CHAPTER 43: TRAINING WITH THE KING

Lucian climbed out of the crater.

He was unrecognizable.

He had gotten taller. Bulkier. Smoke rose from his body. His clothes were burned up, hanging off him in pieces.

He looked down at his hands, watching the smoke flow from them—like they were still burning.

"What... happened?" he whispered, his voice soft and filled with disbelief. There was confusion in his tone—but also fear, like he no longer recognized himself.

Then he looked at Sylas.

His eyes widened—like he was seeing a god. Or something even greater.

Ana looked at her brother, confused.

It was the same look she had when Sylas fought that monster. Shock. Stillness. Something worse than fear.

The people standing around them began to back away, slowly. Like they were afraid.

Seeing this, the king stepped forward and raised his voice.

"Everyone, return to your homes. Now."

No one argued.

They turned and left, quietly.

Lucian took a few shaky steps toward his father.

"Father..."

Right then, his legs gave out.

He collapsed.

But the king caught him in his arms, holding him tight.

Sylas left them there while he went back to his room.

He slept well—until the entire building shook.

For a moment, Sylas thought they were under attack.

But when he looked out the window, everything was calm. Peaceful. There were no enemies.

Then he noticed the sound was coming from the far side of the area.

So he went down. Quietly. Calmly.

As he walked toward it, people stared at him.

None of them moved.

None of them spoke.

Not one person stepped close. Not one dared to approach him.

Even when he turned his head their way, they flinched.

Some stumbled back.

Others just froze.

Like their hearts skipped a beat.

Like being near him made it hard to breathe.

He noticed.

Every single reaction.

But he kept walking.

His mind was still in a daze when a small body bumped into him.

A child. She fell backward, landing hard.

She looked up at him—eyes wide.

She wasn’t crying.

She just stared. Frozen.

Her lips trembled. Her fingers clawed at the dirt.

Like she thought she’d done something wrong.

Like she was about to be punished.

Sylas bent down, slow and careful—

But before his hand reached her, someone screamed.

Her mother.

She dropped to her knees.

Tears in her eyes.

"Please... don’t hurt her."

He paused.

The world felt too quiet.

Then he gave them a soft, broken smile.

And walked away.

Sylas bent down, reaching out to help her—

But before he could, her mother ran forward, tears in her eyes.

She dropped to both knees and begged him not to hurt her daughter.

Sylas paused.

Then gave them a soft, warm smile—one filled with gentleness.

And without a word, he walked away with a broken smile.

He entered the arena.

His eyes locked on the training Lucian was doing with his father.

They were lifting massive iron balls. They were throwing them at each other with pure strength.

Each strike echoed across the stone like thunder—booming, raw.

The man who could barely look his son in the eyes now had a wide smile on his face. A father’s pride.

He never hated his son for being weak. He was the type of man who showed affection through pure strength.

Ana was sitting at the side, watching them closely.

Her hands rested on her lap. Her gaze was locked onto them like she couldn’t believe her eyes.

How much her brother had changed.

That once fragile, cowardly man now fighting like a beast.

Sylas approached her.

"Can I sit?" he asked.

His voice broke her focus.

She turned, and her face lit up. She nodded, then grabbed his hand and pulled him down beside her.

She sat extra close. Her shoulder brushed his.

She looked gentle in that moment—soft, vulnerable. Nothing like her usual self.

"How long have they been doing this for?"

His eyes never left them.

"Since morning," she muttered, still dazing into him.

As he watched, Sylas noticed something—

They weren’t just training.

They were training with weight.

Chains coiled around their wrists and ankles. The iron balls weren’t just heavy—they pulsed with King Kael’s power.

Sylas could feel it from here.

Every move they made carried unnatural gravity.

And it gave him an idea.

Without saying a word, he leapt down into the arena.

Lucian turned and saw him. His face lit up.

He ran straight toward him, his steps still heavy from the training.

"How does it feel?" Sylas asked, grinning wide—

A grin that said, "Told you I’d grant you strength."

Instead of answering, Lucian pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you, Sylas," he said.

His voice trembled.

He looked happy. Like Sylas had taken his broken dream... and handed it back to him, whole.

Then King Kael approached.

He thanked Sylas, his voice firm. And then, with a sigh, he apologized for how the people were acting.

Sylas looked at him, feeling slightly hurt.

"It’s okay... they’ll come around," he said, letting out a broken laugh.

King Kael noticed—and changed the subject.

"How can I repay you?" the king asked.

Sylas grinned.

"Teach me your close combat technique."

The king laughed, then slapped him hard on the back.

"That’s all?"

"Yes," Sylas replied.

From that day forward, Sylas trained nonstop.

King Kael used his ability to increase the weight of Sylas’s body and weapons.

Every step he took carried resistance.

Even rest felt like pressure weighing down his bones.

He was forced to run with weighted chains.

Push-ups until his arms gave out.

Sparring matches with soldiers while carrying double the weight of a man.

Kael made him swing his sword a thousand times—each time with more force, more control, more pain.

And it didn’t stop.

Every day, for the next month, it continued.

Day.

After day.

After day.

And Ana...

She watched him.

Every day, in silence.

She never said a word. Just sat there. Her eyes always on him.

Every drop of sweat.

Every grunt.

Every time he pushed beyond his limit—

She was always there—bringing him water, wiping the sweat off his face, staying close. Clinging to him.

After a month of training, a few things changed.

No one attacked the kingdom. It was peaceful.

Then came a letter.

The king of Selvaran sent a message written in kind words.

A treaty. A promise to end the conflict.

He invited King Kael to his nation—to sit and talk, to find a way to finish this without any more bloodshed.

On the surface, it sounded great.

But to Sylas... it screamed betrayal.

He held the letter in his hands, staring at the seal.

"Something’s not right," he muttered.

Even the queen, Ana, and Lucian could feel it in their bones. Something was off.

But they had no choice.

The kingdom was running dry.

They were running low on food and resources.

The land was broken.

They barely had money or people for any more war.

If they waited any longer... they would die slow, painful deaths.

So Sylas stepped forward.

"I’ll go with you," he said.

That brought a wave of relief to Ana’s face.

"I’ll go too," she said quickly.

"No," Sylas replied. His voice was firm.

Ana clenched her jaw. "Why not?"

"If they find out you are the king’s daughter, they will kill you. Or worse—use you as a hostage."

Both the queen and Lucian nodded in agreement.

But King Kael didn’t.

He smiled.

"Let her come."

Sylas raised an eyebrow.

"With all due respect..."

He paused.

Then his voice cracked like a whip.

"Are you out of your damn mind?"

His tone was sharp. Cold.

Like this wasn’t an option.

Like this was no time for jokes.

The king simply chuckled, shaking his head.

"Call it a father’s instinct."

He realized he wasn’t joking.

He was serious.

He didn’t explain further—and Sylas didn’t press.

Ana’s face filled with joy. She hugged her father like he did something great—something she wanted.

Sylas stood there confused, having no idea what was happening.

But it seemed like the queen understood.

Still... deep down... something about that smile felt off.

Like the king knew something they didn’t.

Or worse—was planning something strange.

Still, the plan moved forward.

Sylas would act as the king’s escort.

In disguise.

A farmer, nothing more.

If anything went wrong, he would be ready to strike.

He laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

His thoughts were quiet.

"If this is a trap..." he muttered, eyes narrowing.

"Then blade drawn—I’ll erase them all."

He said it to himself.

Soft. Calm.