Three years had passed, and Kael was no longer the mischievous child who once filled the castle with chaos. The pranks that used to appear in every corridor had vanished. Tutors no longer ran screaming through the halls from morning till night. Instead, Kael could be found in the training yard from dawn to dusk, his wooden sword replaced long ago by cold steel. The carefree boy had grown into someone quieter, sharper, and far more focused—someone who seemed to have carved his entire purpose around the blade.
His progress shocked everyone. At only nine years old, Kael broke through to the Apprentice Rank, becoming the youngest person in history to reach it. Even geniuses usually took until fourteen or fifteen. The feat spread like wildfire across the empire, sparking rumors and admiration alike. Stories of the "youngest sword prodigy" reached every noble estate, every academy, and even distant provinces.
With only one year left before Kael's Awakening Ceremony, expectations grew even higher. If he was this strong already, everyone was certain his awakened skill would be at A-Rank—likely something related to the sword, just like his father.
Because of his rising fame, noble houses began competing fiercely. Countless proposals flooded Ravenor Castle—offers of engagement from powerful families who wanted to tie their bloodline to the empire's brightest young talent. Daughters Kael had never even heard of were suddenly described as "perfect matches." Some nobles sent gifts, others sent letters, and a few even arrived in person, all hoping for a chance to secure the prodigy's future hand.
But Kael paid none of them any attention. There was a reason he pushed himself until his hands ached and his muscles screamed—a reason he trained until nightfall, long after the castle had grown silent.
It began when he was seven.
That year, his father—Duke Darian—went to the border to stop an approaching demonic beast horde. The battle was fierce. He faced two A-rank demonic beasts: a rampaging wild boar and a cunning demon fox. Darian dominated the boar easily, cutting through its thick hide with overwhelming force. But just as he prepared to finish it, the fox slipped from the shadows and struck his left arm with its poisoned claws.
Even though the Duke managed to kill them both, the victory came at a terrible cost. The fox's demonic energy seeped into his body, starting from the wounded arm and slowly corrupting everything. The healers fought desperately, but the corruption would not stop. In the end, they were forced to sever his left arm to save his life.
The empire's strongest greatsword-wielding Duke lost the very limb he needed most.
Duke Darian's strength plummeted. A swordsman who wielded a massive greatsword could not maintain the same power with only one arm. His sword force weakened drastically, and for the first time in Kael's life, he saw his father struggling.
That day carved itself into Kael's heart.And from that moment on, he swore he would grow strong enough to protect the people he loved, even if it meant training until his body broke.
General POV
Now it was a bright day in the castle. In the training grounds, anyone passing by would immediately stop at the sight before them—a boy who looked around ten or eleven exchanging blows with a man nearly three times his age. The boy was Kael. Because of his relentless training and proper nourishment, his physique had developed earlier than most children his age. His shoulders were firmer, his stance more stable, and his movements sharper—so much so that he looked a year or two older than he actually was.
The clang of steel rang out across the training yard as Kael lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air with precision. Master Joran, a man in his late thirties with the bearing of a seasoned warrior, met every strike with calm. Each clash of their swords sent sparks flying, echoing against the stone walls of the castle.
Kael feinted to the left, forcing Joran to shift his weight, but the master anticipated the move and countered with a swift sidestep, driving Kael back a step. The boy's brow furrowed, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, but his eyes never left Joran's. He adjusted his stance, lowering his center of gravity, and came at him again with a flurry of rapid thrusts.
Joran parried each one effortlessly, his movements almost casual, yet there was an undercurrent of controlled power in every strike. "Be clever," he said, voice calm but firm. "Your speed is good, but your intent is predictable."
Kael growled in determination, circling around, looking for an opening. He changed rhythm mid-strike, spinning his blade from right to left in a smooth arc, aiming for Joran's shoulder. The master blocked with the flat of his sword, their blades screeching against each other. Kael felt the vibration travel up his arm, but he pressed forward, relying on agility rather than brute strength.
With a sudden shift, Joran stepped inside Kael's guard and tapped the boy's chest lightly with the tip of his sword—an elegant, precise touch that sent Kael stumbling backward. Kael's eyes widened in surprise, but he laughed—a mix of frustration and exhilaration—and saluted the master mid-step, readying himself for another round.
Joran nodded approvingly. "Better. You are learning to think two steps ahead, not just strike." He circled Kael like a predator, eyes sharp, and launched a sudden offensive—a combination of thrusts, sweeps, and feints meant to test every aspect of Kael's defense. The boy dodged, blocked, and countered, sweat dripping down his face, heart pounding in his chest.
By the time the sun reached its zenith, both stood panting, swords lowered. Kael's movements were faster, more fluid than ever, and even Joran's stern expression betrayed a hint of admiration. "You've improved again," the master said. "Soon, no one in this castle will be able to keep up with you."
Kael grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. "I won't stop until I surpass you," he said, eyes burning with determination.
Joran merely smiled, sheathing his sword. "Then you need to try harder if you want to defeat your master."
After some time, Kael was still catching his breath, hands gripping the hilt of his sword, when a maid hurried across the training yard. Her steps were quick, almost nervous, and she curtsied before speaking.
"Master Kael… the Emperor's carriage has arrived near the castle," she said, her voice a mix of respect and urgency. "The Duchess is summoning you immediately."
Kael's brow furrowed. "Now?" he asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
The maid nodded. "Yes, sir. She requested you at once."
Kael sheathed his sword, taking a deep breath to steady himself. There was no time to linger on exhaustion or pride from the sparring session. His mind shifted immediately to duty.
"Understood," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Lead the way."
As the maid turned and rushed ahead, Kael followed, adjusting his posture. He remembered his mother had mentioned that there would be a very important discussion, but he didn't know what it was about but he has a guess.