The rhythmic clang of steel on steel filled the Académie d'Acier's practice hall, a familiar and comforting sound that usually calmed Ethan. Today, however, the relentless rhythm echoed the frantic beat of his own heart. He parried Jean-Luc's clumsy thrusts with mechanical precision, his mind miles away from the practice mat. Jean-Luc, still smarting from their earlier duel, was pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, a desperate attempt to regain some semblance of his lost pride. But Ethan barely noticed.

His mind replayed the scene from the library, the ancient tome open on the dusty table, the meticulous ledger entries staring back at him. He’d been searching for advanced training techniques, for some esoteric knowledge that could give him the edge, when he stumbled upon a series of financial records, carefully concealed within the book’s false binding. The names were coded, using obscure alchemical symbols, but the monetary amounts were unmistakable. And after hours of painstaking decryption, Ethan had cracked the code. One name stood out, appearing repeatedly, connected to significant sums flowing into the Académie: V.S.

Victor Sinclair.

The revelation struck him like a physical blow. He’d known his uncle was ruthless, ambitious, and utterly devoid of morals. But this... this was different. This was a carefully orchestrated campaign of manipulation, a subtle web of influence that extended far beyond the walls of Sterling Industries.

He disengaged from Jean-Luc, the clash of steel momentarily ceasing. "That's enough for today," he said, his voice flat.

Jean-Luc, panting heavily, lowered his foil, a frustrated scowl etched on his face. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up already, Sterling. I thought you Americans were supposed to be so tough.”

Ethan ignored him, his gaze fixed on the far wall of the practice hall, seeing not the ornate tapestry depicting ancient duelists, but the insidious tendrils of Victor Sinclair's power. He needed to think, to strategize. He couldn’t afford to let his anger cloud his judgment.

He retreated to his meager dorm room, a small, sparsely furnished space that served as a stark reminder of his fallen fortunes. He pulled out the worn notebook where he’d meticulously transcribed the ledger entries, spreading it out on the small desk. The alchemical symbols swam before his eyes, now imbued with a sinister significance.

Sinclair was funding the Académie, not as a patron of the arts, but as a resource. A recruiting ground. For what, exactly? Corporate espionage seemed the most obvious answer. Skilled fencers, trained in stealth and precision, would be invaluable for infiltrating rival companies, stealing secrets, and sowing discord. But what else?

He remembered the rumors that circulated amongst the students, whispers of clandestine assignments, of fencers disappearing for weeks at a time, returning with a newfound air of confidence and access to considerable sums of money. He’d dismissed them as idle gossip, the kind of exaggerated tales that thrived in any competitive environment. Now, they took on a chilling new meaning.

Could Sinclair be using the Académie for something even more dangerous? Something involving…violence? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. His uncle was capable of anything, he knew that firsthand. But to corrupt an institution dedicated to the art of fencing, to twist it into a tool of corporate warfare… it was a new level of depravity.

He knew he couldn’t face this alone. He needed someone he could trust, someone who understood the inner workings of the Académie and could navigate its complex social landscape. His eyes fell on the name he’d subconsciously avoided thinking about: Sophie Dubois.

Jean-Luc's sister. And, as Ethan had come to begrudgingly admit to himself, a fiercely intelligent and incredibly skilled fencer. She’d been surprisingly gracious after his victory over her brother, offering him advice on the intricacies of French etiquette and subtly helping him navigate the academy's rigid social hierarchy. He’d initially dismissed her kindness as a superficial attempt to smooth things over, a performance designed to protect her family’s reputation. But something in her eyes, a flicker of defiance, had suggested something more.

He found her in the academy gardens, tending to a small patch of roses. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow on her auburn hair, highlighting the sharp angles of her face. She looked up as he approached, a polite smile gracing her lips.

“Ethan,” she said, her voice soft. “What brings you here?”

He hesitated, unsure how to broach the subject. He’d always been wary of trusting people, a lesson brutally learned after his parents’ death. But he was out of options. He needed her help.

“Sophie, I… I need to talk to you about something. Something important.”

He led her to a secluded bench beneath the shade of a weeping willow, the rustling leaves providing a semblance of privacy. He took a deep breath and told her everything: the discovery of the ledger, the coded names, the link to Victor Sinclair. He watched her face carefully, searching for any sign of disbelief or betrayal.

As he spoke, Sophie’s initial composure slowly crumbled. Her eyes widened with shock, then narrowed with suspicion. When he finished, she was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the ground.

“This… this is incredible,” she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. “My father… he knows Sinclair. They’ve done business together for years.”

Ethan felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. “Your father? Phillipe Dubois?”

Sophie nodded slowly. “Yes. He’s… he’s always been secretive about his dealings. I’ve suspected for a while that something wasn’t right. But I never imagined…this.”

He saw the turmoil in her eyes, the conflict between loyalty to her family and the growing realization that her father might be involved in something deeply corrupt.

“Sophie, I know this is difficult,” Ethan said, his voice gentle. “But I need to know, can I trust you?”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. “I don’t know what to believe anymore, Ethan. But I know that Sinclair is a dangerous man. If what you say is true, then he needs to be stopped. And… I need to know the truth about my father.”

She took a deep breath, her voice hardening with resolve. “I’ll help you, Ethan. I’ll use my connections to find out what Sinclair is really up to. But you have to promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Ethan said, without hesitation.

“Be careful,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Sinclair doesn’t play by the rules. He’ll do anything to protect his secrets.”

That night, sleep eluded Ethan. He lay in his narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his discovery pressing down on him. He was no longer just seeking vengeance for his parents. He was now entangled in a complex web of corporate espionage, corruption, and potentially even violence. The stakes had been raised. And he knew, with a chilling certainty, that the game had just begun.

He understood now the reason Marcus Bellweather had insisted on rigorous discipline, on the meticulous study of strategy and technique. Vengeance wasn't just about brute force; it was about control, about exploiting weaknesses, about outmaneuvering your opponent at every turn. He had to be smarter, faster, and more ruthless than Victor Sinclair. He had to become the embodiment of the Steel Requiem, a force of unwavering justice in a world consumed by greed and corruption.

He closed his eyes, picturing his uncle's face, the smug, self-satisfied expression that had haunted his nightmares for so long. That expression would soon be wiped away. But it wouldn't be enough to simply defeat Victor Sinclair. He had to expose him, to reveal his true nature to the world. Only then would he finally be able to lay his parents' souls to rest.

He finally drifted off to sleep, but his dreams were filled with images of clashing steel, shadowy figures, and the cold, calculating eyes of Victor Sinclair. He knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger, but he was no longer afraid. He had a purpose, a mission. And he would not rest until justice was served. He would find the truth, and he would make Victor Sinclair pay for his crimes. The Sinclair connection had been made, and he would follow it wherever it led.