A Worthless Crown

Together, we explored the new home. Every chamber unveiled luxuries we had never seen before. A bedroom cradled a feather-stuffed mattress that shifted like clouds beneath my touch. The dining hall's polished table reflected my wide-eyed awe. The pantry overflowed with goods—sacks of flour, salted meats, preserves all glistening like gemstones. 

There were five bedrooms, four bathrooms, a servants quarters, several empty rooms and more windows than I could count. The three floors were more than enough to make it hard to quantify just how large the estate was.

I ran my fingers over each surface, needing the tactile confirmation of reality. The pouch of gold at my hip clinked softly, each time reminding me of my situation.

That night, I dined like royalty. Lamb, roasted to perfection, covered in foreign herbs. Vegetables—fresh, crisp—so unlike the shriveled offerings of the city markets often on the brink of molding. Bread, warm and tender, dissolved on my tongue.

Wine—deep, rich—slid down my throat, it tasted horrible but it was the thought that mattered.

I leaned back, belly full for the first time in memory, watching the fireplace cover the walls with it's shadows. My mother smiled, the furrows on her face softened. We spoke of nothing of consequence, for once freed from the pain of living in this horrible city.

The days blurred into comfort. I awoke to sunlight filtering through clear glass. I bathed in warmth, shedding the grime that had been my second skin. Clothes, tailored and soft, adorned me—free from the coarse fabric that had scraped my flesh raw.

I wandered the plot of land I now owned. The soil was parched but mine. I traced lines in the dirt, envisioning crops and livestock—roots of a future that did not spiral downward into disparity.

I spent my days relaxing and accepting what was now mine,whenever I returned to the house. My mother greeted me at the door, her smile no longer tinged with dread. We ate together, laughter filling spaces once dominated by silence. At night, I stretched upon my mattress, wrapped in lavender-scented blankets, drifting into sleep without the dread of tomorrow.

Yet, the future bore a shadow.

My father's eyes haunted me—the same eyes I had seen in the depths. The chained king's violet gaze, seared into my mind. The veins in my right arm pulsed whenever the room went too silent.

"Alcors..."

The voice was faint, but undeniable. He was calling out to me, day by day.

I buried it beneath gold, comfort, and hope. This was my reward. My liberation. The mines were far below, and that man was probably far gone.

But part of me knew he was never truly gone.

The following month I hired a sword instructor, I had always wanted to be a swordsman, one that could split mountains and seas. Yet I had been confined into mining. The man I hired was middle-aged and with a few accolades, I had contacted Lord Vista to get him to visit Alto Mora. This city, Alto Mora, I would leave it and go adventure one day. I would not waste my entire life inside these walls. He went by James, he was an elderly man with grey hair yet a fit body. He couldn't have been older than 50, but most importantly he waved his sword around like an extra limb, he was the teacher I needed.

3 Months Later..

I had spent the time in luxury, yet my body could not say the same. I made sure to stay diligent in training so that I could fulfill my goal of becoming a swordsmen and leaving these walls, so I had to train daily.

I could not forget my moment of near-death in the mines, never. I needed to train so that I could become stronger, unkillable. So that I could live a life outside these walls that meant something.

Months of training had led to sessions like theses, where my entire body screeched in agony. But my mind knew I had to pesrevere.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, my hands trembling as the sword seemed to grow heavier with every passing second. My muscles screamed at me, sore and tight, but James stood in front of me like an immovable mountain. His eyes, sharp and intense, never left me, waiting for me to make the next move. He was a crude instructor, yet with every session I knew I was a different person.

"Again," he growled, his voice as cold and unforgiving as the steel in his hand.

I clenched my teeth and took a deep breath, trying to push the pain aside. The sword spirit hummed in the back of my mind, a faint pulse of energy that seemed to whisper for me to keep going. I ignored the ache in my body and forced myself into position. The grip of my sword felt awkward, like I wasn't quite holding it right, but there was no time for doubt.

I lunged forward, my movements stiff. My blade clashed against his with a jarring shock, sending a ripple of pain through my arm. The impact knocked me back a step, my footing unsteady.

James didn't move. He just stared, his eyes narrowing as if he was looking right through me.

"Focus," he muttered. "Your sword isn't a toy, Alcors. It's not just a weapon. It's a part of you. If you treat it like it's something separate, it will turn on you."

I nodded, swallowing the sting of his words. He was right. Every time my sword connected with his, I could feel it—how my hesitation bled into the blade, how my uncertainty made it heavier. I didn't just need to become stronger; I needed to become one with the damn thing.

I lifted the sword again, but this time I pushed the doubt out of my mind. I wasn't here to fail. I wasn't here to be weak. I brought the sword down with all the force I could muster, but James was faster—he blocked it with ease, his sword meeting mine with a crack like thunder.

His face remained impassive. "Again."

I didn't hesitate this time. I attacked again, my muscles screaming in protest, but I didn't let it stop me. I felt the sword spirit flicker more clearly now, my connection with it sharpening, growing stronger. My movements felt smoother, more fluid, but it wasn't enough. Not yet.

Every strike I landed against James felt like I was throwing punches into a wall. The man was a beast. And I was just a kid with a sword that hadn't yet learned how to be one.

"Again," James said, his tone never wavering.

And so, I did.

It felt like hours. My body burned, my legs nearly giving out beneath me, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. Not when every swing, every clash, made my connection with the sword feel more natural, more like something I could control. I'd come this far, and I wasn't going to turn back now.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, James stepped back, his chest rising and falling with the same effort. His eyes assessed me, and I could feel him weighing me, like he always did.

"Good enough for today," he said, his voice gruff. "You're still weak, but you're better than you were yesterday."