A Dance of Steel

A Test of Strength

The grand dining hall of the Lionheart family was alight with warmth. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood and old stone. The polished marble floors gleamed under

 the golden light of intricate chandeliers, while the faint clink of silverware and the low murmur of conversation added a comforting backdrop to the scene. Long, polished tables laden with steaming dishes stretched across the room,

 while golden chandeliers bathed everyone in soft, glowing light. Tonight, the hall bore none of the rigidity that usually accompanied royal meals. No ceremonial guards were standing stiffly, and no court advisors whispering in

 corners. Instead, laughter and chatter filled the air—a family dinner in the truest sense.

Leo sat awkwardly, shifting in his chair. His gaze flicked around the table, taking in the warm smiles and teasing banter of his family. It felt strange, almost unreal, to be part of such an open, carefree moment. He couldn't help

 but wonder if he truly belonged here, if the warmth extended to him, or was just a facade. A knot tightened in his chest as memories of his past life surfaced—where trust and family were luxuries he could never afford. Here, he was

 supposed to be a prince, yet he felt like an outsider playing a role. His mother, the queen, smiled at him warmly. "Leorion, you've barely touched your plate. Are you not feeling well?"

Before Leo could respond, Galen, his younger brother, chuckled. "Or maybe he's just scared Caius might steal his food again. Remember that time in the garden?"

Everyone laughed except Caius, who shot Galen a sharp look. His jaw tightened briefly, but his hand, almost instinctively, nudged a bowl of stew closer to Leo's side of the table. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened before

 he masked it with his usual stoic expression. "Grow up, Galen. You're not a child anymore."

Leo glanced at Caius. His older brother's tone was as cold as ever, but Leo noticed something else—the way Caius had subtly nudged a bowl of stew closer to Leo's side of the table.

His father, King Cassius, cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the merriment. "Enough bickering. Tonight isn't about the past. We're here to celebrate the future. Leorion, you've had a tough road, but you're stronger

 than you realize. And to help you, I've arranged for someone to guide you."

After the dinner ended, Leo was summoned to his father's study. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting shadows on the shelves filled with ancient tomes and artifacts. King Cassius stood by the window, his imposing

 silhouette outlined against the moonlight.

"Leorion, come in," the king said, his tone calm but firm. "There's someone I want you to meet."

Leo stepped inside cautiously, his eyes landing on a man leaning against a bookshelf. His unkempt hair and mismatched armor made him look out of place amidst the grandeur of the study. A poorly wrapped bundle of swords rested against

 the wall beside him.

"This is Ronan," the king introduced. "He's agreed to train you, but only if you can prove yourself worthy."

Ronan straightened, his sharp eyes studying Leo with an air of disinterest." so you are Cassius's son...huh?

 Your old man begged me to whip you into shape. Not sure I see the point, but a debt's a debt."

Leo blinked, unsure how to respond." He is calling the king of this kingdom by his name and even Father isn't saying anything that means he is someone Father respects enough to care about about name huh..". Ronan's nonchalant

 demeanor was disarming, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hinted at his true strength.

"Before we waste time," Ronan continued, "I've got a test. If you can land a single strike on me, I'll teach you. If not, I'm out."

The training ground was eerily quiet, the air heavy with anticipation. The moon cast long shadows over the dirt field as Ronan stood lazily in the center, spinning a wooden practice sword in his hand. Despite his casual demeanor,

 there was a palpable intensity about him that made the air feel heavier.

"Ready, kid?" Ronan asked, yawning as though bored.

Leo nodded, gripping his sword tightly. His palms were slick with sweat, and his heart pounded in his chest. He knew this wasn't just a simple spar—it was a test of his resolve, skill, and heritage.

"Then come at me," Ronan said, his voice calm yet commanding.

Leo advanced cautiously. This was no ordinary opponent; Ronan was a Grand Swordmaster, a man whose reputation preceded him. KingLion Tempest Sword Art was all Leo had, and even that felt inadequate against someone like Ronan.

The first strike was swift and deliberate—Lion's Fang, a powerful downward slash meant to overwhelm defenses. Ronan sidestepped effortlessly, his wooden sword lightly tapping Leo's exposed shoulder. "Predictable," he commented.

Undeterred, Leo shifted tactics. He used Golden Prowl, a technique designed for quick lateral movements and feints. His blade danced, creating openings where there were none. Yet, every strike was met with a calm parry,

 Ronan's movements are minimal but effective.

"Is this all the famous Lionheart family can muster?" Ronan taunted, his voice laced with mockery.

Anger bubbled within Leo, but he suppressed it. He needed clarity, not rage. Drawing on the last reserves of his strength, he executed Roaring Storm, a flurry of strikes aimed to overwhelm even the most skilled opponent.

 Dust swirled around them, and the sound of clashing blades echoed through the training ground.

For a moment, it seemed Leo had the upper hand. But just as quickly as the storm began, Ronan broke through it, his sword finding an opening and slamming into Leo's ribs. The force sent him sprawling to the ground.

"You're stubborn, I'll give you that," Ronan said, standing over him. "But grit alone won't save you."

Leo's vision blurred, his body trembling from exertion. Yet, deep within, something stirred—a flicker of defiance, of determination. He planted his sword into the ground and forced himself to stand. "I'm not done yet," he said,

 his voice hoarse but resolute.

Ronan raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading. "You're still standing? Interesting."

Leo launched himself forward once more, pouring everything into his movements. Each technique flowed seamlessly into the next, an improvised symphony of aggression and precision. But it wasn't enough. Ronan was untouchable, 

his counters as fluid as water and as unyielding as steel.

Finally, as Leo attempted one last desperate strike, his body gave out. He collapsed, the world spinning around him. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, but before it claimed him, he heard Ronan's voice.

"Good enough," Ronan said, his tone softer, almost impressed. "You've got spirit, kid. You'll need it."

As Leo faded into unconsciousness, he caught a glimpse of Ronan's expression—no longer mocking, but approving. The Grand Swordmaster had made his decision.