Chapter 252: A Week Later

A week had passed since Ulrich returned from the capital after recovering Airam.

To the people of the Rubenhart Estate, the story was simple.

He, Hendrick, Rina and the others had been ambushed on the road by a group of bandits. Airam had been taken during the attack. Ulrich had ordered Hendrick and Rina to return to the Estate with Hermione and Esther while he pursued the kidnappers alone.

And he had brought Airam home.

That was the story told to the staff, the guards, and every servant who asked.

It had spread through the Estate quickly.

The people who served House Rubenhart had always feared their Count. Ulrich was cold, demanding, and difficult to read. He did not tolerate failure. He did not waste words on praise. Most people could never tell whether he was pleased, disappointed, or simply thinking of something far beyond their understanding.

But now they saw him differently.

He had crossed the lands, or so they believed, to recover one of the girls under his protection. He had returned badly wounded, missing an arm, yet had still brought Airam back safely.

The fear had not disappeared.

It had merely changed.

Where there had once been only fear, with also a kind of admiration, now admiration had begun to take more space.

It wasn’t something Ulrich really took it well.

The respectful looks from the guards were good, of course. The servants speaking more softly whenever he passed wasn’t an issue either. Even the careful gratitude in the eyes of the older staff members was something he could ignore.

But the glances from the younger maids as if he was some prince in shining armor of some fairy tale, were becoming increasingly irritating.

He was not a saint.

He had no desire to be treated like one.

And he certainly had no interest in becoming the subject of whispered stories throughout his own Estate.

That morning, Ulrich woke before the sun had fully risen.

For several seconds, he lay still beneath the blankets, listening to the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth.

Then he turned his head.

Airam was beside him.

Again.

She lay quietly on her side, facing away from him. Her breathing was soft, her dark hair spread across the pillow. Anyone who saw her would have assumed she was sleeping peacefully.

At the beginning of the night, Airam usually did sleep with Hermione and Esther. At least, he assumed she did. But sometime after midnight, once her sisters had fallen asleep and the Estate had gone quiet, she would leave their room and make her way to his.

She had become remarkably skilled at it.

The first time, Ulrich had simply assumed she had slipped in while he slept.

The second time, he had locked his door.

Airam had somehow opened it.

The third time, Ulrich had placed a simple barrier spell around his room.

Airam had sat outside his door for nearly an hour, studying the spellwork in silence until she understood its structure. Then she had dismantled it with her runes and entered as though Ulrich had never taken any precaution at all.

After that, he began using stronger barriers.

It changed nothing.

Airam had patience when she wanted something.

That was the truly dangerous part.

Over the past week, she had appeared in his bed four times. Three nights, she had remained with her sisters until morning. The other four, she had quietly made her way into Ulrich’s room after everyone else had fallen asleep.

Including tonight.

Ulrich looked at her in silence.

He should have been angry.

She was ignoring his direct orders. She was entering his room without permission. She was making a habit of sleeping beside him in a way that would create unbearable misunderstandings if any servant discovered it.

It was inappropriate.

It needed to stop.

Yet Airam looked really peaceful.

The tension she normally carried in her shoulders had disappeared in sleep. Her expression was calm, almost soft. The nightmares that had haunted her since she was a child had not woken her during the night.

Ulrich exhaled quietly.

He was not angry.

Only annoyed.

He pushed the blankets aside and sat up carefully. His restored left arm remained weak, though it no longer felt foreign. The ache had lessened over the past week, but the muscles were still stiff, the mana pathways still recovering, and the amber markings left by the Thornbreath Curse had not faded.

Ulrich flexed his fingers once.

They responded slowly.

Not well enough.

But they responded.

Without making a sound, he rose from the bed, dressed, and left the room.

The morning air outside was cold.

Ulrich stepped into the backyard as the first pale light of dawn touched the eastern sky. The training grounds were still empty. Dew covered the grass. A thin mist hung low over the Estate walls, and the world remained quiet enough that he could hear birds beginning to stir in the trees beyond the property.

Since having his arm reattached, Ulrich had resumed his daily training.

Not fully, though.

His left arm was still too weak for sparring or heavy forms, and using it carelessly could damage the healing mana pathways within the limb. The physicians had warned him repeatedly not to strain himself.

Ulrich had listened, to a degree of course.

He had reduced the intensity of his training. He had stopped using full combat patterns. He had limited himself to basic conditioning, controlled sword forms, and repetitive movements that allowed him to maintain the sharpness of his body without risking the new arm.

But remaining idle for an entire week had never been an option.

His body was his first weapon.

He would not allow it to weaken.

Ulrich removed his shirt and set it aside. Then he picked up a heavy wooden training sword with his right hand.

He began.

The first swing cut cleanly through the cold air.

Then another.

And another.

His movements were precise as always. Every step landed exactly where it should. Every shift of his weight was deliberate. Every strike followed the next with the same sharp rhythm Ulrich had repeated thousands of times before.

To an ordinary observer, there was nothing imperfect about his form.

To Ulrich, there were still flaws.

His balance was slightly different with the weakness in his left arm. His body compensated without permission, shifting a fraction too much into his right side. The adjustment was almost invisible.

Ulrich noticed it, and he quickly corrected it.

His sword swung again.

The wooden blade cut forward, then turned. He stepped, pivoted, struck low, pulled back, and transitioned into another form without pause. Sweat gathered along his shoulders as the sun rose slowly over the Estate walls.

His breathing gradually deepened.

The pain in his muscles was familiar.

His body had saved him at Hiddlestone.

Even after the demon poison, his years of training had allowed him to keep fighting. He had faced Valdris and the Valmorian soldiers while his own body had been failing him.

That was proof enough.

His daily discipline had not been wasted.

And he had no intention of abandoning it now.

Minutes passed.

Then servants began to appear around the Estate as the household awakened.

Monika arrived first.

She stood near the edge of the training ground, holding a folded towel over one arm. Her expression softened as she watched Ulrich continue through his forms.

This had become part of her morning routine.

She liked seeing him train.

There was something reassuring about it. No matter what disasters followed House Rubenhart, no matter how many enemies gathered beyond the Estate walls, Ulrich continued to rise before dawn and train.

As though the world could not move him.

As though nothing could make him surrender control.

Monika smiled faintly.

She was not the only one watching.

Behind her, hidden poorly behind one of the stone pillars near the courtyard, Esther peeked out.

She had only just woken up. Her blond hair was still slightly messy, and she had slipped outside before properly dressing for the morning.

Her wide eyes remained fixed on Ulrich.

"Will Lord Ulrich be all right?" She whispered, worried. "His arm is still injured."

She wanted to run toward him and tell him to rest.

She wanted to tell him that he had already done enough.

But Ulrich was training with a serious expression, and Esther knew he would only give her a cold look and tell her to put on shoes before she caught a chill.

"Hmph," Hermione said from the opposite side of the pillar. "It is not as though he cares about his injuries. At this point, I think he simply enjoys suffering."

Her cheeks were flushed.

She had intended only to check on Ulrich. That was all.

But now he was training without a shirt, sweat catching along his chest and shoulders as he moved through the forms with that irritatingly focused expression.

Hermione felt her face grow warmer.

She looked away.

Then she looked back.

Only for a second.

Her ruby eyes fixed on Ulrich’s face as his breathing became slightly heavier.

"I—I am going to take a bath," Hermione said quickly.

She grabbed Esther by the wrist.

"You should too."

"Wait, big sister," Esther protested. "I will miss the end!"

"Miss what?" Hermione asked, pulling her away from the pillar. "He is going to scold you when he sees you barefoot in the cold."

Esther looked down.

Her feet were bare against the cool stone.

"Muh..."

She sulked but allowed Hermione to lead her back into the Estate.

As they walked upstairs, Esther looked around the corridor.

"Have you seen Eldest Sister?"

"She is probably training her runes near Mother," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. "As usual."

The two sisters returned to their room.

A minute later, the door to Ulrich’s bedroom opened.

Airam stepped out.

She covered a yawn with one hand, her dark hair disheveled from sleep. One strap of her nightgown had slipped down her shoulder, and she absently pulled it back into place.

For a moment, she stood in the corridor with half-lidded eyes.

Then she began walking toward her own room.

Her steps were slow, sleepy but satisfied.

She had slept well.

Perhaps too well.

Only as she reached the end of the corridor did she pause, her gaze shifting back toward Ulrich’s room.

It was dangerous to remain in his bed until this hour.

If a servant had entered to prepare the fireplace, change the linens, or bring him breakfast, the situation would have become troublesome.

Airam stared at the closed door for a moment.

Then she turned away.

Tonight, she decided, she would leave earlier.

Probably.