Three weeks had passed since Robin's nightly visits to the library began. Three weeks of absorbing history, strategy, and the ugly truth about his own birth.
His body had transformed. Not dramatically he wasn't suddenly a warrior. But the daily quests had accumulated. His stats had climbed steadily.
[LEVEL 2: 15/200 EXP]
[STR: 5, AGI: 4, END: 3, DEX: 5]
The change was visible. The skeletal frame had filled out slightly. His skin had lost some of its deathly pallor. When he walked the corridors now, servants did double-takes.
The cursed child who could barely stand was walking with purpose. Training in secret. Growing stronger.
Someone had noticed.
Robin was in his room, finishing his morning conditioning routine, when a sharp knock interrupted him. Not the casual entrance of a servant bringing gruel. An actual knock.
"Young Master Robin," a guard's voice called through the door. "His Grace requests your presence. Immediately."
Robin's heart rate spiked. He forced it down through breathing exercises Justin had mastered decades ago.
The Duke. Summoning me.
This wasn't random. The Duke didn't summon ghosts. He ignored them until they faded away.
"I'll be ready in a moment," Robin called back, his voice steady.
He changed into the cleanest clothes he had still shabby by noble standards, but presentable. Splashed water on his face from the basin. Looked at himself in the tarnished mirror.
Careful, he reminded himself. You're still supposed to be weak. Sickly. Harmless.
The guard led him through corridors Robin knew by heart. But instead of taking the route to the Duke's public study where he conducted official business, they headed toward the private wing.
The personal study. Where the Duke handled family matters.
Robin's mind processed implications. Private meant no witnesses. No court officials to maintain appearances for.
This was about Robin specifically. Not politics. Not duty.
He's heard something.
They stopped at an ornate door carved with wolves. The guard knocked once, then opened it without waiting for response.
"Young Master Robin Stark, Your Grace."
"Send him in."
The Duke's voice. Cold. Measured. The same voice that had praised Justin in the victory tent. The same voice that had ordered his death.
Robin entered. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Duke Aldric Stark sat behind a massive desk of dark wood. Maps and documents covered its surface. A fire crackled in the hearth, but the room felt cold.
The Duke looked up. His eyes, the same silver-gray as all Starks fixed on Robin with an intensity that would have made most children flinch.
Robin met his gaze. Didn't look away. Didn't blink.
First test, his mind noted. He's watching for weakness.
"Sit," the Duke said, gesturing to a chair across from him.
Robin moved to the chair. His improved strength made the motion smooth, controlled. He sat with proper posture, back straight, hands folded. The bearing of someone trained in etiquette.
Which the original Robin had never been taught.
Mistake, Robin realized too late. Should have slouched. Should have looked uncertain.
"You look different," the Duke said.
"I've been eating better, Father." Robin kept his voice neutral. Respectful but not servile.
"The servants report you've been wandering the castle at night." They say you look... healthier. Stronger. One even claimed she saw you training in the courtyard before dawn.
Damn. Robin had thought he'd been careful. But servants talked. Always talked.
"I couldn't sleep," Robin said simply. "So I walk. And I've been trying to exercise. Build strength." He paused, then added quietly, "I don't want to die, Father."
Truth. Raw, unvarnished truth. Sometimes the best lies were built on honest foundations.
The Duke's expression didn't change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. "You've been to the library as well. Multiple times. The night watch has seen you."
Of course they have. Robin had been too focused on avoiding the regular guard patrols. He'd forgotten about the night watch stationed at key points.
"I wanted to learn," Robin said. "To understand why everyone calls me cursed. To know what happened the night I was born."
"And what did you learn?"
Robin met his father's gaze directly. "That nine hundred people died because I was born. That Mother died three days later. That you promised her you'd protect me." He let that hang in the air for a moment. "You kept that promise, Father. I'm still alive."
The Duke's jaw tightened. Just a fraction. But Robin saw it.
"Tell me about your studies," the Duke said, changing direction. "What have you been reading?"
"Military history, mostly. Accounts of past battles. The Void Wars. Strategic analyses."
"Why military history? Why not poetry or philosophy? Subjects more suitable for a... child in your condition."
Robin almost smiled at the careful phrasing. A child in your condition. Not "a dying child." Not "a cursed child." The Duke was being precise.
"Because battles have clear outcomes," Robin said. "Winners and losers. Success and failure. I wanted to understand what separates them."
"And what have you concluded?"
This was it. The real test. The Duke was probing to see what Robin had actually read. Whether he was just reading words or understanding concepts.
Robin thought of Commander Justin. Of twenty years leading armies. Of victories earned through planning and adaptation.
But he couldn't reveal that. Couldn't show mastery that would raise too many questions.
So he walked a careful line. Showed insight, but framed it as naive observation.
"Most battles are lost before they begin," Robin said slowly, as if thinking it through. "The commander who understands the terrain, who knows his enemy's weaknesses, who can adapt when plans fail he usually wins. It's not about having the strongest army. It's about using what you have better than your opponent uses what he has."
Silence. The Duke stared at him.
Robin could see the wheels turning behind those cold eyes.
"That's a remarkably mature analysis for a child of ten," the Duke said finally. "Who taught you this?"
"No one taught me, Father. I read it. The accounts are very detailed. General Markus's memoirs. The Chronicles of the Gorgon Campaign. They explain how battles were won and lost."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Recite the core principle of the Gorgon Shield formation," the Duke said suddenly.
Testing my knowledge. Seeing if I'm lying about reading the texts.
"Overlapping coverage with graduated depth," Robin replied without hesitation. "Each rank supports the one ahead, creating redundant defensive layers. The formation's strength is in its cohesion break one section and the others adapt to fill the gap."
"And its weakness?"
Robin hesitated deliberately. As if thinking. "I... the books didn't say it had one, Father. It's considered one of the most effective defensive formations ever developed."
The Duke's expression shifted. Just slightly. Was that... approval? Or deeper suspicion?
"The books are wrong," the Duke said quietly. "Every formation has a weakness. The Gorgon Shield's weakness is its inflexibility. If you can force it to rotate or reposition, the ranks lose cohesion during the movement. Strike during that rotation and the entire formation collapses."
Robin filed that information away. It matched what Justin had learned by shattering the formation thirty years from now.
"I understand, Father. Thank you for the lesson."
The Duke stood. Walked to the window overlooking the courtyard. His back to Robin.
"You've changed," he said, still not turning. "In the span of weeks, the dying child who could barely walk is now reading military treatises and understanding strategic concepts.
Robin said nothing. Sometimes silence was the best defense.
"I don't believe in miracles," the Duke continued. "I believe in cause and effect. Something has changed. Either you were never as weak as we believed, or something has made you stronger." He turned, pinning Robin with that penetrating stare. "Which is it?"
Careful. This is the moment.
"I was dying, Father," Robin said quietly. "I could feel it. Every day a little weaker. A little closer to... the end." He let his voice crack slightly. Not too much. Just enough. "I decided I didn't want to die in that room. Forgotten. So I started trying. Eating everything they gave me. Moving as much as I could. Reading to keep my mind sharp." He met the Duke's eyes. "I'm still weak, Father. Still cursed. But I'm trying."
The Duke studied him for a long moment.
"Stand up," he commanded.
Robin stood. His legs steady beneath him now. No trembling. No weakness.
"Turn around. Arms out."
Robin complied. Let the Duke examine him. Assess the changes.
"Your muscle tone has improved. You've put on weight. Your breathing is steady." The Duke circled him slowly. "This is more than just 'trying,' boy. This is transformation."
"Is that... bad, Father?" Robin asked, injecting uncertainty into his voice. "Should I stop? Go back to my room and...."
"No." The Duke's voice was sharp. "No, you shouldn't stop." He returned to his desk, sat down. "But understand this: I will be watching you. Closely. Whatever is happening to you, I will know its source."
There it is, Robin thought. The Duke's instinct. He senses something wrong but can't identify it.
"Yes, Father. I understand."
"You may go. But Robin...." The Duke's voice stopped him at the door. "Do not mistake my curiosity for affection.
Robin bowed his head. "Yes, Father."
He left the study, the guard escorting him back toward the servants' wing.
But Robin's mind was racing. The Duke was suspicious. Actively investigating now.
He won't find anything, Robin assured himself. There's nothing to find. No outside teacher. No mysterious benefactor. Just a dying boy who started trying to live.
Robin smiled grimly as he reached his room.
Oh, I know my place, Father. I know exactly where I'm going to place myself.
Right on your throne.
But that was years away. For now, he had to be more careful. More subtle.
The Duke was watching.
Which meant Robin needed to give him exactly what he expected to see: a child struggling to survive, making slow, believable progress.
Not too much. Not too fast.
Just enough to seem possible.
While he secretly prepared for war.