Empress Alexandra had watched them from the moment they entered the garden. She remained a silent, golden sentinel, observing the entire grueling process, prepared to intervene at the first sign of true danger.
Earlier, when Lucas had coughed up that shocking spray of blood, a cold jolt of fear had shot through her. Her muscles had tensed, ready to descend in a blaze of solar fury. But then, Arthur's calm, telepathic voice had brushed against her mind: Leave it to me. I won't let him die.
She had forced herself to relax. She'd watched, breath held, as Lucas endured the agony and finally succeeded in forging not one, but two sources of power within himself. Relief, sharp and sweet, had washed over her, followed by a fierce, unexpected swell of pride.
Now, I just hope you don't get stuck, she thought, recalling the many who had attempted the dual path only to plateau spectacularly. But a strange, quiet certainty contradicted the worry. Something deep in her gut, an instinct she couldn't name, insisted he would soar far beyond any limitation.
Was it trust? Belief? She didn't know, but she clung to the feeling.
After some time, in a shimmer of golden sparks, Arthur materialized at her left, bowing his head slightly, hands clasped formally behind his back.
"It was a success, Your Majesty," he reported, his face uncharacteristically serious.
Alexandra didn't reply immediately. She let the silence stretch, her crimson gaze resting on him with an intensity that could have melted steel.
After a long moment, she finally spoke, her voice dry. "You know you can drop the formality when it's just us, Arthur."
Arthur's stern expression dissolved into a familiar, easy grin. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll stop. I have no desire to be turned into a pile of ash today."
Alexandra shook her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. She was used to his theatrics. "I have eyes. There was no need for a report."
"I am your humble servant. Protocol demands it," Arthur countered, the grin still in place.
"Do you want me to burn you?"
The air around them grew abruptly, uncomfortably warm, shimmering with latent heat.
"No, Ma'am," Arthur conceded quickly, the grin not fading.
Letting the heat dissipate, Arthur's tone shifted to something more casual, contemplative. "He actually pulled it off. The kid's got a spine of steel, and the will to match."
Alexandra gave a slow nod, her eyes still tracking Lucas's distant form. "He does. But did you sense the quality of his mana? The purity… I could feel it from here. And the volume in both reservoirs…"
Arthur's expression turned thoughtful. "Agreed. His capacity might already dwarf that of his peers."
That was one of the legendary advantages of the dual path: monstrous mana reserves. A battle mage could fight for what seemed like an eternity, drawing only from their mana core, while their mana heart remained a full, untouched well for a devastating final strike. It was why they were so feared, and why the world seemed to balance their overwhelming potential with sheer rarity.
"I suspect it's tied to his affinities," Arthur mused. "Particularly the second one."
"The Cosmos affinity…" Alexandra murmured the name like a sacred word. A spark of pure, predatory curiosity ignited in her eyes. "I want to see it in combat. I want to see what it does."
"It will be something beautiful," Arthur predicted, his own grin turning sharp.
Alexandra watched as Lucas finally turned and began walking back toward the palace. A practical question surfaced. "Why is he trudging back to his rooms to bathe? You could have used a cleansing spell with a thought."
Arthur scratched the back of his head, looking suddenly sheepish. "Erm… would you believe me if I said I forgot?"
A genuine, amused smile finally broke through Alexandra's regal mask. "Is old age finally catching up to you?"
"I'm barely two centuries old! I'm in my prime!" Arthur retorted, puffing out his chest in mock indignation.
"Of course you are," Alexandra replied, the amusement lingering in her voice.
The walk back to my chambers was an exercise in social awkwardness. Maids and servants I passed would subtly—and not so subtly—wrinkle their noses, hastily covering their faces with sleeves or handkerchiefs. They never uttered a word, too terrified of offending the newly ascended battle mage, but their disgust was a palpable force in the hallways. I couldn't blame them; I smelled like a bog monster's laundry.
The warriors and guards stationed along the route, however, reacted differently. As I passed, many would straighten, offering respectful nods or broad, approving smiles. They could feel it—the active pull of mana from the atmosphere into the two new, hungry vessels inside me. Their recognition was a silent, powerful form of congratulations.
I maintained the mana breathing technique Arthur had taught me, a constant, conscious cycle. It felt bizarre, like my body had become a complex engine with two humming power cores. Is this what all those fantasy protagonists felt? I wondered, a flicker of awe cutting through the discomfort.
Mana flowed through me with every breath, a fresh, energizing current in the air. If oxygen was life for a mundane body, then mana was the lifeblood of an awakener. The concept was still settling in my mind.
I'm a battle mage now. Well, almost. The title wouldn't be fully earned until I chose my weapon, the partner that would channel this newfound power. But the foundation was laid.
I'm not so worthless anymore, am I?
Reaching my room felt like a minor victory. I beelined straight for the bathing chamber, desperate to be rid of the foul, clinging stench.
The steaming water and strong soap were a baptism. When I stepped out, the horrible odor was gone, replaced by the clean scent of sandalwood and my own skin. I dressed in simple, comfortable clothes—a white linen shirt, black trousers, and polished boots.
"Finally! Free of that gods-awful smell!" I exclaimed to the empty room, stretching my arms wide with genuine relief.
The pile of soiled, reeking clothes lay in a heap on the floor. I picked them up using only my thumb and forefinger, holding them at arm's length, and deposited them into a woven laundry basket. I then summoned a maid and asked her to fetch Evelyn.
A few minutes later, a soft knock announced her arrival.
Evelyn stepped in, and I noticed she'd left her brown hair down today, falling in soft waves around her shoulders instead of its usual practical ponytail. The moment she crossed the threshold, she froze. Her nose wrinkled violently, and she slapped a hand over her mouth and nose, her face a masterpiece of disgust. Her eyes found me, sitting casually with a clothespin clipped onto my own nose, a smirk on my face.
"Gods above, Young Master! What in the seven hells is that odor?!" she gasped, her voice muffled by her palm. "I know it's natural to… pass wind occasionally, but this is assault! It must be those dreadful potatoes you insist on eating!"
My eye twitched. This woman has a supernatural talent for pushing my buttons.
"What a baseless accusation," I said, my voice nasal from the pinched nose. "Why would I ever do such a thing, you damned bunny?"
Her eyes widened. "D-did you just call me a bunny?"
I had. It was because of her slightly prominent front teeth, which gave her a perpetual, adorable hint of a bunny smile. On anyone else it might be a flaw, but on her, it was strangely charming.
"Yes. Now, be a good bunny and take that basket to the laundry."
She glanced at the source of the stench and grimaced. "Absolutely not."
"Absolutely yes."
"Nope."
"Then what, pray tell, do they pay you for?" I raised an eyebrow.
"To take care of you," she shot back.
"You wash my clothes every day. I don't see the issue," I said, shameless.
"The issue is they smell like something died in a swamp!" she retorted, hands on her hips.
"You have magic. Use a wind spell and stop complaining."
Evelyn let out an exasperated tsk. With a graceful flick of her wrist, a gentle current of air lifted the basket, then wrapped it in a shimmering, transparent barrier of compressed wind, sealing the smell inside. She then made a swirling motion with her finger. A miniature whirlwind formed in the center of the room, gathering the lingering foulness, which she then deftly guided out the open window.
I watched, fascinated. In moments, the room smelled of nothing but fresh air and sunshine.
"There," she announced, dusting her hands off with a triumphant smile. "All cleaned up. No more Young Master stink."
"You could have done that from the start instead of arguing," I pointed out, removing the clothespin from my nose.
"I was getting to it," she said airily. Then her expression softened into genuine warmth. "And congratulations, by the way. On achieving the dual path. I can feel the mana in the air being drawn into the two centers in your body."
She can sense that? I was surprised because I did not know how strong Evelyn was, but I knew she was hella strong. In order for a maid to be assigned to a royal kid, they had to be strong since she was tasked with protecting the kid assigned to her. Whenever I asked her about how strong she was, she always told me she'd tell me one day, or that I'd discover it myself.
"Thanks. It was… an experience. Now I just need to get strong."
Evelyn's smile brightened. "You will be, Young Master Lucas! I'm sure of it!"
Her unwavering cheer was a constant, baffling comfort.
"Have you decided on a weapon yet?" she asked.
"Yeah," I nodded. "A sword."
It wasn't just because swords were iconic, though the image of a cultivator cleaving a mountain with a single stroke was powerfully appealing. There was also a deeper pull, an almost magnetic attraction to the idea of a blade. The specific type—rapier, katana, longsword—I'd discover when I stood before the options.
We chatted a little longer before Evelyn finally left, the sealed basket floating obediently behind her. I made my way back to the sun-dappled garden.
When I arrived, I found a peculiar and strangely peaceful scene.
Beneath the same ancient willow tree, I tilted my head back. There, sprawled along a thick horizontal branch like a sunbathing cat, was Arthur. He lay on his stomach, arms dangling, legs swaying gently in the air. A thin line of drool glistened on the bark below his mouth.
The mighty, terrifying Arthur, who stabs children for a living, is taking a nap. And drooling. The sheer absurdity of it drew a quiet chuckle from me.
"Sir Arthur…" I called softly.
He didn't stir.
"Sir Arthur," I tried again, louder.
He merely shifted, rolling onto his side with a contented sigh, still deeply asleep.
I scanned the grassy ground until my eyes landed on a smooth, palm-sized stone. With my newly enhanced strength humming in my limbs, I bent, picked it up, and wound my arm back.
He's definitely going to block this, right? Throwing a rock at the face of a being who could obliterate me with a stray thought was monumentally stupid. But I had a feeling.
I let the stone fly.
Just as I predicted, inches from his cheek, the stone met an invisible barrier. A ripple of golden light shimmered in a perfect hexagon where it struck, and the stone fell harmlessly to the grass below.
"That was rude… Yawn," Arthur mumbled, stretching his arms wide before dropping gracefully from the branch to land silently in front of me.
I offered my most innocent smile. "My apologies. My hand slipped."
Arthur's lips twitched, fighting back a wider grin. Slipped? Your hand 'slipped' into picking up and throwing a rock at me? This kid…
*******
I apologize because I took long to upload. More chapters coming later. Thank you for being patient. Oh and check out my new book, well not really knew since I wrote it before this one, it is called the 'Apostle of Death'