Lucien reached the training ground, an open field with a plain, muddy floor and running tracks drawn in wide circles. The entire expanse formed a huge circular field. The Weapon Armoury building stood to the side, where most training weapons were kept. The stronger weapons were hidden within the palace’s treasury; no one was foolish enough to place powerful arms in an armoury meant for basic training tools. After all, there was always the risk of someone dying during sparring if strong weapons were in use, so they rarely kept anything truly dangerous in the armoury. In fact, as far as Lucien could recall, they had never taken out any strong weapons from the treasury and placed them in the weapon armoury building. Knights and troops were meant to train, not to kill each other. Furthermore, no one wanted powerful swords or weapons to be stolen from the armoury.

  Lucien gazed at the knights training on the field: some ran around the track, others sparred with each other, and the rest practised their skills on the dummies.

  They all immediately stopped as he approached the centre of the field, bowing to him in unison. Then, they retreated back to the sides to make space for him, as if to save themselves from his wrath that he might unleash upon them; he was notoriously famous for getting angry quickly. Though it was mostly wrong, his impassive face and expressions were the reason for all the wrong rumours.

  Their eyes reflected fear, though a few odd ones sparkled with something like infatuation, as if they were awestruck just to see him. Lucien felt a wave of nausea at the sight of some of them looking so thrilled, as though they had just seen their idols pass by. He was nothing short of an idol to some people who wanted to become strong; he was very, very powerful for his age.

  But most of them seemed wary of Lucien, tense as rabbits caught by a tiger. Their eyes were glued to the sword he held. Brows raised and eyes narrowed, they seemed to silently question what kind of sword it was. Yet their mouths remained firmly closed, lips pressed tight to keep their questions in. They did not want to get into trouble by asking questions outright, and Lucien appreciated that they did not ask.

  Lucien’s lips curled up in a slight smile, so subtle that most would not notice. He felt a flicker of joy at the sight of the troops quivering before him.

  Lucien walked toward the iron dummies placed at the corner of the ground, ten arranged in a semicircle. They bore scratches, but nothing deep enough to leave any real mark, a deep mark that could get his approval. The scratches were just minor scrapes and nicks.

  Tsk, these new recruits didn’t even manage to leave a good mark on these mere dummies?

  Lucien felt a surge of anger at the thought that these knights, clearly new and still in training, would soon join the main force at the stronghold. At this rate, they would be the first to be crushed and die by beasts.

  Lucien shoved these thoughts aside for now and turned his focus to the reason he was here. He wanted to test the power of his new sword.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Lucien tightened his grip on the sword. The sword, called ‘sword of hatred’, was different; it was so different and so utterly unique that he wanted it to be displayed in a museum.

  He lifted it to eye level, holding it horizontal; spikes jutted from its blade like the thorns of a rose. The handle and blade were black, so dark they seemed to devour the sun’s rays entirely. Unlike other swords that would gleam and reflect his face in the sunlight, this one offered no reflection of his face. Of his handsome face.

  Lucien felt the hatred radiating from the sword, an intensity that made his blood boil and sent his heart pounding. He found himself getting excited by the sword’s seething hatred. The blade seemed desperate for revenge over its previous owner’s death, the prospect of taking revenge made his killing urges slightly return, but he shoved it back inside. Lucien sensed it was also measuring his own strength, as though deciding if he was worthy.

  How dare a mere sword try to judge me? Lucien thought, his eyes narrowing.

  The sword’s displeasure was palpable, its emotions flowing into him. It hated being touched by Lucien; it wanted only its previous owner to hold it.

  "I understand your hatred for me, since I am not your true owner. I respect your loyalty to the one you served before. Follow me, and I will help you quench your thirst," Lucien murmured, running his finger along the blade’s thorny spikes. It was the first time he had seen a sword that so thoroughly defied the traditional norm of sharp, smooth blades.

  Lucien admired the sword’s unwavering loyalty to its former master and how it refused to bend easily to a new one. It wanted to free itself from his grasp; it was struggling internally due to being held by an unknown foreigner.

  He was grateful the sword was only semi-sentient; if it had possessed true sentience, it might have caused him far more trouble than merely sending him its emotions.

  Lucien hated the idea of a sword that could talk back to him and breach his mind with its thoughts. A sentient sword would have cursed him outright.

  Thankfully, the sword in his hands was only semi-sentient, able to send him its emotions but not able to speak or curse him in his mind.

  Despite its thorny spikes, the sword was sharp as hell; it had the keenest edge of any blade Lucien had ever wielded. Still, its darkness and the spikes that ringed its edges were something new even to him, and he found himself deeply fascinated by its design.

  From the moment he first laid eyes on the sword, he had decided it would be his. He would make it bow to him, no matter how strong its will. The desire to conquer the sword and make it bow before his feet made his heart beat rapidly under his ribcage.

  "From now on, you will be called Darkness. My Darkness," Lucien said as he swept the blade horizontally, slicing through the ten dummies before him. The sword cut through them as if it cut through butter. It passed through the dummies as if it was passing through air; it did not stagger once. It did not stop once on the track; it was one clean sweep.

  A hush fell over the entire ground. The dummies were sliced in half instantly, their upper bodies sliding off their lower halves, and they fell to the earth with a loud thud.

  ?Thud. Thud....

  The knights watching gasped at the display. Their grips loosened, and their swords slipped from their hands to the ground with a clatter, as shock overtook them. Their faces were drained of their colour.