Warrior Training System

Cassian hadn’t gotten far the previous night.
He’d spent most of it with his hands full—literally—playing with Brigid’s chest while she kept one of her surgical tools hovering menacingly near his face. The moment his hands or mouth drifted anywhere else, she’d tighten her grip on the blade and give him that look. So yeah... he’d ended the night thoroughly blue-balled and deeply aware she could carve him up at any second.
By morning—well, "morning" in this case meant the pitch-black middle of the night—his arm had fully regrown. As soon as he could move it without the skin feeling too tight, he started getting dressed. Easier to slip out now, before the others woke up and started bombarding him with questions like
He figured he’d leave all that to Brigid. She
she was still busy doing something to his severed arm, so she wouldn’t mind.
Brigid glanced up from her improvised lab table, annoyance flickering across her face. "Can’t you leave in the actual morning? Your slaves are going to scream in my ears asking where you went."
Cassian smiled, a little guilty—not just about dumping the responsibility on her, but about the slaves too. They cared about his well-being... but only because if he died, they died with him.
"Just make up some excuse, will you?" Cassian said as he began gathering his things. He reached for his main sword first—Katherine’s gift—then grabbed the other blade he’d swiped from Lucas. Shorter than his usual, slimmer, perfectly balanced, with a slightly wider grip and a clean, quick draw.
Hardly anyone used this type of sword anymore; most people didn’t even know what to call it. But the moment Cassian held it, he’d known—it fit the Gale Whispering Sword Style like it had been forged for it.
Didn’t mean he could ditch the other blade, though. Katherine’s gift wasn’t something he’d ever throw away. For Chaos Sword he can use any sword style as it is quite versatile fighting style. Gale Whispering needed precision; Chaos needed unpredictability. Between the two swords, he was covered.
Behind him, Brigid grumbled without looking up from whatever fresh torment she was inflicting on his severed arm. "You’re leaving in the middle of the night and sticking
with the explanations. Those slaves of yours are going to scream questions at me, rattling my ear."
As she watched him strap on the last of his gear, Brigid’s expression tilted somewhere between annoyed and... something softer she’d never admit to. Sure, she treated him like background noise most days, but she
ended up sleeping beside him almost every night since becoming his slave. That sort of thing got under the skin, whether she liked it or not.
Still, she made sure none of that showed."Well, I’ll send a message once we’re near Magisteria. Make sure you actually show up—otherwise we’re leaving without you."
Cassian buckled the last strap on his armor and flashed a confident grin."I’ll be there. Don’t worry."
Then, with the kind of shameless optimism only he could pull off, he added,"So... how about a goodbye kiss?"
Brigid’s face twisted immediately, pure disgust contorting every line."Absolutely not. What do you think I am—some
of yours? Ugh. disgsusting."
"That actually hurts, you know..." Cassian said, staring at her like she’d just stabbed him—but with words.
Brigid scoffed, eyes wide with fake shock. "Why? Because we slept together you thought we were going to be... lovers?" She practically spit the last word out. "I only did that because of that damned slave ring. Why in the world would I
sleep with an annoying asshole like you?"
Cassian blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. "Okay... that hurts even more," he muttered.
Then he lifted his hand.
A ring shimmered into existence on his finger, the crystal glowing faintly. His mouth curled into a slow, wicked smile.
"Well," he said, tilting his head, "if you slept with me because of
... why not give me a kiss because of it too?"
The crystal pulsed once, soft but unmistakable.
Brigid’s eyes widened—not with fear, but with absolute fury. She shot to her feet, fists clenched, her whole body trembling with outrage.
"You bastard," she hissed, voice shaking. "Stop that—stop it right now or I swear I’ll
you—!"
Brigid marched toward him, every step shaking with fury, her jaw tight enough to crack teeth. Cassian only lifted his hand higher, flaunting the glowing slave-ring crystal with that maddening, villain-level smirk plastered on his face.
She stopped right in front of him, chin tilted up, eyes blazing. "
" she hissed through clenched teeth—half command, half threat, all frustration.
But then that anger hardened into something else. Her lips tightened, her brows twitched, and slowly—so painfully slowly—her posture shifted. She rose onto her toes, pouting like someone forced into the world’s most humiliating task.
Cassian’s grin widened.He slid one arm around her waist...Then let his hand trail down until he grabbed a full palm of her backside, squeezing shamelessly.
Brigid let out a sharp breath, eyes going even narrower.
Cassian leaned in, lips brushing hers as he murmured with wicked delight:
"Don’t glare at me like that... it turns me on so much."
His other hand slid lower, fingers spreading across her ass.
"So much that, this won’t end with just a kiss," he whispered, voice dripping with triumph.
Brigid’s breath hitched—half rage, half something she refused to acknowledge—fingers curling against his chest as she tried (and failed) not to lean in the last few millimeters.
Her glare didn’t soften. It just burned hotter.
And Cassian, of course, kissed her anyway.
Before she could snap back, he tilted her up and pressed his mouth to hers—a deep, hungry kiss that swallowed her protest whole. His grip on her butt tightened as he pulled her flush against him, urgency spilling through the contact.
Brigid stiffened for a heartbeat—then the force of the kiss dragged her along with it. Cassian pushed forward, lips parting hers, tongue slipping past like he’d been starved for this. And in a way, he had been; after spending the entire night with nothing more than the frustrated teasing of touching her chest while she waved sharp tools at his face, this felt like gulping down water after hours of brutal training.
She made a soft, irritated sound—half a growl, half a shiver—her hands bracing against his armor as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was raw, heated, and sharp around the edges—exactly how the two of them fit together.