The training yard was a place of echoes. Echoes of past royal decrees, of clashing steel, and for Alexander, echoes of a childhood spent running across its sun-baked stones.
Now, it felt like just another cage.
He walked along the edge, the section reserved for nobles. The yard was surrounded on all four sides by palace walls, but his eyes were drawn to the centerpiece: the great Ol' Oak. Its leaves shimmered with a faint, captured light.
"Observe," Alexander said under his breath, falling into the role of a student to the ancient presence in his mind. "The tree acts as a conservator. It absorbs the stray mana released during training and channels it to the royal forges and enchanted industries."
"A crude siphon," Crimson replied, his voice dripping with disdain. "They cannot even let energy run wild. They must capture it, tame it, put it on a leash. It speaks volumes of their petty, controlled little world."
Before Alexander could form a retort, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Alex! There you are!"
He turned to see a lady.striding toward him.
She was a noble from the Giant King faction, and moved with a grounded confidence. She wasn't taller than him, but her shoulders were broad and her arms carried a defined strength that spoke of rigorous training.
Her smile, however, was as bright and easy as he remembered from their childhood.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," she said, her eyes sparkling. "I have news that's going to blow your mind."
"A friend?" Crimson's interest was a flicker of curiosity. "She carries the sturdiness of the arrogant Giant's brood. Interesting."
"Keila," Alexander said, managing a small, genuine smile. "What's the news?"
She leaned in, unable to contain her excitement. "My Awakening. It was yesterday. Alex… I got a 680."
The number hung in the air, a testament to her potential and a brutal reminder of his own failure. He could feel the phantom weight of the number '70' burning on his skin.
But beneath the shame, a colder, more certain truth solidified. I am not hollow. I was emptied. There's a difference. And I will find out what was taken from me.
"That's… incredible, Keila. Truly." The congratulations felt like ash in his mouth, but he meant them. For her.
Her smile softened slightly. "Thanks. So? Don't leave me hanging. What was yours? I bet it's monstrous."
Alexander's throat tightened. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just shook his head slightly.
"Seventy. Whereas mine was 720."
The word came from behind him, smooth as silk and cold as ice.
Nikolai stepped into their circle, the picture of regal composure. He placed a hand on Alexander's shoulder in a gesture that looked brotherly but felt like a chain.
"It was a trying day for all of us," Nikolai continued, his tone laced with false sympathy. He then turned his full attention to Keila, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "Lady Keila. A score of 680 is worthy of your lineage. The Giant King must be pleased."
Alexander watched the kiss, his jaw tightening. He saw how Nikolai's eyes lingered on her, a possessiveness in his gaze that made Alexander's stomach twist.
Keila retrieved her hand with a polite but slightly stiff smile, her own gaze flicking almost imperceptibly toward Alexander as if to gauge his reaction.
"Is it true, Alex?" she asked, her voice much quieter now, her eyes searching his with concern.
The humiliation was a physical heat on his face. He could only nod, dropping his gaze to the stones at his feet.
"Oh, Alex…" Keila's voice was soft. "I'm so sorry. But… but it doesn't matter! You can still be a Duke, you know? A great one! Your mind has always been your real weapon."
A Duke, Alexander thought, the title feeling like a consolation prize. But to be a Duke, you need a Dukedom. To have a Dukedom, you need the King's favor. And to have his favor, you need power. And I am low on that, unlike Lance. I am trapped in the very system designed to crush me. There is no "leaving." There is only breaking out.
Her kindness was a different kind of dagger. She was trying to build him a cage of lowered expectations.
"A kind sentiment," Nikolai interjected, his smile not reaching his eyes. "But the world values tangible strength. Speaking of which, a friendly spar might lift our spirits. To celebrate your success, Keila. A two-on-one? It will be a fairer test for me."
The challenge was a masterstroke. It positioned Nikolai as the magnanimous, powerful one, while forcing Alexander into a role where his weakness would be on full display.
Keila, ever the protector, immediately bit. "Fine! Alex and I against you? You're on." She turned to Alexander, her expression bright and encouraging. "Come on, Alex! It'll be just like when we were kids."
Trapped, Alexander met her hopeful gaze. He couldn't refuse without looking like a complete coward. "I… accept," he said, the words tasting like gall.
Nikolai gave a slight, pleased nod and signaled to his assistant, who hurried off and returned with three blunted practice swords. Nikolai took one, its weight familiar in his grip. He offered the second hilt-first to Keila with a flourish.
Then he picked up the third. Instead of handing it over, he looked directly at Alexander and threw it. It wasn't a gentle toss; it was a sharp, forceful hurled that spun through the air.
Alexander's hands shot up on instinct. The impact of the hilt against his palm was jarring, a dull thud that sent a shock up his forearms.
The sheer force of it knocked him off balance, and he stumbled back two clumsy steps before regaining his footing.
A faint, subtle laugh escaped Nikolai. "My apologies, Alex. I overestimated your grip." He then leaned in and whispered something to his assistant, who nodded and quickly left the yard.
"Oh, this is precious," Crimson purred, his amusement a dark flame in Alexander's mind. "He plans to make a spectacle of you. Let him try. Let's see how this golden boy fares when the rabbit grows fangs."
Before Alexander could question what Crimson meant, the reason for the assistant's departure became clear. King Theron and a man with Keila's strong jawline, King Ragnarok, appeared on the balcony overlooking the yard.
Of course. Nikolai had summoned an audience.
Alexander's heart sank. He wants to humiliate me completely.
"Let him," Crimson hissed, his focus shifting from the spar to the king. This petty drama is a distraction. Use it. Hone your body. This is not about beating your brother. This is about learning to hold the blade that will one day be placed at a god's throat."
The spar began. Keila was a whirlwind of controlled power, her strikes solid and precise. But Nikolai was a dancer, his movements fluid and effortless. He parried her blows with ease, his focus clearly on Alexander.
He came at Alexander not with powerful strikes, but with fast, probing attacks designed to make him look foolish. Alexander stumbled backward, his blocks clumsy and desperate. He was a liability, a dead weight Keila had to compensate for.
"Alex, on your left!" Keila called out, grunting as she deflected a blow meant for him.
He saw his father's face on the balcony, a mask of cold, stony disappointment. He saw Nikolai's smirk. The humiliation was a fire in his veins, hotter and more shameful than any anger.
"Focus, Alexander. Focus." Crimson's voice pierced through.
He closed his eyes.
The world narrowed to the sound of his own heartbeat. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then another, forcing his racing mind to still.
"Are you ready to stop being their puppet?" Crimson's voice was no longer amused. It was sharp, serious. "I will not manifest a flame. I will not make you glow. I will simply… loosen the leash on your own body. A taste of the well you can take. Do not waste it."
"Just enough," Alexander said softly, the decision a calm, cold point in the storm of his shame. "Just enough to stand my ground. Do it."
"Your will is the command," Crimson replied, his voice shifting into that of a grim engineer. "But your body is the instrument. And it is untuned. To accomplish this, your spirit must burn fuel with the grace of a wildfire."
"The power you request is a flicker, but the cost, due to your pathetic Affinity, will be a bonfire."
A new vision flashed in Alexander's mind: the Soul's Ledger
[Soul Integrity: 99%]
[Resonance Affinity: 1%]
"See it?" Crimson hissed. "For a master, this parlor trick would cost nothing. For you? It will cost you a percent of your very being. This is the price of weakness. Now, pay it."
Alexander didn't hesitate. The cost was insane, but the alternative was utter humiliation in front of his father, Keila, and a foreign king. Much worse.
"Fine. Take it. But just a small portion."
He opened his eyes.
The world had shifted. The weight of the sword in his hand was no longer awkward; it was an extension of his arm. His body felt light, his senses sharpened.
He could see the minute tensing of Nikolai's shoulder before he moved.
Nikolai lunged again, the same patronizing, fast thrust aimed to knock Alexander's sword from his hand.
This time, Alexander moved.
He didn't flail or stumble. He pivoted on his back foot, the motion minimal and efficient. He didn't meet the blow with force, but deflected it with the flat of his blade, a precise clang of steel that sent Nikolai's thrust harmlessly to the side.
The surprise on Nikolai's face was instantaneous and deeply satisfying. The prince's eyes widened a fraction, his flawless composure cracking for a single, glorious second.
Keila, seizing the opening, pressed her attack with a renewed vigor. "That's it, Alex!"
Alexander settled into a true, grounded fighting stance for the first time, his gaze locked on his brother. The real fight, he knew, had only just begun.