The banquet hall of Dravoryen that night was a palace of splendor, built not just to feed but to awe. Chandeliers of crystal shimmered from the vaulted ceiling, their countless candles throwing rivers of gold and silver across polished marble floors. The scent of roasted venison and spiced wine mingled with the low hum of lutes and harps played by court musicians.
To an outsider, the hall was paradise.
To Toru, it was a battlefield.
He entered slowly, his steps deliberate, dressed in midnight black with a mantle of silver clasped at his shoulders. The prince who once slouched with downcast eyes now walked upright, his presence commanding attention without words. His body, hardened from months of secret training, moved with quiet precision.
Behind him, his retinue followed.
Liora, graceful even in a servant's dress, carried herself with quiet defiance.
Cedric, his sharp-eyed secretary, held a ledger under one arm, quill at the ready as if strategy itself was a weapon to be drawn.
And in the shadows, Kael moved like a phantom, unseen by most but ever watchful.
Together, they were not merely attendants—they were his foundation, the first circle of trust he was building in a kingdom filled with knives hidden behind smiles.
---
Whispers Like Blades
The moment Toru stepped into the hall, whispers spread like wildfire.
"That's him… the prince who won the duel."
"It cannot be true. He was weaker than a boy."
"Look at his eyes… he carries himself differently."
Not all voices doubted.
Some whispered with awe.
"If he truly has changed, perhaps Dravoryen has hope after all."
Toru kept walking, expression unreadable. His ears caught everything. Every hiss of envy, every murmur of curiosity—each was a note in the song of politics. The arena had proven his strength with steel, but tonight was different. Tonight, he would prove his strength with words.
---
Lord Veynar, the Fox
At the far end of the hall, a corpulent figure in violet silk stood with a goblet of wine. Lord Veynar—his eyes sharp and calculating, his smile greasy with arrogance. For years he had been among those who mocked Toru most openly.
Now, the man raised his cup high, and his voice, thick yet commanding, silenced music and chatter alike.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Dravoryen!" Veynar boomed. "Tonight we gather not only in celebration of our glorious kingdom, but also… to marvel at a most unexpected spectacle."
Every gaze turned toward him, then toward Toru.
"Our prince, once so… fragile"—he let the word drip with venom—"has suddenly become a warrior of renown. He felled a knight in the arena as though born with a sword in hand." He paused, savoring the attention. "But tell me, my lords and ladies, is this truly skill… or mere trickery?"
Gasps, murmurs, sidelong glances. Veynar had thrown his spear, and it struck deep. The banquet waited for Toru's reply.
---
The Fang of the Weak Prince
Toru rose slowly from his seat. He did not shout, nor did he tremble. His gaze swept across the hall until it settled on Veynar. A thin smile touched his lips.
"Lord Veynar," he said, his voice calm but clear. "You ask how the weak prince could change. You wonder if my strength is a lie."
He stepped forward, each word sharpened with purpose.
"You are right about one thing. I was weak. Everyone here knows it. But weakness is not a curse—it is a challenge. A challenge to rise, to fight, to prove oneself. I chose to meet that challenge."
The hall stirred. Toru's tone was not defensive, but commanding. He turned, sweeping his eyes across the nobles.
"You doubt me because change frightens you. Because if I can rise from weakness, then what excuse remains for those who have always been strong yet done nothing?"
Gasps. Some nobles shifted uncomfortably.
Toru took one more step, his presence filling the room.
"So I ask you, Lord Veynar—and all of you here—who among you has the courage to step into the arena as I did? To risk humiliation before the people? To prove your strength with steel, not whispers?"
Silence. Not a single lord moved. Wine glasses trembled in hands.
Toru's voice dropped, quiet yet thunderous.
"If none dare answer, then let my actions speak louder than your doubts. A prince who bleeds in the arena deserves more respect than lords who only drink and gossip."
For a moment, the hall was frozen. Then, scattered applause. First from younger knights, then from lesser nobles, and finally even from a few merchants bold enough to clap openly. The tension broke—but not in Veynar's favor.
The fox's face flushed red. His lips moved, but no words came. He sat down heavily, seething in silence.
---
New Eyes, New Allies
The banquet continued, though the atmosphere had shifted. Toru was no longer the forgotten shadow in the corner—he was the flame around which all eyes gathered. Some glared with hatred. Others studied him with interest.
And some approached.
One figure in particular caught Toru's attention: a young woman with golden hair flowing like sunlight, her gown of white silk embroidered with threads of gold. Her green eyes shone with sharp intelligence. She moved with grace, every step calculated, until she stood before him.
"I am Lady Selene of House Arven," she said, voice smooth as velvet. "I watched your duel. And I listened tonight. You are not the boy I heard tales of."
Toru tilted his head. "And what am I, then?"
Selene's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Perhaps a prince worth following. My house is small compared to others, but we command loyal soldiers and prosperous lands. If you truly intend to change Dravoryen, then perhaps we share a common goal."
Cedric, standing at Toru's side, scribbled quickly, eyes gleaming. Support from House Arven could tip the balance of noble politics.
Toru's answer was measured, his tone carrying weight. "Then let us speak further, Lady Selene. Dravoryen will need those who are not afraid to take risks."
Her eyes lingered on him a moment longer before she inclined her head. "Then I look forward to our next conversation, Your Highness."
---
Moonlit Resolve
Hours later, after wine had soured and laughter thinned, Toru found himself standing on the palace balcony. The moon bathed him in silver light. Below, the gardens whispered with crickets and wind.
He flexed his hand, still remembering the grip of the sword, the sting of combat, the taste of victory. But tonight's battle had been different. Words had cut deeper than steel.
Behind him, Kael emerged from the shadows, bowing slightly.
"You made them hesitate," the spy said quietly. "Some now admire you. Others will plot harder. Lord Veynar is humiliated, but humiliation breeds vengeance. This was not a victory, Your Highness—it was the opening of war."
Toru did not turn, his eyes still fixed on the moon.
"In my first life," he murmured, "victories on the training ground meant nothing. The true test was always the battlefield. And in this world, the battlefield is both politics and steel."
Kael's expression tightened, but he nodded. "Then you will need me more than ever. Enemies already whisper beyond these walls. Information will be your shield as much as your sword."
Toru clenched his jaw. He remembered an old friend's words from his past life: "Steel is useless without the hand that guides it. Strength is nothing without the mind to direct it."
Now, for the first time, he had both.
---
The Distant Rumor
Far beyond the palace, in distant courts across the continent, messengers rode through the night. Sealed letters crossed borders, carrying the same unsettling news:
The weak prince of Dravoryen has changed. He fights. He commands. He speaks with fire.
In the halls of rival kings and the chambers of ambitious lords, plans began to stir. A prince once dismissed as harmless now shimmered with dangerous potential.
Some spoke of alliance.
Others whispered of assassination.
But all agreed on one thing:
Dravoryen's pawn had awakened—and pawns that awaken can become far more dangerous than kings.