Florian found himself in the woods, where he usually played with the children.
The sky was twilight, as though it hesitated to decide between night and daylight. The shadow got long and hard, and the eerie haze shrouded the woods. The cold air tingled his skin, and shivers ran up his spine, raising his body hair. The damp, woody, and somehow smoky smell spoiled his nostrils. The rough, muddy ground sunk the soles of his feet.
It felt so real. Everything just felt so real.
“T—this.”
As he tried to process the situation and surroundings, the smell of fresh blood, like wet rusty iron, gusted under his nose, and that was followed by a crisp sound that startled him.
“Brother…”
The voice was weak and soft and sounded rather familiar to him. Within a moment, a figure of a brunette-haired young girl slowly appeared in front of him, with one foot cut off, eyes set on the ground, and torn clothes stained with blood and dirt. She looked exactly the same as when she died in Florian’s arms.
Yes, it was her, Lita. The little girl Florian had taken care of since she was only nine months.
But another instantly recognizable voice resumed.
“You left us.” Kieran suddenly appeared next to her, with a bleeding head and hollow eyes. His face was dark beneath the shadow of his hair.
“You could’ve at least saved me if you didn’t go near the portal,” came from a dark-haired boy in his broken wheelchair.
“But you survive…why only you…” Lita crooned, then looked up: Her face looked hollow and soulless, and her eyes... Florian couldn’t even tell if she really was the cheerful little girl he used to know.
Dark cloud swirled in Florian’s heart, gnawing at him like the power he buried deep, running rampant through his head, ransacking his last memories about the last incident to play again.
“No…” Florian staggered backward. “I – I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so, sorry.” He felt like someone was choking him, making it hard to breathe and speak.
“You survive,” Zed voiced, his cold voice hitting his ears like an ice blade. “Why are you the only one alive?”
“You could’ve saved us if you didn’t go,” Kieran resumed.
“You got a power you are not supposed to get,” came suddenly from Rebecca, whose body had been torn apart, barely standing with such a body in front of Florian.
“You live a very good life now, and I’m jealous, brother Ian,” Lita said.
Her voice was the last that echoed in his ear before the bright light blinded his vision, turning everything into serenity.
It was a dream, and what a relief.
“Rise and shine, Your Highness,” greeted Shaun as he beamingly and innocently opened the curtain, letting the sun blind Florian’s eyes.
The King had decided to keep Shaun as Florian’s butler.
Florian growled, and his face turned sour. A sourness that was terrible and not pleasant. The dream and the morning greetings Shaun gave—both were the reason.
Groaning, Florian pulled his blanket to cover his face, but the unstoppable thought about his usual task: doing laundry, gardening, cleaning the house, and even his work at the Stanfield house, crossed his mind. With that, Florian jolted himself up, still half-awake but his eyes opened wide in shock at the realization of the luxurious room he woke up in.
“Your Highness?” Shaun called again, and Florian slowly turned and blinked at him.
Right, I have become a prince in one night, Florian repeated as he tried to restore the last memories about how he ended up being the son of the most important man in Arcsvere.
“You are sweating so bad, Your Highness. Should I change the water temperature in the bath?” asked Shaun casually, while Florian was still trying to restore his soul and sense back into his body.
“Your Highness?” Shaun prompted; his voice even sounded concerned. He then attempted to examine Florian, who was sweating and even a bit panting as though he had finished running in the field. But why does his face look like he’s just seen a ghost? Shaun failed to find out the reason.
“I—” Florian closed his mouth again. “I prefer to have a cold shower,” he said finally. “A really cold one.”
He needed to fully wake up.
***
In the same dining room where he had dinner last night, Florian had seated himself on the side he found most comfortable: at the head of the table, yet across from where his father sat at the dinner last night.
With a simple but luxurious breakfast served on the table, he gracefully enjoyed it, at least to ameliorate his dismal morning. The others: the Princes, Princess, the King, and the Queen Consort, had their breakfast at separate spots. Could be in the pavilion, garden, in their room, or not having breakfast. He cared nothing about them anyhow.
This feels much better because all the food is for me, Florian said internally as he devoured the whole sausage into his mouth, with a big, happy smile spreading on his face afterward.
When living with his previous family, he could only get one egg and a slice of bread and bacon or ham only for a special occasion or when he got his first salary from the Stanfield household.
But now his life had changed, and so did his diet.
“Your Highness, would you perhaps read today’s Daily Dispatch?” Shaun offered him a newspaper, the iconic newspaper in the capital city of Sverale: The Daily Dispatch.
With a half-bagel blanketed with cream cheese and sliced cucumber in his right hand, Florian stoically received the newspaper and read it. The first page of the Daily Dispatch was definitely about the sudden appearance of the fifth Prince. A whole page of the newspaper filled with articles about him. But he only read the titles of the contents.
[After The Painstaking 13 Years of Searching, The Lost Prince showed himself with a Spectacular Arrival!]
[Will His Presence Affect the Competition for The Future Crown Prince’s Position Between the First and Second Princes?]
[The fifth Prince is Confirmed to be a New Young Sorcerer in The Royal Family.]
[Will the Fifth Prince Try to Aim for the Position of Our Future Crown Prince?]
“Holly shi—” Florian choked on his food.
Competition of the future Crown Prince? Aiming for the Crown Prince position?
“What rubbish are these?!” Florian gasped, his face darkened, then dropped the bagel from his hand so he could hold the newspaper with both hands.
Grimacing, he disdainfully read the article with the stupidest title.
[Will His Presence Affect the Competition for The Future Crown Prince’s Position Between the First and Second Princes?]
The cold competition between Prince Cyrus and Prince Charles is obvious in gaining the position of the future Crown Prince. As we all know, the two talented brothers are different in some aspects while exceeding the criteria of the future Crown Prince with their own flair. But the sudden appearance of the young Sorcerer Prince can possibly take part in the competition.
And what could be the reason?
The Hidden Prince is confirmed to be the son of HRM, the Queen of Arcsvere.
The day when our Queen disappeared was just a week before the summer festival. Of course, we all still remember the most mournful days thirteen years ago, as it was a complete uproar during the two years that followed.
Much to the delight and surprise of Cameron Orlov, who was the Patriarch of House Orlov and also known as the mentor of the Queen during her teens, shared his testimony about the Hidden Prince.
“As we all know, Queen Flora wasn’t just a definition of beauty; she was also one of the greatest swordsmen in our country. And when her son entered the throne hall, I immediately learned he must be Her Royal Majesty Queen Flora’s son. Because, oh God Raven! Her beauty is definitely passed on to her son. I’m so delighted and lucky I was in the throne hall to see his remarkable arrival, with magical flowers and stuff. And after knowing our fifth prince is confirmed to be a sorcerer, I believe he will be the next strongest hybrid after his father. I really am looking forward to seeing his talent, since I’ve put my hope on him to be as great as our Queen and King.”
…
…
By the Witty Budgerigar
The Daily Dispatch on Sunday, 11 March 1318
Florian huffed a disbelief chuckle. Revulsion and fury rose in him like vomit; he threw the newspaper to the floor, unwilling to read more of the nonsense content, except for the news writer Florian had engraved in his mind.
Aiming the position of the Crown Prince? Absolutely NO.
“I wish I could take back the minutes I spent reading that content,” sighed Florian. “It’s all rubbish, Shaun,” he grumbled as he glimpsed the newspaper that Shaun had picked up, then saw the picture of him being embraced by the King on the first page of the newspaper. Florian scoffed and rolled his eyes, ease mingling with a sense of humiliation.
“The Witty Budgerigar tends to write something that heats up the fire,” uttered Shaun, folding back the newspaper.
“Oh, I hope they have enough oil—enough to burn their typewriter at once,” Florian scoffed before draining down his peach juice in a few big gulps.
“I believe they do,” Shaun answered with a slight smile, and Florian could only roll his eyes in response.
How foolish himself for thinking his morning would go smoothly, according to plan, and then stealthily leveling up in the academy with a life that was not too flashy. So far, however, his desires and plans seemed to be slowly fading, and he could see them waving away to take their leave.
Nothing in my life works smoothly. Florian let loose a sigh to relieve himself, then stood and fixed the hem of his simple coat that fit his good posture handsomely. He had a plan outside the palace, so he needed to dress finely like what prince should do.
“Let’s go.”
Florian left the dining room to head for the carriage prepared for him, and the Magic Institute was the first destination. Dain, the King’s aide, had made an appointment for him in order to check his mana core before he started his first day in the academy the next day.
Passing by people, Florian didn't lower his gaze anymore, but those who passed him would be the ones to bow instead. Although Florian wasn’t sure how a prince should behave, in the eyes of the people, he naturally looked like one. His father, the King, had also told him to learn and adapt slowly, but Florian, in fact, had surprisingly received a decent education and etiquette since he was young—all thanks to Locke and Rebecca. Plus, he always dreamed of having a rich and easy life, so he could easily adapt and become one.
I guess I was naturally born to be rich, he thought, with a little smile that one could tell he was thinking of something mischievous.
“May the glory shine upon Arcsvere. Good morning, Your Royal Highness, Prince Florian,” greeted the two sorcerers as Florian just descended from the carriage. They bowed ninety degrees, but their greetings seemed to be a little too much, and Florian even had to hold back his cringe look.
“Morning,” Florian returned softly, a smile curving his lips—the gentle smile he often showed when Felix’s parents were around.
The two sorcerers’ faces turned bright, and then the blond-haired one said, “We are royal sorcerers. I’m Juna, and this is Willem. And we will escort you to the Maneuxler room.” He gave another slight nod. “So, please do follow us, your highness.”
Florian responded with the tiniest nod and followed where the two sorcerers led him.
On his way to the Maneuxler room, Florian passed many royal sorcerers who greeted them with stiff bows and curious glances and whispers. It wasn’t strange anymore to hear such whispers. However, it’s a different case when he spotted several royal sorcerers holding newspapers in their hands while glancing at him. Florian’s face immediately turned grim, especially after recalling the absurd news reported in that newspaper.
His good mood just poofed—it’s gone.
If only he could meet the reporters who called themselves the Witty Budgerigar, the feeling to strangle their neck would rise intolerably, or to blast them with hot water magic and hide them in a dungeon wouldn’t be that bad either.
“Your Highness?” Juna called out, then roved his eyes over Florian—a bit horrified as he noticed how Florian smiled defiantly while furrowing his dark brows.
Florian set aside his wicked thoughts and quickly changed his expression. “Yes?”
“Ahem. Well, we will leave you here with Professor Opassar, and you shall enter the room,” said the dark-haired sorcerer, Willem, then pointed to the man in the room, who flashed a nod and a smile when he regarded Florian’s eyes.
“Thank you.” Florian passed him a short smile and entered the room. Shaun did not escort him inside either, so he was alone with Professor Opassar.
“Good morning, Your Highness. My name is Irus Opassar, and I’m the vice Minister of Royal Sorcerer—but I’d love to be called Professor Opassar. It’s such an honor to assist you today.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Usually, a Mana Inspector would be responsible for checking the sorcerer’s mana core, not the Vice Minister of Royal Sorcerer, who had a high rank in the Magic Institute.
But Florian was a royal. So everything needed a bit extra and exclusive.
Opassar sketched a bow full of politeness. No pin of his rank was attached to his dark robe, but Florian got the answer from the intangible screen.
[Special Identification lv.1]
Name
Irus Opassar
Race
Human
Rank
Grand III
HP
4500/4500
MP
6090/6200
Oh, he is the real deal. Florian cleared his mind and put on a graceful smile. “Nice to meet you, Professor Opassar.”
“I’ve heard that you are such a fine-looking boy, so it is true,” complimented Opassar, his gravelly voice just fitting his middle-aged figure. Florian once thought that a Grand sorcerer would be a white-haired old wizard with a long beard, but Opassar didn’t even look like he had passed the age of forty yet.
“I just hope you heard it through decent news and not the rubbish that spread on the mere paper, professor,” Florian replied, his glib tongue in action, and Opassar burst into laughter.
“I see—you have quite an interesting character, Your Highness, and I will look forward to your achievement in sorcery,” Opassar remarked, with brows hiking. “I’m also teaching defensive sorcery: Sorcery Combat in the Groundlush Academy.”
Florian lifted his brows a fraction of an inch but replied nothing as Opassar guided him upon the Maneuxler orb placed atop a silver hold on the wooden counter. The orb was around thirty centimeters in diameter, made from some sort of rare jade stone, and the color was light green, mixed with some gold and silver.
He climbed the two steps and stood in front of the Maneuxler.
“I just need to transfer my mana?”
Opassar nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Florian stretched out one hand and began to send his mana toward the Maneuxler, and the orb glowed as it began to absorb it.
“Golden,” Opassar muttered very quietly, “Royals.”
After Florian transferred his mana, the Maneuxler shone and slowly darkened, determining the color of Florian’s mana core. Usually, the orb didn’t take a minute to settle at a certain color. But this was new: a minute had passed, and the orb didn’t even stop darkening.
Opassar began to let a low groan, watching the orb reach the red shade without even stopping from getting darker.
With three minutes in total—perhaps the longest in the history of a Maneuxler to check someone’s mana core—the orb stopped at black. Completely black. Pitch black that not even light could illuminate.
“Huh?”
“Huh…?”
Both Opassar and Florian were confused.
Exchanging a glance, Opassar strode over him, his fingers stroking his short beard. “Your Highness, have you perhaps never used your magic before? I mean, have you tried casting magic before?” Opassar squinted his eyes, indicating his confusion and curiosity.
Florian could feel sweat dampening his spine. He didn’t even pay attention to Opassar’s questions. What’s going on? Why is it black? Maybe broken? He stiffly drifted his gaze to the orb and inwardly said, Lock dark mana.
[Locking Dark Mana...]
[Dark Mana is temporarily locked]
An awkward silence remained in the Maneuxler room. Opassar stared at Florian uncomfortably as he appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression. “Your Highness, you don’t happen just awakened your magic power not long ago, don’t you?” he asked, inhaling unsteady breath.
The weakest mana core before the red shade was either brown or black, and black was the earliest, the weakest one that young sorcerers could have when their magic power had just awakened. But it was even scarce for someone who had awakened their magical power to have black as their mana core color.
Moreover, the black color of Florian’s mana core was far from ordinary. It was even Opassar’s first time witnessing such a dark mana core color.
Florian cleared his throat, his eyes still on the Maneuxler that didn’t change its color. “Well, actually…” He cut his eyes back to Opassar, and pressed his lips. No, I’ve awakened my magic power since I was four or younger. But Locke and Rebecca had strictly told him not to tell people when he awakened his magic power, and he kind of understood the reason.
Opassar let out a deep, low groan as he inspected the pitch-black Maneuxler orb again.
“This is far from the shade of red, not even brown.” Opassar had his forehead creased, his head slightly shaking in the process. “Do you perhaps know any spell?” He turned to Florian again. “The simple one, maybe, like elemental magic or levitation magic?”
A spark of chaos happened in Florian’s mind as Opassar asked him to use magic, which was required to use runes spells and magic circles. But when it came to casting magic circles and runes spells, Florian had nothing in mind except—
“Fire,” Florian pointed out, his voice rapidly changed. “I know the runes spell to create fire.”
Opassar raised his brows, and an approval smile curved his lips. “Then, please create a fire magic so I can confirm your rank again.” Despite his friendly tone, Florian could tell if Opassar tried to cover up both his shock and disappointment at the fact that Mugler III would become his rank.
Florian drew in a long breath, recalibrating, his fingers tapping against his thighs. It had been quite a while since the last time he cast magic with the actual method: using runes and magic circles, because the system had been too helpful for him in creating magic. Of course, he didn’t completely forget all the runes and spells he had sneakily learned through Felix, especially fire—the element he loved the most because of his personal interest in burning something.
Focus, Florian told himself before stretching his hands forward. Then, a mane magic circle finally and slowly formed – the runes inscribed on it – of course, it was slow and lame – and nearly a minute later, a small size of fire blazing in the air. He did his best, but the fire was far from the best. Not even better than the first blazing fire he cast on the giant baby spider.
It was weak. Very weak. And Florian could feel it so well.
‘You should show him the great fire orb or arrow you created last time, Florian.’
He ignored the comment of the fire spirit because he had decided to hide the system and the fact that he could cast element magic without creating—the pain in the ass—magic circle.
Opassar drew in a complicated breath. “It is great, Your Highness,” he complimented through his stiff smile. “You can learn more and strengthen your magic in the academy. We are sorcerers, and mana could grow. Therefore, don’t be disappointed, Your Highness.” Perhaps he tried to do his best to cheer up the young prince.
Florian forced his lips to smile as though he was satisfied and proud of the small and weak fire he created. “Thank you, Professor.”
Opassar’s nod was forced. “I will send the test result and the pin of your rank to the palace today,” he told him, urging his lips to form another smile.
Florian secretly rolled his eyes, swallowed back his sigh, and wore a gentle smile on his face, for one last time. “Oh. Much obliged,” replied him, sounding so pleased. “And are we done here, Professor?”
“Indeed, we are, Your Highness,” Opassar said, leading Florian toward the door, “It’s your second day in the country—do you have plans for the following day?”
“Oh. Yes, I do. Then, I shall excuse myself, Professor.” Florian cast a simple nod and turned away to head outside, refusing to hear any response from Opassar.
He just looked more excited to leave the Magic Institute than when he was about to check his mana core.
----------------------------------------
After visiting the Magic Institute, Florian had to buy his school supplies based on the list Dain gave him last night. And the list written on the note was:
1. School uniform, at Gin’s Wardrobe.
2. Stationery (optional, but I suggest Your Highness buy the best pen from the expert) and a Spatial Bag at Eximia’s Pen and Stationery.
3. Two or three bronze basins for Herbology and Potions class (but the stirrer is optional to buy) at the Billies’ Herbies and Tools.
4. Books, at Liber of Franks:
* * Mirad, the realm of wonder,
* 1001 Stories of Dark Attributed Beasts of Darkland,
* Eastern Runes book.
Dain had told him to ask someone to do the shopping, but Florian insisted on doing it himself as he wanted to explore the city. He needed fresh air.
There was no difficulty in finding the shops and the items. Florian got the uniform in size generally used for the fourth-year student, cool-looking boots that he was proud to choose, an elegant pen engraved with his initials on it, and other stuff he bought because he wanted to.
Shopping without worrying about price tags is the best, Florian concluded.
Apart from shopping for his school supplies, Florian occasionally stopped at the snack shops and bought some food: chicken skewers, crumpets, waffles, and chocolate ice cream at last, and those snacks caused him to skip his lunch. After long hours of shopping and culinary exploration—including eavesdropping on gossip from the townspeople—he went straight to the palace and rested in his room, precisely on the balcony.
“Your Highness, Prince Cyrus invites you to spar in the training ground,” announced Shaun. “Your Highness?” he called the boy lying on a soft sofa, with a book covering his face.
Apparently, Florian was sleeping.
Shaun held back a sigh and didn’t hesitate to take the book, letting the sun dazzle Florian’s face.
Groaning, Florian crinkled his eyes but still did not wake up. The dark nymph even tweeted while pulling his nose, but Shaun could not see her.
“Your Highness?”
“Ugh…yes?” He rose and sat, the grim furrows around her brows worsening.
“Prince Cyrus asks for your presence in the training ground. I have prepared your training outfit as well.”
Shaun’s announcement made Florian’s wince even worse.
“Training…what?”
***
Standing in the vast field, on the hard ground, Florian put his attention on the knights who were practicing. The sharp, clanging sound of two metals clashing together immediately made him feel sick. Despite the comfy training outfit he wore, he found nothing in the training field to be comfortable. He just wanted to leave the second he arrived in the area full of weapons. Full of something that could physically hurt him.
Inclining his chin, Florian squinted at the clear sky, hoping for a miracle so he could run away, and then dropped his chin again to disinterestedly observe the training ground. Only several royal knights were there, sparring in a couple, but his gaze soon rested on Cyrus, who was approaching him, with his golden blond hair patched against his sweaty forehead and an iron sword in his hand.
“You’ve arrived.” Cyrus regarded through panting, still managing to form a gentle smile anyhow. “How’s your first day exploring the city?”
[Special Identification lv. 1]
Name
Cyrus Oliver Frankland
Race
Human
Rank
Mid-leveled Knight
HP
3600/4000
MP
150
Recalling the other day’s dinner—how Cyrus voluntarily defended him from the two menaces’ taunts—Florian began to think that Cyrus somehow reminded him of Locke. And he hated himself for thinking they looked alike: in terms of the reliable big brother role aura, the thoughtful and gentle character, and especially the similar soothing smile they both had.
“It was fun, but alas, I had to be extra careful, which was kind of annoying.”
Cyrus offered him his charming grin at Florian’s honest answer. “Daily Dispatch does sometimes go a little too far to spread rumors that are not even necessarily true,” he pointed out. “Enjoy the effect just for a week, and everything will return to normal.”
But at that moment, someone else approached them, followed by heavy footsteps and the screeching noise from the tip of an iron longsword scratching the ground.
“Ohhh! Flora’s son—I finally meet ya!” Shouted the brown-haired man as he waved his hand. His blue eyes glistened as they met Florian’s eyes, and the warmth in his smile grew broader, carving his thick stubble. “I should have introduced myself earlier—I’m Lincoln, King’s older brother and the Royal’s General!”
Florian held back his surprised expression and looked upon the muscular man with eyes that could not hide both his shock and cringe.
“Nice to meet you, sir Lincoln.” He respectfully cast a nod, with eyes covertly studying Lincoln, who was tall, huge, sweaty, and…well, stinky.
[Special Identification lv. 1]
Name
Lincoln Frankland
Race
Human
Rank
Warrior
HP
5000/6300
Aura
4350/5000
A warrior. Wow.
Lincoln let out wild laughter, causing his broad, muscular chest to shake.
“Call me uncle!” he roared proudly, seemingly aware of himself being so sweaty that he didn’t jump into Florian for a hug. “I have heard ya from Cyrus and Adrian, but ye’re way surprising directly.” He smiled, his teeth flashing, and bent forward a little bit to inspect Florian, his smile softening. “You look not so different to yer mother, though.” He laughed again, then slapped his huge, sturdy hand on Florian’s shoulder a few times, which made Florian force a smile but instead made it look like he was wincing.
Even though Lincoln’s last sentence sounded rather wistful, Florian didn’t want to reply and just pressed his lips into a forced, tight smile. He had nothing to say if it was regarding his mother.
“Yer mother is a great swordsman—I think she was the only one who could beat Adrian beside myself! Kahahahahahahahaha!” Finished with his loud laughter, Lincoln sheathed his sword, eyes back on Florian. “Guess we shall continue the talk at dinner t’night? It’s been a while since I had dinner with all my nephews!”
“Certainly, Uncle,” Cyrus chimed in, and Lincoln yawned and turned back, stepping away, together with his body odor.
Cyrus turned to Florian and regarded his eyes. “Uncle Lincoln stays in the Domum palace, in east Quisfire, so you won’t see him much in here”—he bent slightly closer to Florian—"so you won’t hear his noisy laughter that much too.”
Florian snorted a little chuckle in response, not expecting Cyrus to be jesting too.
“Have you ever played with a sword before?” asked Cyrus, rather serious, then casually handed the sword to him. “As you might have guessed, everyone obviously expects that you did, considering the Queen and your previous guardian.”
Hell, play with a sword? Why would Florian play with something that could injure himself?
Florian had no choice but to receive the heavy sword. Summoning some dignity, he then proudly declared, “This is even my first time lifting one.”
Cyrus’ amused smile stretched even wider. “That did sound a bit deviated, but still valid,” he replied, and Florian just stared at him, with two lines appearing between his brows. “But do not be discouraged. You can still learn. And while at it, I—have a few matters to converse about. Let’s go, we ought to do it while sparring, and I’ll teach you some moves.”
Cyrus led Florian to the other side of the training ground, knights stopping and giving them brief curtsy before they resumed their training.
Wait—with an iron sword? For real? Florian broke out in cold sweat as Cyrus seemed serious about sparring with iron swords.
Cyrus took a new sword, still showing his back to Florian. “I’d like to hear your thoughts, honestly,” he began, his voice reverent, “and perhaps…I’ll give you some suggestions.”
Florian stilled, nerves starting to twist in his stomach. They faced each other, swords in their hands, but one seemed to have gotten used to the solid hilt of the sword. “And what is it, if I may ask, brother?” He wanted to confirm whether Cyrus meant the news regarding the position of the crown prince or something else.
Cyrus changed his position, with both hands gripping the sword pointing downwards, the tip on the floor, and one foot stepped behind. “Between Charles’ side or mine. Which side will you choose?” As he finished his question, he lunged forward and swung his sword, as if nothing about his question required time to be considered. Florian reflexively backed off; his face stiffened, his heart pounding thunderously.
What in the world is wrong with him? Florian gulped down his complaint. They were sparring, which was supposed to be normal, but absolutely not for him.
“You have a good reflex.” Cyrus gave him a half, amazed smile. “So, which side?” He repeated and changed his position. His body now faced to the left side, but his gaze was still on Florian, his left hand folded behind, while the other hand pointed the swords at Florian. It was a fascinating pose.
“Is that really necessary? I don’t—”
Cyrus shot another swing, and Florian dodged it by sliding his body to the side. Florian began to hear the thudding sound of his chaotic heartbeat getting louder. If he was a little late, his nose might be cut off.
“Soon – Charles will ask you to spar with him.” Cyrus did not show any new pose anymore and just stood straight. “Hence, I propose you begin practicing your swordsmanship.” He raised his sword again and mouthed, Attack.
Florian bit back a groan and quickly swung the sword diagonally, but Cyrus easily dodged, as though he could read his poor movement, and shot a quick, tricky sweep, sending the sword out of Florian’s hand as a result.
“Why would Charles do a sword practice against a weakling like me?” Florian croaked out and winced, feeling his hand nearly dislocate from Cyrus’ attack.
Cyrus breathed out a short chuckle. “Do you think I asked you to spar because I think you are weak?” He raised his brows, moved closer toward Florian, and slightly bent forward to whisper. “Brother, if you want to continue living a normal life as a prince and perhaps for a better future, you ought to start choosing your side”—he took the sword from Florian’s grip— "Well then, we shall continue our conversation later.”
Cyrus tossed him a sweet, warm smile before walking away and leaving Florian at a loss for words.