Royal Revenge

The sun was already rising when we started our training. Lance had insisted on me using a stick again, much to my disappointment. My sword—my real sword—lay wrapped under several layers of cloth, untouched and hidden from sight. The makeshift bandana itched against my forehead, the gloves tight and hot, but I bit back the complaints rising in my throat. Lance hadn’t taken his gloves off either, despite the heat, and I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break first.

I swung my stick, trying to mimic the fluid motions Lance had shown me. But every time, he countered with ease, his body moving like water as he sidestepped or deflected each blow. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I concentrated, it was like sparring with a shadow. Lance’s stick tapped against my shoulder, and again against my ribs, soft but infuriating reminders of how easily he could best me.

“Focus,” Lance said calmly, his voice barely strained despite the hours we’d already spent sparring.

“I am focusing!” I snapped, swinging my stick again in a wide arc, but Lance was already out of reach. His movements were so graceful, so effortless, it made me feel clumsy in comparison. He barely even broke a sweat while I was drenched in it, panting like a dog.

Lance's blade, covered with his scabbard, tapped my leg this time, softly but quick as lightning, and I stumbled back.

Frustration boiled inside me. "This isn't fair!" I shouted, throwing my stick to the ground. “I want to use my sword!”

Lance stopped, his expression serious as he stared at me. He didn’t pick up the stick I had thrown or even move toward me. Instead, he sighed. “Argus, you’re not ready to spar with a real blade. And especially not that one.”

“It’s just a sword,” I shot back, though I knew that wasn’t true. Lance had explained it to me more than once, how special the blade was, how dangerous. “I can handle it.”

Lance stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Even if you were ready, which you aren’t, we can’t risk anyone seeing it. Do you understand? If someone catches even a glimpse of that blade, they’ll want it badly.” His tone left no room for argument.

I clenched my fists, looking down at the dirt beneath my boots. I knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. I felt humiliated, like I was just a child pretending to be something I wasn’t.

We ended training not long after that. My body ached from hours of mimicking the complicated motions Lance had shown me. Despite all my efforts, I hadn’t landed a single hit on him, not even once. The idea that using a real sword would be somehow dangerous seemed ridiculous to me. If anything, I’d probably end up hurting myself before I ever managed to touch Lance. But I had to admit, my sword did look far too fancy for a place like this. Maybe Lance was right to be cautious.

“I’m going to wash up,” I muttered, feeling the sweat sticking to my skin.

Lance nodded, already busying himself with gathering our things. “Go ahead. I’ll take care of the preparations.”

I made my way toward the beach, my thoughts a swirl of frustration and exhaustion. The sun hung heavy in the sky, and the heat clung to me like a second skin. As I neared the shore, the cool breeze coming off the water was a welcome relief. I barely thought about it before stepping into the water, clothes and all, letting the coolness seep into my bones.

I dropped into the water, feeling the tension melt away as the waves gently lapped against me. Floating on my back, I stared up at the endless blue sky above, my mind drifting.

What would the future look like? Could I really become a king? And if I did… what would that even mean for someone like me? I knew nothing about politics, about ruling, about leading people. Sure, I considered myself smart enough, but I wasn’t one of those polished noble brats raised in castles and tutored in statecraft. Then again, I thought with a smirk, if they could do it, maybe so could I.

After a while, I waded out of the water, feeling refreshed despite my aching limbs. My clothes clung to me, dripping with seawater, but I didn’t care. I started walking along the beach, the sound of the waves a comforting backdrop as I wandered. The day was warm and I let myself relax. I didn’t feel the need to be overly cautious. Lance had all of our things, and I was too tired to care.

I strolled for a while, letting the breeze cool my skin. The beach was mostly empty, save for the occasional fisherman hauling in their nets in the distance. It was strange, being out here on the edge of the world, so far from everything I’d known. I didn’t miss the orphanage, not really. But everything felt different, exciting.

My thoughts drifted back to Lance, to the way he moved so effortlessly during training. His grace, his strength… It was like watching an artist at work. He made it look easy, but I knew it wasn’t. The frustration of never being able to land a hit gnawed at me, but at the same time, I felt a sense of admiration. Lance was someone who had mastered his craft, and that was something I aspired to.

As I continued walking along the shore, I found myself thinking about the days ahead. The Outskirts, the monsters I’d yet to encounter, the journey to Vermilion Post… It all seemed daunting, yet exhilarating at the same time. The uncertainty was thrilling in its own way. There was no way to know what would happen next, it felt like a challenge.

I let out a deep breath, looking out at the horizon. Whatever came next, I’d be ready for it. Or at least, I’d try to be.

By the time I made it back to Bear’s Head Inn, the sun was already beginning its slow descent, casting a warm, golden light across the town. I nodded to the innkeeper as I walked through the door, but he barely glanced up from whatever he was cleaning behind the bar. I didn’t bother stopping, my legs feeling heavier with each step as I made my way upstairs to find Lance.

When I reached his room, I knocked on the door, expecting him to be lounging on the bed, maybe working on something minor. Instead, when I heard his voice call out, "Come in," I opened the door and froze in the doorway, my jaw dropping at the sight in front of me.

Lance was sitting on the floor, the sword—my sword—lay in pieces all around him. The golden crossguard, the polished pommel, the intricately wrapped hilt—all of it lay scattered across the floor in front of him, like some broken toy.

“What—what are you doing?!” I blurted out, stepping inside the room, my heart hammering in my chest.

Lance looked up at me, completely unfazed. “Relax, Argus,” he said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. “It’s not destroyed. I’m just disassembling it to change a few things.”

“Change a few things?!” I repeated, still staring at the pile of pieces that used to be my legendary sword. “But… my sword…”

Lance chuckled softly, shaking his head as he picked up the golden crossguard, holding it up in front of him. “This?” he said, waving it slightly. “This is just decoration. All the real enchantments are on the blade itself. You know, the important part.”

I blinked, processing his words. “But… the golden guard…”

“Is useless,” Lance interrupted, tossing it aside with a smirk. “No one in their right mind would use a golden crossguard for a real fight. It’s flashy. Way too soft. Stupid. The kind of thing that gets you killed.”

He went back to work, his fingers moving deftly as he replaced the crossguard with something much simpler—plain iron, unremarkable but far less conspicuous. I sat down on the floor across from him, crossing my arms as I watched him work. The sword no longer looked like the legendary blade I had before.

“So how can a sword—an object—be magical?” I asked after a few moments of silence, still trying to wrap my mind around the idea. “It’s just steel, right?”

Lance didn’t look up from his work as he answered. “There are Vamyr out there who specialize in this sort of thing. Blacksmiths, enchanters, whatever you want to call them. Not just anyone can create something like this, Argus. It takes skill, knowledge, and a hell of a lot of money. This blade has more than just one blessing in it, I’m sure of it.”

I frowned, remembering one of our earlier conversations. “You said it had self-repair and something like life-draining, right?”

Lance nodded, tightening the leather wrap around the hilt. “Those are the big ones, yeah. But I suspect there’s more. This sword is a work of art, Argus. You’re lucky to have it, but we can’t afford to let anyone know just how special it is.”

He worked quietly for a few more minutes, the room filled with the sound of leather being pulled taut and metal pieces clicking into place. Finally, he finished, holding the sword up in front of him for inspection. It still looked impressive, but now it was much more subdued. The golden guard with the big ruby in the middle, and pommel had been replaced with plain iron, and the hilt was wrapped in simple leather, all traces of extravagance gone.

Lance handed the sword to me, and I took it, turning it over in my hands. It felt different, not as magnificent as before, but… still good. Less conspicuous. More practical. “I have to admit,” I said, running my fingers over the leather hilt. “It still looks fine. Not as flashy, but… fine.”

Lance smirked, leaning back on his hands. “Exactly. Now you won’t be a walking target.”

I glanced down at the discarded golden parts still lying on the floor and hesitated. “Can I… keep those? I don’t want to sell them or anything.”

Lance raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He gathered the pieces and handed them to me with a shrug. “If you want.”

I nodded, carefully placing the golden guard and pommel in my bag. They weren’t practical, but they were still a part of the sword’s history—part of what made it special to me.

With my newly modified sword in hand, I left Lance’s room and headed for my own. As I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but smile.