Chapter 2: Neither Scholar Nor Warrior

**The Day of Triumph**

In stark contrast to the jubilant atmosphere flooding the streets of the Imperial City, the Earl's mansion lay shrouded in silence.

There were no grand banquets, no celebrations, not even a modest gathering. After disembarking from the warship, the Earl had hastily abandoned the planned ceremony—where a thousand soldiers from the expeditionary fleet would march through the city for public review—leaving his deputy in charge. Upon returning home, he turned away all visitors, offering a polished excuse to the public: *After years of military service, the Earl needed private time to comfort his lonely wife.*

Though disappointing to many who had meticulously prepared to flatter the Empire's newest hero, the excuse was met with unanimous sympathy.

Now, inside the opulent halls of the Earl's residence, the triumphant naval commander stood face-to-face with his own son.

His gaze was heavy, troubled, and layered with unspoken thoughts.

Were it not for his unwavering trust in his wife's fidelity, Count Raymond's first reaction upon seeing the child would have been: *Is this truly my blood?*

The boy's appearance diverged starkly from the Ford family's legacy.

Men of the Ford lineage were renowned for their rugged, heroic stature—tall, broad-chested, with strong limbs, square jaws, and straight noses. Count Raymond himself epitomized this ideal: a towering figure celebrated in his youth as the paragon of masculine vigor among the imperial nobility.

But this frail little creature before him…

Though only three years old, the child seemed alarmingly delicate for a Ford heir. His pale, slender frame suggested lingering frailty from a recent illness. Worse still, the boy lacked the boisterous cries expected of a healthy child. Tradition held that loud wails signaled strength—yet here he sat, silent and unnervingly composed, hands resting on his knees as he studied his father with a gaze that mingled curiosity and scrutiny.

The Count wondered if his eyes deceived him.

*How could a three-year-old's eyes hold such complexity?*

While the Earl brooded, Bennett Ford's thoughts churned with greater turmoil.

His beautiful mother, through tender care and recent trials, had softened his heart. But this sudden "father"…

*Who does he think he is?*

"He still cannot speak?" The Count's voice tightened as he glanced at his wife, though the tears glistening in her eyes softened his tone. Years at sea had left her alone during childbirth and their son's infancy—he couldn't blame her for the boy's condition. "We'll engage the Empire's finest tutors. As for his weakness…" He squared his shoulders, the soldier's resolve resurfacing. "Fords are warriors. My son will follow my path as an imperial general. He needs strength. Starting next month, my guard captain, Alpha, will train him in basic drills."

Tears spilled down the Countess's cheeks. "But he's so young!"

"Precisely why he must begin now." The Count's decision brooked no argument.

The next day, after accepting the Emperor's third Medal of Imperial Valor at a grand ceremony and being promoted to Deputy Commander of the Imperial Military Council—the second-highest military rank—Raymond Ford privately relinquished his naval title and authority in a closed-door audience with the Emperor.

He declined all celebratory banquets, even turning away dignitaries from the Temple of the Goddess of Light, before rushing home—to shape a son who seemed neither scholar nor warrior.

The Ford family's shame was now an open secret in the Imperial City: Count Raymond's heir was a fool.

As the Count accepted his honors at the ceremony, the shadow in his eyes drew sympathy from allies and silent mockery from rivals alike.

Back home, he faced his son again—this time without his wife's softening presence. Beside him stood Alpha, his loyal guard captain and a First-Class Imperial Swordsman renowned for his *Flowing Flame Blade* technique, counted among the capital's deadliest warriors.

For reasons he couldn't name, Raymond felt an instinctive aversion to the child. The boy's gaze held more than emptiness; it simmered with defiance. *But surely a three-year-old knows nothing of resentment,* he told himself. *How could he bond with a father who's never held him?*

Alpha knelt in formal homage before Bennett's bed, then stripped the boy and methodically palpated every inch of his frail body. Bennett squirmed, repulsed by the stranger's touch, but the swordsman's grip was iron.

"Hmm." Alpha's face darkened as he redressed the child. Rising, he bowed to the Count. "My lord…"

"Speak freely," Raymond urged. "You've served me twenty years. No truths left unsaid."

"Young Master Bennett…" The captain hesitated. "His constitution is… deficient. Slender bones, erratic pulse. Even commoners fare better. To pursue martial training…" He steadied himself. "It would yield little."

The air thickened.

"Your counsel, then?"

"Seek his talents elsewhere, my lord. The sword will not honor him—or House Ford."

The Count's face hardened to stone.

Chapter 2: Neither Scholar Nor Warrior (Part 2)

"The Earl of Ford's son is a simpleton."

This open secret now slithered through every corner of the Imperial City. The shadow veiling Count Raymond's eyes during his medal ceremony drew pity from allies and smirks from rivals.

At home, the Earl faced his son again—this time flanked not by his wife, but by Alpha, his loyal guard captain and a First-Class Imperial Swordsman famed for his *Flowing Flame Blade*. For twenty years, Alpha's loyalty had been as unyielding as his sword.

Yet the Count couldn't shake his unease. The boy's gaze held not mere vacancy but defiance—a spark that clashed with his tender age. *Three years old. Barely weaned. How could he resent a father he's never known?*

Alpha knelt before Bennett's bed in ritual deference, then stripped the child and pressed calloused fingers along his limbs, probing ribs and joints. Bennett writhed, repulsed by the intrusion, but resistance was futile against a warrior's grip.

"His bones… are too brittle," Alpha finally said, voice graveled with regret. "His pulse flutters like a wounded bird. Even commoners are sturdier. Martial training…" He bowed lower. "It would break him."

The Count's jaw tightened. "Your counsel?"

"Let him seek paths beyond the sword, my lord. Honor House Ford… through other means."

---

**The Turn of Fortune**

For days, the Count stewed in disappointment, until his wife's gentle words rekindled hope. *Fords are warriors, but history remembers strategists too.*

If not the sword, then the mind.

But how to teach a child who refused to speak?

Unlike his wife's tender faith, the Count nursed a suspicion: *This boy isn't mute. He's stubborn.* Each visit deepened the conviction. Bennett's eyes—sharp, wary—betrayed comprehension far beyond a "simpleton."

A solution came through gold.

The Earl offered a king's ransom: 1,000 gold coins to whoever could make his son speak. The city erupted. Scholars, minstrels, even charlatans flocked to the manor, wielding flutes, gongs, and absurd theatrics. One fool suggested tossing the boy into a river—"Fear loosens tongues!"—and earned a broken leg for his cruelty.

The answer, ironically, lay in horse dung.

Madd—the stablehand Bennett had "chosen" during his fevered ramblings—led the boy to the stables. Inside, the stench of neglected manure struck like a physical blow. Madd staggered, but Bennett's reaction was priceless:

"Gods, it reeks!"

The words spilled out, sharp and clear. Madd earned his gold; the lazy stablehand, spared punishment, pocketed twenty coins.

And the Count? He smirked at his son's flushed face. *You've been playing us all along.*

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**A Scholar's Gamble**

"From today, he is your teacher."

The Count gestured to a white-robed elder beside him—a man whose eyes gleamed with the weight of stars and scrolls. "Master Roxiart: Imperial Astrologer, historian, and your new tutor."

At first, progress dazzled. By four, Bennett could write Imperial script—a feat rare even for noble children. The Count, grudgingly impressed, wondered: *Could this stubborn whelp be… gifted?*

Perhaps the most pivotal -and mysterious- moment in the early life of Bennett came when he turned five. Even the distinguished Rosicart had met his match.

It was the evening of Bennett's five and a half year old birthday, when the Earl lingered in his study discussing with Rosicart well into the night.

"Earl, I must adcounsel you to seek another tutor." The old astronomer's expression was despondent. "Your son has a brilliant mind, but this weary old man simply lacks the stamina to instruct such a precocious pupil."

The Earl's heart sank at the scholar's tone. Even a fool could discern the thinly veiled excuse in Rosicart's words. Was his son truly as dim-witted as they said? How could a child so bright and curious be deemed unworthy of such a distinguished tutor?

"But Rosicart," The Earl began, his tone heavy.

"Oh please, my lord," The scholar interrupted, his voice trembling. "I humbly beseech you to release me from this burden. This task is simply beyond my capabilities."

The tutor's adamant refusal left the Earl sighing in frustration. If instructing his son was such a 'formidable' task, what hope did the Earl have of finding another capable of the challenge? Surely lesser men would fare even worse.

And yet, as Rosicart insisted, the Earl had no choice but to agree.

Rosicart's sudden departure left the Earl with a bitter aftertaste. Had he truly raised such a hopeless child?

From his perch in the attic window, Bennett silently watched his tutor depart. Rosicart's belongings packed, the aged scholar bundled into a carriage and disappeared into the evening.

"Master," came the tentative call of Mad, who had attended to the boy since he first began speaking. "Sir...?"

Bennett didn't turn, his voice dry and distant. "Mad... do you believe that ignorance is a kind of happiness?"

"Umm..." Mad scratched his head, uncertain how to respond. Ignorance? Was the boy expressing doubt in his own intellect? Such profound questions left Mad tongue-tied.

"Never mind," Bennett said, turning with a faint, weary smile. "Compared to the people of this world, I know too much.

I know why there is a sun and moon, why day turns to night, why the seasons change, why spring follows winter.

But this knowledge is my burden. Perhaps for those in this world, ignorance is indeed bliss."

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**Author's Note:**

*Votes and recommendations appreciated! Your support fuels young Bennett's journey from outcast to... well, we'll see.*