenching his fists.
Charles yawned, more from exhaustion than boredom, and looked at Lira.
"I’ll give you a solid answer tomorrow," he said, calr. "But on one condition."
Lira raised an eyebrow, frowning.
"What condition?" she asked, her tone making it clear she wasn’t in the mood.
’This guy’s stubborner than a mule,’ she thought, crossing her arms tighter.
Charles smiled, a sly glint in his eyes.
"I want you to bring everything you know about the guys I’m fighting," he said. "All of it, written on paper. Then I’ll decide if I fight or not."
Lira blinked, clearly caught off guard.
"On paper...?" she repeated, incredulous. "I told you about them days ago, Rian. What more do you need?"
Charles leaned back, arms behind his head.
"I want it written," he said, gesturing lazily. "Nas, skills, weaknesses, the works. Make it pretty, yeah?"
Lira gritted her teeth, her face pure irritation.
"You’re unbearable," she muttered, but then sighed. "Fine, you’ll get it. But don’t whine if you don’t like what you read."
Charles grinned, satisfied.
"Deal," he said, then added, curious, "By the way, where’s that food you promised? Or did you give it to soone else ’cause I went for a walk?"
Lira glared like she wanted to throttle him.
"Go to hell, Rian!" she snapped, pointing a finger. "I made an amazing stew, and you decided to go play in the mud! Don’t complain now!"
Reviews
All reviews (0)