The arena was still. The metallic echo of Toru's final strike hung in the air like a lingering ghost, reverberating in the hearts of all who witnessed it. His opponent lay sprawled upon the sand, defeated beyond question. For the first time in years, the weak prince of Dravoryen stood tall, sword raised, chest heaving not with exhaustion but with triumph.
The crowd, however, did not cheer.
Silence. Then, like cracks spreading across ice, murmurs began.
"Did you see that?"
"Impossible… Prince Toru? That weakling?"
"He moved like a trained knight!"
On the high balcony, where nobles and officials watched from gilded seats, reactions fractured. Some whispered with astonishment, some with contempt, and others with fear. A prince who had been written off as useless had just humiliated a challenger in front of the entire court.
The Royal Chamberlain, Aldren, leaned toward the King with a troubled look. "Your Majesty… if this continues, the boy might—"
King Daemon Dravoryen silenced him with a raised hand. His sharp eyes remained fixed on Toru below. The old king's lips curled into something between a smile and a smirk.
"Let him," the King murmured, his voice low but firm. "For once, the boy shows his fangs."
Meanwhile, Toru lowered his sword, his breath steadying. He could feel every gaze upon him: nobles, knights, servants, even the commonfolk permitted to witness the duel. His heart pounded not only with victory but also with memory.
"If you want respect, you don't beg for it. You seize it, with discipline and proof."
The voice of his old military instructor from his past life whispered in his mind.
Toru's fingers tightened on the hilt. That was exactly what he had done today.
---
Back in his chamber, Toru sat shirtless, sweat cooling on his skin, muscles sore yet alive. His maid, Liora, carefully wiped the blood from his knuckles.
"You were reckless," she said softly, though her tone carried something close to pride. "But… I never thought I'd see you fight like that."
Toru smirked. "Neither did they. That was the point."
Beside her, Cedric, his secretary, scribbled notes furiously. "This changes everything, Your Highness. Word of your victory will spread faster than wildfire. Some nobles will try to approach you, others will plot against you. You must be ready."
"I've always been ready," Toru replied, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. He knew Cedric was right. One fight would not erase years of being mocked. But it had planted a seed—one that could grow into fear, loyalty, or both.
---
That evening, in a lavish hall filled with wine, music, and veiled hostility, nobles whispered among themselves.
"He is not the same boy."
"If he has truly changed, then Dravoryen may yet have a future."
"Or a threat. We cannot allow him to rise."
Lord Veynar, a corpulent man with eyes like a scheming fox, raised his goblet. "Do not be deceived. A single performance does not make him a warrior. It was luck, nothing more. We should ensure the King does not… forget where the boy belongs."
Several lords nodded. But across the hall, others—minor nobles, merchants, and even a few knights—spoke differently.
"I would rather serve a prince who can stand and fight than one who hides."
"Perhaps he is what this kingdom needs…"
The room fractured into quiet factions. Seeds of conflict had been sown, and Toru had become the catalyst.
---
Late that night, Toru stood alone in the palace gardens. The moonlight painted his face in silver, and the distant sound of crickets filled the silence.
He flexed his hand, still sore from gripping the blade. Victory tasted sweet, but he knew the real war had only begun.
In my world, victories on the training ground were only the beginning. The battlefield decided everything. Here, the battlefield is politics just as much as steel.
Toru's mind drifted back to the gym he once ran, to the soldiers he had sparred with during his military service. He remembered one of his closest friends, a weaponsmith-in-training, telling him: "Steel is useless without the hand that guides it. A strong body is nothing without the mind to direct it."
He clenched his jaw. Now, in this world, he had both—a body he was training, and a mind sharpened by two lives' worth of experience.
---
As Toru walked back toward his chambers, a figure stepped from the shadows. A cloaked man, lean and sharp-eyed, bowed low.
"Your Highness," the man said, voice rough but respectful. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kael. I have long served the crown… but I serve best where eyes cannot see and ears dare not listen."
Toru studied him carefully. "You're a spy."
Kael smiled thinly. "A loyal one, if placed in the right hands. Many whisper your name tonight, Prince Toru. Some with admiration, many with fear. If you wish to survive, you will need more than strength. You will need information."
Toru's eyes narrowed, but inside, his heart beat faster. This was no coincidence. His victory had drawn not only attention but also potential allies.
"Very well," Toru said, after a pause. "Then from this night forward, you serve me."
Kael knelt, shadows flickering across his face. "As you command."
---
In the palace, whispers spread like wildfire. In the arena, Toru had fought like a warrior. In the halls of nobility, he had risen from pawn to unpredictable piece.
But far beyond Dravoryen's borders, in distant kingdoms where kings and lords plotted their own ambitions, rumors began to drift: The weak prince of Dravoryen has changed.
And change, as always, brought danger.