Noulan's training.

Gustav, his expression reflective of the weariness brought on by the recent conflict, addressed Hanna, "You didn't have to go that far, Hanna."

"I know, sir, but I just wanted to tease him. Maybe he hates us, but Harmin and I don't hate him. We know our mistakes," Hanna responded, her words carrying a hint of remorse.

The room, still charged with the aftermath of the confrontation, bore witness to the complexities of relationships and the lingering scars left by the passage of time. As the echoes of the reunion resonated, Gustav contemplated the delicate balance between old wounds and the potential for reconciliation.

Hanna, standing with the agreement paper in hand, cast a last glance toward Gustav. With a somber tone, she requested, "Sir, please take Noulan with you to the capital tomorrow."

Gustav, his expression a mix of contemplation and concern, nodded in acknowledgment. The unspoken complexities of the situation hung in the air, setting the stage for a journey that extended beyond the physical distance between the village and the capital.

The request lingered in the room, an unexpected turn in the unfolding narrative. Gustav, aware of the underlying tensions and the delicate nature of the situation, agreed with a nod. "I'll talk to Noulan. We'll leave for the capital tomorrow," he replied.

Hanna, with a faint expression of gratitude, left the room, leaving Gustav to ponder the intricate threads of fate that had woven this reunion. As the door closed behind her, the atmosphere in the room shifted, leaving an unspoken understanding that the journey to the capital would not only cover physical miles but also traverse the emotional landscapes of past mistakes and potential reconciliation.

----

In the moonlit night, Noulan lay in his bed when a sudden knock echoed in the room. Gustav, his foster father, stood outside, saying, "Noulan, can you open the door?"

"Okay," Noulan replied. He rose from the bed, approached the door, and opened it. "What is it?" he inquired.

Gustav sighed, "Noulan, we have to go to the capital tomorrow."

"Why to that shifty place?" Noulan retorted. The mention of the capital stirred memories of a time, four years ago, when he and his friend Harmin had ventured there to learn knighthood at the academy. It was the same place where their friendship shattered because of a girl.

The room hung heavy with the weight of past regrets as Noulan grappled with the prospect of returning to a place that held both bitter memories and the potential for new confrontations.

Gustav, sensing Noulan's reluctance, explained, "There are matters in the capital that need attending. It's important, Noulan."

Noulan, still harboring resentment toward the capital for the painful memories it held, reluctantly nodded. "Fine, but I don't have to like it," he muttered.

As Gustav left the room, Noulan stared at the moonlit night, the shadows of the past dancing on the walls. The prospect of returning to the capital stirred a mix of emotions—bitterness, apprehension, and a tinge of curiosity about what awaited him in the city that once held dreams of knighthood and now harbored unresolved conflicts.

"I really don't want to go and watch that bastard's face again," Noulan muttered, his thoughts consumed by Harmin. The prospect of confronting the person with whom his friendship had soured lingered heavily on Noulan's mind, adding another layer of reluctance to the journey ahead.

Noulan, once convinced he could avoid the complexities involving Hanna and Harmin, now found himself entangled in their web. The day unfolded with the unexpected encounter with Hanna, and now, facing the inevitable reunion with Harmin in the capital, he felt the weight of the situation closing in.

"It's really a deep mess," Noulan mumbled, his frustration escalating. He released his pent-up anger by delivering a forceful punch to the wall, the physical impact mirroring the emotional turmoil that gripped him in this unwelcome journey through the intricacies of his past.

He decided to train, so he took his sword and went outside to practice.

Strike one...

Strike two...

Strike three...

And he continued training, each swing a deliberate effort.

The reason for his training traced back to the past at the academy where he had been the weakest. After dropping out, he resolved to continue his training. Since then, he maintained a disciplined regimen, channeling his past setbacks into a relentless pursuit of improvement.

In the quiet solitude of the training ground, Noulan's sword sliced through the air with each deliberate strike. The moonlit night served as his witness, casting shadows that danced with the rhythm of his practiced movements.

Strike one echoed with precision, the sound cutting through the stillness. Noulan's muscles tensed, each motion purposeful as he focused on form and technique. Strike two followed in quick succession, a seamless transition of controlled power.

The third strike, executed with a determined flourish, marked only a brief pause before he continued the relentless cadence of his training. Each movement was a testament to the years of dedication, a response to the echoes of his past weaknesses at the academy.

As he honed his skills beneath the moon's gentle glow, Noulan's training became more than a physical exercise—it evolved into a cathartic release, a way to channel his frustrations and uncertainties into the rhythmic dance of his blade. The night bore witness to his relentless pursuit of self-improvement, a journey carved through discipline and an unwavering resolve.

With beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, Noulan's training continued into the night.

Strike after strike, he immersed himself in the rhythmic dance of the blade, his movements becoming an intricate choreography of skill and determination. The air echoed with the metallic song of the sword meeting resistance, a symphony of dedication that drowned out the haunting whispers of past inadequacies.

In each strike, Noulan sought not just physical strength but a release from the emotional turmoil that gripped him. The sword became an extension of his resolve, a tool to carve away the doubts that lingered from his time at the academy.

As he pushed himself further, the repetitive nature of the training mirrored the relentless pursuit of redemption. Each strike was a declaration—a vow to transform weakness into strength, insecurity into confidence.

The training ground, once silent, now resonated with the cadence of Noulan's determination, a testament to his journey of self-discovery and the unyielding commitment to reshape his destiny.

Despite the beads of sweat streaming down his face, Noulan refused to relent, the physical exertion only intensifying his resolve. Each movement, fueled by determination, sliced through the air, leaving behind a trail of dedication on the moonlit training ground. The rhythmic sound of the sword cutting through the silence echoed the unwavering commitment of a man driven by the desire to transcend his past weaknesses. Sweat-soaked and relentless, Noulan's training became a testament to the indomitable spirit that fueled his pursuit of self-improvement.

From inside, Gustav's voice resonated, "Dinner is ready."

Noulan halted his training, and with a grin, he called back, "I'm coming, old man." The affectionate banter carried a warmth that contrasted with the intensity of his training, providing a glimpse into the camaraderie that existed despite the complexities surrounding him.