CHAPTER 11: MAY THY ENEMIES FLOWERS NEVER BLOSSOM

The balcony was dim, the night air carrying a cool chill, and the faint echoes of the ongoing banquet drifted from behind. Aric stood at the edge, gazing down at the vast sprawl of the imperial city, its brilliance lit with lanterns and buzzing with life.

Its beauty stood in stark contrast to the darkness creeping into his mind. Perhaps even he was surprised at the person he had become since his regression—but he knew all too well the necessity of it.

"I need to work faster," Aric murmured, sipping the red wine in his right hand while his left tightened around the silver cane.

The system’s exercises were working, though not by a profound margin. Still, he was stronger than before. Normally, attending a banquet like this—standing for long stretches—would have been impossible with his illness.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Without turning, he knew it was Serina.

"I’m quite fortunate," she began, her voice smooth, "to be in the imperial city at the exact time the Forgotten Prince decides he no longer wishes to be forgotten. Watching you expose your cards has been... entertaining."

Aric shook his head, still facing the city. "I haven’t exposed anything, actually. Underestimation is a powerful weapon, Miss Marceli, and I intend to wield it fully." At last, he turned to her. Her dress was as dark as her flowing hair, both fluttering in the breeze.

"Some may view me differently, but I am still a powerless prince. What significance is there in that?"

"Potential," Serina countered. She stepped closer to the balcony’s edge, standing beside him as her gaze swept the city below. "With potential, if you adjust your demeanor—become less oppositional—you might even draw allies."

She paused before adding, "I once knew a woman who told me: to rule, you must shower others with so much kindness and love that opposing you feels like an inconvenience."

Aric gave a dry chuckle. "Another flawed strategy. Perhaps worse than that lord’s theory of compensation."

"Is that so?" Serina glanced at him, intrigued.

"It took time and pain to understand, but no matter what you do, no matter how much you concede... you cannot make everyone love you." His tone carried the weight of memory, of a past life that bled into this one.

"A kindness to one is an insult to another. A king who lowers taxes is a hero to peasants, but a nuisance to nobles."

Her grey eyes studied him carefully. "So your plan for the crown’s battle is simply to oppose everyone?"

Aric lifted his cane, giving it a dismissive shake. "I never said I intended to join the crown’s battle. But I’ve learned this much: success lies in completely suppressing opposition—eradicating any antagonism before it even recognizes what it has transgressed. A bloody, dishonorable path perhaps... but the only path to absolute victory."

His words weren’t mere philosophy. They were earned truths—observed, lived, and paid for. He had seen battles of wit, power, and politics, and he knew too well what victory demanded.

Silence lingered as the banquet’s music shifted into a slower tune. Guests rose, few beginning to dance.

Aric leaned his cane aside and, in a rare gesture of charm, extended his gloved hand.

"Lady?"

She studied him briefly before accepting. As the music carried from the hall and the city lights shimmered across the balcony, they moved in rhythm, guided by the soft strains of violin.

"I must admit," Serina murmured, swaying in his hold, "you are a very different prince than what I was told."

"And you," Aric replied, "are not what I expected, Miss Marceli."

Her lips curved faintly. "Not just my name—you must also know the kind of mage I am."

"I know many things," Aric said simply, keeping his air of mystery.

As they danced, her hands drifted to the back of his neck, her touch glowing faintly with green light.

Aric sensed the warmth, the intent. "Well?" he asked.

"It’s possible to heal you completely," she whispered. "But it won’t be easy... or quick."

Those were the words he had been waiting for. "I understand," he murmured back.

The burden of what lay ahead settled silently between them.

But the moment broke with the sound of approaching footsteps.

The figure who emerged was none other than Emperor Xavier Valerian.

Serina, sensing the weight of his presence, quickly excused herself, leaving father and son alone.

The emperor stood before Aric, his eyes sharp with curiosity and intrigue.

"It’s been a while, my son," he said, his voice heavy with unspoken history.

"Yes, it has," Aric replied evenly, his tone unreadable.