The Serpent Prince

The sun's rays barely penetrated the thick canopy of trees surrounding the secluded training grounds. The air was heavy with the scent of dew and earth, mingled with the faint metallic tang of sweat. Leo stood before Ronan,

 his breathing uneven, his muscles screaming in protest from days of relentless training.

Ronan leaned lazily against a tree, a smirk playing on his lips as he eyed the disheveled prince. "You're holding up better than I expected, kid. But don't get any ideas. I'm not teaching you my sword art."

Leo's jaw tightened, but he kept his frustration in check. He had learned quickly that arguing with Ronan was futile. The man was as immovable as the mountains, and any attempt at persuasion would only lead to more grueling drills.

 "If you can learn by watching, that's on you," Ronan had said on the first day, his tone dripping with skepticism.

Now, as Ronan picked up a stick and twirled it between his fingers, Leo braced himself. "First lesson of the day: Adapt or die. Let's see how you handle this." Without warning, Ronan hurled the stick at him. Leo barely managed to dodge,

 the wooden projectile grazing his shoulder.

For the next several days, Ronan's training regimen pushed Leo to the brink. Physical drills left his body battered and bruised, while mental exercises tested his patience and focus. Combat scenarios were the worst;

 Ronan's unpredictability and overwhelming skill left Leo constantly on edge. Yet, each evening, as he limped back to his quarters, Leo's resolve only grew stronger. Failure was not an option. Not for him. Not anymore.

During this time, Leo began executing his plan to unmask the traitor poisoning him. The opportunity presented itself during a family dinner.

"The food tonight tastes… different," Leo remarked casually, glancing at his mother. "Better, actually. It doesn't have that odd flavor I've grown used to."

His mother, Queen Sylvia, paused mid-bite. Her sharp eyes darted to Leo's plate, then back to him. "Odd flavor?"

Leo feigned ignorance, offering a nonchalant shrug. "It's probably nothing. Maybe my tastes are changing."

The queen's expression darkened, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face. She said nothing more, but Leo knew she would act. His mother wasn't one to ignore subtle hints, especially when it concerned her children.

 She would investigate quietly, beginning with the royal kitchens.

While his mother pursued her own discreet inquiries, Leo took a far more direct approach. He wasn't the naive and kind-hearted Leorion Von Lionheart anymore. He was Alex Benjamin, a man forged in the fires of betrayal

 and bloodshed. Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford. Every servant, every guard, every shadow became a potential threat in his eyes.

Late one night, under the cover of darkness, Leo sat cross-legged in his chambers. His breathing was steady as he activated the Heavenly Black Serpent Art. The poison coursing through his veins was harmless to him,

 neutralized through his meditation. But over the past few days, he had been refining it, manipulating its properties to create something far more sinister.

Before him sat a small vial filled with a viscous, black liquid. It was his weapon—a poison distilled from his own blood. Its effects were as cruel as they were ingenious: death within seven days without the antidote,

 excruciating pain for anyone harboring harmful intentions toward him, and a horrifying demise for those who dared act against him. The poison would manifest as serpents growing within the victim's body, devouring them from

 the inside out before bursting free in a grotesque spectacle of death.

The trap was set. Leo had spent days observing the maid who served his meals, noting her nervous glances, trembling hands, and frequent trips to places she had no business visiting. Tonight, he would confront her.

Concealed in the shadows of the palace corridor, Leo waited. His presence was a ghostly whisper, a skill honed in his previous life as Alex Benjamin. When the maid entered his chambers, carrying his evening meal,

 he struck. Swift and silent, he pinned her against the wall, his hand clamping over her mouth to stifle her scream.

"Don't bother lying," he whispered, his voice cold and menacing. "I know what you've been doing."

Her eyes widened in terror, tears streaming down her face as she shook her head frantically. Leo produced the vial, holding it up so the dim candlelight caught the dark liquid within.

"This is your punishment," he said, his tone devoid of mercy. "Drink it."

She struggled, but Leo's grip was unyielding. Forcing the vial to her lips, he made her swallow every drop. The maid collapsed to the ground, clutching her throat as the poison took hold. Her breathing became labored,

 her body trembling as the venom worked its way through her system.

"You have seven days to live," Leo said, crouching to meet her gaze. His voice was calm, almost clinical. "Unless you obey me. Every week, you'll receive a temporary antidote. Betray me, and the poison will punish you in

 ways you can't imagine."

He leaned closer, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. "Defy me, and you'll wish for death. The poison will grow into snakes inside you, and they will eat their way out."

The maid's resolve crumbled. She sobbed uncontrollably, nodding as she pleaded for mercy. Leo's lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Good," he said, rising to his feet. "Now, tell me everything you know about Silent Dawn."

The maid's confession spilled out in broken fragments. She spoke of coded messages, hidden compartments, and shadowy figures who operated within the palace walls. Silent Dawn's reach was deeper than Leo had anticipated,

 and their plans were far more insidious.

By the time the sun rose, Leo had extracted every ounce of information she possessed. The maid, now a broken shell of her former self, had been turned into his unwilling informant. Leo didn't trust her—not fully. But for now,

 she was useful.

The morning after the confrontation, Leo's body ached from Ronan's relentless training. The poison incident had left him mentally and physically drained, yet he pushed through, refusing to show weakness.

Ronan watched him struggle with an amused expression. "You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said, picking up a practice sword. "But guts won't make you a swordsman."

Leo gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he refused to falter.

For a moment, Ronan's smirk softened into something resembling respect. "From today onward," he said, tossing the practice sword to Leo, "I'll start improving your techniques. Try to keep up."

Despite the exhaustion weighing him down, a faint smile tugged at Leo's lips. For the first time, Ronan had acknowledged his potential. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

As Leo tightened his grip on the practice sword, he felt a surge of determination. The path ahead was fraught with challenges, but he would face them all head-on. After all, he wasn't just fighting for himself. He was fighting for a

 future where he would never be at the mercy of others again.