Chapter 16: The First Step (2)

Juhtmed's entire body screamed in protest as he forced himself to stand. His breath came in. He only felt this level of exhaustion before, when he first woke up in this body.

But he had done it. He had lasted.

Kaitsja's approval was barely more than a nod, but Juhtmed knew what it meant.

"Come back tomorrow," Kaitsja repeated, already turning away.

Juhtmed swallowed his exhaustion and straightened his back. "I will."

As he trudged back to his quarters, each step felt heavier than the last. His legs threatened to give out, but he pushed forward, forcing himself onward. He had made his decision—he would not back down now.

Lian was waiting for him in his chambers.

Her gaze flickered over his disheveled appearance, the sweat-soaked fabric clinging to his skin, and the sheer exhaustion in his posture. "I see Kaitsja didn't take it easy on you."

Juhtmed let out a breathless laugh. "Did you expect him to?"

"No." She smirked. "But I did wonder if you'd last more than an hour."

"Barely," he admitted, sinking onto the edge of his bed. "But I will get stronger."

Lian crossed her arms, watching him carefully. "That's good. You'll need it."

Juhtmed met her gaze, sensing the weight behind her words. "Something happened?"

She hesitated. Then, stepping closer, she lowered her voice. "There's been movement in the palace. Some of the Emperor's men have been asking questions—about you."

His exhaustion vanished in an instant.

"What kind of questions?"

"They're trying to find the reason of your sudden change…" She exhaled.

He expect that type of reaction.

"I know."

A beat of silence passed between them.

Then, Juhtmed ran a hand through his damp hair. "That just means i'm doing great."

Lian raised an eyebrow. "And what do you exactly mean by that?"

Juhtmed look at her. "you wouldn't understand."

Lian studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Then I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow will be worse."

He didn't doubt that.

The next morning, before the sun had even fully risen, Juhtmed returned to the training grounds.

Kaitsja was already there, waiting, his arms crossed.

"You didn't run away," he noted, smirking slightly.

Juhtmed exhaled. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Kaitsja studied him for a moment, then turned. "Good. Now get moving."

The next few days were hell.

Kaitsja didn't hold back. His training was brutal, merciless. Juhtmed was made to run laps around the palace courtyard every morning until his legs felt like they would give out. He trained with weights, pushed his body beyond its limits, and learned the fundamentals of combat—starting with balance, footwork, and endurance.

At first, he could barely keep up. His body wasn't built for this, and the training left him collapsing in exhaustion more times than he cared to admit.

But each time he fell, he got back up.

Every muscle in his body ached, but he didn't stop.

By the fourth day, he could run longer without his legs shaking.

By the sixth, he could hold a stance without stumbling.

And by the end of the first week, he realized something.

He was getting stronger.

Not by much. Not yet. But there was progress.

Kaitsja noticed, too.

After a particularly grueling session, Juhtmed dropped onto the ground, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasped for breath.

Kaitsja walked over, standing above him. "You're improving."

Juhtmed let out a breathless laugh. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

Kaitsja smirked. "Don't let it go to your head."

Juhtmed sat up, wiping sweat from his forehead. "What next?"

Kaitsja's gaze darkened slightly. "Now that you can move without tripping over your own feet? We start real combat training."

Juhtmed's fingers curled slightly. "Good."

Juhtmed's progress didn't go unnoticed.

By the second week, the palace was paying attention. Servants whispered about the forgotten prince training at dawn. Soldiers began watching when they thought he wasn't looking. Even some the Emperor advisor had taken notice.

And he knew exactly what it meant.

His father was watching.

One evening, as he was leaving the training grounds, he caught sight of a familiar figure waiting for him near the palace halls.

It was the Emperor's men named Lord Varcen, known for his keen intelligence and unwavering loyalty to the emperor.

Juhtmed slowed his steps, wiping the sweat from his brow as he met the man's gaze.

"Varcen."

"Your Highness." Varcen bowed slightly. "The Emperor has been informed of your recent… pursuits."

Juhtmed kept his face neutral. "I didn't realize I needed permission to train."

Varcen smiled thinly. "You don't. His Majesty simply finds it… interesting."

Juhtmed held his gaze. "Does he?"

"Indeed." Targon tilted his head. "The Emperor believes every action has intent. Would you care to share yours?"

Juhtmed exhaled slowly. He had expected this.

"I spent too long being weak," he said simply. "I guess being close to death many time do that."

Targon watched him for a moment, then nodded. "I will relay your words, Your Highness."

Juhtmed didn't miss the underlying warning.

His father was still watching. Waiting.

For now, he would let Juhtmed play his little game.

But sooner or later, the Emperor would test him again.

And when that time came, Juhtmed would make sure he was ready.

That night, Juhtmed sat on the balcony of his chambers, staring out at the city below. His body ached, exhaustion clung to his limbs, but his mind was sharper than ever.

He had taken the first step.

But it wasn't enough.

Strength alone wouldn't be enough to survive in this palace. He needed more. He needed allies, he needed knowledge, and most of all—he needed a plan.

Lian joined him, leaning against the railing.

"You're quiet, your highness" she noted.

Juhtmed exhaled. "Just thinking."

"About?"

He glanced at her. "What comes next."

Lian smirked. "Then I'd say you're on the right path."

Juhtmed wasn't sure about that yet.

But one thing was certain.

He wasn't the same person he had been when he woke up in this body.

Morning came too quickly.

Juhtmed forced himself out of bed, ignoring the ache in his muscles. Every movement sent a dull pain rippling through his body, but it was a familiar sensation now. He had stopped flinching from it.

Dressing in the loose training clothes Lian had left for him, he stepped out onto the palace grounds. The sun had barely begun to rise, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of damp stone and fresh earth.

Kaitsja was waiting for him.

"You're late."

Juhtmed exhaled. "By how much?"

Kaitsja glanced at the sky. "Enough."

Without another word, Kaitsja threw a wooden training sword at him. Juhtmed barely caught it, his fingers tightening around the hilt as he steadied himself.

"Today, we will begin the combat training," Kaitsja said, drawing his own practice blade. "Your body is still weak, but you've proven you can survive. Now, let's see if you can fight."

Juhtmed raised his sword, his stance unsteady but determined.

"Come at me."

Juhtmed lunged.

Kaitsja barely moved. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked Juhtmed's sword aside and stepped past him in one smooth motion.

Juhtmed stumbled but quickly recovered. He tightened his grip and turned, swinging again—only for Kaitsja to counter strike effortlessly, landing hard against Juhtmed's ribs.

Pain exploded through his side.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to fall.

Kaitsja's expression didn't change. "Again."

They continued for what felt like hours. Juhtmed attacked, Kaitsja deflected. Every mistake was punished immediately. Every hesitation was met with a strike that left bruises blooming across his skin.

By the time they stopped, Juhtmed was drenched in sweat, gasping for air. His arms felt like lead. His legs burned.

Kaitsja sheathed his sword. "You're predictable," he said. "Too eager to attack, too slow to react."

Juhtmed wiped his forehead. "Then teach me."

Kaitsja's eyes glinted. "That's exactly what I'm doing."

Later on that evening, as Juhtmed washed away the dirt and sweat from training, a messenger arrived.

He stood at his door, holding a sealed letter.

"From His Majesty," the man said, bowing as he handed it over.

Juhtmed's fingers tightened around the parchment.

Breaking the seal, he unfolded the letter and read the message inside.

Come to the imperial hall at sunset. A banquet is being held. Your presence is expected.

A banquet.

Juhtmed exhaled, folding the letter. This was no simple gesture. His father had ignored him for years, and now, after two weeks of training, he was suddenly worthy of a public audience?