Chapter 4: Training
The Solaris Palace library was said to house a hundred thousand tomes, gathered across centuries, stretching from ceiling to marble floor like walls of forgotten worlds.
Lucian entered it the next morning after breakfast, striding past the yawning guards who clearly weren't expecting the Fifth Prince to wander in here.
Normally, he would've been at the training grounds cheering Kaelith's soldiers like some idle spectator, or chasing after a court lady with more enthusiasm than dignity. But today, his steps were steady, eyes sharp.
The librarian — a thin, hawk-nosed man with ink stains on his fingers — blinked when he saw him.
"Your Highness… the Royal Library?"
Lucian offered a smile. "Surprised? Don't worry, I'm not here to nap between the shelves."
The man's face twitched between suspicion and amusement before he bowed. "Of course, Your Highness. Do you… require assistance?"
"Yes," Lucian said without hesitation. "Bring me three things: histories of Solinara's kingship, treatises on knightly aura, and—" he lowered his voice, "anything written on House Draemir."
The librarian's brows rose, but he did not protest. "As you command."
Minutes later, Lucian found himself seated at a long oak table, sunlight streaming through arched windows onto stacks of parchment. Dust motes floated in the air, disturbed only by the faint crackle of fire runes keeping the library warm.
He opened the first tome, its leather creaking. The script detailed the rise of the Solaris dynasty, its glory and bloodshed. He traced the names with a strange ache.
Alanton Von Solaris. The 8th King. The only mortal in recorded history to reach the 10th Mana Circle — the Forbidden Arc Grand Mage. The legends claim he walked among gods.
Lucian leaned back, lips pursed. So the bloodline isn't just pomp and crowns. There's real power in my veins. If he did it… why not me?
The next tome was about aura. He skimmed the neat diagrams:
The First Star awakens when a knight channels life force into aura flow.
The Second Star strengthens body beyond natural limits.
By the Fifth, a knight bends life expectancy itself.
Lucian chuckled softly. So that's the ladder I've got to climb. Ten steps to godhood, each one steeper than the last.
The librarian eventually returned with the third request — a slim volume bound in black leather. "Rare… and dangerous," the man whispered. "Most avoid speaking of the Draemirs too openly."
Lucian's heart quickened as he read.
House Draemir — keepers of the North. Whispers of dealings in forbidden magic. Allegiances wrapped in shadows. Their current head, Lord Regent Malrick, is said to hold the ear of the king more than any advisor should.
Lucian closed the book slowly, his jaw tight. "So the whispers were true. They're rotting this kingdom from within."
He tapped the cover with one finger. And I'm going to be the one to expose it.
For the first time since waking in this strange body, he felt a steady fire burn in his chest.
The Fool Prince had a plan.
------
The palace gardens stretched wide and untamed compared to the polished marble halls of the Solar Court. Rows of hedges were cut into elegant shapes lions, griffons, even a dragon with its leafy wings outstretched. Fountains sang a quiet tune, their waters sparkling with sunlight.
It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
Lucian dropped his borrowed training manual on the grass, sat cross-legged, and muttered:
"Alright, Lucian. Time to prove you're not just the kingdom's favorite jester. Step one: breathe like a monk. Step two: become a knight. Easy."
The words felt confident, but inside his chest his heart pounded with unease.
---
The book he had swiped from the library was open beside him, filled with diagrams of human silhouettes and circles of glowing energy drawn at their cores.
"Focus your intent on the heart. Feel the life current within. Draw it into a circle, condense it."
Lucian scoffed. "That's it? 'Feel the current'? They make it sound like turning a crank. Why don't they explain how to feel it?"
He pressed his hands together, closed his eyes, and inhaled. Air filled his lungs, his heartbeat drummed in his ears. He tried to imagine light spiraling inside his chest, like the drawing in the book.
At first, nothing.
He tried harder.
A tiny flicker of warmth answered — faint, like a candle in a storm. His breath hitched. He chased it, concentrating, sweating, trembling.
And then… pfft. The warmth fizzled out.
Lucian's eyes snapped open.
"…That's it? That's all I get?"
He tried again.
And again.
Each attempt ended the same. The harder he forced it, the faster the spark vanished. His lungs ached, his back hurt from sitting, and sweat dripped into his eyes.
"Damn manuals," he groaned, falling back onto the grass.
"They make it sound like even peasants could master aura if they just sit still long enough. How did knights of old not go insane doing this?"
He stared at the sky. Clouds drifted lazily by. In his old life, he had conquered debates, manipulated laws, toppled rivals with words alone. That had been his weapon — his mind.
But here?
Here, words alone wouldn't save him.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Sixty years old, and I'm stuck in the body of a spoiled boy. No shortcuts, no assistants, no senate to bully. Just sweat and breathing. Gods, I almost miss tax reform."
He rolled onto his side, dragging the book closer, flipping through it.
Another passage caught his eye:
"To sense aura, one must cast away desire, pride, and fear. Purity of will calls the current forth."
Lucian squinted at it. "Purity of will? Are you telling me knights are just meditating monks with swords?"
He tried again, forcing himself to sit upright. He inhaled deeply, trying to "cast away pride." He lasted five seconds before grumbling aloud:
"This is ridiculous. I'm supposed to be prideful. I'm a prince. What do they expect me to do, imagine myself as a potato?"
Still, he tried again.
And again.
Hours dragged by. The sun shifted across the sky. His stomach growled. His legs cramped. He tried to push through, but the spark just refused to grow.
He slapped his thighs in frustration.
"Why won't it work?! Am I that hopeless?"
---
As he sulked, a strange thought rose unbidden in his mind. It wasn't his own — not entirely. It felt like a whisper, half-memory, half-echo.
You're doing it wrong.
Lucian blinked. "What?"
The voice wasn't external. It was inside. Familiar, yet foreign. His other self the shadow of the politician's soul still fused within him.
You're forcing it. Aura isn't a command. It's a rhythm. Like persuasion push too hard, and they resist. Guide gently, and they follow.
Lucian's eyes widened. He sat straighter.
"…Like persuasion. Aura is… negotiation with the body."
That was something no book had explained. No knight manual spoke of aura as if it had will. But it made sense. Knights were not machines. Aura wasn't mere fuel — it was the body's life agreeing to obey.
He exhaled slowly, this time not with desperation, but with patience.
---
2 hours later
A faint warmth bloomed again. He didn't seize it. He coaxed it. Let it flow naturally, like steering a conversation toward his advantage.
The warmth lingered. Strengthened. Grew.
His heart raced as the warmth spread through his limbs, tiny sparks dancing under his skin. His fists clenched involuntarily. For the first time, his body answered.
But then something stranger happened.
The warmth doubled.
As if another rhythm joined his. His heart beat once — and then an echo followed, not his own, but perfectly synchronized. A second pulse of will, fueling him.
His breath caught. "What the—"
The energy swelled, brighter, hotter. The grass around him rustled as though a breeze had passed, though the air was still. His muscles tightened, veins humming with a power alien yet familiar.
Two souls, one vessel. Each effort multiplied.
Lucian gasped, clutching his chest. "So that's it… The cheat… It's real."
The spark didn't fade this time. It burned, steady and small, but true. His first aura response.
For a long moment, he sat trembling, wide-eyed, feeling the subtle thrum of power inside him.
Then he laughed. A breathless, disbelieving laugh that turned into a grin.
"I did it. Hah! Take that, you pompous knights. The Fool Prince is breathing life itself!"
The triumph lasted all of ten seconds before his body collapsed sideways. His limbs felt like lead, his head pounded, and his stomach howled like a starving wolf.
"…Note to self," he croaked into the grass.
"Aura training consumes more energy than fasting during tax season."
He tried to sit up, failed, and lay sprawled like a corpse.
Overhead, the clouds drifted lazily, as if mocking him.
He shook a weak fist at the sky. "Laugh while you can… I'll climb higher than anyone…"
And for the first time in this strange new life, he believed it.
--
The sun was dipping toward the west when Lucian finally dragged himself up from the grass. His legs wobbled, his head spun, and every breath felt like he'd run across the entire training yard.
"So this," he muttered, gripping the trunk of a hedge for support, "is what knights call basic. Saints preserve me, no wonder only lunatics pursue this."
His robes clung to his sweat-drenched skin, his hair plastered to his forehead. He looked more like a drenched beggar than a prince of Solinara. Still, he staggered forward, one step at a time, determination smoldering behind the exhaustion.
The palace servants noticed. They always noticed.
Two maids carrying linens stopped mid-step as he passed. One whispered
"Was that… Prince Lucian?"
"Gods, look at him — he's sweating. The prince never sweats."
"Perhaps he fell into a fountain again."
Another servant snorted from behind a pillar. "No, no. Didn't you hear? The Fool Prince spends his days chasing butterflies. He probably chased one into the hedges and got lost."
Lucian rolled his eyes but kept walking. The whispers stung less than they used to. Before, he'd been helpless against them. Now, he had a secret: he had touched aura.
And soon, he would silence them with more than sweat.
---
By the time he reached the marble corridors, his bedraggled appearance had already sparked fresh gossip. A pair of court pages whispered:
"He looked serious today. Didn't even trip on his own feet."
"That's unusual. Normally he'd be juggling apples by now."
"Maybe he's ill."
Lucian smirked faintly at that one. If only they knew.
The palace rumor mill was relentless.
By tomorrow, no doubt half the court would be speculating about why the Fifth Prince suddenly looked like he'd wrestled a lion in the gardens. It was annoying… but useful. Whispers planted seeds. And seeds, if nurtured, could grow into doubt doubt about whether the Fool Prince was truly a fool.
---
As he neared his chambers, he found someone waiting in the corridor tall, regal, clad in silken robes of ivory trimmed with gold. Her raven hair flowed over her shoulders like ink across parchment, her emerald eyes sharp yet warm.
Queen Seraphina.
Lucian froze instinctively. In his old life, he had faced senators, rivals, even mobs, but something about the queen's presence made him straighten his back, force his expression into something resembling dignity.
She regarded him quietly, her gaze lingering on his sweat-soaked tunic, the dirt smudges on his hands.
"My son," she said softly. "You look… unlike yourself today."
Lucian forced a smile. "That depends, Mother. If you mean 'less of a fool,' then yes — I'm guilty."
Her lips curved in a faint smile, though her eyes didn't soften. She studied him with the careful patience of a chess master considering her next move.
"You jest, as always. Yet… there is something different. Your eyes."
Lucian blinked. "My eyes?"
"They burn. Not with mischief, but with purpose. That is new."
He faltered. For a moment, he forgot to play the clown. "…Maybe I'm just growing up."
Seraphina tilted her head.
"Or perhaps you are hiding something."
The weight of her gaze pressed into him, sharp and knowing. She had been raised among courts more ruthless than this one. She could read lies like open scrolls.
Lucian fought the urge to look away. He wasn't ready to reveal his aura training. Not yet. He needed time. Proof.
So he gave her a crooked grin and said, "If I am hiding something, you'll be the first to know. Probably because I'll blurt it out after two glasses of wine."
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then, unexpectedly, Seraphina laughed a soft, graceful sound that echoed in the corridor.
"You are still a fool," she said, turning to leave. But as she walked past him, her voice dropped to a whisper only he could hear.
"Yet even a fool may surprise us all."
Her perfume lingered as she departed, leaving Lucian standing in the hall, heart pounding.
He entered his chambers at last and collapsed onto his bed, groaning into the silk sheets. His body ached, his mind spun, but beneath the exhaustion burned a quiet triumph.
The Fool Prince had started walking a path no one believed he could tread. The gossip of servants, the suspicious eyes of his mother, even the doubts of his siblings none of it mattered.
He had felt the spark.
He had taken the first step.
And tomorrow, he would take another.