Toru's victory in the arena was still the subject of whispers across the palace. By the next morning, it wasn't only the servants gossiping in shadowed corridors, but also merchants in the bustling markets, and even soldiers in the barracks.
The name of the Weak Prince, once a constant joke, was now spoken with hesitation—as though the world itself was unsure how to address his sudden change.
"Did you hear? Prince Toru defeated Sir Halvern in just a few strikes," murmured a bread seller.
"Nonsense," another scoffed. "I've seen that prince before. Frail, lifeless, pathetic. No way he bested a knight."
But a passing soldier cut in, "I was in the arena. I saw it with my own eyes. That was no accident. He fought like a veteran of war."
The rumor spread like wildfire, faster than the summer winds. For the first time, even the commonfolk—who had never cared for palace politics—began to pay attention to Toru's name.
---
In his private quarters, Toru sat with the three people he trusted most: Liora, his devoted maid; Cedric, the sharp-minded secretary; and Kael, the spy who had pledged loyalty the night before.
"The situation is shifting faster than expected," Cedric reported, unfurling a parchment filled with notes. "Some mid-tier nobles are already showing interest in approaching you. But Lord Veynar's faction… they are sharpening their knives."
Liora, carefully pouring tea into Toru's cup, added softly, "Your Highness, today's victory was glorious… but doesn't it also mean you've gained more enemies? What if they plot something terrible?"
Kael smirked faintly beneath his hood, his eyes glinting. "They already are. Last night, I slipped into one of their drinking halls. I heard whispers of 'cutting the flower before it grows thorns.' Their meaning is clear—You."
Toru gripped his teacup firmly. The steam rose against his face, but his mind burned hotter. He recalled the words of his military instructor from his past life:
"Once you reveal your strength, enemies won't wait. They will strike first, before you can build your defenses."
"Then we," Toru's gaze hardened as it swept over the three, "must move even faster than them."
---
Building the Circle of Trust
In the days that followed, Toru began to gather new allies. He would not rely on the sword alone—he needed a vision.
From the barracks, he found Gareth, a rough but honest captain, respected among the soldiers for his courage and loyalty. After a brief sparring match, Toru offered him the role of captain of his personal guard.
Through Kael's network, he discovered Orwen, a young scholar skilled in mining and metallurgy. Toru summoned him under the guise of consultation, but in truth, he saw opportunity—resources untapped, just waiting for innovation.
Cedric arranged a meeting with Selvira, a wealthy merchant whose trade routes stretched into neighboring kingdoms. She wasn't a sworn ally yet, but her network was a potential key to influence beyond Dravoryen's borders.
"With this," Toru muttered one night as he studied a vast map of the kingdom, "I have the sword, the eyes, the muscle, and the mind. All that remains is to unite them."
---
But as Kael had warned, the enemy was not idle. In a lavish private dining room, Lord Veynar and several nobles gathered in low voices.
"He is no longer the weakling we once ignored," one lord said bitterly.
"And that is the problem," Veynar replied, swirling his goblet of wine. "A dog that doesn't bite is harmless. But once it learns to bite… we must pull its fangs before they grow too sharp."
They agreed to test Toru further—not with another public duel, but with a quieter snare that could cripple him before he rose too high.
---
Midnight Reflections
That night, Toru trained alone in the inner courtyard. Sweat dripped down his brow, his muscles straining with each swing of the wooden practice blade. Every strike brought back memories from his former life:
His instructor shouting, "Discipline is the foundation. You're not training muscle alone—you're training will!"
A sparring partner grinning, "Strength without strategy is wasted effort."
He paused, gazing at the moon hanging above. In my old world, I trained bodies to be strong and healthy. In this one, I train mine to survive… and to conquer.
---
Far beyond Dravoryen, rumors began to spread. Envoys from Valmor and Kreznar sent cautious reports back to their kings. Each scroll carried the same message: "The Weak Prince now bares his fangs."
Some rulers saw opportunity—if Toru could be turned into an ally, Dravoryen might fall into their sphere of influence. Others saw only threat—a spark that must be extinguished before it grew into fire.
---
In his chamber, Toru stood before a mirror. His reflection showed a body that had grown stronger, eyes sharper, and a resolve far beyond what it once held.
"I was once a burden," he whispered, almost to his past self. "Now… I am a threat. And threats must be taken seriously."
He tightened his grip on his sword's hilt, then sheathed it again. Tomorrow, a new game would begin—and this time, he would not play as a pawn.
He would move as a force to be reckoned with.