Winter had blanketed Penumbria in pure white.

Thick layers of snow were settling over streets and buildings alike, mostly hiding the dark, sickly veins of Rot threading through the stone. It lent a fleeting purity to a city otherwise tainted. Not a month before, it had been a battlefield – and not a winter later, it would be once again.

For now, its citizens chose not to think of that. War would come knocking soon, they knew. But today...

Today was a day of quiet celebration. It was the first winter in their lives where they had enough food and coin to not question whether death would come for them. The drumbeats of war scared the people of Penumbria far less than the rumbling of their children's empty stomachs.

And as they marveled at finally being able to live semi-comfortably, one name passed between their lips in hushed, reverential whispers. They spoke of the man responsible for their winter of plenty. They spoke of the rebel Painter who'd challenged an Empire, slighted an Emperor, and emerged victorious all the same.

They spoke of the esteemed Lord Adam Arcanjo.

Who was currently struggling to stay conscious.

Panting heavily, Adam's Canvas began to stain as he exercised his Lord Talent. He felt his body nearly crack beneath the pressure, his False Father putting him through intense preparations for the next spring.

"How many Walls do you think a Realm has?" the once-Lord Aspreay demanded of his false son. "Tell me, brat!"

Adam 'Arcanjo' doubled over, hands on his knees, breath misting in sharp, shallow gasps. The cold air bit at his throat and lungs with each inhale.

He didn't bother voicing his feelings aloud, though. Adam was tired, aching, but that wasn't enough to stop practicing. Aspreay wouldn't have accepted it as an excuse – and neither would he.

Ciro and the Empire would come knocking soon. And the closest thing Penumbria had to nuclear deterrence was Adam himself.

His Talent of Painting was immensely powerful. It bypassed every magical protection afforded by a person's Rank, trapping their very soul inside a work of art. Unfortunately, it was also easily avoidable and required time to execute. Adam could hardly be expected to paint someone during a fight.

That one time against Eric was plenty.

Thankfully, he had more than just his Painting Talent now...or rather, he had more Talents because of his Painting. From Eric, he had stolen the Talent of Hanging, and from Aspreay, the Talent of a Lord.

Aspreay couldn't teach him about the former, but he was arguably the most skilled in the world when it came to the latter. Despite possessing a much weaker Rank, he'd managed to hold back the Dark Captain Valente in a duel to the death.

Had I been as skilled as Aspreay, Adam thought, my fight with Eric would've been much shorter. I could've defeated him during our Realm Clash instead of resorting to that desperate gamble with painting my own blood.

It wasn't just that, either. At the time, Adam hadn't been capable of reconstructing Penumbria's Walls from afar. If not for Aspreay, the city would've been destroyed by Emperor Ciro's surprise assault.

There was so, so very much to learn. The scope of it felt overwhelming.

So far I've been happy just creating static Walls that keep monsters out of the city. Adam clenched his fist. But that's not going to be enough. Not against what I'll be facing in the future.

He needed to reconstruct his Realm faster. Had he taken even just a second less, he would have defeated Eric with ease.

He needed to reconstruct his Realm more times. Had his Canvas allowed him one more attempt before his soul was forever stained, Eric wouldn't have come so close to killing him.

He needed to implement more precise Laws. Had he been able to force more restrictions on Eric, Adam could've sidestepped their frontal clash altogether.

So much to learn. Too much to learn.

And the only way out was forward.

It didn't matter how painful it would be. Let Aspreay mock him if he wanted. The man was a good teacher, albeit an aggravating one.

"I don't know," Adam told him, through grit teeth. "How many walls does a Realm have?"

Aspreay shook his head. "Remember that I did not give you Penumbria, brat – you wrested it from my fingers. This, among little else, is what grants you a speck of respect."

His eyes narrowed. "It is why you mustn't think that I'll give you anything for free. A good student doesn't merely listen; he steals from his teacher. Think! Try! Fail if you must! Only then shall I put you in your place."

Do you really have to make this so confrontational? Adam thought, biting his lip. The fact that an uncomfortably large part of him agreed with the man's logic only made him angrier. It was painful, unhealthy...yet he too thought this was the best way to learn.

Should really unpack that at some point.

Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before finally answering. "Realms have four walls. Any more than that and it's a ceiling, so if this is a trick question, that's on y–"

"Wrong." Aspreay shook his head, clicking his tongue in distaste. "Your substandard rate of progress is concerning. We don't have the time for you to catch up."

With a gasp, Adam barely found enough breath to speak. "Then stop dancing around it and just tell me!"

Aspreay's frown deepened. "We hardly have the time for that, either. It would take far too long for a brat like you to understand – your questions would rain down like a tempest, and be equally unpleasant."

The nobleman called upon his Talent of a Lord and ordered, "On your feet."

It wasn't the first time Adam's body had been strung upwards by nonexistent strings, forced to his feet once again, but there was no getting used to the sensation of becoming a macabre marionette. No matter how many times Aspreay compelled him to rise, he'd never get over that feeling of deep, sinking unease within his gut.

But where his bravery failed, his exhaustion thrived. Sometimes you're just too tired to feel scared of anything.

"Okay, cool – then what, you fucking arrogant dickhead?" Adam shouted.

Or too tired to care about filtering your words.

Adam knew there would be consequences for his outburst. He was also determined to keep talking until those mythical consequences caught up to him, and not a second sooner.

"The hell is your plan, even? If everything we've been doing is so fucking useless, why don't we just torch our entire city before the Emperor's troops–"

"Shut it, Painter."

His lips smacked together and held still, sealed with a magic stronger than Adam's own – technically. Aspreay's Rank was lower, but he'd reconstructed his Realm into a much smaller enclosure for the sake of training. Realms that had been shrunk and refined into smaller spaces were stronger compared to Realms that encompassed larger areas.

Adam could have overpowered him if he chose to reconstruct his own Realm into an equally small space. However, that would've both removed the protective Walls surrounding Penumbria and defeated the purpose of this exercise.

The Nobleman sauntered forward, his footsteps rhythmic and elegant despite their snowy surroundings. "Here's what we will do," Aspreay said, lifting one arm. "I shall drive this knowledge directly into your brain!"

"Hang on, the hell are you–"

"OPEN THE DOOR, NOW!"

Adam did not, for what he counted as at least four different reasons – the first of which being he hadn't the slightest clue what the hell that meant. He only realized Aspreay was speaking about a metaphorical door to his thoughts when the nobleman forcibly kicked it down and barged into his mind.

Outwardly, nothing changed. Inwardly...

'The Third Pillar of Noble Realms: Divine Knowledge,' Aspreay said, though his lips weren't moving. 'You should have experienced this when you escaped Emperor Ciro in the Capital. Have you forgotten already?'

He hadn't. Adam remembered how all three Pillars functioned. But while he could read the thoughts of people inside his constructed Realm, he'd never learned how to speak into their mind.

Since Aspreay can do it and I can't...must not be about Rank. Probably just a matter of practice. It was a reassuring notion. I just need to take my time–

Aspreay's voice exploded inside Adam's head like a shattered block of ice. 'The First Pillar of Noble Realms: Royal Orders. You're familiar with that, at least?'

You've been using them on me this whole time – hell, you've SEEN me use them, Adam thought bitterly.

He decided against saying it aloud. Yet in his exhaustion, he also forgot that Aspreay was reading his thoughts at that exact moment.

'Kneel, Painter.'

Adam fell, his knees, elbows and head meeting the snow's frozen bite. The Realm held him there, pressing his face into winter's bitter lesson.

Aspreay gave a haughty laugh and encircled the Painter with a look full of disdain. His next words he spoke with his actual voice. Somehow, that made them more infuriating than when they'd merely been inside Adam's head.

"Are you frustrated?" the Nobleman taunted. He marginally eased the restrictions placed on Adam...then enforced them again, driving him face-first onto the snow. "Humiliated? Angry? Is that it?"

The former Lord of Penumbria came closer and closer as he encircled Adam. "You obtained the power of a Hangman – the mightiest of fighting Talents in the world!" Aspreay sang the words, a malicious amusement dancing across his laughter. "Yet when it comes to Realms, you cannot even surpass a lower-Ranked lord than yourself. Does it hurt? Does it ache your pride – pride that had swollen oh so very much after besting your rival?"

Adam thought of his duel with Eric, and how ecstatic he'd been after finally defeating him. "I'm not frustrated," he grunted. "And I'm not a child. I know that when it comes to matters of importance, I should stay calm and collected."

"To the Dragons with that horseshit, Painter!" Aspreay bellowed. "Be furious, gods burn it!" His voice grew louder as his pace brought him closer to the kneeling painter, the man's footprints spiraling ever so closer. "Do not still your blood. Use it as motivation. Let it drive you – let it boil. Be yourself."

A disbelieving look crossed his face. "By the gods, whoever told you to stifle your own passions?"

"My father."

Silence dragged on. Aspreay's mouth slowly closed shut.

"He told me I was reacting too much," Adam admitted, in a lower voice than before. "Showing too much emotion. That it was...annoying."

The thought made resisting the Royal Order that much harder; Adam's chest had nearly collapsed onto the snow once again. "He always said that it was a bother to people. Better to be quiet and not cause any trouble."

There was a reason that Adam had felt zero compunctions about discarding his family name and assuming the name Arcanjo. He would've done so anyway, as become Aspreay's fake son was necessary to legitimize his position, but...

He wished the decision had felt more difficult than it was.

Aspreay didn't allow this uneasy recollection the kindness of silence. In fact, he didn't even respond to it at all. "Have you noticed, Painter? I've Reconstructed the Walls as I drew closer. Narrowing my Realm allows me to exert even more influence on you."

But then, Aspreay did comment on it, even if just slightly. "Don't listen to him. If anyone has an issue with your passion, that is their damned problem, not yours."

Adam knew he would curse himself for looking up expectantly at this, his eyes wide with the shocked confusion of a starving man unfamiliar with the sensation of his stomach's rumbling briefly ceasing. He knew he would regret expecting the former Miser Lord of Penumbria to give him a second filling.

Predictably, Aspreay didn't spare him any more encouraging words. Yet he did say, "Rise," rather than force it with a Royal Order.

Only once Adam was on his feet did the Nobleman continue. "There's too much for you to learn about how to use Realms effectively," he muttered, more of a complaint now. "It would take a lifetime that you do not have. Thus, we'll hasten the process. Care to guess how, Ad– Painter?"

"Considering your focus on the Pillars, something to do with that. Just not sure where you're going with it."

"Inside a Realm, a skilled enough Lord can make even nature bend the knee to his Royal Orders. People, objects, and reality itself will behave according to your rules."

Adam knew this, and also knew Aspreay didn't expect him to be that ignorant on the subject. Meaning you're setting up the stage for something...but what? His eyes narrowed with interest as he listened to the Nobleman speak.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"With the Third Pillar, Divine Knowledge, I have access to your mind. With the First Pillar, Royal Order, I can alter reality. Using those two Pillars, I shall carve decades of experience and expertise straight onto your brain."

Fear and caution surged within the Painter. He immediately leapt backwards through the soft snow, as if retreating from a burst of open flame.

"Something doesn't sound right," Adam said, with a wary tone. "If that's an option, why don't more people do it?"

Aspreay tossed his long hair over his shoulder and shrugged. "It's unnecessary, for one – and near useless, for another. You can only impart knowledge that you have. It's not as though you can teach someone how to use a Talent you do not possess."

"I'm not convinced. Look, I might not have been trained with Realms from childhood, but I've done my own tests. I know that the more reality-bending a Law is, the more likely it is to fail...and to have negative consequences."

While his experiments were quite recent, and hardly thorough, they had been enough to make him rightfully concerned.

During one such test, Adam had enacted a Law within his Realm that made it so every paintbrush in Penumbria would fly over to him. They'd all done so without much trouble.

But during another such test, when he'd asked for a specific bench on the streets to write poetry...it had disintegrated. It couldn't handle the shock of being commanded to perform an action it simply wasn't capable of.

The further away an Order was from feasible reality, the harsher the consequences would be. Even among those paintbrushes that flew to him, there were a few – likely the ones furthest away from Penumbria Manor – that had arrived half-broken.

"If you just shove all of that information into my skull, I'm going to..." Adam winced. "I don't know, end up like the Hangman who fought Solara?"

Aspreay shook his head and crossed his arms. "Have you forgotten, Painter? The Second Pillar of Noble Realms, Noble Guard."

Whilst inside his own Realm, a Lord was unkillable. Even Valente, the Dark Captain, could not kill someone under the protection of Noble Guard. Aspreay was proof of that. Well, more or less. Death, injuries, it was all undone – moreso than healing, it was almost like time travel, like the violence had never rained down on the lord.

It was a decent point. Still...

"You think I'll be safe because of that?" Adam asked hesitantly. "That the Second Pillar will heal the damage to my brain as it happens?"

"Most likely."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "Most likely?"

In response, Aspreay raised an eyebrow of his own. "Do you take me for a fortune teller, Painter? I cannot see the future."

Faster than Adam's complaints were his arms, frantically waving an objection as panic swept over him. "Wait, wait! You aren't sure this isn't going to kill me?"

"Oh, I would never dream of it, Painter." Aspreay's grin grew wide. "I am absolutely certain it is going to kill you. The overload of information will cook your brain like roast chicken over a hot fire, causing your body to malfunction immediately thereafter."

Adam gave him a blank stare. "Gotta confess, I'm really looking forward to seeing how you'll try to sell me on this one."

The Nobleman shook his head and made a show of a melodramatic, disappointed sigh. "Must your thinking always lag behind your griping? I know you're capable of intelligent thought, so please command your mouth to wait for your brain."

Aspreay's mockery left his face a moment later, replaced by a grave stare. "Noble Guard will bring you back to life – with a functional brain that retains the information it died learning."

"And again, I have to ask, are you sure?"

"If you don't learn how to use your Talent to its fullest extent, you'll die anyhow." There was no mockery in the Nobleman's words this time. He was only stating the truth as he saw it – and his sincerity made it sharper than any insult. "What's the difference?"

Worst of all, much as Adam hated to admit it...there was reason in Aspreay's madness. It wouldn't be the first time I've risked my life, and it won't be the last, he considered, finding some dark humor in the thought. Aspreay is reckless, hates me, and definitely doesn't respect me. But I also don't think he would suggest this if he truly believed I'd die.

He's been far more pleasant since–

Suddenly Aspreay rushed forward, his expression filled with an almost comical deadpan, an ethereal blue light about him, and the beginnings of a Royal Order in his throat.

"WAIT! I'M NOT READY! ASPREAY DON'T–"

–

For the seventh time that day, and the umpteenth time that month, Adam lost consciousness.

It wouldn't be the last. Nor would it end with that cold winter morning.

Aspreay and Adam continued practicing this way, with the former Lord of Penumbria teaching – no, stabbing – his knowledge through the reigning Lord's skull.

It was a seemingly endless cycle of working himself to exhaustion, feeling his brain torn apart, and then rebuilt by his Divine Knowledge.

In some ways, it reminded him of the hellish days he'd spent painstakingly and single-handedly creating hundreds of artworks for Aspreay, way back when he'd just arrived in the Painted World. Working under that ridiculous deadline...it might've been more exhausting that this torture he calls training.

And less rewarding as well. While Adam's art hadn't improved while under that torturous deadline, his current training with Aspreay was proving obnoxiously effective.

Adam could reconstruct his Realm much faster now. He was also able to reconstruct it without needing visual contact of the city – though he hadn't tested the range limits on that yet. Furthermore, he'd gotten better at reducing his Realm to a smaller size in order to improve its potency.

It's like...I'm painting a portrait, and I have enough ink for just ten brush strokes. If I shrink the canvas without changing the amount of ink I use, then the final painting is going to look fuller. More detailed.

The metaphor had emerged from his brain fully-formed after one of Aspreay's information torrents. As if he'd been thinking of it his whole life. Now that he could visualize the concept, putting it into action was relatively simple.

He could still only reconstruct his Realm two times per day. No change from the start. However, he was getting close to three, and the process didn't expend as much stamina as before. When dueling Eric, reconstructing twice had nearly killed Adam – now it didn't even tire him out, his Canvas staining less with the effort.

While the weeks were hard...he could feel progress being made.

An invigorating routine gradually formed. When each day's grueling training had ended, he'd first dedicate some time to working on his various paintings. When night came, he would then spend hours with Solara and Tenver, discussing matters both important and not.

It's kind of crazy how much easier everything feels when you're not alone, Adam mused.

Another thought snuck up on him – Wait, why am I thinking about all of that now? What was I doing?

Slowly, he became aware of the white wintery sky above. His body was sinking into the cold snow as Aspreay's sharp demands drifted to him, distant and hollow.

"Guess I passed out again. Man, this feels weird as hell."

Adam felt the city's Realm dissipate under the tangled web of restrictions he'd weaved. His own soul suffered the brunt of the failure, agony reverberating through every inch of his fading self.

Yet it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. Gun to his head, Adam would more likely describe it as...satisfying, if anything.

Who knew working yourself to physical exhaustion could feel so refreshing?

"Rise."

Although Aspreay's forced reawakening did put a damper on his satisfaction.

Adam chose not to fight the Nobleman's commands this time, letting the Realm pull at his body's invisible strings once more. At least his Canvas was partially cleansed after his unintentional nap.

Why can't Noble Guard fix my Canvas too? Everything would be so much easier if it could.

"Because your Canvas is what enables your Realm to work," Aspreay dryly answered, as if he could read Adam's mind. 'I can. We have been over this.' Oh yeah. "Rest is a luxury we cannot afford, Painter. Are you truly that much of a spoiled brat?"

"Why, former Lord Aspreay, haven't you heard?" Adam stumbled to his feet, glaring at the other lord. "Go to any tavern, listen to any bard, and they'll sing the same song. Legend has it that I'm the son of a vain, spoiled prick."

Aspreay matched his glare. "That people think of you as my son is precisely why you cannot afford to be so wholly incompetent. Winter won't last forever, and if you don't master your Realms in time..."

The Nobleman gave a dark laugh and gestured at his – at their – city. "Then, come spring, snow will not be the only thing destined to melt and fade."

Many counterarguments sprang to mind. Adam could've pointed out that he was good at using his Realm, much better than most other living lords in the world, and that he'd achieved this level of excellence rather quickly too. He could also have argued that it was unfair for Aspreay to hold himself as the standard when he was arguably the most skilled Lord in recent history, his Rank be damned.

WIth a grumble, Adam chose not to use any of them.

He knew why Aspreay was being so hard on him. Their time was limited, and any explanation for Adam's shortcomings, justified or not, amounted to little more than excuses. They had good reason for resorting to this borderline murderous training method.

Ciro, the Emperor of the World, would likely invade Penumbria as soon as the snow melted.

They had to be ready by then.

Which was why the two men were working on his Realm Reconstruction even the morning before meeting with the other Frontier Lords. Just some mild brain damage before an important political discussion – nothing unusual.

"One more time," Adam said through grit teeth. "I can Reconstruct one more–"

"Take a bath first, mongrel." Aspreay shook his head in disgust. "You will not meet with the Frontier Lords in that state. So long as you pretend to be my son, I won't allow you to shame me."

Adam frowned, stepping forward with an air of determination. "I can keep going," he insisted, holding a firm gaze. "I feel so close. Like I'm standing before an unlocked door."

"Progress is a staircase, not a door, Painter. If you're an artist, then you must surely know this."

"I do know, but..."

Adam shook his head. "That's exactly why I want to keep going! It's like I'm just about to climb another step. Let's give this one last try before calling it a day."

Aspreay raised an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten already, Painter? You're inside my Realm right now – it's how you're able to freely practice your own Realm without endangering Penumbria to the Rotten monsters outside. Until you have rested enough to retake the Walls, this city is mine."

"What...what about that?" Adam barked out defensively. He immediately felt his body tense. "Are you threatening Penumbria?"

It was a known risk he'd taken when beginning this training; that Aspreay could threaten much with little reprisal. Adam had found it a more palpable choice than the alternative, but still... "Aspreay, are you saying you'll remove the Walls around the city if–"

"No." The Second Lord of Penumbria shook his head and sighed. "To the Dragons with your paranoia, Painter. Use that energy to focus on your learning – do you know how many Walls a Realm has yet?"

Adam opened his mouth to respond, but Aspreay held his hand to stop him. "Speak less and listen more. I neither threaten you, nor do I code my words. My intent is much simpler than your inane theories. Penumbria will welcome foreign lords, and you need to look presentable. Meaning..."

Aspreay closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "GO TAKE A BLOODY BATH, YOU DIRTY PEASANT!"

The Order propelled Adam upward and forward, the manor shifting around him, bricks bending with a silent grace. Entire hallways were rearranged seamlessly, forming a perfect path as Adam spun in the air, the walls moving to guide his flight.

Until he landed, dazed, in his bath, cold water splashing.

"It's five Walls – you count the ceiling as a wall," Adam muttered, sighing as he sank deep into the water.