Under the night sky, the Uchiha compound was calm and peaceful.
Those who had finally returned from the battlefield shed their exhaustion upon stepping into the warmth of their homes.
They spent the evening quietly—sharing soft words with their wives, laughter with their children.
The gentle current of something called happiness began to soothe the taut nerves worn raw by war.
But to truly heal from that tension… that would take time.
And among them, Uchiha Itachi seemed the calmest of all.
...
Lying on his own bed for the first time in what felt like forever, he stared through the window at the endless stars.
Yet his thoughts weren't on the sky—they were on the figure meditating quietly across the room: Artoria.
"You saw your own reflection in me…?"
He recalled her words from earlier. Now, he understood what she meant.
To Artoria, she had been a failed king—a ruler who bore the duty of protecting Britain from birth and ultimately failed that mission.
The failure had scarred her deeply, not only because she lost her kingdom, but because she never truly understood where she had gone wrong.
So she sought to find that answer through him—to rebuild the "Way of the King" by guiding another.
But… would he really become the shadow she saw in him?
Itachi's eyes slowly closed.
He had no clear direction of his own anyway. Perhaps… listening to her might not be such a bad thing.
After all—if he wished to gain the power to shape destiny itself, then with her guidance, maybe he could walk that path faster.
---
Morning.
After breakfast, when Itachi stated his request, Artoria was visibly surprised.
"You've really decided?" she asked, standing in the courtyard, her tone solemn. "I'm not exactly a qualified instructor."
She looked directly at him.
"And what I know… may not even apply to this world of yours."
"After witnessing your father's strength," she admitted, "I realized something—the power of shinobi far surpasses anything I once imagined."
"If you're asking me to teach you, it may not truly benefit you as a ninja."
But Itachi's reply was calm, unwavering:
"I'm not abandoning the way of the shinobi. I want to walk both paths."
"To me, learning from you doesn't conflict with my own training. The two can coexist."
"After all, I've seen your memories, Lady Artoria. I know what I'll be learning from you."
His voice carried quiet confidence—measured, certain.
"Both paths…" Artoria murmured.
Knowing his memories as she did, she couldn't deny the possibility.
Her expression soon hardened into the disciplined calm of a knight.
"Very well. Then I'll train you as my own teacher once trained me—without mercy. Be prepared."
Itachi nodded.
"I understand."
"Then…" Artoria looked around the quiet courtyard, lush with greenery. "This isn't the right place for it. Let's change locations."
"Follow me."
Itachi nodded again.
"There's a forest near the compound. My father used to train me there."
After informing his mother, he led the way out of the Uchiha district.
Halfway down the path, a thought struck him.
"Are we going to be practicing swordsmanship?" he asked. "If so… perhaps I should buy a sword first?"
Given her insistence on training outdoors, it seemed likely.
In her memories, her very first lessons had been in swordsmanship—taught alongside the ideals of knighthood and honor.
But Artoria shook her head.
"No. Swordsmanship requires a powerful body as its foundation."
"In my case, the blood of the Red Dragon flows within me. My body was already far stronger than any ordinary human's, which allowed me to begin with the blade."
"But you…" she met his eyes steadily, "…must begin by forging your body."
Forging the body?
Itachi's expression flickered with faint confusion.
"The training will be grueling," Artoria warned.
"It won't just test your natural talent—it will demand effort, sweat, and willpower beyond measure."
"I never personally underwent physical training like this," she admitted, "but every knight under my command did. And they all carried scars—mental and physical—from it."
"Itachi, your talent may be exceptional, but what we'll be testing now… is your resolve."
---
Deep in the forest, sunlight filtered through the leaves.
Artoria sat gracefully upon a neatly severed tree stump, her posture forming a perfect right angle between waist and legs.
"This is the training method once used by the royal heirs of Britain," she explained.
"Every prince was required to undergo it to prepare for kingship. For generations, the royal line compiled the most extreme forms of physical discipline."
"Any prince who completed it—no matter how poor his talent for governance—would never lose in courage or will to any other kingdom."
--
Not far away, under the same sunlight, Uchiha Itachi stood shirtless, his small frame pale and slender.
He held a strange, disciplined posture—back straight, legs bent, left hand clenched into a fist hanging straight down.
At first glance, he looked fragile.
But with every slow breath, his muscles began to twitch and ripple subtly—as though something alive was slithering beneath his skin.
It wasn't a snake.
It was the flow of his own blood and vitality—the raw physical energy of his body, stirred by focused consciousness.
Fuu—
As he synchronized his breathing with that inner rhythm, his body began to feel heavier.
It was as if invisible weights pressed down on him from every direction, each breath more difficult than the last.
And yet, under that crushing pressure, he could feel his body expanding—adapting, strengthening, reshaping itself.
"Maintain your breathing," Artoria's voice rang through the forest, firm yet measured.
"As the flow of blood and energy quickens, your body will grow heavier. That is natural."
"In this process, your vitality will surge like a river in flood—but right now, your body is still only a small stream."
"You must grit your teeth, steel your mind, and force your body to endure—until that stream becomes a river, and that river becomes an ocean."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Otherwise… you'll collapse like a fragile bridge swept away by the current."
And under that relentless command, the boy stood unmoving—
sweat glistening under the sun, breath steadying, body trembling,
forging himself—
into something stronger.