The day had been quite busy for Tom. He got to know every possible corner of the mine, most of which were workrooms. Mr. Bloom explained the workings of each room and let him try out all the jobs available in the mine. Mr. Slom explained that the head miner's team must be familiar with every type of job in the mine.
As the day drew to a close, Tom felt completely drained from the tireless demands of mining, yet he still hadn't sensed anything particularly special or "magical" about the purple material.
"Are we finished yet?" he asked Mr. Bloom, utterly exhausted.
"Not yet," Mr. Bloom said, stroking his long white beard. "All that remains is for us to visit Simon—where I'll explain why you don't need to learn his profession at all."
They left through the mine's entrance, and Mr. Bloom led Tom to the second rocky passage. The place was very dark and damp. After walking for about ten minutes, Mr. Bloom stopped. Tom noticed a door on the right side of the cave that somewhat resembled the mine's entrance. Mr. Bloom opened it, and Tom saw they had entered a large room that led to several others.
They continued walking for a short while, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor, and then Mr. Bloom came to a stop near a wide wooden entrance that stood open, without a door. From within, Tom could already hear raised voices echoing out toward them.
"Stronger! Every baby was more capable!" shouted a commanding voice.
"Yes, Commander," came the trembling and frightened reply, clearly spoken by someone under pressure.
They stepped inside the entrance, and Tom immediately saw that they had entered a kind of large training room. The space was filled with various weapons—some wooden, others made of metal—arranged neatly or lying ready for use. The atmosphere was tense and intense, charged with the energy of discipline and combat.
In the hallway off to the side of the room, Simon was standing with Laura, who was in the middle of her training. This was her second session, and even though she would not officially become a knight, it was clear that she was receiving training at the level of a true knight.
Mr. Bloom leaned closer to Tom and whispered in a low voice, "Call Laura and disturb Simon."
There was a mischievous glint in his eye, and he could barely stop himself from bursting into laughter. Tom, however, didn't understand what was so funny about the request. To him, Simon looked quite intimidating—more than enough to make anyone hesitate. But he decided to do as Mr. Bloom said anyway.
"Laura, what's up?" Tom called out, trying to sound casual.
She turned in surprise, clearly startled by his presence in the room, and replied with a gasp, "Tom? Why are you here?"
Simon, who had been deeply focused and completely absorbed in what he was doing, was immediately annoyed by the interruption. His instincts kicked in, and without thinking twice, he sprang toward Tom with the graceful, practiced movements of an elite warrior. In one swift motion, he raised a stick and moved to strike Tom as a form of punishment for disturbing his session.
Tom flinched, stepping back in fear, but just as Simon was about to reach him, Mr. Bloom calmly stepped between them. With nothing more than a single raised hand, he stopped Simon's strike in its tracks.
The force of the block sent Simon stumbling back a few meters. His eyes widened in shock as he suddenly realized that Mr. Bloom had been standing there the entire time.
"Mr. Bloom, sir! What are you doing here?" he asked, now sweating and clearly nervous.
Tom and Laura stood frozen in place, completely stunned by what they had just seen. They both knew full well that even if someone like Tim were to face off against Simon in a fight, Simon might still emerge victorious. He was incredibly strong and exceptionally skilled in the martial arts, and his reputation was not to be taken lightly.
"Simon," Mr. Bloom said sternly, his voice filled with disapproval, "what do you think you're doing? You're attacking a young boy who isn't even one of your students."
"I apologize from the bottom of my heart, young Kay," Simon said quickly, bowing his head in shame. Then, collecting himself and standing upright again, he asked, "But what really brings you here, Mr. Bloom?"
"I came to show Tom this place as part of his future responsibilities and training," the old man replied evenly.
Then, after a short pause, he added with a slow, almost eerie smile, "But it seems that the one who needs training... is you, Simon."
Simon was covered in cold sweat and turned visibly pale. The sudden shift in atmosphere had clearly rattled him. Without saying another word, Mr. Bloom calmly walked to the side of the room and pulled out a large spear from a weapons rack.
"Take this," he said, and with practiced ease, he threw the spear toward Simon.
Simon reacted instinctively, catching the weapon skillfully in midair. Mr. Bloom didn't hesitate. "Now," he ordered, gesturing firmly, "stand in the center of the room."
Simon obeyed, stepping into position without a word. Then Mr. Bloom turned to Laura. "Young Mrs. Moon," he said politely but firmly, "I would be very happy if you and Tom would stand aside for a moment."
Laura and Tom exchanged a quick glance and then nodded. Without protest, they moved to the edge of the room, giving space to what was clearly about to happen.
Mr. Bloom walked toward the center of the room and came to a stop in front of Simon. The tension in the air was palpable. Simon stood ready, his stance firm and his grip on the spear tight—clearly prepared for a fight.
Then, without a word, Mr. Bloom removed his upper garment. It was a kind of simple cloth shaped like a tunic, worn more out of habit than style. As he pulled it off, both Tom and Laura gasped in surprise.
For the first time, they saw Mr. Bloom's body clearly—and it was nothing like they had imagined. Beneath the old man's long beard and humble appearance was the most muscular and athletic body they had ever seen. Every muscle was well-defined, his posture powerful and poised, radiating strength that seemed almost impossible for someone his age.
Mr. Bloom stepped back, positioned himself firmly, and took a fighting stance of his own. Then, in a voice that thundered across the room, he shouted a single word:
"Now!"
Then they began to fight.
Simon moved first, lunging forward with the spear. His strikes were swift and precise, each one aiming to break through Mr. Bloom's defenses. He spun the weapon in complex arcs, switching angles rapidly, trying to catch his opponent off guard. But Mr. Bloom stood firm. He blocked every strike with his bare hands, his arms moving with controlled precision. He deflected the spear's blade with open palms, elbows, and subtle shifts in position, never flinching, never losing balance.
Simon stepped in close, swinging low and then immediately high. Mr. Bloom twisted his torso and leaned to the side, letting the spear brush past him harmlessly. Simon stepped back and stabbed forward again, then faked a sweep to the legs before aiming for the chest. Mr. Bloom caught the shaft just in time and pushed it aside effortlessly. His feet glided across the floor, adjusting his stance with fluid grace, while Simon advanced in rapid, aggressive combinations.
They circled each other. Simon struck again with a high arc, then turned and aimed for Bloom's back, pivoting quickly. Mr. Bloom bent backward with perfect timing and turned with a sweeping motion that knocked the spear off-course. Simon didn't stop—he spun the spear and brought it around for another attack, thrusting forward and swinging in a diagonal slash. Mr. Bloom caught it mid-air with his forearm and twisted, forcing Simon to retreat two steps.
The room echoed with the sound of rapid movement. Their feet beat against the ground in rhythmic patterns, and their bodies moved faster and faster. They jumped, spun, lunged, and blocked. Their arms blurred, legs flew, torsos twisted, and the clash of flesh against wood rang through the air like drumbeats.
Simon began to sweat. His movements grew more desperate, more forceful, but also more reckless. Mr. Bloom, still in a purely defensive stance, continued to evade, parry, and deflect. He bent under strikes, dodged to the side, blocked with his forearms, and slid his feet across the floor like he was dancing. Simon jumped, tried to strike from above, but Mr. Bloom sidestepped and tapped the spear away with the back of his hand.
The pace quickened. Their forms became harder to follow. It was no longer easy to see exactly what was happening. Simon swung faster than before, trying to outmatch Mr. Bloom with sheer speed. The spear sliced through the air in arcs, thrusts, sweeps, and jabs. Mr. Bloom moved with a blur of counter-motion—his body leaned, ducked, turned, swayed, and blocked with uncanny timing.
Then, in the middle of another barrage, Mr. Bloom changed.
He shifted from stillness to motion in an instant. With one explosive push forward, he launched into offense. He struck Simon's shoulder with the palm of his hand and followed it with a kick that forced Simon backward. Simon lost his balance for a second but quickly regained it, planting his feet and crouching into a guarded stance. But Mr. Bloom was already moving again.
He lunged. Simon stepped forward to meet him, but before their bodies fully collided, Mr. Bloom leaped into the air. With one powerful jump, he closed the distance and raised one hand toward Simon's head, pressing down hard. With the other hand, he grabbed the spear, twisted it free from Simon's grip, and flung it out of the ring.
Simon tried to recover, but Mr. Bloom didn't give him the chance. Using the momentum of his own body, he turned mid-air and slammed into Simon with full force. The impact knocked Simon off his feet and drove him to the ground.
Simon collapsed onto the floor.
"I lost," he admitted.
Mr. Bloom put his clothes back on. "Laura, go back to training—and don't be angry with Simon if he trains you too hard. It's only for your own good." He then motioned for Tom to come with him, and the two of them left the training room.
Tom couldn't help but ask, "Dude, how are you so strong? You're like a hundred years old!"
"I'm your boss, don't forget," Mr. Bloom replied scoldingly. "And besides, I'm 130 years old."
"Well, sorry," said Tom, "but how are you still so strong?"
They had reached the top of the mine, and the sky was painted in shades of orange. They could see the sunset stretching across the horizon.
"When I was young, and I climbed the mountain for the first time," Mr. Bloom said, "I learned it there."
"Are the mountain people warriors?" Tom asked.
Mr. Bloom explained that there were four villages up the mountain—three of which belonged to the Oleks, whom they were supposed to visit, and one that belonged to the descendants of the dragon hunters. The main difference in their appearance, he said, was that the Oleks wore cloaks and hoods, while the dragon hunters wore short clothes—even in the cold mountain climate.
"It's very difficult to find the dragon village," he said. "But I found it by mistake. When we went up, there was a heavy snowstorm that separated me from the rest of the expedition." He recalled with horror the moments when he thought he was going to die. "But I took the wrong path and suddenly came to a place on the mountain where there was no snow, and the sun was shining warmly. That's where I met the descendants of the dragons, who taught me a little of their martial arts."
He went on to explain how he would climb up from time to time to continue his studies, until one day they told him he had reached the limit of what a stranger could learn, and so they stopped teaching him.
Tom continued listening to Mr. Bloom's stories the entire way back, until the moment they had to part ways.
"Tomorrow we go up the mountain," Mr. Bloom told him. "Get ready well."
And with that, the two of them parted ways.
---------
A whole week passed in the city of Affluentia, and during that time, the tension in the Nakmarov mansion grew immensely. The entire household was like a bubbling stew, simmering with nervous anticipation. The royals were expected to visit the city—an event that hadn't occurred in a thousand years. It was understandable, considering the king himself was over 7,000 years old. No one knew his exact age, but it was common knowledge that he had lived through countless centuries, far beyond any ordinary lifespan. As a result, he didn't feel the need to visit all sorts of places very often
The family had been asked to keep the arrival of the royals a strict secret, but the head of the family, Viktor Nakmarov, was so anxious and stressed that he personally ordered the preparation of his own room and that of his main wife to receive the king and queen. These were the best rooms in the mansion, and he refused to allow even the smallest flaw to stand out to the royals. So, with the royal secretary's guidance, they rearranged the entire mansion—every detail, from beginning to end—just to ensure perfection.
Finally, the long-awaited day arrived. The Nakmarov family members gathered in front of the magical gate located in the mansion's spacious courtyard. The city of Affluentia had three such magic gates: one for the general public, where anyone who wished to pass had to pay the customary tax; another reserved for the wealthy and nobility, which offered reliable passage to the capital; and the last, the most exclusive, belonged solely to the Nakmarov family.
Viktor Nakmarov, however, was an honest and decent man, much like his late father before him. He disliked using public funds for personal benefit and therefore rarely used the family's private gate, as its magical operation was extremely costly. Instead, he usually opted to use the gate reserved for the wealthy, paying the required tax without complaint.
But this time was different. The arrival of the royal family was a matter of the utmost seriousness. So, after much hesitation, Viktor agreed to use the family's private gate for the occasion. And now, here he was—standing embarrassed and visibly stressed in front of the glowing gate.
Behind him stood his three wives. Diana, the first wife, was radiant. Her golden hair was arranged in the most beautiful style, every strand in place. She wore a mostly white festive outfit, adorned with just enough color to ensure it didn't look like a wedding dress. Next to her stood Talia, her white hair loose and fluttering gently in the breeze. Her light blue outfit complemented her hair perfectly, and it was obvious she was expecting a child. Beside her was Alice, the third wife, who tried to soothe their lively three-year-old son. The little boy stood beside her, chatting endlessly, his energy a sharp contrast to the calm around him.
Further behind were their children, gathered and ready. First was the eldest daughter, born to Diana Marie. She was dressed in a stunning gown that shimmered softly in the light. Her golden hair flowed down her back in gentle waves, like her mother's, and she looked every bit ready to impress the visiting princes. Although her mother came from one of the city's noble golden families, the daughter believed her own family deserved even greater respect—and she was determined to make a lasting impression.
Next to her stood her younger sister Sophie, Talia's daughter. Sophie's white hair was pulled back tightly into a high ponytail, and while her outfit was less extravagant than her sister's, she wore it with quiet dignity. Unlike her sister, Sophie was shy and uncomfortable with the grand occasion.
Beside the two girls were their younger brothers, Mark and Stephen. Both boys had inherited their parents' bronze hair, a feature that made them appear more like their father's children than their sisters. Their resemblance to Viktor seemed to make their sisters somewhat jealous at times.
Behind the children, the rest of the servants and household staff stood waiting, prepared to provide the initial hospitality for the royal family's arrival.