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THWACK

Daniel hit the ground hard, his left shoulder absorbed the shock, again... He could recognize the ferrous taste of blood in his mouth, accompanied by the sharp pain in his jaw. Training weapon or not, this hurt like hell and Sergeant Maxwell the arms masters did not hold his strikes.

"Taking a nap, Young Master? The lesson is far from over," said the grizzled veteran. Long past sixty years old, Aldus Maxwell could still hold his own against some of the most talented young knights a third his age. It didn't help, of course, that Daniel was as far from a talented young knight as could be conceived. His opponent, a barrel chested man with white hair and mutton chops, a good head shorter than him but built like a dwarf, he was only wearing some pants and boots, countless scars visible on his bare torso. A bulky, wooden sword resting on his shoulder, the runes covering it were supposed to transfer the impact of the strikes without risk of serious injuries, Daniel would really like to have a word with whoever designed them...

"Just catching my breath..." replied the young boy. Using his own sword as a support, he got himself off the ground. Daniel wasn't a knight, he wasn't built to be one. He was tall but with a rather skinny body, his skin was usually pale both from his natural complexion and the time he spent studying inside the library, but under the sweat mixed dirt the red of sunburns was still visible. He had a sharp face that most would describe as unremarkable if it wasn't for two things, his eyes were of a deep purple color and his hair was silvery grey. He was clean shaved, his efforts to grow a beard or mustache had been less than successful.

"Let's go again!" he declared, raising his sword in the best approximation of a defensive guard as he could manage through the protestations of his battered arms. Once again he cursed under his breath, raging at his lack of strength and stamina. He never had been one to love exercise and the endless laps around the training square, push ups or sword strikes that passed as warm up for normal [Knights] left him almost exhausted before the sparring could even start.

The exchange was short and not sustained. The two blades clashed, which technically counted as him blocking or parrying an attack, but of course before he could recover from the impact and move his sword, the one wielded by the old soldier flew in a swift flurry that hit the young man on the right side of his ribcage, reminding him of the many bruises and possibly cracked ribs that were there.

The pain made him wince and almost drop his sword, the bruised wrist that was hit each time he had done so was enough motivation to hold on it for his life.

"That's better! Not really good, but at least you didn't drop it or hit the ground this time," laughed the sword instructor.

They had been going at it for more than one hour, Daniel attacking and getting beaten by the riposte, Daniel defending and getting beaten or disarmed in a few moves. It had taken him an insane amount of determination to continue and really try so long, but a short break was long overdue and the time he spent on the ground didn't count as rest.

"Can we take a break? I need some water," asked Daniel. His throat felt as dry as the dirt of the sparring ring and he really wanted to get the taste of dirt and blood off his tongue.

"Five minutes, have Phineas take a look at your jaw," conceded his tormentor.

As he gulped down the tankard of water he filled from a wooden barrel, Daniel instantly regretted it. His body hurt so much that he had barely felt the broken molar until the cold water touched it. He wondered how Maxwell had noticed something like that when he didn't even feel it himself.

Phineas was waiting for him, wearing worn blue robes, his bald head shining under the bright sun. He put a hand on Daniel's cheek and holding a silver amulet in the other he sung a short litany. With a glow of green light the broken tooth fused itself whole and the bruise on his face disappeared. Sadly the divine blessing didn't extend to the rest of his body, it wasn't worthwhile to heal anything that wasn't life-threatening, debilitating or with risk of long-term sequels in the middle of the training. So while he was fully healed every day, he suffered all through the morning.

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"Thank you Phineas," he said to the old priest.

"The Goddess provides to those that seek her help," he replied. The priest barely ever spoke anything that wasn't some rather generic or cryptic theological mutterings. He still was a rather good healer.

Daniel got a few more gulps of water, now pain free. Sitting down with his back against the barrel he tried to concentrate on anything else than the two more hours of this ordeal he had to suffer before lunch and finally having his afternoon to himself. He was a scholar, not a fighter and while he didn't lack in willpower he simply did not have the physical capacity to perform well in this field.

He was about to get back in the ring when he saw a guard walking toward them, he waited for an instant to see what he wanted.

"Young Master, the Duke wants to see you in his study, I have to escort you there," he said.

"Well if that is so... Phineas if you please? Let's not make my father wait," said Daniel. The old priest raised both hands to the sky and launched into a long prayer in a dead language, healing magic is not all sunshine and rainbows, it removed the pain and injuries once it was done, but the process was far from pleasant. With so many small injuries Daniel felt as if he was bathing in sea water after a tumble in a thorn bush, but after a few endless seconds he was clean, healed and pain-free.

He then followed the guard to meet his father. Tankred Armitage, Duke of Westmere and son of the late Henry Armitage, Emperor of Allavria and younger brother of Edward Armitage the current Emperor.

Daniel Armitage was the fourth son and seventh child of the family and was generally considered to be a disgrace to the imperial bloodline. His mother had fallen ill not long before his birth and died soon after, the disease was unknown and magical in nature, he barely survived his first years as a sickly child. The condition affected him to this day, born with mage sight due to his purple eyes as all others of his bloodline and a really high intelligence he was cursed with a really low mana pool despite a really high mana regeneration. This had prevented him from unlocking the [Mage] class during his coming of age ceremony. His inability to cast anything beyond the most simple spells had not counterbalanced his perfect grades in magic theory or runic studies, the class of [Arcane Scholar] was the best he could unlock, his illness having made him unable train the strength necessary for a fighter class such as [Knight] a favorite of the aristocracy.

At least the seizures had stopped, his last episode was from more than two years ago, before getting his [mage apprentice] class and joining the academy in the capital of Tellavria.

Daniel thought about the first time he had met his father. It had been after one stroke, that last stroke, two years ago. He couldn't forget two things about his progenitor this day: the look of disappointment from seeing that he wasn't dead and the scary amount of power seeping from his father's body. How could that be the first time he met his father? Well, the thing was that the last stroke, it had actually killed one Daniel Armitage.

One universe away, Daniel Armitage 25 years old, a nerdy gamer stuck in a stupid clerical job, was on his way to attend Dragon Con for the first time. He had a few days off and had saved for the plane tickets and hotel. Sadly as he was crossing the street, ticket in hand, to get to the geeky convention a large truck ran a red light and would have probably killed him...

If he had not been struck by lightning and killed instantly before the impact...

This is the point where according to all tropes he should have met a god or goddess giving him cheat powers and telling him that he was the chosen one who would kill the Demon Lord and his hordes of evil...

He wasn't so lucky, there was no welcome nor explanation, no gifts nor prophecy, just weeks in the dark, stuck inside a mind that wasn't his while the memories of his namesake melded with his own. That and the first thing his new father told him, when he woke up in this new body from a coma that killed his real son:

"You can't even die properly."

It was almost a trope, he was even the son of the second wife, made main wife after his father fell madly in love with her. His mother, Alvira Armitage born Steinwell, was a powerful [battle mage] of immense power, that his father met during a war and that he brought home afterwards. His marriage with a woman of lesser nobility, him making her his main wife rather than second one, the rumors that they had been intimate before his return, all of this had scandalized the court in its time. But he loved her, more than anything, so when two years later she died in childbirth, with only the flawed child whose birth killed her as a reminder of his soul mate, Tankred could only feel disdain for his new son.

Daniel had older and younger siblings, all more talented than him in some of the ways that were of importance to the nobility. His brother James was a captain leading a whole bataillon of [imperial Knights]. His sister Margaret was on her way to become one of the youngest human [Archmage] that people could remember.

In this empire nobility was power, the first Emperor was a hero that had ascended to godhood on his deathbed after unifying dozens of kingdoms which were at war with each other for centuries. The nobles engaged in some sort of breeding program to keep the bloodlines not pure, but producing the strongest and most powerful. And he was weak and pathetic, he owed his life only to his name. Being of the imperial family, descended from a god (an interesting theological conundrum since the first Emperor had all of his children long before reaching the Gods Court.) it was not an option to simply dispose of him like it would have been done if he was a noble of lesser birth.

He wasn't treated with favors, but he would be fed, clothed, housed and addressed according to his rank, nothing more. And of course healed if he was sick or injured, letting your child die when you can prevent it was dishonorable in the imperial family, no matter how disgraceful the child.

Lost in his thoughts he had finally reached the massive oak doors of the study and the guard pushed them open for him. He shuddered as he entered.