The Extra's Rise - Chapter 451

Chapter 451: Deia Solaryn (1)
Lucifer intended to find the girl he saw at the banquet. The girl who seemed around his age, the Palace Lord’s daughter and a very strong talent. So, taking this break day as his chance, he did. He chose to approach her in order to find the necessary evidence against the Southern Sea Sun Palace due to how far behind his and other investigation groups were from Arthur’s.

The sound of steel cutting through air drew his attention as he passed a secluded courtyard. Quick, precise strikes followed by moments of stillness, then another flurry of movement. Someone was training—and with remarkable discipline.

He paused at the entrance, observing without announcing himself. The courtyard was small but elegant, ringed by crimson-leaved maples and equipped with training dummies and weapon racks. At its center stood a young woman with hair the color of fresh blood and eyes as golden as real gold, wielding a slender rapier with practiced precision.

Deia Solaryn.

Her movements were fluid yet forceful, each strike flowing into the next with a rhythm that spoke of years of dedicated practice. She wore simple training garments rather than the elaborate robes typical of palace nobility, her hair tied back in a practical style that emphasized the sharp angles of her face.

What struck him most was the intensity of her focus. While his own training often attracted an audience—something he’d grown accustomed to over the years—Deia moved as if performing for no one, each strike executed with the same dedication whether observed or not.

True mastery, his father would have said, was found in the movements made when no one was watching.

Lucifer stepped into the courtyard, deliberately scuffing his boot to announce his presence rather than startling her. Deia paused mid-thrust, her golden eyes flicking toward him with a wariness that seemed excessive for someone in her position.

“My apologies for the intrusion,” he said, keeping his tone respectful and neutral. “I was assigned to inspect the training facilities.”

Deia lowered her rapier but didn’t sheathe it. “This area isn’t part of the public training facilities,” she replied. Her voice was cool but not outright hostile. “It’s a private courtyard Your Highness.”

“Then I’ve overstepped,” Lucifer acknowledged with a slight bow. “I’ll continue elsewhere.”

He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him. “You’re Lucifer Windward. The prince of the Northern continent and Rank 1 among all the students who come here.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “I am.”

Deia studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Your strength at your age is incredible. Few can hope to reach high Integration-rank.”

The compliment was unexpected. “Thank you,” he replied. “Your swordplay shows similar dedication.”

A flicker of something—pride? wariness?—crossed her features. “We have different standards here than in the East. What you witnessed was merely basic form practice. And I doubt it’s little more than child’s play in your eyes.”

“Nothing about your technique is ‘merely basic,'” Lucifer countered. He stepped further into the courtyard, moving toward one of the weapon racks. “Your control is exceptional, particularly in the transition between strikes.”

Deia watched him with narrowed eyes as he examined the training weapons. The rack held an assortment of practice blades—wooden, blunted steel, even a few crafted from specialized materials designed to handle magical enhancement.

“Your investigation concludes soon,” she said abruptly. “Then you and your companions will return.”

Lucifer nodded, picking up a wooden practice sword and testing its balance. “That’s the arrangement, yes.”

“And what have you discovered? In your thorough investigation?” There was a subtle edge to her words, a challenge beneath the polite inquiry.

He turned to face her fully. “I suspect you already know the answer to that.”

“Do I?”

“Your father has been remarkably effective at redirecting our efforts. Every time we find something interesting, we’re reassigned or restricted.” He replaced the wooden sword on the rack. “It’s almost as if the Southern Sea Sun Palace has something to hide.”

Deia’s posture stiffened. “All nations have their secrets. The East is no different.”

“True,” Lucifer conceded. “But most nations don’t go to such lengths to conceal them.”

For a moment, they regarded each other in silence. Deia was the first to look away, returning to her practice stance. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to continue my training.”

Rather than leaving, Lucifer moved to another part of the courtyard and began his own warm-up exercises. He didn’t look directly at Deia, but he could feel her attention on him, her rhythm disrupted by his presence.

After several minutes of stretching and basic forms, he spoke again. “The palace’s isolation has preserved many traditional techniques that have been lost or modified elsewhere. It would be educational to observe more of your training methods before we depart, especially since you are a genius.”

Deia executed a complex series of thrusts before responding. “There are scrolls in the eastern library documenting our basic forms. You can request access if you’re genuinely interested in scholarship.”

“Scrolls can’t demonstrate the practical application,” Lucifer pointed out. “They can’t show the subtle adjustments, the weight distribution, the timing.”

She paused, lowering her rapier slightly. “Why are you really here, Lucifer Windward? This courtyard isn’t on any official map of the palace. You didn’t simply stumble across it.”

It was a fair question. The truth—that he had indeed found it by chance—seemed less credible than any fabrication he might offer.

“I followed the sound of your training,” he said simply. “Good swordplay has a distinctive rhythm. And the way your sword sang from your Sword Resonance was simply brilliant.”

Deia’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “And your interest is purely academic, I suppose?”

“My interest is in understanding,” Lucifer replied. “Not just techniques, but the people who practice them. The Southern Sea Sun Palace has remained isolated for centuries, yet maintained a tradition of martial excellence as seen here. That suggests a culture that values strength even in the absence of external challenges.”

“We value strength because we understand its necessity,” Deia said, her voice suddenly fierce. “The world beyond our shores has rarely shown kindness to those who cannot defend themselves.”

The intensity of her response caught him off guard. There was history there—personal, not just political. Of course, he knew all about it. The Viserions who crushed the pride of the Palace when they tried to reach into the Southern continent and more.

“On that, we agree,” he said quietly.

Something in his tone made her look at him more carefully. For the first time, her expression held genuine curiosity rather than guarded suspicion.

“Your family name, the Windwards. I heard they hold the same level of strength as the Viserions.” Deia asked.

Lucifer nodded. Viserions of the South with their draconic flames and spearmanship and the Windwards of the North with their swordsmanship steeped deep in ice magic were compared against each other more often than not.

“I am an exception among my family though,” Lucifer felt the need to add.

Deia seemed to accept this, understanding where it came from. She resumed her practice, though her movements now seemed more demonstration than true training.

“Your form is excellent,” Lucifer observed after watching for several minutes. “But you favor your right side on defensive maneuvers. Against an opponent who recognizes the pattern, it could become a vulnerability.”

She stopped mid-motion, turning to face him fully. “You presume to critique my technique after a few minutes of observation?”

“Not critique,” he clarified. “Observe. The difference is significant.”

Deia’s expression hardened, but there was a flicker of interest in her eyes. “And how would you suggest addressing this supposed vulnerability?”

Lucifer stepped forward, drawing one of the practice swords from the rack. “Through practical application. Theory only takes us so far.”

“You’re suggesting we spar?” There was disbelief in her voice, but also—he thought—a hint of intrigue.

“I am.” He took a basic ready stance, the wooden sword held loosely in his hand. “Unless you believe training alone will adequately prepare you for real combat.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re very presumptuous for a guest in my home.”

“Perhaps,” he acknowledged with a slight smile. “But am I wrong?”

Deia considered him for a long moment, her crimson eyes calculating. Then, with a decisive motion, she sheathed her rapier and moved to the weapon rack, selecting a practice sword that matched his own.

“Very well,” she said, stepping into the center of the courtyard. “But understand this—in the Southern Sea Sun Palace, we don’t hold back simply because someone is a visitor.”

Lucifer’s smile widened as he moved to face her. “I would expect nothing less.”

As they circled each other, wooden blades raised, he realized this was the first genuine interaction he’d had with any member of the palace since their arrival. No diplomatic facades, no carefully constructed misdirection. Just two warriors preparing to test their skill against one another.

Sometimes, Lucifer reflected, the most direct path to truth ran through the clash of blades rather than words.