Chapter 4: The Weight of being the heir

**Chapter 4: The Weight of being the heir **

The morning sun barely kissed the horizon when Leonhardt Valerian Everhart was already moving. His breaths came slow and controlled, his muscles taut with the memory of endless drills. The training ground, a vast open field bordered by towering stone walls, stood empty save for him and the only man who could challenge him—the Grand Duke Damian Aurelius Everhart.

Clad in a simple training tunic and pants, Leonhardt's every motion was calculated, precise. A sword—one not yet his full size but heavier than most adult knights could wield—rested firmly in his grip. Across from him, his father, the strongest swordsman in the empire, observed him with an expression of quiet scrutiny.

"You're getting faster," Damian noted, rolling his shoulders. "But speed without intent is wasted movement."

Leonhardt didn't answer. He knew what was coming next.

With a mere shift of his stance, Damian moved. The sheer force of his advance kicked up dust, and in the blink of an eye, his blade was descending toward Leonhardt's shoulder. It was a move that would have crushed an ordinary knight, even one with years of experience. But Leonhardt was no ordinary knight.

He twisted at the last moment, his body weaving through the oncoming attack, and retaliated with a swift upward strike. The sound of clashing metal rang through the air. Damian's blade met his with ease, his strength alone pushing Leonhardt several steps back.

"Good." A rare praise, but Damian was not done. "Again."

For the next hour, the field became a storm of steel and sweat. Damian attacked with the precision of a master, and Leonhardt countered with a ferocity that belied his young age. Each movement was honed, sharpened by days, months, years of practice. Though his body ached, he did not falter. He couldn't afford to.

A final exchange sent Leonhardt skidding back, his blade barely deflecting the sheer weight of his father's last strike. He exhaled slowly, lowering his sword but not his guard.

Damian studied him for a long moment before nodding. "That will do for today."

Leonhardt gave a small bow of acknowledgment before turning on his heel. Training with his father was but one part of his routine, and he had other matters to attend to. As he walked off the field, he could feel his father's gaze still on him, watchful, contemplative.

---

The grand halls of Everhart Castle were never silent. Nobles, retainers, and servants moved with a purpose, their voices hushed but ever present. To Leonhardt, it was mere background noise.

"Brother!"

He turned just in time to see a small figure dart toward him. His younger sister, Celeste Everhart, barely eight years old, beamed up at him, her golden hair shimmering like their mother's. She clutched a book in her hands, her expression eager.

"Are you busy?" she asked, tilting her head.

Leonhardt glanced at the book. Something about celestial constellations. He understood immediately—she wanted him to explain it to her. He should have refused. He had no time for distractions. And yet…

"Come." He gestured slightly, leading her toward the study.

Celeste's eyes brightened, and she happily followed.

The study was a quiet refuge, lined with books detailing magic, history, and the exploits of warriors long past. As they settled in, Leonhardt took the book from her, flipping through the pages with an unreadable expression.

"Why do you want to know about constellations?" he asked.

Celeste tapped her fingers together. "Mother told me that some stars hold the blessings of gods. I thought maybe…" She hesitated. "Maybe they could tell me more about you."

Leonhardt's hand stilled on the page. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "You believe the stars would have answers about me?"

She nodded earnestly. "You're amazing, Brother. I want to understand how you do everything so perfectly."

For a brief moment, something flickered in his gaze. **If only she knew.**

He closed the book and handed it back. "The stars do not decide one's fate," he said simply. "Only power does."

Celeste frowned but did not argue. Instead, she clutched the book to her chest and gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Brother."

Leonhardt merely nodded before standing. He had wasted enough time. Nightfall would come soon, and with it, his true training.

---

The hidden chamber beneath the western wing of the castle pulsed with ancient magic. The runes carved into the stone glowed faintly, their light flickering like dying embers. Leonhardt stood in the center, surrounded by tomes and scrolls containing knowledge lost to time.

With a breath, he extended his hand, calling upon the magic only he could wield.

The air crackled, and shadows twisted at his command. Arcane symbols spiraled around him, whispering in a tongue only he understood. This was magic older than the empire itself, far beyond what his mother or any modern magician could comprehend. It was his alone.

And it was still not enough.

He clenched his fists, frustration barely flickering across his otherwise impassive face. He had to grow stronger, faster. The seal—her seal—remained unbroken. **Time was slipping through his fingers.**

With renewed determination, he delved deeper into the forbidden arts, pushing his limits beyond what should have been possible. The world above remained oblivious to his struggles, to his true purpose.

To them, he was simply a genius.

But Leonhardt Valerian Everhart was something far more.

The world just didn't know it yet.