Morning mist still covered Shen City when Qin Wang Shan stepped into the military training yard.
Most soldiers had not even begun drills yet.
Those present froze when they saw him.
A prince did not visit training grounds at dawn.
And certainly not alone.
Commander Han hurried over, surprised.
"Your Highness? Is something wrong?"
Qin Wang Shan shook his head.
"Nothing is wrong," he replied calmly.
"That is why we prepare."
Han sensed something different in his tone.
More serious than before.
The memory of the assassin's blade still lingered in Qin Wang Shan's mind.
The flash of steel.
The guard bleeding in his place.
If that man had been slower—
He would already be dead.
A ruler protected by others alone was a ruler waiting to fall.
He would not allow that again.
"I will train," Qin Wang Shan said.
Han stared at him.
"With us."
Nearby soldiers exchanged uncertain glances.
Training was brutal even for hardened men.
For a prince—raised in comfort—it would be worse.
"Your Highness," Han warned carefully, "training soldiers is not symbolic. Men get hurt."
Qin Wang Shan met his gaze.
"Then treat me as a soldier."
A wooden practice sword was placed in his hands.
It felt heavier than expected.
Across from him stood a veteran soldier chosen reluctantly by Han.
"Do not hold back," Qin Wang Shan ordered.
The soldier hesitated.
Then attacked.
The strike came fast.
Too fast.
Qin Wang Shan barely lifted his weapon before the blow knocked it from his grip.
The wooden sword flew across the yard.
A few soldiers winced.
The prince had lost in a single move.
He bent to retrieve the sword.
His hands tingled from impact.
Again.
The soldier attacked.
Again, Qin Wang Shan fell backward onto the dirt.
Dust filled his mouth.
Pain shot through his shoulder.
Laughter almost escaped from some recruits—until they saw the prince rise again.
No anger.
No embarrassment.
Only determination.
Strike after strike followed.
Each ended the same.
Thrown aside.
Disarmed.
Knocked down.
Sweat soaked his clothes.
His breathing grew rough.
Muscles burned.
By mid-morning, his arms trembled just holding the sword.
Han finally stepped forward.
"Enough," he ordered.
But Qin Wang Shan shook his head.
"One more."
He lifted the sword again.
The soldier attacked.
This time, Qin Wang Shan blocked.
Barely.
The impact forced him back—but he did not fall.
Surprise flashed across the soldier's face.
A small improvement.
But real.
Training ended near noon.
Qin Wang Shan could barely move his arms.
His shoulder throbbed.
His hands shook.
Han walked beside him.
"Strength takes time," the commander said quietly.
Qin Wang Shan exhaled slowly.
"Time," he replied, "is something enemies rarely give."
From a distant corridor, Lu Zheng observed silently.
A ruler who trained beside his soldiers…
Not many princes would endure such humiliation willingly.
Lu Zheng narrowed his eyes slightly.
Perhaps Shen City's greatest weapon was not its walls.
But its ruler.
That night, Qin Wang Shan stood atop the city walls.
Every muscle ached.
Every breath hurt.
But his mind was calm.
The next assassin would come.
Stronger.
Faster.
Better prepared.
And next time—
He would not be helpless.
Training had begun.
And so had his transformation.