Chapter 6: Whispers and Resolve

The wooden swords in Alexius' hands moved with a rhythm that matched his labored breaths. Each strike against the training dummy sent a dull thud echoing across the palace training grounds. His shirt was soaked with sweat, clinging to his thin frame as he pushed himself to the edge of exhaustion. The cloudy afternoon cast a dim light, but the faint glow of his status screen hovered in his peripheral vision, urging him forward.

Behind him, whispers flitted through the air like darting shadows. Servants and guards lingered at the edges of the courtyard, stealing glances at the once-neglected prince.

"Who would have thought Prince Alexius would train so hard?"

"Is he serious, or just desperate to save face?"

"Do you think he's trying to impress the King?"

To the onlookers, Alexius seemed oblivious, wholly consumed by his practice. His strikes were sharper, faster than they'd been days ago, though still clumsy compared to the grace of a seasoned swordsman. Yet, as focused as he appeared, Alexius heard every word.

He chose to ignore the comments, channeling the sting of their words into his relentless swings. Each blow against the dummy was a silent reply: I will prove them wrong.

His gaze flicked briefly to the translucent status screen that hovered faintly before him:

Updated Status Screen:

Strength: 5

Agility: 5

Endurance: 4

Intelligence: 5

Charisma: 3

Willpower: 5

Luck: 97

The numbers were better than they'd been a week ago. Incremental improvements, yes, but proof that his efforts weren't in vain. Yet, despite the progress, Alexius felt a gnawing frustration. Every swing of his wooden swords reminded him of how far he still had to go.

What stood out most was his Luck, an astonishing 97. The outlier both reassured and unsettled him. What did it mean? Was it a blessing or a harbinger of some greater trial? The system offered no explanation, leaving Alexius to wrestle with the implications alone.

As the sun dipped lower, Alexius finally lowered his swords. His muscles screamed in protest, but the fire in his chest burned brighter. Wiping sweat from his brow, he tucked the practice swords under his arm and trudged back toward the palace.

Halfway down the winding corridors, Alexius nearly collided with Cassian. His elder brother loomed like a shadow, his polished boots clicking against the stone floor. Cassian's smirk was as sharp as the blade at his side.

"Trying to make up for years of incompetence, little brother?" Cassian sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Even a mule can't become a thoroughbred."

Alexius felt his fists clench instinctively, his jaw tightening. The urge to snap back was overwhelming, the words poised on the tip of his tongue. But then, something stopped him. A memory of his training, of the system's voice guiding him through the discipline of dual wielding, flashed through his mind.

He exhaled slowly, relaxing his hands. Without a word, Alexius stepped past Cassian, his shoulders square, his pace steady.

Cassian's smirk faltered, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Too weak to even respond? I'm not surprised."

Alexius didn't pause or glance back. He didn't need to. The quiet determination in his stride said everything Cassian needed to hear.

As Alexius neared his chambers, something unusual happened. A palace guard stationed near the grand staircase caught his eye and gave him a subtle nod. It wasn't much, just a brief acknowledgment, but it stopped Alexius in his tracks.

He blinked, unsure of how to interpret the gesture. Had the guard seen his training? Was it respect? Pity? Whatever it was, it was the first time anyone had looked at him with anything other than scorn or dismissal.

Alexius continued onward, his thoughts swirling.

Near his chamber doors, the low murmur of voices caught his attention. Two nobles were conversing in hushed tones, their words barely audible.

"…tensions brewing in the court. The King is considering a royal tournament…"

"…solidify alliances, they say. But it's more about weeding out weakness…"

The voices faded as Alexius passed by, but their words lingered in his mind. A royal tournament? The thought made his chest tighten. Was it another opportunity for the King to test his sons? Or something more?

Back in his room, Alexius collapsed into the chair near his desk, letting the practice swords clatter to the floor. He stared at the ceiling, his body aching, his mind buzzing.

A week of relentless training had transformed him in small but meaningful ways. His movements were more confident, his strikes more precise. But progress came with its own weight. The whispers, the stares, the constant comparison to his siblings, it was exhausting.

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror across the room. The boy who stared back at him looked older somehow, his eyes sharper, his expression more focused.

Is it enough?

The system's voice broke the silence, calm and unyielding.

"A greater trial awaits. Prepare yourself, Fatebound Prince."

Alexius straightened in his chair, his heart skipping a beat. A trial? The system's cryptic words rarely left room for interpretation. This was a warning, and a promise.

His mind raced back to the nobles' conversation. Could the trial be tied to the royal tournament? If so, it wouldn't just be a test of skill. It would be a stage to prove himself, to carve out a place in a kingdom that barely acknowledged him.

Alexius stood and moved to the window, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky. The weight of his circumstances pressed against him, but so did the spark of something greater, a resolve he hadn't felt in years.

The path ahead would be treacherous, but he was no longer the weak, overlooked prince he had been. He would rise, one step at a time.

As the stars began to peek through the clouds, Alexius whispered to himself, "Let them watch. Let them whisper. I'll show them what I can become."

And with that, he turned away from the window, ready to face whatever trial lay ahead.