CHAPTER 102

  PLAN GONE WRONG

  Reina instructed Theodred to remain still, his aura to be guided slowly, steadily, in rhythm with his breath.

  Coupled with Regenratio, matching his rhythm, he obeyed, and for a moment, his vision flickered—just as it had before. A thrill surged through him.

  “I can see it!” He exclaimed, elated.

  But then it struck—sharp and searing, like fire lancing through his eyes.

  “Ugh,” he whimpered, curling in pain.

  “Bring the ice,” Reina ordered briskly, her tone firm as she patted Theodred's shoulder to soothe him.

  A maid rushed in, breathless, carrying a bucket filled with ice water. Without ceremony, Reina plunged his head beneath the surface, holding it there.

  When he surfaced, gasping and blinking rapidly, she met his eyes with a dry smirk. “Told you to be patient, didn’t I?”

  “But that’s strange...” she murmured, frowning. “Your head’s fine. Only the eyes? That shouldn’t happen. The skill aligns mind and vision together.”

  Hans—Theodred—said nothing. The pain blurred the world, leaving him disoriented. If his enemies had found him in that state, he would’ve been defenceless.

  Yet, strangely, it was one of them who now nursed him.

  “My head?” he echoed faintly, saying to himself. Pretty sure I ruined my brain during my time with the First Book. It’s used to heavy lifting. But these eyes... these are a fresh pair.

  He paused, then looked at her. “How do I train the eyes? They seem to be the problem.”

  “Usually it’s the mind that struggles more,” she replied, quirking a brow. “But... different strokes for different folks.”

  She tugged at her lower lip with her fingers—a familiar habit when deep in thought—then spoke again. “First, you need to train your eyes to see only what you intend to, not everything they take in. After that, your mind must process it all at a fast pace. But if your mind’s already sharp, then it’s just the eyes that need work.”

  Did I say something else?

  From a nearby chest, she pulled a small, insect-like artefact—LEDOMI. Once used by elven archers to hone their precision, it zipped through the air at dizzying speeds. Hans, however, was not given the standard version. His task was to follow an overclocked model, far too fast for ordinary sight.

  He channeled a thin stream of aura into his eyes, and his pupils gleamed bright white—just as Reina’s had when she used her power. He could sense LEDOMI’s movement, feel its presence—but Reina sternly reminded him to rely on sight alone.

  For two gruelling days, the practice continued. Only then did Hans begin to track LEDOMI’s flight with precision.

  Ten days had passed since his training under Reina began. The deadline she had given Arat loomed just four days away. Perfecting the second skill was not the priority now.

  Delivering the message to Arat was.

  He was battling with his inner self, scouring his mind for an idea—but nothing came. His thoughts clashed and scattered like broken blades around him.

  “Damn it. How?” he muttered, glaring into his clenched fist where the insect-like artefact glinted faintly. The Ledomi. Subtle to most, but to trained eyes like his and Reina’s, it pulsed like a hidden beacon when overclocked.

  “Wait a minute.”

  He gave a low whistle—a call only one would recognise. From the shadows, Nym emerged as she always did.

  “Ser Nym,” Hans said, holding up the Ledomi, “how about a little exercise? Let’s see who catches it first.”

  He began juggling the artefact, then surged its core to top speed. Even with his Lumen Gaze, he could barely track it—Nym, likely, was having the same trouble.

  “Let’s see if you can catch it.”

  He focused, tracking the blur as it carved arcs in the air. Slowly, the distortion resolved—just enough. He lunged—but Nym’s hand closed around the Ledomi before his fingers reached it.

  His eyes ached from the strain. Squinting through the lingering burn, he asked, “How did you beat me to it?”

  “I don’t have to see it,” she replied, vanishing as quickly as she came. “I just have to see you.”

  Hans laughed under his breath, holding the Ledomi again. “Got you,” he whispered, then glanced at the artefact. “You might be more useful than everything here, my little Ledomi.”

  He stood, rubbing his tired eyes. They still throbbed, but the pain was manageable. Making his way to Reina, he found her preoccupied with official business. He waited in silence until she beckoned him forward.

  “Trouble with training?” she asked without looking up, her eyes skimming a document.

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  “A little,” Hans admitted. “My eyes need a longer rest than usual.”

  She nearly stood at that. “Did something happen?”

  “No, no.” He waved the concern away. “I just thought… during the rest period, I’d like to commission a training sword.”

  “Something wrong with the palace blades?”

  “It’s not the sword,” Hans replied, brushing his fingertips along the hilt of one at his side. “It’s me. The balance is too neutral. I need something heavier—refined to my grip.”

  “I’ll have the royal forge handle it—”

  “With respect, teacher, I’d prefer to get it myself. I can’t accept what I haven’t earned. Your instruction is already more than enough. I’ve saved some coin during my journey. I’ll pay for it on my own.”

  Reina paused, her gaze searching his face. He looked worn, his aura dulled from exhaustive training, yet something in his eyes still burned—focus, or something else she couldn’t quite read.

  “You’ve earned the rest,” she said at last. “And the trip might do your mind good. But not alone. Take Bernard. He knows the capital well—and with a warlord at your side, others like that lunatic won’t dare interfere.”

  Hans nodded. “Of course.”

  Damn it, she is too meticulous. He thought. Nothing ever goes according to plan. Bernard might sense what I’m after. The SATR outpost could be exposed. But Arat must have accounted for Bernard’s defection long ago. He sighed hoping to be right.

  He found Bernard overlooking a sparring session between the young prince and princess. Hans paused a moment to observe. Allynna was familiar enough, but her brother—Riftal—was something else. Quiet, unlike either Reina or Eleanor. No light affinity either.

  But in the next moment, what caught Hans’s attention was something else. The boy—barely ten—was shaping aura. Water.

  I guess the history is right. No elven royal, the males born with Light as their mana.

  He stepped forward. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said, as the children hesitated.

  “How about a bout?” Bernard mused.

  Hans raised a brow. “You’re asking a Grade twenty-six knight to duel a warlord. Does that make sense, ser Bernard?” Hans mused back.

  “O’ not me. ” Bernard grinned. “Him.” He nudged the silent prince forward.

  “He’s seven years younger—”

  “Yet in the grade thirties already.”

  Hans blinked, genuinely impressed. “Well then, I don’t mind.” He drew his training blade and planted it in the ground with ceremonial formality.

  “Theodred of Grade twenty-six requests a spar with Prince Riftal.”

  The boy looked to Bernard, who gave a silent nod. Riftal stepped forward and drew his sword. A glimmer of liquid aura ran across its edge.

  “I, Prince Riftal Clandor, accept.”

  Hans settled into stance, cautious. He wanted to measure his opponent first. No matter how talented, raw power couldn't match inherited experience he got through bloodline power—or so he believed.

  Then Riftal attacked. The ten-year-old boy surprised Hans with relentless strikes.

  He was deflecting the strikes with hairline precision. Since both of the skills he learned were passive, it was running as he was breathing.

  Interesting, Hans mused, a smile tugging at his lips.

  Then Riftal activated his first skill.

  Damping

  Hans saw… nothing. Not even his Lumen Gaze revealed the change. Confused, he narrowed his eyes. But Riftal’s speed suddenly doubled.

  So it was this. Elves sure do love their passive skills, don’t they?

  He tried to sidestep—but it was like wading through syrup. What—? He staggered when he tried evading.

  “What the?” He failed evading, forced to block.

  He grinned. “So it wasn’t just passive.”

  With his speed nullified, his agility meant little. “My, my,” he murmured, bemused.

  “So the teacher’s been hiding a monster.” Hans reached down and unlatched the weighted gear around his wrists and ankles. Iron crashed to the ground.

  But before he could regain momentum, Riftal activated another skill.

  Oceanic Pressure

  This time too, no visible aura shift. No glow, no tremor. Even his Lumen Gaze failed him. He missed his human eyes, which could gaze in change of mana.

  Riftal’s sword came down—and Hans, for the first time in years, dropped to one knee beneath its weight. He twisted aside and let the blow strike the ground instead. It shattered the floor in a spiderweb of cracks.

  “Man, such a light sword,” Hans muttered sarcastically.

  Oceanic Pressure

  Without a rest, Riftal used his skill again, another swing—this time upward. A tide surged with it.

  “Oh shit!”

  Hans was hurled through the air. He crashed hard, breath knocked from his lungs. When he looked up, Riftal’s blade was at his throat.

  I lost? Hans laughed. “That was something. You’re a terrible match for me, Prince Riftal.”

  This was the first time Hans let go of the persona of calm and collected he wore in front of everyone here. He was excited. His knightly blood was boiling. Even Nym and Reina wielded skills he could counter. But Riftal—his techniques altered both himself and his opponent. Hans had never fought someone quite like this.

  He watched the prince idly tweak his sword.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  Riftal gave a small nod.

  Hans stood, dusted himself off. “Want to come with me? I’m heading into town for a new blade.”

  Riftal looked toward Bernard for permission, but Hans interrupted.

  “You don’t need his approval. You’re a prince. It’s your right to do what you will—and it’s his duty to protect you. You think a warlord like Ser Bernard is weak?”

  Still, the boy looked at Bernard. The warlord met Hans’s eyes.

  “Did the queen—?”

  “Yes. She told me to take you,” Hans answered.

  “But she didn’t say you could bring the royal children?”

  “Yes,” Hans conceded.

  Bernard sighed; he didn’t expect this from Theodred who valued the code of knights. And now, he was talking outright, defying the rules.

  “There is a protocol in a palace,” he stressed. “Rules, we must adhere to. You want to be a knight and you are not giving the good vibes.”

  “You’re preaching about protocols—yet you’re stopping a prince from doing as he wills?”

  Hans glanced around and found everyone hiding in the personal training ground of the royal children.

  Bernard sighed and nodded to one of them. “Ask the queen.”

  Surprisingly, Reina approved.

  Bernard blinked. “What is she thinking?” he muttered. “She would’ve never allowed this before—never.” He was left stunned while the three young knights prepare to depart.