Udara’s presence shifted in an instant—from that of a hidden blade to a full-blown predator.
She darted forward, in-stepping into Alex’s zone with such precision and speed that he barely had time to react.
Her fist shot out, laced with fatal intent.
Alex barely managed to raise his guard in time, deflecting the punch by a hair’s breadth.
The momentum of her punch flowed seamlessly into a close-quarters grapple. Before Alex could blink, his feet were off the ground—
He lay there for a second, blinking up at the ceiling.
’Her fighting style... it’s—beautiful.’
In his past life, Alex’s old MMA trainer had broken the art into three core disciplines: Striking, Throwing, and Grappling.
At the professional level, most fighters had a solid foundation in all three. The real difference between a good fighter and a champion, his trainer would say, was fluidity—the ability to switch between them instinctively, seamlessly.
And in that brief exchange...
Udara had demonstrated exactly that.
Her style was unfamiliar, alien to the MMA Alex knew—but the way she flowed between forms, the timing of her transitions, her control of rhythm...
It was on par with the champion-level fighters his trainer used to idolise.
A thrill sparked in his blood.
His Furor side stirred, roused by the challenge, shaking off the calm suppression of his Auramir half.
He didn’t say a word.
He simply stood and resumed the fight.
And so the spar continued—through the night and well into the morning.
Alex had his Everspring Rune fuelling his energy regeneration and recovery, but even so, Udara’s natural recovery wasn’t far behind.
It wasn’t long before Alex realised—
A natural-born combat genius.
But unlike him, her talents had been sharpened through rigorous and focused training. She had fused her raw, beastlike instincts with precise technique, executing moves with the grace of a master and the brutality of a predator.
She wasn’t just strong—she was danger personified.
She was a mature, polished combat machine.
And with a sparring partner like her, Alex’s own skills evolved at a staggering pace.
Unfortunately, there was one major downside.
Alex wasn’t the only one replaying the events of the meeting in his mind.
Elsewhere—in a richly adorned chamber in Ashen Castle, a far cry from Alex’s modest Back Mountain lodging—Kurt was livid.
A priceless vase shattered against the wall.
"How dare he...? How dare he!"
Kurt’s face contorted with rage.
He had been outshone, outmanoeuvred, outplayed—utterly humiliated.
Alex hadn’t treated him like a rival.
Not even like an obstacle.
He had treated him like a nuisance—a meaningless inconvenience.
At best, a means to an end.
A nuisance to be swatted at will.
Kurt clenched his fists, trembling. His pride, his dignity... everything—trampled on in public.
His fury reignited as he recalled the look in Alex’s eyes.
With a snarl, he grabbed the nearest object and smashed it against the marble floor.
Not far from the scene of destruction, huddled in a corner and wishing she could melt into the walls, was Kurt’s attending maid.
She trembled, knowing full well she would bear the brunt of his fury before the night was over.
What should have been a prestigious position—serving as the attending maid of the man widely expected to become the heir to a noble house like the Fury family—had turned into a nightmare.
A cruel, suffocating nightmare.
She had given her body willingly to the young master, believing that it was a worthwhile trade. After all, he was her first—and she, his.
At first, everything seemed perfect.
Kurt basked in praise and flattery, and by extension, she too gained a measure of status among the household servants. Her position was envied. She thought herself special.
She thought she’d earned something more than passing favour.
But that illusion shattered swiftly and violently.
Everything changed once the Master’s second wife, Joselin Holt—Kurt’s mother—began bringing other women to her son.
She ensured he would not become beholden to any one woman. To him, they were all playthings—disposable, useful only for his pleasure.
Joselin taught her son that to indulge was a privilege of power, and to care was a weakness.
From then on, everything soured.
What once were gentle moments shared behind closed doors became brutal and humiliating encounters.
Worse than the pain was the growing emptiness—the slow death of hope, of dignity.
But even that wasn’t the worst of it.
What truly broke her was the violence.
Whenever Kurt was displeased—whenever something didn’t go his way—he would lash out at her.
And lately, he was displeased far too often.
It all started about a month ago...
When word spread of the return of the first young master—Alex.
At first, everyone believed Alex would fade into obscurity. Kurt had long since taken the spotlight, earning praise and solidifying his presence within the Fury household.
But in less than a month, everything had changed.
Alex had made his presence felt.
Strong. Steady. Quietly terrifying.
The rumours were everywhere—whispers of the Lord’s growing favour, of the household soldiers shifting allegiance, of vassals and retainers re-evaluating their loyalties.
Comparisons grew frequent.
And inevitably, Kurt’s mood soured further.
And all of it fell on her.
Now, all she wanted was to leave.
To escape this gilded hellhole.
The grand double doors to the room burst open.
Joselin Holt entered with quiet elegance and terrifying grace—the Second Mistress of the Fury Family.
The maid scrambled to her feet in perfect poise, spine straight, head lowered in deference. Every trace of fear was erased from her face.
Any sign of weakness—any hint that might reflect poorly on Kurt—would be considered a transgression.
And Joselin Holt did not tolerate transgressions.
"Leave us," Joselin said, her tone smooth but commanding.
The maid didn’t hesitate.
It was like being granted amnesty.
She rushed out, heart pounding, not forgetting to shut the doors tightly behind her.