Sword Master.

It was a gray, frosty morning. The sun cast weak rays on the awakening city of Teriyalar. A traveler stopped before the city gate. He was a man of considerable stature, with noble features. He wore old, worn clothes, clearly marked by traces of armor, and a sword slung over his shoulder like a bandit's. At first glance, he looked like an ordinary bandit, but a closer look revealed a haughtiness in his movements, a trait only possessed by members of the highest families.

The traveler passed through the gate and headed towards the wealthier part of the city. Teriyalar, as the capital of the district, was divided into four sections. The first, counting from the north as the ceremonial section, was the wealthiest. It was inhabited by the nobility and townspeople. The next section was the student section, as Teriyalar had several universities, and crowds of students flocked there. The third section, like in any larger city, was the commercial section. Trade flourished, providing the city with substantial income. And finally, the poor and various shady characters found in every corner of this world. However, the aforementioned traveler had gone nowhere else but to the noble quarter.

Terialar boasted many architectural achievements. It was a very old city, dating back to the 3rd century. Side by side, one could see three-story villas, as well as older, historic estates (usually belonging to older families) with extensive gardens. He remembered living in such a house before his studies; he was from an ancestral family. Therefore, he could afford to maintain such a property. He had grown up in this city and graduated from the best schools, eventually entering the Academy. It was there that he learned the principles of fencing and, after a few years, became the best. At the Academy, he was unrivaled. Even the teachers had to acknowledge his superiority. If it weren't for the war, he would likely have been a champion. But after all these years, he wondered how he would be received and if anyone would recognize him. After all, it had been eight years... A sight, however, interrupted his thoughts. He arrived, it was here. Emotion choked his throat... this was his home. He boldly approached the door and was about to open it and enter, but someone stopped him.

"You weren't mistaken, tramp?" the guard asked him. "This isn't your house, is it? You better get out of here before something happens to you!" Saying this, he pushed him onto the road.

"No, I wasn't mistaken, this is my house."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he replied sarcastically. "I didn't recognize you, sir. Do you really think I'd believe you? Do you think I'm an idiot?" He drew his sword. "

Put it away, or I could do something else to you," the wanderer said. "I'm the master of this house and I can prove it. "

"Are you sure?"

"Are you sure?"

"As one of the Idari clan, I have a magical symbol tattooed on my right hand." With that, he rubbed his hands together, muttering a spell under his breath. A dragon appeared on his palm.

At the sight of the symbol, the guard suddenly became serious.

"You have sentenced yourself to die!" With that, the guard attacked.

"You have no chance against me, drop your sword, you fool!"

The wanderer quickly drew his sword and effortlessly parried the guard's blow, then slashed diagonally toward the carotid artery. However, the sword stopped at the attacker's neck.

"One to nothing for me. Surrender!"

The guard became furious and attacked blindly. The wanderer, however, parried the blows without the slightest problem.

"I say for the last time, drop your sword!"

With that, Celebras parried the guard's blow once more and launched his attack. He didn't want to harm him, but he needed to be neutralized. So he parried and slashed the attacker in the hand. The guard cried out in pain, looking at the bleeding stump. Celebras approached the manor.

Only now did he notice that someone had occupied his house and that none of his family or friends lived there. When he or anyone in his family had lived here, there had been coats of arms on the walls, but now there was no trace of them. The house had been plastered and repainted. He wondered what could have happened. After the Wargilian War, the elves and mages had rebelled, and then there had been riots in the cities, even assassinations against members of the higher families. In his house, everyone had always had good relations with the mages and elves. So he thought his family might not have been afraid of persecution. But he had to find out who lived here, and maybe then he could come up with something.

"Who lives here now?" Celebras asked the guard crouching on the ground.

"It's an old estate bought by Sir Englhorn," the guard replied, slowly rising. "After the war, when the owner died, he bought it from some widow or something."

"Where is that widow now?

" "How should I know?" He turned around. "The guards are coming, you'll have trouble. Do you know what the penalty is for attacking a guard?"

He turned around; the guard was right. While they were fighting, they went out onto the road where passersby were watching the whole thing; someone had probably alerted the guards about the fight. He shouldn't have started fighting; he should have kept quiet, but it was too late to think now.

Behind him stood six guards armed with swords and crossbows. If a fight had broken out, he wouldn't have stood a chance.

"I'm the commander of the guard, surrender and throw your sword on the ground."

He complied. The guards tied him up.

"Are you okay?" the commander asked the wounded soldier.

"That madman attacked me and almost severed my hand. Besides, he tried to break into this house.

" "Let's see if he's as tough now." A guard drew his sword and struck the bound man hard in the back of the head.

Celebras felt a wave of pain spread through his body. He lost consciousness.