27. Self Reflection

27. Self Reflection

The sounds of the slicing of wood woke up the slumbering young prince, he turned and raised his head. His form was out of shape and his hair a mess, ever since he had lost access to his privilege bathes like the ones he had in the royal palace, he had been a mess.

There was always the lack of hot water, if he wanted any he would have to boil it himself. And if he wanted to do such he would have to go cut the wood. Since he lacked the physicality for any of these tasks he was always left at the mercy of his hulking uncle.

Aside from his goal to become a better mage nothing else was keeping him sane. Even his experience with the cinder king was nothing short of a pain in the royal ass. Early morning drills, freezing his butt off. Even his skills that seemed to grow in the first few weeks were finally starting to look like well, crap.

His ball of flame had barely doubled by a few diameters, it could barely stay active aside a feet from his range. Thalvarin slowly lost interest in him and he did not hide it.

Apparently in the real world once you fail to show value people lose interest in you since there is nothing to be seen. It was something simple, something he never really considered because of his powerful backing.

Now Thalvarin did not even bother to train him, the only thing he did was put breakfast and lunch on the table. When it was time to eat his uncle would not speak to him, most time he would eat in his room. Whatever relationship they shared was gone.

The once proud prince had been reduced to such a shabby state.

Thalvarin found no reason to help him in any way, he believed that if the prince was not willing to grow into the role he had set himself to there was nothing to be done. In the real world you can only save those who wanted to be saved and apparently his foolish nephew did not seem to want to be saved. So why even bother with the trash.

Eryndor dragged himself to his feet, he could remember his time as a child dreaming that he would spend his first birthday which would be celebrated when he turned eight, in a glorious manner with all the beautiful girls in the kingdom. Rather fate had something different planned for him. His eight birthday was nothing short of a misery, his uncle did not seem to care and he was alone.

He wanted to be a hero having a huge harem base at his fingertips. He wanted so badly to have beauties at his every call but....

The feeling of being neglected was enough to make him lose interest in everything he did, even the master that resides within the golden eye had been quiet for too long as if being in a slumber. He was alone.

He spent a long time feeling bad and he was sick of it. He was sick of being sorry for himself.

"Damn my cursed attribute." He cursed under his breath as he dragged himself to the lone window in his room.

Eryndor blamed everything on his cursed attribute, he blamed it for all his misfortune and he was not entirely wrong. Having a cursed attribute meant bad luck and misfortune.

Since Eryndor had been born he could control mana but to absorb it was relatively hard, his parents always thought it was as a result of his playfulness that he did not take it serious. Eryndor could not help but wonder if things had been different if he had been more serious with his training. They would have definitely noticed it.

He hated not being a star like his elder brother Celyndor, he hated not being flexible like Elantha. No matter how many times he thought about it or from any angle he observed it, there was no redeeming quality about him. No special talent, even the legacy of the crescent prince was wasted on him.

Eryndor leaned over the window and watched his uncle swinging a heavy sword at the trunk if a mighty oak tree that stretched high into the clouds. The ground was a bed of fluffy white that covered up to his uncle's knee but did not reduce his momentum one bit. Thalvarin was bare chest and in a deep training trance, the cold never bothered him because of his flame tempering technique. Eryndor could see the muscles rippling on his neck, arms and sides. There were also evident scars across his back, they were all horrific and looking like they were made by something.

Thinking of what could do that to the mighty elf made him shudder. Just like any other day Eryndor watched silently for an hour till his uncle was done and soon vanished on his morning hunt. Eryndor had long since abandoned the fact of being a burden and taken measures himself.

Now alone in the house Eryndor went to work, his room was not really big or spacious but it offered some considerable space for his small frame. He started to mimic his uncles movement, trying to follow each step as they played out in his mind.

Keeping up with his uncle's pace still proved to be impossible for him but he did not have to. Eryndor had accepted his fate but did not succumb to it, he would usually take his time never daring to rush the process no matter how tempting it felt. It would take hours to make out ten pervent if his uncle's movements.

After a week he could perfectly imitate about 70% of the technique. From the knowledge of his old life, he had been interested in webtoons and comics. He had enough knowledge to know that he needed to go beyond copying the technique, he had to understand it and incorporate it into his very being.

He went through the forms his uncle used that day with his only weapon being a small kitchen knife. In his defense there was nothing else he would use, he had searched every inch of the house and found nothing. Even his uncle's room was clean as a sheet of paper.

He had to make so with what he had, he was not in any position to ask for such conveniences. This was his story, his choice. He usually deluded himself with thoughts of grandeur and modelled himself like the main character of a fantasy novel or webtoon. This was always a good way to pass time and make things more fun, more than that, it was the only way to keep himself from running mad.t