The sun had barely risen when Alden Valerius stepped through the ironwood doors of the estate's forgehouse. His face lacked any readable expression.
The carefully constructed illusion of being the perfect, cheerful, and affectionate son had run its course. For years, Alden played the part with precision, drawing affection, privilege, and resources from his parents. But that act had come to its end. There was nothing left to gain.
Last night's confrontation hadn't stirred hatred in him. If anything, it had elicited only a mild surprise that his own parents would so blindly place their trust in outsiders over the son they had raised. Even more unexpected was the outcome of his psychological gambit. Alden had intended to push his father into seeing reason, to guide him through simple logic. Instead, it had backfired. The usually passive, soft-spoken Duke Cedric had done something Alden never anticipated: he struck him.
A slap.
Not out of strength or strategy, but raw, irrational impulse. The same man Alden had deemed too weak-willed and pacifistic to ever lift a hand in anger… had done just that.
In truth, Alden could have easily blocked it. After three years of consistent mana training ever since his awakening at 4, he had already reached the dark orange core: a feat far beyond his peers and beyond even most of the adult mages. A reflexive mana augmentation on his skin would have stopped the blow without effort. But Alden had never expected it. And so, for the first time in years, he'd let his guard down.
In his past life, Alden had immersed himself in the study of human's psychology, mastering the art of emotional mimicry. He had studied people to manipulate them—adopting whatever façade best served his goals. But nothing in his experiences prepared him for someone like Duke Cedric: a man so mired in weakness, hypocrisy, and blind emotion that he defied all logical patterns.
"Perhaps I'll never fully understand all humans' minds," Alden mused. "The more people I encounter, the more contradictions I discover: irrational behaviors, emotional disorders. There will always be anomalies beyond any calculatable prediction."
Heat clung to the air like sweat, and the rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed from within. The walls, built thick with stone, trembled faintly with every strike.
The blacksmiths looked up in surprise as he entered. Alone and unannounced. Alden locked his eyes on the master blacksmith Jorvan, who stood hunched over an anvil, hammering glowing metal into a curved blade.
"Master Jorvan," Alden called, his voice clear, stripped of pleasantries.
The gray-bearded man grunted, set the blade aside, and approached, wiping soot from his face with a thick cloth.
"Young master," he said, his deep voice tinged with caution. "Didn't expect to see you down here this early."
Alden unrolled the large parchment he carried and laid it atop the closest bench. It was the design of a heavy crossbow of advanced engineering along with a reloader mechanism and the details about the size and structures of the bolts, drawn in precise lines and annotated with fine handwriting.
"I want to commission for this," Alden said, gesturing to the blueprint. "Exactly to specifications. No substitutions."
Jorvan leaned in and whistled low under his breath. "That's no hunting toy, young master. Where'd this come from?"
"I designed it." Alden replied flatly.
"You did?" Jorvan looked again at the boy—truly looked. "It's got a lot of tricks for someone your age."
Alden didn't respond to the question. He simply tapped the corner of the parchment and continued:
"I also need detailed records during production. Materials used, fuel consumed, time taken per stage, labor cost. Track everything. If there are any issues you find too complicated, send your words to me."
"Aye, I will get to the work right away. But may I ask for the your reason young master? O-of course I mean no disrespect to your wishes but a child of your age should not hold such thing like this for your own safety---"
"None of your business, master Jorvan. You do as I command.", Alden interrupted him.
Jorvan's jaw tightened, gave a low grunt and a nod: "Understood, my lord."
Alden moved on to the training barrack of his house. A sprawling field of dust and trampled grass stretched behind the estate manor. Dozens of soldiers trained in structured formations: some in steel plate, others in leather and mail, sweat glistening under the sun. The clang of sparring swords and the rhythmic shouts of marching drills filled the air. Captains barked orders, and the occasional flare of magic crackled from the conjurer's range.
Commander Ruban stood near the center of the field, arms folded across his chest. Tall, with weathered skin and close-cut brown hair graying at the temples, he had the hardened build of a man forged in battle.
He noticed Alden approaching and raised a brow, surprised but silent.
"Young master Alden," he said, bowing slightly. "To what do we owe this inspection?"
"I want a full demonstration, Commander Ruban. Show me the army's training, tactics, formations, and plans. Every detail, now.", Alden got straight to the point.
Ruban's brow furrowed, his scar twitching as he processed the command. "A demonstration? That's a big ask. The men are mid-drill, and—forgive me, but this isn't a child's game, even for one as sharp as you." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Does Duke Cedric know you're giving orders?"
"I'm the heir of House Valerius. My father's approval is irrelevant. You answer to me as you do to him. Comply now, Commander." His voice was cold, a duke's authority in a child's frame.
Ruban stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he nodded, his years of service overriding his skepticism. "As you wish, young master. Follow me."
He led Alden to a raised platform overlooking the yard, where soldiers paused to salute, their eyes curious but disciplined. Ruban gestured to the field, his voice steady as he announced to his soldiers:
"Today young master Alden wishes to observe a demonstration from us. Stop your current training and prepare the battle formations!"
Ruban then turned to Alden as he explained:
"Our forces split into two groups: close combat and long range. Close combat got infantry and cavalry, all augmenters. Infantry uses swords and round shields. Cavalry's lancers, mounted on bonded horses, built for fast strikes and flanking. And incase their lances are broken mid fight, they have sidearm swords.
Long range has archers—augmenters using bows—and conjurers, our most valuable troops. And we have wielders of all 4 elements fire, earth, wind, and water, best for support, protection or destroying enemy lines from a distance with their versatility."
Ruban signaled, and the soldiers demonstrated. Infantry formed a shield wall, swords swinging in synchronized strikes, their mana flaring faintly. Cavalry charged across the field, lances lowered to crash and slash at their targets.
Archers loosed volleys, arrows striking targets with deadly accuracy, while conjurers summoned fireballs and stone spikes, their mana pulsing in the air. Ruban outlined formations—shield walls for defense, wedges for breakthroughs, skirmish lines for ranged attacks—and detailed plans for defending the estate or escorting trade caravans through bandit-plagued roads.
Alden watched, his face impassive, his mind dissecting every move with clinical precision. There were flaws.
Then he pointed to the infantry and said: "Your infantry is outdated, Commander. Both the formations and the choice of weaponry are flawed. They'll break under sustained pressure."
Ruban blinked. "I beg your pardon, my lord?"
"This shield wall functions adequately in direct engagements against similar infantry.... or a bunch of poorly armed and low experienced troops. But a cavalry flank, mass destructive spells from conjurers or mana beasts, any of those can shatter them into chaos.", Alden commented.
Ruban's eyes widened, his scar twitching as he absorbed the critique. He straightened, his tone cautious but edged with skepticism. "With respect, young master, these tactics have held House Valerius's lands for three generations. Our men are disciplined, our formations were tested in battles."
Alden replied immediately:
"And during the three generations of my house you mentioned, these "tactics" indeed have protected my ancestors....from some insignificant groups of mountain bandits on the trading routes, whose equipments and weapons so terrible that I reckon they used stone tools like a bunch of primal cavemen when attacking this army."
Alden took a breath, voice clear and measured before continuing:
"The last time my house's army had ever been to a real battle, was about 200 years ago, during the Second war between the humans and the elves. My great great grandfather sent a large size of soldiers contributing to the kingdom's grand army. Well of course, my house specializes on many things but military so my great great grandfather wasn't obligated to go to the frontlines. After the war was over, no soldier from that force ever returned home. "Remarkable victories" they had been right? Tell me, Commander, were those tactics equally 'battle-tested' then?"
Ruban froze, visibly shaken. The boy's words were emotionless—but the weight of historical truth behind them struck like a hammer.
"Forgive me if I mean any disrespect my lord, but I must keep the honest of my duty. I know you are considered as one of---if not the greatest natural prodigious mage of our era. Your mana core, as a seven year-old, already at dark orange, higher than most of my men. You also had been sent to the castle at Estitin by the king's command for personal training with royal mages for 3 years until now.
Your sheer talents, powers and feats are undeniable my lord, yet magics and figntings aren't equal to the understanding of warfare. They are infact just small parts of it."
He paused, then added carefully, "Have you studied actual warfare to judge our efficiency rather than just your house's history? If you've got better ideas, I'd hear them, but I'd need more than a boy's opinion to change how we train and fight, even if that boy is our future Duke."
Ruban sighed inside his mind, today might be a very bad and long day for him with this confrontation of him with Alden.
Then Alden's eyes narrowed, he walked closer to face Ruban eye to eye,his voice like a blade: "Are you assuming from your mere subjective opinions that during three years of royal tutelage, I spent all my precious time like a muscle-headed simpleton, learning nothing but how to throw spells into someone's face?"
Ruban's face paled. For a moment, he felt the same fear he'd only ever known on the battlefield. How could a child's voice strike him with such dread?
"N-No, my lord—"
Alden interrupted him and gave his ideas: "Infantry needs polearms—pikes, halberds, warhammers—for the reach, the versatility and superior damages over swords. Swords should only be the sidearms. Train them in rotation—when one line gets tired, the next steps in to replace.
Formations have rooms for the improvement of protection and manuvering, but they must also be fluid, adapting to terrain and enemy movement. Split into smaller divisions when it's necessary.
Archers and conjurers lack mobility, teach them how to fight on horses like calvary.
Create mobile pockets of conjurers and archers in the middle ranks of infantry. Cross-trained hybrid teams."
Ruban shocked with an loosen jaw, and before he could say any word, Alden continued:
"But I understand your reasonings and rationality , commander. Words mean little without proof. And proof requires results. Results are always the first thing people need to see to make their judgements...and you will have them."
He straightened, tone resolute.
"This summer, when I turn eight, I'll register as an adventurer. I'll take a detachment of this army with me. We'll hunt mana beasts, make profits and build real combat experience. Your current tactics are insufficient for what I intend. Adjust them to my specifications. I will personally oversee the changes and support you and the soldiers throughout the process. You have my word."
___
(1 week later).
Alden stood at the center of the workshop, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on Master Jorvan. The blacksmith approached, cradling a sleek, heavy crossbow in his calloused hands. Its dark wood gleamed under the forge's firelight, the steel components polished to a mirror sheen. Beside it, Jorvan carried a small quiver of steel bolts.
"Young master," Jorvan said, his voice gruff but tinged with pride. "It's done. Built to your exact specifications. Not a single deviation." He handed the crossbow to Alden, who took it with steady hands, inspecting every curve and mechanism with clinical precision.
"We tested several shots at the practice dummy and tested the reloading mechanism by a hundred times. All of them went smoothly. And here's the production's tracking note you've asked for as well youngmaster. ", Jorvan gave the note paper to Alden.
"Thank you, master Jorvan. Much appreciated.", Alden replied.
A few minutes later, in the barracks courtyard, Alden stood before a heavy steel plate armor mounted on a wooden frame. Commander Ruban crossed his arms, skeptical but curious, standing beside Jorvan and several soldiers.
Alden took aim, his stance calm. He channeled a small, focused amount of mana into the bolt's tip—just enough to reinforce the head without affecting the body. The click of the trigger was sharp.
Thunk.
The bolt exploded through the steel plate, penetrating deeply into the wood behind it. A hush fell over the crowd, followed by scattered gasps and murmurs of astonishment.
Ruban's eyebrows shot up. "That's… not possible without serious augmentation…"
Ruban stepped forward, inspecting the bolt embedded into the steel. "You didn't even augment the whole thing?"
"Just the tip," Alden said and turning to Jorvan
"Your craft is flawless, master Jorvan, your skills worthy of position as our master blacksmith."
Jorvan clapped his hands, a rare grin breaking through his grizzled features. "Thank you youngmaster but this is a masterpiece designed by your genius afterall. I don't deserve to get all the praises here."
"49 silver and 15 copper coins for this one crossbow.",Alden opened the note Jorvan gave earlier and commented on the price.
"Far more cheaper than elite tier weapons that infused with mana or forged from mana beast cores, yet delivers the similar power. Overall, a total success.", Jorvan confidently said.
The soldiers murmured in awe, and even Ruban, ever skeptical, nodded with grudging respect. "I've never seen anything like it. You've got my attention, my lord."
Alden turned to Ruban. "How many troops do we have, Commander?"
Ruban straightened. " About 15 thousand in total. 7 thousand infantry, 3 thousand cavalry, 4 thousand 5 hundred archers, and five hundred conjurers. Not to mention the ones under recruit."
Alden did a quick calculation in his head before reply: "Jorvan, I want 5000 of these crossbows. Fifty thousand bolts. In addition, mass-produce the following—5 thousand tower shields, shaped in curved rectangular, wooden cores with front steel plates. Same numbers for pikes, halberds, and warhammers. Don't cut corners."
Jorvan's eyes widened at the scale of the order. "That's… a fortune's worth, young master. The materials alone—"
Alden cut in: "House Valerius has the wealth. You have my authority to proceed. Here are the design of the shield and the lengths of the polearms, I've calculated them to fit with the the average measurement of our troops' body height and width."
Alden handed Jorvan another detailed drawing from his pocket.
"Begin immediately."
Jorvan swallowed hard but nodded. "As you command, my lord."
Ruban stared at Alden, a mix of admiration and unease in his eyes. "You're reshaping the entire army of your house. I hope you know what you're doing and that you've got the approval of the Duke and the Lady."
____________________
(Three Months Later)
On a wide training ground outside the city, dust churned beneath thousands of marching feet. Alden stood atop a wooden platform, observing the organized chaos with critical eyes. Around him, rows of soldiers trained in tight formations.
"Again!" Ruban shouted. "Formation: box! Shields—front, sides, rear, and up!"
The troops moved like clockwork. Four-sided shield walls snapped into place, overlapping and only leaving small spaces to point out the pikes.
The front two layers brandished long pikes, angled forward. Behind them, three rows with halberds and warhammers stood ready to strike at anything that breached the wall. In the core layer were trained crossbowmen reloading and aiming, placing their crossbow on top of a shield or the head of the person standing before him and shooting or through narrow gaps in the shield wall.
In addition 4 conjurers were included in the center, mainly to provide protection against other conjurers' heavy attacks.
Alden walked among them, correcting forms.
"Pike augmentation, only the head and the far shaft. Save your mana from the need of elemental augmentation on this. Your weapon needs to pierce and hold, not glow like a torch."
He turned to another group. "You don't need to augment your whole body. Focus it into your muscles in just the arms and the legs to hold your weapons and stand steady. Let the formation take the brunt, not you. Whenever there are upcoming conjurers' spells, focus your mana into the shields."
At the crossbowmen, he addressed the former archers now adapting to new roles. "You already have accuracy and timing. Use that. Augment only the bolt's tip when you shoot."
He had selected them as the first elite crossbow unit since crossbow is just another firearm weapon which benefit for archers to be fast learners, quick to adapt to it. Under Alden's direction, they were also assigned to teach others—infantry, cavalry, and even reserve units—how to handle the weapon.
Alden repeated often. "These aren't bows that need to augment the strings. Let the mechanism do the work, save your mana where it matters."
Then coming next was the battle simulation.
He signaled to Ruban, who stood nearby. "Commander, simulate an attack. Cavalry charge from the front, conjurers casting from the sides."
Ruban nodded and barked orders. A detachment of cavalry thundered toward the formation, lances lowered. Conjurers hurling fireballs, stone boulders, wind arcs and water bullets.
The pikemen held firm, their mana-augmented pikes forming a bristling wall. The cavalry pulled up short, unable to penetrate the pikes. The shields overhead deflected the conjurers' spells, sparks and debris raining harmlessly to the ground.
A small fire slipping through the shields caught a soldier's crossbow but it was quickly put away by the water conjurer in the formation.
"Crossbowmen, fire!" Ruban commanded.
The central group loosed a volley, bolts whistling and hitting padded targets set up beyond the cavalry, punching through with ease. The crossbowmen reloaded swiftly, their training evident in their fluid motions.
Ruban raised a hand. "Break formation! Shift to wedge!"
The " box "dissolved, soldiers pivoting into a triangular wedge formation designed for breakthroughs. Pikemen formed the point, shields forward, while halberdiers and hammerers protected the flanks.
Crossbowmen repositioned behind, ready to fire over the infantry's shoulders or heads. The transition was seamless, a testament to months of drilling.
_____________
During these 3 months, Alden sold nearly all his personal wealth that he deemed useless: expensive jewelry, clothes, birthday gifts, furnitures' decoration, etc, given by his parents and noble allies in order to pay for the cost of weapons production and army training.
He did to such a radical point that he tore down the entire fancy mana chandelier of his room and disassembled his bed's frame to sell them away. Now everynight, he used the candles and slept on the mattress on the floor.
Alden also took times to deal with the criminal issues in the Blackbend city, working with his army to capture a number of thieves, rapists, murderors and frauds. As a result, he earned much fame, trust and love from the people, which benefited him in taking advantages on them such as now Alden had the position to pitch his mana beasts hunt as a business opportunity. Mana beast horns, bones, hides, and cores are all valuable. He secured pre-investments from merchants and alchemists interested in early shares of harvested materials.
In addition to overseeing the troop preparations, Alden continued to maintain his personal training regimen and refine his core at the Valerius estate. He also sent a formal message to King Glayder, stating that he would be unable to continue the royal tutelage at Estitin for the time being. Citing his plans for dungeon expeditions and field combat experience, he requested a six-month leave. Alden was confident the king would not object—after all, this venture aligned perfectly with the monarch's long-term vision of molding him into a powerful weapon. Gaining real-world combat proficiency and strengthening his magic made the hiatus not only justifiable, but beneficial in the king's eyes.
He did all of those while also maintaining his regular training and core refining. Now he had reached solid orange core, unlocked the lightning deviant and also the wind element, becoming the first tri-elemental mage in the history.
What proved more difficult, however, were the conversations with his parents.
It wasn't just about his decision to become an adventurer—something Cedric and Elera had gradually accepted, especially with soldiers accompanying him on every expedition—but the deeper, subtler changes in Alden himself. His demeanor, his choices, the sense of distance that had begun to grow between them.
Though they tried to reason with him, each conversation ended in quiet tension rather than resolution. Alden had done nothing wrong afterall so nothing they could formally object to. He funded the equipment and training himself, won the admiration of both citizens and soldiers, and took full responsibility for every action he made. But with each achievement, each step forward, he seemed to drift further away from the warmth and closeness their family once shared. Cedric and Elera, once proud and watchful, now found themselves speechless, helpless, and uncertain how to reach the son who had become too independent.
_________________________
On the day of departure, Alden took a force of 134 soldiers, 120 of pikemen, infantry and crossbowmen, 4 conjurers and extra 10 soldiers to guard the carriages and the horses.
Accompanied him were commander Ruban, the captain of this platoon and 2 healers just in case. They also prepared food and supplies for 2 days.
Their march toward the Adventurer's Guild of Blackbend was impossible to ignore. The rhythmic steps of armored boots, glinting steel, and sheer numbers caused crowds to part instinctively. Murmurs, wide eyes, and hushed whispers followed them.
When they reached the guild, the formation halted. Only Alden and Commander Ruban approached the doors, while the captain kept the troops at attention outside. The guild's guards, suddenly aware of who was before them, paled. They weren't paid enough for this as they let the young duke enter without any questions.
Inside, the air shifted. Conversations faltered. Adventurers turned to stare—some with curiosity, some with respect, others with caution. News of Alden's recent deeds in Blackbend had spread, leaving some wary, others dismissive, assuming he was a typical spoiled arrogant noble child who wanted to play his childish hero game.
The heavy doors of the Adventurer's Guild had barely finished swinging shut behind Alden when a stern voice echoed across the hall.
"Young Duke Valerius—what is the meaning of this?"
A man in his fifties, broad-shouldered and weathered from years of fieldwork, strode into the room with firm steps. His graying hair was cropped short, his leather coat marked with the sigil of the Blackbend Adventurer's Guild. This was Guild leader Carvell Veck.
Though his tone was measured, his eyes were sharp. Dozens of adventurers turned to watch the exchange unfold.
"I'm here to register as an adventurer, Guild Leader Veck. As I recall, my father informed you of my request and asked for your cooperation in facilitating the process."
Thorne gave a curt nod. "Yes, Duke Valerius sent his words. I was told to expect your arrival… but not an entire platoon camping outside my guild hall."
"No they are not. They will leave as soon as I do." , Alden replied.
His voice dropped slightly, as though trying to contain rising concern. "With all due respect, young duke, marching a platoon through city streets and parking them in front of the Guild isn't exactly the kind of entrance that puts people at ease. I'd appreciate an explanation."
"Alden offered a diplomatic smile. "Of course. These soldiers are my personal escort—precautionary measures. My parents were quite insistent I not enter the dangerous dungeons without adequate protection. I assumed my father included that detail in his letter?"
The Guild Leader sighed before continuing:
"Please follow me to my office for our further discussion of this matter....in private."