City of Mbara’ba

Lucios was sitting cross-legged on a small rug, his hands clenched into tight fists, gently touching each other. His eyes were closed, and his body radiated apparent tranquility. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, the air expelled from his body causing an almost imperceptible distortion in the beam of light streaming through the window, as if the very environment was reacting to his exhalation.

After the conversation he had with the old Antoine two days ago, Lucios decided to stop worrying about how Baron Oliver’s daughter treated him. Old Antoine’s words made him realize that his energy was being wasted on concerns he had no ability to resolve. Since then, he resolved to focus entirely on his training in the Path.

He opened his eyes but remained still, his mind immersed in deep thoughts. He felt the subtle change in his body; the potion he had taken a few days ago had finally worn off. Closing his eyes again, Lucios focused his attention on his Vital Center. The familiar sensation of energy flowing within him enveloped him, and he realized, with a mixture of satisfaction and determination, that the progress made in the past two months was equivalent to what would have taken almost a year to achieve before advancing to the metamorphosis stage.

Lucios then concentrated deeply, feeling the energy in his heart beginning to pulse with renewed strength. He carefully directed it, allowing it to flow slowly into his lungs. As the energy spread, his lung capacity expanded, as if the very air around him were denser and richer. Each breath became deeper, allowing him to absorb more oxygen and feel a renewed vitality. The sensation was of growth, as if his lungs were becoming stronger, capable of sustaining a longer and more vigorous life.

The energy continued its course, spreading to the other organs and the digestive system. It was as if hot oil were being poured into long-stuck gears, lubricating them and allowing them to function smoothly and efficiently. His organs, once burdened by constant effort, now worked with unprecedented efficiency, as if all the accumulated fatigue was being expelled, replaced by a sense of renewal.

Next, the energy flowed into the muscles of his torso. Although he felt the increased strength, a significant portion of the energy dissipated, escaping his control and dispersing into the air. The muscles contracted and relaxed, filled with a new power, but Lucios knew he was still far from mastering this power completely. When the energy reached his limbs, the challenge increased; most of the energy was lost, escaping like steam, leaving only a trace of its potential to strengthen his arms and legs.

Finally, the energy penetrated his bones. The effort to maintain the flow was almost unbearable, and he felt that almost all the energy escaped before it could merge completely with the bone structure. His bones vibrated with the intensity, but the energy waste was palpable, a reminder that he still had much to learn and master.

Lucios maintained the energy flow for a few minutes, his body trembling with involuntary spasms as sweat trickled down his skin. Each second felt like an eternity until he could no longer sustain the effort. The energy diminished, and Lucios collapsed from his meditation position, falling to the floor, exhausted, his limbs extended and his body weakened. He had tested his limits, and now, absolute fatigue took over every fiber of his being.

After a long time sprawled on the floor, Lucios sighed deeply, slowly getting up. His gaze, laden with complexity, reflected the mix of emotions that consumed him. As he rose, the only thing echoing in his mind was an overwhelming homesickness. Images of the start of his training flooded his thoughts, taking him back to when he was only seven years old.

He remembered being surrounded by his two older brothers, who laughed at him after he failed to answer a simple question about the hereditary training technique of House Apurina. Sir Owen, the stern teacher, had silenced the brothers with a severe look before turning to Lucios. "This is the third time you’ve made a mistake," Owen said calmly but with authority. "Making mistakes in the Technique of the Last Light training can cause problems in your body in the future."

Adrian, the older brother, laughed and, with disdain, added, "What good is it for him to learn the correct sequence if he doesn’t even like to train?" He pretended to punch Lucios, who shrank back in fear. Adrian pulled his arm back and mocked, "See? He’s a coward." The comment was followed by laughter from Lucam, the second older brother.

Sir Owen, with a firm voice, interrupted the mockery: "That’s enough. The lesson is over. You may go now." The brothers, relieved to escape the lesson they found tedious, wasted no time leaving. But, as they walked away, Lucios heard Sir Owen’s voice calling him to stay, which made his heart sink with discouragement.

Before Sir Owen could utter a word, Lucios, feeling the crushing weight of expectations and accumulated frustration, erupted in words. "I already know what you’re going to say," he began, with a voice that intended to be firm but betrayed underlying tension. "But why does it really matter?" He paused briefly, as if trying to gather confidence, before continuing, his voice still holding a challenging tone. "I’m a noble, aren’t I? I’ll always have soldiers around me, protecting me, serving me... So why should I care about becoming a great warrior?"

But as the words came out, the structure of his argument began to crumble. "I mean... I... I’ll always have someone to... to fight for me, right?" His voice, which had started with resolve, gradually became a jumble of disjointed and incoherent phrases. "So, why... why do I need to be strong? It doesn’t make sense... I... I just don’t understand!" He finished, almost out of breath, the words tumbling over each other, his voice wavering and childish.

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Sir Owen remained silent for a brief moment, his eyes reflecting deep thought. Then, with calm firmness, he spoke: "Don’t be mistaken, young Lucios. Although nobles are above common men, it doesn’t mean there aren’t difficulties in their path. On the contrary, the paths of nobility are full of thorns."

Sir Owen stepped closer to Lucios, his eyes locked on the young man’s, as if wanting to drive his words deeply into his mind. "Common people walk a road paved by the noble they serve," he continued, his voice gaining weight with each word. "These roads are like carefully delineated trails in a dense forest, where every tree and every stone has been removed to ensure that the path is as easy as possible. Even if the journey is long or challenging, they have the assurance of a firm ground beneath their feet, and if they stumble, it’s just a matter of getting up and continuing."

Lucios could almost visualize these roads, wide and flat, lined with trees offering shade and protection, traveled by people moving forward with a sense of direction and purpose, unafraid of what might lie ahead.

But then, Sir Owen changed his tone, his voice becoming graver, almost like a warning. “But for nobles,” he said, “there is no paved road. The forest has not been cleared. Nobles are the first to enter it, without a map, without a guide, with nothing but their own strength to forge a path. You must create your own path, and that means cutting down trees with your own hands, crushing stones and thorns, and walking over treacherous terrain where a fall can be fatal. Every step is a choice, and every choice carries the risk of a hidden trap, of unstable ground that can give way at any moment.”

Lucios felt a shiver run down his spine as he imagined this wild and unexplored forest, where every movement required effort and courage, where a mistake could mean falling into an endless abyss.

“If you, as a noble, fall,” Sir Owen continued, with an increasing intensity in his voice, “there will be no road to catch you. There will be nothing to soften your fall or to help you rise again. And when you fall, Lucios, when a noble falls, it’s as if the whole world is watching, but not just to see if you will get up. No, it’s as if the world is hungry, eagerly waiting for any sign of weakness, ready to pounce on you. It’s like a pack of wolves circling a wounded prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. They don’t just watch but prepare to devour every piece of what remains of you, tearing away pieces of your dignity, your honor, your legacy.”

He paused, allowing the words to sink deeply into Lucios’s mind, before continuing with a grave voice: “Many do not rise, and when they fall, their failures become food for those who observe them. Their names are lost in the shadows of history, erased, forgotten, while those who devoured them move on, satisfied, leaving behind only shattered dreams buried with them.”

The silence lingered, heavy with Sir Owen’s words, as Lucios felt the gravity of the responsibility he had never before understood.

Sir Owen stepped closer and, with a softer yet equally powerful voice, said: “The tool you will rely on most to create your own path is strength. Not just physical strength, but the strength of spirit, the unwavering determination to continue, even when the forest seems impenetrable and thorns tear at your skin. Having strong subordinates is important, yes, but even more important is having great strength of your own, for without it, your subordinates will see you as weak, and a weak leader does not deserve to be followed.”

Finally, Sir Owen pointed out, “Take your father, Tiberios, as an example. He was the eldest son, yes, but despite that, his inheritance was contested by the old knights of his father, who favored his younger brothers. Tiberios had his flaws; he was not the most charismatic, nor the most scholarly. In fact, he also lacked the innate skill for court intrigues, and his patience often wore thin quickly, making him rash in moments of tension.”

Sir Owen paused, looked up, and sighed. He then fixed his eyes back on Lucios and continued. “But he was the strongest. When the time came, he used that strength to forge his own path through the dense forest, overcoming his brothers and the expectations of the house’s knights, and earned the title of count. He faced the unknown, took risks, and prevailed. It is this strength, Lucios, that you need to cultivate if you wish to create your own path in this world.”

Sir Owen’s words had remained etched in Lucios’s mind ever since, like a constant echo, a reminder that the path he would need to tread would be difficult, arduous, and full of dangers, but that strength was the key not only to survive but to prevail.

The scene shifts back to Lucios, now in his room, his eyes showing renewed determination. He focused his thoughts, resolved to continue and strengthen himself. He approached a small chest on the floor of his room. Inside, there was a simple dagger with a leather handle, a worn book, and some bottles with yellow liquids, alongside other empty bottles.

Lucios glanced briefly at the dagger, recalling its significance, but soon directed his attention to the potions. He picked up one of the filled bottles, uncorked it with a decisive motion, and brought it to his mouth, ready to drink the liquid, when he was interrupted by a firm knock on the door.

A feminine voice followed the knock, announcing: “Young noble Lucios, the master sent me to inform you that he wishes to speak with you in his office.”

Lucios felt initial astonishment at the unexpected knock on the door but quickly composed himself upon recognizing that the voice belonged to one of the servants working in the castle. However, a quick reflection alarmed him. The only person in the castle referred to as “the master” was Baron Oliver himself, which meant that he had already returned. Knowing this, he responded firmly to the woman outside his room: “I will go to meet the baron immediately.”

Lucios, who had already put the potion back in the chest, approached the door and opened it, revealing the figure of a middle-aged servant dressed in simple clothes outside the room.

Lucios, with his torso sweaty and still bare, showed a developing body but with well-toned muscles. Still panting from the exertion of his training, he spoke nervously, “Show me the way.”

There was a brief silence, and then the woman’s voice sounded again: “Wouldn’t it be better to take a bath first, Young noble?”

Lucios, realizing he was still dressed in his training clothes, just a loose pair of pants, far from the noble attire expected, felt a look of embarrassment on his face. He looked timidly at his toes before responding, in a tone almost hesitant “A bath would be good.”

Seeing the young man’s embarrassment, the servant managed a concealed smile and said, “I will request that a bath be prepared for you.” Lucios nodded in agreement, and she quickly left.

In no time, Lucios found himself in another room of the castle, immersed in a bathtub. The steam from the hot water rose around him, providing a moment of tranquility before the meeting with the baron.