Chapter 433 Remote
Time passed in the blink of an eye, and over the following months, Valery grew up within the walls of the Mason household.
The fragile, malnourished child she once was slowly faded into memory.
Each day, her body grew stronger, her cheeks fuller, and her steps lighter, until there was little trace left of the frailty that had once clung to her like a shadow.
Regular meals, warm beds, and gentle care transformed her bit by bit, allowing her to finally grow as a child should.
Valery had no complaints about her new life—how could she? She was never alone.
Dale and Francis were constant presences, always ready to include her in their games or shield her whenever she felt unsure.
Beyond them were the many children from the orphanage, whose laughter filled her days and turned the mansion’s grounds into a place of endless play.
From sunrise to sunset, Valery’s world was brimming with voices, footsteps, and joy.
More than playmates, however, Valery found family.
She gained two mothers who cared for her with unwavering affection, guiding her gently and watching over her with warmth that she had never known before.
She also grew especially attached to the three main maidservants of the mansion, who treated her like a precious treasure.
They braided her hair, fussed over her meals, and scolded anyone who dared to make her cry.
Among them all, Riley held a special place in her heart.
He never spoke down to her nor treated her as fragile or broken; instead, he treated her as his own, with quiet patience and steady care that made her feel safe without ever needing to say so.
Valery was happy—truly happy—and it showed in every part of her daily life.
She smiled easily, laughed loudly, and slept soundly through the nights.
The fear that once haunted her dreams slowly loosened its grip, replaced by warmth and familiarity.
The painful memories of her childhood did not vanish overnight, but with each passing day, they grew fainter, buried beneath new memories of kindness and comfort.
Her healing progressed at a pace that surprised even those watching over her.
One year later, Valery was nearly unrecognizable from the small, broken child Riley had once brought into the mansion.
Her eyes shone with life, her posture held confidence, and her presence carried a quiet charm that drew people’s attention.
More than that, she was beginning to grow into a delicate little beauty—one that many within the city had already started to notice, though Valery herself remained blissfully unaware, content simply living the happy life she had been given.
At six years old, Riley began training his children in the true ways of the world.
He did not believe in sheltering them behind false comfort; the world beyond the mansion walls was harsh, and only those who could stand on their own would survive it.
For now, however, his lessons were simple—foundations meant to build discipline rather than violence.
"Block faster, Dale," Riley said calmly, stepping forward and tapping the boy’s wooden sword aside with ease.
"If you want, you can always dodge and parry as well. Don’t meet strength with strength—redirect it. Like this."
He demonstrated the motion smoothly, his movements precise and effortless despite the plain wooden blade in his hand.
"That’s not how you hold a sword, Francis," Riley continued, turning toward the other boy.
"Your grip is too stiff. Loosen it slightly, or your wrist will tire too quickly. Watch me—hold it this way, keep your stance grounded, and be sure to maintain your balance."
The boys listened intently, imitating his posture and repeating the motions again and again.
Riley moved between them, correcting small mistakes, occasionally nodding in approval when they improved.
The training yard soon echoed with the dull sounds of wooden blades colliding and the steady rhythm of focused breathing.
After some time had passed, Riley finally straightened and looked toward the side, where Valery had been watching quietly.
"Come, Valery. Now it’s your turn," he said, his voice gentler than before as he held out a wooden sword identical to the ones the boys were using.
Valery stiffened. She shook her head immediately, taking a small step back. "I don’t like learning this, Father," she said softly. "I don’t want to hurt anyone."
Riley paused.
He set his own sword aside and walked over, crouching slightly so he was at her eye level.
His expression was patient, not the slightest bit disappointed.
"You won’t hurt anyone, Valery," he said calmly. "This isn’t about fighting or causing pain. It’s about protecting yourself—and the people you care about. The world isn’t always kind, and sometimes, you need the strength to stand your ground."
He extended the sword toward her again. "Just try it. You don’t have to swing if you don’t want to."
Valery hesitated.
Her eyes lingered on the wooden blade, her fingers curling slightly as if caught between fear and curiosity.
After a long moment, she finally reached out and accepted it.
The instant her hand closed around the hilt, something changed.
The uncertainty in her eyes vanished, replaced by an unnatural stillness.
Her posture straightened on its own, her grip adjusting instinctively as if her body remembered something her mind did not.
The air around her seemed to grow heavier, and even Dale and Francis stopped moving, sensing the shift without understanding it.
Riley’s eyes narrowed slightly—not in alarm, but in quiet surprise.
Something had awakened.
"Are you okay?" Riley asked gently, lowering his wooden sword slightly as he studied her expression.
"Yes, Father," Valery replied with a small nod. Outwardly, she appeared calm, but inside her thoughts were in disarray.
It felt as though something had been awakened the moment she held the sword—an idea, a memory, or perhaps an instinct.
She tried to grasp it, to understand what it was, but the more she focused, the further it slipped from her reach.
It was there, yet not there at the same time, elusive no matter how hard she tried to recall it.
Riley watched her in silence for a brief moment before finally nodding. "Alright then. Let’s begin."
He stepped forward, moving just as he had with his sons.
There was no flourish, no wasted motion.
Riley raised his wooden sword and brought it down in a simple, controlled downward slash—slow enough for a beginner to react, yet firm enough to test her instincts.
Valery’s body responded before her mind could catch up.
She lifted her sword and blocked the strike cleanly, the impact sending a small vibration up her arms.
Her eyes widened for only a fraction of a second, but she did not freeze.
Instead, her feet shifted naturally, her stance adjusting on its own.
She spun.
Using the momentum of the block, Valery turned swiftly and slashed back at Riley, her movement fluid and decisive.
The strike was neither clumsy nor hesitant.
Riley intercepted it effortlessly, but this time, he did not step back.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Rather than ending the exchange, Riley continued.
He attacked again, his movements growing slightly faster, his strikes coming from different angles.
Valery followed without pause, meeting each attack with a block, a turn, or a deflection.
Tak.
Tsk.
Tsk.
The sharp sounds of wooden blades colliding echoed repeatedly across the training yard.
Each clash drew more attention, until even the servants and children nearby slowed to watch.
What was meant to be a simple lesson had turned into a sustained exchange, one that neither side seemed eager to end.
Riley was not surprised—only focused. He adjusted his pace carefully, observing Valery’s reactions.
She wasn’t merely copying his movements; she was adapting, responding with an intuition that felt far beyond her years.
At times, it was as though she knew where his blade would go before he even moved.
Minutes passed. Sweat formed on Valery’s brow, yet her movements remained steady.
Her breathing was controlled, her eyes clear and intent.
To those watching, it no longer looked like a father guiding a child—it looked like two swords moving in harmony, their figures weaving together in a strange, mesmerizing rhythm.
"Wow..." someone among the onlookers whispered, breaking the stunned silence.
Others exchanged glances, their expressions filled with disbelief.
No one spoke loudly, afraid to disturb the scene unfolding before them.
It was then that realization slowly dawned on many of them.
Riley had not taken Valery in out of pity alone.
There had always been something different about her—something he had seen long before anyone else did.
As Valery parried another strike and countered with smooth precision, that truth became undeniable.
She was special.
After that day, Riley began training his children with renewed focus.
What had once been simple lessons slowly grew more demanding, and with every session, it became increasingly clear just how gifted Valery truly was.
While Dale and Francis improved steadily through effort and repetition, Valery advanced at a pace that bordered on unreal.
Techniques shown only once were remembered perfectly.
Movements meant to take months to master became natural to her within days.
Riley said little about it, but he watched closely.
He adjusted his training methods, subtly pushing her further while ensuring she remained grounded.
The household began to notice as well.
Servants whispered quietly, the boys grew both competitive and proud, and Valery herself remained largely unaware of how extraordinary she appeared to others.
To her, the training was simply time spent with family, her focus innocent and her heart unburdened.
Time continued its silent march forward.
Seasons changed, the mansion grounds shifted with growth and decay, and Valery grew alongside them—stronger, sharper, and more composed with each passing year.
The warmth of her childhood remained, yet beneath it lay something steadily taking shape, something waiting.
And then, without warning, everything changed.
On the day Valery turned ten years old, the quiet balance that had held for so long was finally broken.