i supress my anger and reply

"As thou wish, Grandmother," I replied with a bow of my head, all while thinking, 'Sure, why not? Send the sacrificial lamb to the wolves. I’m sure it’ll be fine. What’s a little public humiliation compared to our family’s honor, right?'

Dinner wrapped up shortly after that, and I was more than ready to escape back to my room. As I walked through the dimly lit corridors, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself.

'So, I’m the one they’re sending to the royal capital, huh? To be mocked and ridiculed by every noble in attendance, all so Eric can maintain his shiny image. Guess it’s a good thing I’ve got thick skin.'

And with that comforting thought, I retired to my room, ready to face whatever tomorrow decided to throw at me. Because in this world, if you can’t laugh at your own misfortune, you’re probably crying.

I sat in my room, polishing my sword, which, by the way, is about the only thing in this world that I actually enjoy. The blade glinted in the candlelight, each stroke of the cloth reminding me that this piece of steel might very well be the only thing standing between me and an untimely demise at the princess’s birthday bash.

Ah, the royal capital. A place where nobles gather to flaunt their wealth, power, and refined tastes—none of which, incidentally, my family currently possesses. But hey, who wouldn’t want to attend a party where your very existence is a punchline?

I can already see it: me, standing there with the rest of the nobility, while all the noble ladies whisper behind their fans about the "poor Blackwood boy" who dared to show his face. And let’s not forget the delightful possibility that one of the glory-seeking hot blood

noble might decide to challenge me to a duel. Because, in this world, nothing says "good looking " like running someone through with a sword over a minor insult.

And if that happens, I’m pretty sure the court would give the guy a medal instead of a trial. "Oh, he was a Blackwood? Well, that’s understandable, then. Poor chap was practically begging for it."

Wonderful. Just another thing to look forward to.

Before I could indulge further in these delightful thoughts of my impending doom, a knock sounded at my door. Enter the old butler, as if on cue, looking as if he’d just stepped out of a painting from a century ago.

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"Master Nathaniel," he intoned in that dignified way of his, "it is time for thy sword lessons."

Sword lessons, right. Because what better way to prepare for a public execution than to spend an hour getting beaten up by my instructor?

"Of course," I replied, all politeness on the outside, while on the inside, I was thinking, 'Oh, joy. Just what I needed—an opportunity to confirm my mediocrity in a controlled environment.'

I followed the old butler out of my room and through the winding halls of the manor, trying to keep my mind from wandering back to the circus—sorry, the birthday party—that awaited me in the capital.

untill i suddenly stoped and looked down to my yesterday cleaned shoes...oh former cleaned shoes because they are covered with horse waste again

for the fifth time this week....

"DAMMIT!"

after cleaning my shoes (and getting laughed at by some maides) i haded back to the trainning area.

The training area was, as always, a testament to our family’s glorious past and equally glorious decline. The building was well-constructed—once upon a time. Now, it was full of cracks, the kind that whispered, *We were great once, and now we’re just holding on.*

I looked around, noting the faded banners, the dust settling in the corners, and the cobwebs that had taken up residence in the rafters. Yeah, this is definitely the place to hone my skills as a swordsman. I mean, who needs a shiny new training ground when you can have a dilapidated one that doubles as a haunted house?

Eric, of course, never set foot in this place. His weapon of choice was the spear, and his training ground was as immaculate as his reputation. But me? No, I get the sword and this charming slice of history that looks like it’s one strong gust of wind away from collapsing.

'At least if it falls on me, I’ll have a decent excuse to skip the birthday party.'

As I began my warm-up, I couldn’t help but think back to what Old Althus once told me during one of our many conversations. He was a wizard of sorts, and his knowledge of cultivation was extensive, if a bit dry.

"Novices," he had said in his usual scholarly tone, "art the most common of cultivators. They possess basic physical enhancements and minor control over elemental forces. It is but the first step on a long journey. One in a thousand common folk may become one, though the odds art better among the nobility. Still, to be a Novice is no small feat."

I could still see the old wizard’s face, lined with age and wisdom, as he continued, "In Albion, there art only about 10,000 Novices. But if thou workest hard enough, about half of them will advance to the level of Apprentice. Tis the way of things."

Ah yes, the prospect of being one of 10,000 hopefuls trying not to die before making it to the next level. Truly inspiring.

Returning to the present, I couldn’t help but let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. Here I was, a Novice—a big deal, apparently. Yet, I couldn’t even manage to produce a decent sharp aura on my sword, something every Novice should be able to do.

But hey, I only became one recently. 'Maybe if I swing it around enough times, the sword will get the hint and do what I want. Or maybe it’ll just break in half, and then I’ll have an excuse to go back to bed.'

Still, I went through the motions, trying and failing to summon the aura that eluded me. It wasn’t for lack of effort—more like a lack of whatever magical spark other Novices seemed to have. But no big deal, right? It’s not like I’m planning on dueling anyone to the death soon. Oh, wait…

Just as I was preparing to fail at my next attempt, the old butler reappeared, looking as composed as ever. "Master Nathaniel, thy grandmother requests thy presence."

Oh, wonderful.

"Of course," I replied, as polite as ever. But inside, I was thinking, 'What now? Maybe she’s finally decided to send me to a monastery so I can spend the rest of my days in quiet reflection. Or maybe she just wants to remind me that Eric is better than me at everything. Either way, this should be a blast.'

I followed the old butler, my mind already racing with all the ways this could go wrong.