Ken approached the marshal with steady steps. The old man frowned slightly, unable to make out the young man's features at first—until he noticed the fine clothes. Yet what struck him most was the mix of humiliation and defiance etched across the boy's face.
The marshal spoke with a hesitant tone.
"Uh… hello?"
Ken stepped closer, his voice firm.
"Marshal Edward Halward… the greatest knight in this kingdom's history. The only man to ever bear the title of Marshal. The warrior who fought in four great wars, led five victorious campaigns. The sixth to ever earn the title Sword Saint—a title held by only five legends before you in the entire northern continent. The only Sword Saint to master nine combat arts and bring them all to perfection. Forty years of service as soldier and commander, until they named you the Blade of Orvallis."
Surprise spread across the marshal's features before a grin broke through. He burst into laughter.
"Ha! And who is this little brat, praising me so much he's managed to recite my life's story in a handful of words?"
Ken didn't flinch.
"I am Ken. I've come to train under you—to become stronger."
The marshal's expression turned grave.
"And for what purpose?"
Ken's voice wavered with intensity.
"For revenge, and—"
The marshal cut him off sharply.
"Why should I train a boy who seeks nothing but vengeance and blood?"
But Ken lifted his head, eyes blazing, his tone unyielding.
"It seems you don't understand. I am Ken Val Orvallis—the Fourth Prince."
The marshal froze, as though his mind struggled to grasp the words. Ken pressed on, his voice like a vow:
"When I say revenge, it sounds strange to you because you don't yet know me. But hear this—I will shatter the chains of humiliation bound to my name. I will erase the doubts that hover over me. I will climb to the throne without mercy. I will be the king who cannot be forgotten. My vengeance will be my honor, my resolve my strength, and my will the law by which I rule."
The marshal thought to himself, shaken:
What has this boy endured to speak such words, at only fourteen years of age?
The next day at dusk, Ken slipped out of the palace, mounted his horse, and rode into the unknown. He turned once to glance at the towering castle, whispering with cold determination:
"I'll return to you, palace… and when I do, I'll conquer you from within."
One month later... Ken struck out with desperate fury, throwing his entire weight into wild lunges that tore through nothing but the air. His blade could not even graze the hem of the Marshal's cloak, as the old man moved like an untouchable phantom, leaving the young prince gasping, drowned in his own sweat and helplessness—fighting his own shadow before he could ever hope to fight his foe.
Six months later... In the dust of the training grounds, Ken stood firm against the Marshal's crushing pressure for three full seconds... three seconds of steel-like focus and burning eyes before his strength failed and he collapsed to his knees. But this time, there were no tears; he had learned how to stare into the eyes of defeat without breaking.
One year later... The sharp ring of clashing steel echoed with an unfamiliar bite. For the first time, Ken's blade bit into the Marshal's shoulder, leaving a slight tear in the fabric and a great spark of pride in the heart. Silence reigned for a moment before the old knight's grin widened—a smile that was not just encouragement, but an admission that the "shadow" had finally begun to manifest as a true blade.
Two years later... Ken was no longer a boy chasing the sword; the sword had become an extension of his soul. He had tamed his body into a frame of primed muscle, mastering an entire combat style that blended the philosophical wisdom he absorbed by night with the predatory ferocity he forged by day.
Four years later... The Marshal suddenly stopped, sheathed his sword, and looked at the young man who now stood tall and imposing, with eyes that shimmered with the brilliance of kings. He placed a heavy hand on Ken's shoulder and spoke in a calm tone that shook the very foundation of the earth: "My training of you is over, Ken... this place has nothing left to give you. Go now—and take the throne that awaits you."
Four years later…
At dusk, Ken and the marshal sat before a quiet fire. The old man studied him.
"Well then, let's compare you now to the boy you once were. First—I'd say you've achieved something remarkable."
Ken cried out in mock outrage.
"Haah? Old man! After all that hell, you call it something?"
The marshal chuckled and added,
"Second—your courage has grown. As has your insolence."
Ken shot him an annoyed glare, but the marshal continued.
"Back then, you stood barely one-sixty in height. Now you've reached one-eighty-five. That frail body of yours has turned into a frame carved with muscle. As for your combat skills, you've mastered five entire martial arts."
Ken protested loudly.
"What?! I've also started mastering the eastern Haiyo Tao style!"
The marshal smacked him on the head, roaring,
"You call that a martial art? It's a joke! You look like a monkey scrounging for bananas among men!"
A brief silence followed. Then Ken asked, more seriously,
"Old man… do you truly think I've improved?"
The marshal's eyes softened with pride, though he said nothing. Ken's tone shifted, tinged with sadness.
"I think… I'll miss you."
But the old knight cut him off with another smack.
"Think?! After all that bliss you've lived through?"
Ken snapped back, furious.
"Bliss? You mean hell!"
Another silence—then the two of them burst out laughing, their voices echoing as though a great weight had been lifted.
Later that night, as Ken prepared to leave, the marshal addressed him with solemnity.
"Prove to me your resolve—that what you endured was not for nothing."
Ken smirked.
"Bliss, you say… tch."
The marshal scoffed.
"Don't forget me, boy. Come visit me from time to time. And bring a pretty girl to brighten this old heart. My youth's long gone, and I've yet to have my share… especially with such an ugly face before me."
Ken scowled, bristling.
"Can't you say farewell properly, old man?"
He mounted his horse, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Under his breath, he whispered with unwavering resolve:
"It's time to conquer."
End of Chapter Three