10. The weight of strangth

The morning light crept through the gaps in the wooden walls of his hut, painting thin golden lines across Harsh's bruised skin.

Pain greeted him the moment he shifted—but it was muted, distant.

He sat up slowly, expecting the same soreness as before. But something was different.

His body felt lighter. Not in the sense of weight, but in how it moved. He clenched his fists experimentally, flexing his fingers. His grip felt… firmer. He rotated his shoulder where a particularly harsh strike had landed yesterday, and the stiffness was almost nonexistent.

A chill ran down his spine.

He had been battered and broken after the training. He should have woken up barely able to move. And yet—his body was responding as if he had only been through a mild workout.

Something had changed.

He stood, testing his balance. His legs held firm beneath him, the aching gone as if his muscles had been rebuilt overnight.

This wasn't natural.

But before he could dwell on it, reality came crashing back.

The world did not wait for his revelations.

Summoned to the Palace

A sharp knock sounded at his door.

Harsh turned, pulse quickening. No one ever visited him this early.

When he opened it, a man dressed in the livery of a noble household stood before him, his face impassive.

"You are summoned," the man said. "Now."

Harsh blinked. "By who?"

The man gave no answer, simply turning on his heel, expecting him to follow.

Harsh exhaled slowly. He didn't have the luxury of refusing.

He grabbed his outer robe and stepped out, walking into the unknown.

A Game of Shadows

The palace loomed in the distance, a structure of sandstone and intricate carvings, towering over the city like a reminder of who held power.

Harsh had been near it before but never inside. He wasn't of noble enough birth to warrant an invitation. Yet, today, he was being brought in.

The servant led him through the grand gates, past heavily armed guards who barely spared him a glance.

The halls were cool despite the rising heat outside, shaded by ornate columns and flowing silk curtains. The scent of incense clung to the air.

Finally, they stopped before a large wooden door.

The servant pushed it open and gestured for Harsh to step inside.

He did.

And the moment he did, he felt her presence.

The noblewoman sat near a window, dressed in deep red silk, her gold jewelry catching the sunlight.

Her lips curved into a faint smile as she saw him.

"You look… well," she said.

Harsh narrowed his eyes. "You expected otherwise?"

She chuckled softly. "Most men do not return from their first real training without limping for days."

Harsh felt a flicker of unease. Had she been watching him?

She gestured to a cushioned seat. "Sit."

He did, cautiously.

A servant poured wine into a bronze cup and placed it before him. He did not touch it.

The noblewoman noticed but said nothing.

Instead, she studied him for a long moment before speaking again.

"You are not an ordinary man."

Harsh's fingers tensed against his knee. "What makes you say that?"

She tilted her head. "You learn fast. You endure pain without complaint. And you do not break, even when you should."

He met her gaze. "And what does that make me?"

Her smile did not reach her eyes. "Useful."

Harsh exhaled. "Why am I here?"

She took a slow sip of her wine before answering.

"Because you interest me."

"That's not an answer."

Her expression did not change. "No, it is not."

The silence stretched between them.

Finally, she leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering.

"This kingdom is not as stable as it appears," she murmured. "The throne is contested, the borders are restless, and shadows move where no one is looking."

Harsh kept his face carefully blank. He had suspected something like this, but hearing it confirmed was different.

"And where do you stand in all of this?" he asked.

She smiled. "I stand where I need to."

Harsh exhaled. This woman was dangerous. He had known it from the moment they met. But she was also offering something no one else had.

A chance to be more than a powerless observer.

He had already learned the first rule of this world.

Weakness was not forgiven.

If he wanted to survive, he had to start playing the game.

And so, for the first time, he leaned forward too.

"I'm listening," he said.

The noblewoman's smile widened.

The game had begun.