The palace training ground was already alive with activity by the time Theon arrived.
Steel clashed against steel in rhythmic bursts. Knights shouted commands across the yard, their voices sharp and clipped. Young trainees sweated beneath the morning sun as they practiced footwork and sword forms across the wide arena, their breath fogging faintly in the cold air.
The moment Theon stepped through the gate, the noise changed.
Conversations stopped mid sentence.
Several trainees stiffened where they stood.
Others immediately dropped into a bow.
"Your Highness!"
Theon blinked, caught off guard by how quickly the entire yard had gone quiet.
Okay, he thought. This is definitely different from before.
The small black cat around his neck flicked its tail lazily, golden-crimson eyes observing everyone with faint, amused interest, as if it found the whole scene rather entertaining.
Then a familiar laugh rang out across the training ground, loud enough to break the tension in an instant.
"Well, look who finally decided not to die!"
Captain Voss strode across the yard, broad shouldered and grinning like a man who had just won a bet against fate itself.
Before Theon could react.
THWACK!
Voss slapped him hard on the back, hard enough to make several nearby trainees wince in sympathy.
"Thank the heavens you’re alive, brat! I was starting to think I’d have to find a new favorite to torment."
Theon coughed, steadying himself. "Captain, I’m still recovering, you know."
"Good! That means I get to test you before you have time to get rusty."
Voss grabbed two metal practice swords from a nearby rack and tossed one across to Theon without warning.
The prince caught it instinctively, his hand closing around the grip before his mind had even finished processing the throw.
The weight felt light in his hand.
Too light, almost, compared to what he remembered.
Voss rolled his shoulders and settled into his stance, his eyes gleaming with genuine excitement.
"Show me what that trip to Frostfang did to you, Theon. Don’t hold back on my account."
The surrounding trainees quickly backed away, forming a wide circle around the two of them without needing to be told.
Even the senior knights paused what they were doing to watch.
The Seventh Prince against Captain Voss.
Nobody in that training ground wanted to miss what was about to happen.
Theon lowered his center of gravity, feeling the old familiar rhythm settle into his limbs.
"Ready?" Voss asked, his voice low now, focused.
"Ready," Theon answered, and he meant it.
The instant the word left his mouth, Voss moved.
Fast.
Far faster than an ordinary knight had any right to move.
The metal sword cut through the air with a sharp whistle, and Theon barely managed to jump back in time.
Clang!
Sparks flew between the two blades.
The force behind the strike vibrated through Theon’s arms all the way to his shoulders.
Still monstrous as ever, Theon thought, gritting his teeth.
Voss pressed forward relentlessly, giving him no room to breathe.
Left.
Right.
Overhead.
A thrust aimed straight for his chest.
Theon retreated step after step, his silver hair dancing with each sharp movement, his focus narrowing entirely onto the blade in front of him.
The trainees watched with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"He’s keeping up with the captain?" one whispered.
"No, look closer. He’s being pushed back," another answered. "But he’s reading the attacks somehow. Watch his eyes," a third murmured, leaning forward.
Voss grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself.
"Not bad at all!"
Theon narrowed his eyes, forcing his breathing to stay even despite the pressure. There was no opening. Every angle Voss offered was covered the moment it appeared.
Every transition between strikes was smooth, practiced, the kind of skill that only came from surviving real battlefields, not training yards.
Think, Theon told himself firmly.
His enhanced intelligence processed Voss’s movements rapidly, breaking them down piece by piece.
Shoulders.
Hips.
Foot placement.
Weight distribution.
Then, finally, he saw it.
Not an opening in the guard itself.
An opening in the transition between strikes, that small gap of a heartbeat when Voss shifted his weight to pivot.
If I can get behind him during that pivot, Theon thought, his heart pounding with something close to excitement.
He exploded into motion.
Left.
Right.
Left again.
His speed increased so suddenly that several trainees lost sight of him entirely, their eyes struggling to track the blur of silver hair. Voss’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face.
"There you are." He turned sharply to intercept.
But Theon was already moving past him, low and fast.
The prince ducked beneath the captain’s guard, twisted behind his right side in one fluid motion, and struck.
CLANG. CRACK.
Silence fell over the entire training ground.
Captain Voss froze mid stance.
The upper half of his metal practice sword slid cleanly off and hit the ground with a dull, final sound.
The blade had been broken clean in two.
For a long moment, no one in the yard moved at all.
Then Voss slowly looked down at the broken weapon in his hand, his expression unreadable.
"What?"
The trainees erupted all at once.
"He broke the captain’s sword!"
"With a practice weapon? That should be impossible!"
"How is any of this possible?"
Theon himself stared down at his own sword, breathing hard, his mind racing to catch up with what his body had just done. I did not even use much strength for that, he thought, stunned. Then a translucent blue interface flashed suddenly before his eyes, cutting through his confusion.
WORLD ARCHIVE
New Skill UnlockedNew Skill Unlocked
Swordsmanship StyleSwordsmanship Style
All recorded swordsmanship knowledge has been integratedAll recorded swordsmanship knowledge has been integrated
Theon’s jaw nearly dropped.
All recorded swordsmanship knowledge? Every single style that has ever existed?
His mind flooded with countless techniques all at once, almost overwhelming in their sheer number.
Imperial sword arts, refined over centuries.
Elven blade forms, light and precise.
Demonic combat styles, brutal and efficient.
Dual wielding methods from forgotten mercenary schools.
Iaido.
Kenjutsu.
Battōjutsu.
Styles from worlds that, as far as Theon knew, should not even exist in this one. The sheer volume of information pressing into his mind was almost frightening. Theon swallowed hard, trying to steady his thoughts.
You are telling me I now have knowledge of every sword style that has ever existed, including forms from an entirely different world? That is ridiculously unfair. Somebody should have warned me before dropping all of this into my head at once.
Across from him, Captain Voss suddenly burst out laughing, loud and full, the broken sword still hanging from his hand.
"Hahaha!"
He pointed at Theon with what remained of the blade, grinning from ear to ear.
"You finally got stronger! I knew you had it in you, brat!"
Theon blinked, caught off guard by the reaction.
"That is your response? I just broke your sword."
"What else should it be? A prince who cannot eventually surpass his own teachers is nothing but a disappointment to me." Voss stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to excitement.
"Now I really want to fight you seriously. None of this practice sword nonsense." Theon’s instincts screamed a warning at him immediately.
Absolutely not. He turned around at once, already backing away.
"I just remembered I have a very important prince business to attend to. Right now, actually."
"Oi! Get back here, you coward!"
Too late.
Theon was already sprinting out of the training ground while the trainees around them struggled, and mostly failed, to hold back their laughter. The black cat around his neck looked thoroughly entertained by the entire display, its tail flicking with what could only be described as amusement.
As Theon hurried through the palace corridors, still catching his breath, he nearly collided with someone rounding the corner. A hand caught his shoulder before he could stumble.
"Theon?"
He looked up, startled.
Prince Styr Nivaris, the Second Prince of the empire, stood before him, tall and calm, carrying the composed presence of someone who had been raised his entire life to rule.
Unlike most of the others in the palace, Styr’s expression immediately softened with what looked like genuine concern the moment he saw his younger brother.
"You’re awake," he said quietly. Theon nodded, still slightly out of breath. "Yeah. I am." Styr looked him over carefully, his eyes searching for any sign of lingering injury.
"Are you hurt anywhere?"
"I’m fine now. Really."
"And Lyra? Is she alright?"
"She’s still sleeping in my chamber. She was fine when I left."
Relief flickered clearly across Styr’s face, softening the tension that had been sitting in his shoulders.
"That is good to hear."
For a moment, he seemed like he wanted to say something more, his mouth opening slightly before he stopped himself.
Then he glanced down the corridor, as though suddenly remembering some obligation waiting for him elsewhere.
"I have matters to attend to right now, but I want to speak with you properly later. Just the two of us."
Theon tilted his head, curious. "About what exactly?"
Styr offered a faint, almost knowing smile.
"Later, Theon."
He turned to leave, then paused after only a few steps.
"You’re going to see Father, aren’t you?"
Theon sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. "I’m probably about to get scolded for destroying half the sky over Frostfang."
A quiet chuckle escaped Styr’s lips, surprising Theon a little.
"I don’t think you will receive nearly as much scolding as you expect."
Theon frowned, confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Go and find out for yourself."
With that, Styr walked away, his silver cloak swaying gently behind him as he disappeared around the corner.
Theon watched him go for a second, genuinely puzzled.
Why does everyone keep speaking like they know something I do not?. He shook his head and continued toward the emperor’s chamber, his earlier lightness fading into a quiet nervousness with every step.
The emperor had only recently awakened himself. When Theon arrived at the doors, the guards opened them immediately, without hesitation, as though they had been expecting him. Ragnar Nivaris sat near the window, reading through a stack of documents while morning light illuminated the delicate frost patterns still clinging to the glass.
The moment he looked up and saw Theon, he dismissed the attendants with a small wave of his hand.
"Leave us."
The maids bowed quickly and exited the room without a word. Ragnar raised a hand.
A soundproof barrier spread through the chamber once more, the same one Theon had heard about from Ifrith .
Theon instantly felt his nerves tighten.
That spell again. This is definitely serious, whatever it is.
The emperor studied him quietly for a long moment before speaking.
"You understand the consequences of what you did, don’t you, Theon?"
Theon’s hands twitched slightly at his sides.
For some reason, despite everything he had survived, he suddenly felt like a small child who had been caught doing something terribly wrong. He even braced himself mentally for a harsh lecture, or something worse. Instead, Ragnar’s expression softened unexpectedly.
"I am glad you survived."
Theon blinked, caught completely off guard.
"And I am glad you have become stronger."
That was not at all the response he had prepared himself for.
But the emperor’s eyes soon sharpened again, the softness giving way to something more serious.
"However, strength is never free, Theon. It always comes with a cost."
He leaned forward slightly in his chair.
"You must prepare yourself for the political crisis that follows what happened at Frostfang."
Theon frowned, unease creeping into his chest. "Political crisis? What crisis?"
"Yes."
"What crisis, exactly? You have to tell me something."
Ragnar looked at him for a long, quiet moment, studying his son’s face carefully. Then, unexpectedly, a faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Return to your room first. You will understand soon enough." Theon stared at him, thoroughly confused. "That is the explanation? That is all you’re going to give me?"
"For now."
The emperor waved a hand dismissively, though not unkindly.
"Go, Theon."
Still completely lost, Theon bowed and left the chamber, his mind spinning with questions that had no answers yet.
When he finally pushed open the doors to his own chamber, he stopped in his tracks.
Boxes.
Letters.
Jewelry cases stacked on top of each other.
Gift baskets overflowing with fruit and ribbons.
Invitation scrolls tied with delicate silk, scattered across every available surface.
The room looked as though a noble merchant had exploded inside it overnight. Theon stared, speechless. "What in the world?."
He picked up one of the invitations closest to him and read it aloud under his breath.
Lady Seraphina invites His Highness the Seventh Prince to a private tea gathering.
He set it down and picked up another.
House Valemont requests the honor of hosting His Highness at tonight’s banquet, then another.
The daughter of House Arcturus wishes to become acquainted with His Highness. Theon slowly lowered the scroll in his hand, feeling a headache building behind his eyes. Then he picked up another one. Then another after that. There were dozens scattered across the room.
Maybe even hundreds, if he counted every corner. His eye twitched involuntarily.
"So this is what Father meant by a political crisis."
The moment his power had become public knowledge, the nobles had wasted no time moving to secure their own interests. Some wanted his favor. Some wanted an alliance sealed through marriage or contract. Some wanted him as a future son in law, tying their family name to his rising power.
And some, without a doubt, simply wanted to use him for whatever purpose suited them best.
The black cat on his shoulder let out a very judgmental sounding meow, as if agreeing with his frustration.
"Don’t look at me like that," Theon muttered, glancing sideways at the cat. "I didn’t ask for any of this."
He stepped deeper into the cluttered room, carefully avoiding a stack of gift boxes.
Lyra was still asleep peacefully on the bed, undisturbed by the chaos around her. At least that had not changed, he thought, feeling a small measure of comfort return to his chest. Then Theon noticed something else, something that made his stomach drop slightly.
The balcony door was slightly open. Cold wind drifted through the chamber, stirring the loose papers scattered across the floor. His expression changed instantly.
"That’s odd. I didn’t leave that open."
Ifrith ’s voice suddenly echoed directly in his mind, sharp and urgent.
Master.
Theon turned sharply toward the sound of his own thoughts.
The black cat leapt from his shoulder without warning.
And transformed midair, flames erupting across the room in a burst of heat and light as Ifrith returned to his full humanoid form.
His hand shot forward, faster than Theon could follow.
BOOM!
A hidden figure crashed out from behind the curtain, thrown backward by the force of Ifrith ’s strike.
Black clothing.
A masked face, hidden entirely except for narrowed eyes.
An assassin.
The intruder twisted with unnatural agility, escaping Ifrith ’s grip by a hair’s breadth, rolling smoothly across the floor.
A dagger flashed toward Ifrith ’s chest. Ifrith caught it easily between two fingers, not even flinching.
The assassin kicked backward hard, shattering part of the balcony railing behind them, and disappeared into the morning mist before anyone could react further.
"Stop!" Theon shouted, though the figure was already gone.
He rushed immediately to Lyra’s side instead, his heart pounding. She was unharmed.
Still sleeping soundly, completely unaware of what had just happened only a few feet away from her.
He exhaled in relief, his hands trembling slightly as he brushed her hair back from her face.
Ifrith stood by the broken balcony, his eyes burning with quiet fury.
"They escaped, Master."
Theon clenched his fists at his sides, anger rising to replace the fear.
"Why would someone attack us already? We only just woke up." Ifrith turned toward him, his expression grave.
" This is only the beginning, Master. Nothing more than that."
Theon’s expression darkened. "The nobles? Did one of them send that assassin?"
The Flame Lord Ifrith shook his head slowly.
"Most nobles will not act so directly against you. Not yet, at least."
"Why not?"
"Because if they are discovered, they will face the emperor’s wrath directly, and none of them are foolish enough to risk that so soon." Theon fell silent, processing that.
Then his eyes widened slightly as a thought occurred to him.
"If not the nobles, then who would even want me dead?"
Ifrith ’s gaze became cold, his voice quiet but certain.
"Some admire you, Master."
"Some fear you."
"Some wish to use you for their own purposes."
He paused, the flames around him flickering low.
"But the one who sent that assassin tonight."
"Is most likely one of your own siblings."
Theon froze completely, the words hitting him harder than he expected.
"My siblings? You cannot be serious."
Disbelief filled his voice, though beneath it, a small part of him was already afraid it might be true.
"Why would any of them want me dead? We grew up in the same palace."
Ifrith looked at him steadily, his eyes unflinching.
"Why would they not, Master?"
"You now possess power great enough to threaten the balance of the throne itself. To some of them, that alone is reason enough."
Theon stared at him, unable to find any words to answer with. And far above the palace, on the highest watchtower where the wind cut sharpest, a figure in a black hood lowered a silver spyglass slowly. Only the lower half of his face was visible beneath the hood, marked faintly with strange dark patterns along the jaw.
The wind tugged hard at the edges of their cloak.
The figure looked toward the direction of the Seventh Prince’s chamber and whispered, so quietly that only the wind could carry it.
"It is finally time."