Chapter 2: The Secret Search and The Sword Master
I. The Weakness and The Withdrawal
The applause and scrutiny Evan received following his veranda speech were a double-edged sword. He had successfully bought himself political currency—the illusion of unexpected competency—but his body remained a profound liability. The relentless, volatile thrum of the Sacrificial Magic had been aggravated by the emotional stress of the performance, pulsing now with a low, insistent demand for release.
Evan understood the battlefield: The palace was a political stage, but the Kingdom of Mecklace was a warrior culture. His Silver Tongue was useless if his enemies could simply challenge him to a duel and reveal his profound physical weakness. Prince Theron's calculated gaze, lingering in the courtyard shadows, confirmed his immediate peril.
Survival is paramount, Evan concluded. His new political platform required a strong physical foundation, a genuine shield his rhetoric could lean on. He couldn't risk the ridicule of the Royal Guard recruits or, worse, being discovered by his siblings in a compromised, feverish state.
That night, guided by dusty, old hunting paths he'd found transcribed in forgotten court records, Evan slipped out of the palace. His destination: the rugged, solitary Foothills, a place far from political scrutiny where the King rarely visited and the Guard never patrolled. He carried only a simple training sword and a profound sense of desperation.
II. The Crucible of Solitude
Evan's initial training sessions in the Foothills were agonizing failures. How could a man whose mind was conditioned to win debates learn to survive a duel? He tried replicating the Mecklace Sword Stances he'd studied in books, but his body was soft, his movements awkward, and the practice sword felt like a betrayal of his political sensibilities. Every failed lunge was an insult, and the constant, throbbing pain in his chest, a direct result of the suppressed Sacrificial Magic, amplified the feeling of inadequacy. The Magic was pushing him towards a terrible, bloody release, and he was failing even at the simple act of self-defense.
He trained until the cool, mountain air turned bitter and his muscles screamed. He deliberately failed, collapsing onto the rough ground, but immediately forced himself to rise, returning to the flawed stance. He was pushing his physical boundaries, not to master the sword, but to test his political will. He was looking for his Stand.
It was in this desperate, repetitive cycle of failure and resurgence, late on the fourth day of his self-exile, that he first saw him.
III. The Scrutiny of Grief
A man, clad in simple, worn leather, sat motionless on a moss-covered stone, observing Evan's clumsy efforts. He was immense, radiating a silent, unsettling power. The man's hands, resting on his knees, were scarred and powerful, and his face was etched with a profound, unyielding grief that seemed older than the mountains themselves.
Evan, the politician, immediately took an involuntary inventory: Unknown asset. Unquantifiable value. Potentially lethal.
This was the man of whispers—the legendary Sword Master Kaelen, who had famously retired from the world twenty years prior after losing all his students in the devastating border wars.
Evan swallowed his pride and continued his flawed practice, pushing his body until sweat stung his eyes. He focused on immediately getting up after every fall. He knew the Master was watching for more than technique; he was watching for character.
Finally, Kaelen stirred, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate with the years of silence.
> Kaelen: "Your will is a magnificent wall, Prince. But your technique is a crumbling fence. If you rely on that sword," he gestured dismissively with a stick, "you will not only lose the argument; you will lose your life."
>
He walked closer, his movements smooth and terrifyingly economical. With a stick, he tapped Evan's wrist.
> Kaelen: "The blade is an extension of the soul. Your soul is trying to write a treaty, not draw blood. Your stance is based on fear, not purpose."
>
Evan's pent-up frustration and the agony of the Magic boiled over, fueled by the insult.
> Evan: "Purpose? My purpose is to survive!"
>
> Kaelen: "Survival is common," the Master scoffed, turning away. "Why does a Prince, who can command others to fight, degrade himself with such struggle?"
>
IV. The Eloquent Plea
Evan knew this was the moment of acquisition. He lowered his sword and let his true skill emerge—the powerful, persuasive voice of Thomson. He spoke not of personal ambition, but of necessary, moral duty.
> Evan: "Master, you speak of the soul. I was born to words, but I have inherited a political liability. The world outside sees only the strength of our King's sword. The Volkar Empire, led by a King whose very power is built on calculated sacrifice, will prey on any sign of weakness."
>
He locked eyes with the Master, appealing directly to Kaelen's profound, hidden pain—the memory of his lost students.
> Evan: "I do not seek glory, Master. I only seek to be strong enough that my weakness is not the weapon Volkar uses to murder the people you fought to protect. You lost your students because they went to war without enough skill. I am begging you: do not let your wisdom die unused. Teach me how to be the shield my rhetoric cannot be."
>
Evan had successfully reframed his personal weakness as a necessary political and moral obligation to the Master's fallen students. Kaelen stood motionless, his grief-stricken eyes absorbing Evan's intense conviction.
After a long silence, the Master threw a heavy, scarred training sword at Evan's feet.
> Kaelen: "Pick it up, Prince. We start with the breath. My name is Kaelen. We will work until your hands forget how to write and only remember how to kill."
>
The deal was struck. Evan had secured his master, but the cost was instantly clear: the loss of his peaceful, political identity. The real trial, however, was just beginning. Evan's body was already trembling—the Sacrificial Magic was entering its critical phase, demanding its weekly due. The true ticking clock had begun.