25 Not Every Genius Serves a King”

Albert Castle was one of three castles belonging to the Great Families of the Ngola Kingdom . At the top of the chain of power was the Royal Family—their will was law, their decrees unquestionable. Just below them came the Three Great Families.

These families were not just nobles; they were political and military giants. Each of them commanded one of the three largest armies in the kingdom, and they also wielded vast resources and an influence that was second only to the throne. It was said that the power accumulated by any one of these houses would be enough to found a small independent kingdom—or easily dominate seven tier 1 or tier 2 kingdoms. It was no wonder that the prestige of the Great Families in the Ngola Kingdom was absolute.

Below them were the 18 Provincial Lords. The kingdom was made up of 19 provinces—with a capital directly controlled by the King. Each of these lords governed a province and maintained its own army. In power and status , they were only one step below the Great Families.

The titled nobles came next. Responsible for regions within the provinces, they answered directly to the lords. Their lands were vast, and their authority locally unchallenged.

Below them were the untitled nobles, followed by the merchant families, and finally the guilds—each playing their part in the aristocratic specialization of the kingdom.

The leaders of the Great Families received, in recognition of their importance, the title of Princes of the Kingdom — a distinction that reinforced their direct link to the crown.

Albert Castle , Ferdinand Venhorst mingled in a living room of subtle splendor. The decor was in pale red tones; long, striped white curtains billowed softly like peacetime flags. In the center, an imposing statue of a golden raven dominated the space. Its eyes, carved with uncanny precision , were innocent and alive—gazing out at everyone with the majesty of a being who knew his place at the top of the world.

A maid dressed in black and white entered. Her beauty was serene, and her steps were as soft as the morning breeze. However, her power level was that of a diamond adventurer—a subtle reminder that even the servants of the Albert House could shake mountains. She gracefully served the visitor a cup of tea.

Fernando took a cup to his lips, tasted it with the composure of an old nobleman and nodded slightly, satisfied with the taste.

It was then that a voice sounded behind him, masculine, firm and at the same time refined—like a polished blade being gently unsheathed:

— Lord Fernando... What a surprise.

The newcomer was none other than Prince Leonel Albert —the greatest scholar of the Ngola Kingdom , adored by scholars and revered by court ladies everywhere. His presence was like that of a silent storm: elegant, yet charged with power.

Prince Leonel Albert was the very definition of masculine grace. His appearance was like a living sculpture—blood-red hair, blood-red eyes, a well-defined triangular chin, and skin as pale and smooth as fine porcelain. His teeth, as white as ivory, gleamed in the light from the room's high windows. He wore a crimson gown embroidered with gold around the edges, the fabric of which seemed to float with the lightness of enchanted silk. On the right side of his chest, below the royal coat of arms, was the image of a golden raven, the symbol of the House of Albert .

Fernando Venhorst bowed in respect. He bowed slightly—not with subservience, but with the politeness of someone who knows the games of power well.

—Greetings, Prince Leonel Albert —he said, in a tone that avoided both flattery and haughtiness.

Leonel returned the gesture with the lightness worthy of his position. He walked to an armchair adorned with phoenix feathers and sat down. With a subtle gesture of his hand, he indicated for Fernando to follow him. Then, he dismissed the maid with a simple look. Only the two of them remained in the room.

— Lord Fernando... After so many years, meeting you again is an unexpected pleasure — said Leonel, smiling with the naturalness of someone in control.

—It has been a long time, indeed, Prince Leonel Albert —replied Fernando, accommodating himself with calculated modifications.

— You did me an invaluable favor in the past, Fernando. A favor that not even the Royal Family could easily repay. Therefore, consider yourself more than an ally: you are a benefactor friend. I see no need for us to keep things the same between us — Leonel said, gently shaking his hand. A cup of tea appeared in his palm, as if conjured from thin air. He filled it and took a sip with aristocratic ease.

Fernando said lightly, "If Prince Leonel Albert so wishes, so be it."

— Very well. So, my friend Fernando... what brings you to my residence? — he asked. Albert , crossing one leg over the other.

In the Prince's mind, Ferdinand Venhorst was anything but ordinary. At first glance, he seemed like just another territorial lord—discreet, elegant, and a man of few words. But Leonel, as shrewd as an old fox, had similar thoughts from afar. In the past, Ferdinand had achieved something that even the Royal House could not easily achieve: a superior ice attribute core—and not just one, but five.

And as if that were not enough, Fernando had also acquired a higher-level matrix from the royal family itself: the Matrix of Life. Leonel knew this matrix very well — he himself had developed it, together with his brilliant disciple, Geremia , a direct envoy of the Royal Family.

It was clear that Fernando was not an ordinary player on the Ngola Kingdom's board .

Still, Leonel Albert did not feel threatened. On the contrary. He was also a superior being — and much more powerful than Fernando.

— Prince Leonel, or rather... Mister Leonel — Fernando began, but was soon interrupted.

— Just call me Albert — said the Prince, with a half smile on his lips.

— Albert , today I came to ask for your help... it's about my son — said Fernando, with a look of concern etched on his face.

— Your son? What happened? — asked Leonel Albert , raising an eyebrow slightly, curious.

— I need your assistance with his evolution ritual — Fernando replied, his voice firm but tinged with tension.

Leonel frowned, showing discomfort.

—Evolution ritual? Why bother me with something so... trivial ? You are a superior being. Why don't you do it yourself? — he retorted , without hiding his displeasure.

Fernando smiled bitterly.

— If it were something simple, Albert , I wouldn't have come here. My son... was born with a singularity. Something that not even I could understand or decipher — he said, with the gravity of someone carrying a dangerous secret.

— A singularity? — Leonel murmured thoughtfully. After a brief silence, he added: — That changes everything. And what exactly do you want from me?

Fernando straightened up.

— As a way of repaying the favor, I have three requests to make — he declared seriously.

— Very well, Fernando. What are these requests? — asked Leonel, his expression now taking on a more sober tone.

— First, I want us to sign a confidentiality agreement. Second, I want you to personally accompany me to my son's evolution ritual. The third... will only be revealed after the contract is signed.

Leonel put his hand to his chin, thoughtful. A heavy silence fell over the room, only the sound of the wind moving the curtains broke the stillness. Two minutes passed. Fernando remained silent — he knew that pressing would be a mistake.

—Okay. We can seal this confidentiality agreement—he said finally, with a serenity that revealed, deep down, his caution.

Fernando sighed silently, relieved.

— If you will allow me, I will initiate the contract right now — he announced. Without waiting for a response, he took a magical parchment from inside his robe: a Contract Sheet .

With a small cut on his finger, he used his own blood to write the clauses. The letters appeared like wildfire on the parchment. Then he handed it to Leonel Albert .

Albert read it carefully, line by line. The contract was straightforward: any information concerning John Venhorst was to be kept strictly confidential. No disclosure, direct or indirect, was to be permitted.

Without hesitation, Leonel pricked his finger and touched the parchment with blood. A golden glow ran through the inscriptions. Then, the contract transformed into a beam of light that penetrated the bodies of the two.

The pact was sealed. Breaking it would bring severe punishments—from spiritual torment to death itself, depending on the breach.

Leonel leaned back slightly in his armchair, watching Fernando with half-closed eyes.

— Very well, Fernando... Now you can make your third request.

— Yes, but before that, I need to make the situation very clear — said Fernando, his voice full of seriousness.

Leonel Albert tilted his head slightly, indicating that he was paying attention.

Fernando began to recount everything he knew about his son John's uniqueness. It wasn't much—and he knew it—but he was honest and meticulous in every detail. He told of the events surrounding the boy's birth, the unusual reaction of Catherine's body, and the mysterious mention of the "sea of the soul." The only detail he omitted was the theory that John might be from another world—he himself thought that part was a bit fanciful.

During the story, Leonel remained silent, only reacting with subtle movements of his frown or a slight raising of his eyebrow. His expression was serene, but his eyes were fixed like sharp blades, absorbing every word.

When Fernando finished, Leonel Albert took a deep breath and murmured:

— An incredible story, Fernando. I confess I've never heard anything like it. — A smile appeared on his lips, but there was something enigmatic behind it.

— Well, for my third request... — Fernando continued, with a smile that didn't seem like a smile. — I would like your help to investigate this singularity. I want to know who — or what — my son really is.

Leonel nodded firmly.

— Very well, my friend Fernando. I will help your son. When should that be?

— I intend to send it to the Institute soon. So the sooner the better — replied Fernando.

— How old is the boy? — Leonel asked , crossing his fingers in front of his chin.

—Eight years—Fernando replied without hesitation.

— An evolution ritual at eight... — Leonel smiled, not in disbelief, but in defiance. — For others, it would be madness. For me... it's as simple as drinking a glass of water.

Fernando laughed discreetly, relieved.

— I am relieved to hear this from the greatest researcher in the kingdom.

The conversation went on for hours. The two men touched on a variety of topics: the current politics of the Ngola Kingdom , the weakening of the North, rumors of movements among the ancient bloodline families, and even the growing number of higher beings awakening in the peripheral regions.

As the sun began to set, it was decided: Leonel Albert would follow Fernando to the Venhorst Territory in three months, which would give time for the necessary preparations.

The next day.Territory Venhorst .

The morning sun poured its gold over the vast plains west of Venhorst Castle . The wind blew gently across the fields, rippling the grass as if the earth itself were breathing.

In the training yard, Felicia wielded a long wooden sword, her movements fluid, clean, and full of intention. In front of her, John imitated her, holding a smaller sword, appropriate for his size. Despite his effort, his movements were still clumsy—sometimes exaggerating the turns, sometimes losing his balance.

Felicia showed no impatience. With each wrong move, she corrected him with a look or a subtle touch on his shoulder. This was the Sea-Splitting Sword Art—an ancient technique that required control of one's inner flow, not just strength or agility.

— Control your center of gravity, John. The sword dances with the sea, it doesn't fight against it — she said, her voice calm but firm.

Out of every five moves, John managed to execute two or three perfectly. No small feat, considering the complexity of the technique. His eyes shone with determination. Even when he made a mistake, he didn't give up—he just took a step back and tried again.

Felicia observed carefully. There was something strange about that boy. The way he assimilated movements... it was n't natural. It was instinctive.

As if his soul already knew the path of the blade.

For John, the theoretical part of the technique was like trying to grab the mist with his hands. Expressions like "feel the sea," "embrace the sea," "become the sea," or "part the sea" had no meaning to him. They were empty poetry. He wanted something concrete, tangible—movements, stances, combat. He had decided for himself that he would understand the principles of the art only when he was stronger, when his muscles understood what his mind could not yet grasp.

In the middle of the training, a familiar figure approached with silent steps: Ceto, the Venhorst family's butler . His impeccable attire danced lightly in the morning wind. He stopped at a respectful distance, bowing slightly.

— Young master, the regional leaders, Kassandra and Barbara One, have arrived — he announced in a deep but calm voice.

John nodded, wiping the sweat with his forearm.

— All right, Ceto. Welcome them and make them comfortable. I'll be joining them soon.

— As you wish, young lord. — The butler bowed once more and left with the same elegance with which he had arrived.

John turned to Felicia. They both resumed their training, repeating the movements of the first swing of the Seasplitting Sword for another half hour. It was a pattern that required perfect balance between softness and strength—and although John made frequent mistakes, he could already feel a rhythm developing in his body.

After training, John showered, dressed in formal clothes—not fancy, but enough to show respect—and walked to the front porch of the castle. The view from there was splendid: green plains stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted by dense woods and gentle hills.

— Ceto , bring the visitors here — he ordered calmly.

A short time later, the sound of footsteps echoed against the polished marble of the entrance. Four figures appeared beneath the arched porch. John recognized two of them immediately: Kassandra and Barbara One, regional leaders and heads of powerful clans. The other two figures, however, were new to him.

Behind Barbara One came a boy of about ten years old. His build was impressive for someone his age—broad shoulders, well-defined muscles, and a hardened expression. He wore hunting clothes reinforced with rawhide. The most striking feature, however, were the long, curved horns that sprouted from his head, betraying his semi-human heritage: a hybrid between man and bull.

Kassandra 's side was a girl, perhaps eleven years old, who contrasted with the boy in every way . She was small and graceful, with fair skin and a blue dress that gave her a charming air. A leather breastplate protected her upper body, showing that her beauty did not prevent her from preparing for war. Her hair and eyes were the same deep blue as Kassandra 's , a sign of a possible kinship or spiritual heritage.

As they stood before John, the two leaders bowed respectfully. The young men who accompanied them repeated the gesture.

—Greetings, young lord—the four chanted in unison.

John responded with a slight nod, formal but not arrogant. Then he gestured with his hand.

— Please sit down. Ceto , send for something to drink — he asked naturally.

As the guests settled into the cushioned seats on the porch, John watched the two young people closely. His eyes lingered the longest on the blue girl, feeling a strange curiosity rise within him.

With a subtle but direct look, he faced the leaders, asking for explanations without saying a word.

Barbara One was the first to speak, standing up with a certain pride pulsing in her rough voice:

— Young lord, this is Bo Barbarian, a prodigy of the Bo Barbarian tribe .

The demi-human boy puffed out his chest, making him look like a small living mountain. With a fierce glint in his eyes, he firmly declared:

— Bo Barbarian pays respects to the young lord!

John nodded, suppressing a smile. The boy's posture was so theatrical that he almost laughed. But he held it back, remembering that he was in a position that required composure.

If you like, I can continue with the presentation of the blue girl, or move on to the dialogue between the leaders and John. There is room to deepen political relations, introduce hidden tensions or even anticipate omens of the young people's fate. The stage is set - just tell me which curtain we open now.

Kassandra also stood up. Her eyes shone with discreet pride as she looked at the girl beside her.

— This is Beatriz Kissame , the prodigy of the Water Clan — he announced calmly.

The girl took a slight step forward and gave a restrained bow, without submission, but also without arrogance.

— Beatriz Kissame pays respects to the young lord — he said in a calm voice, devoid of pride or vanity.

"Very well, you may resume your seats," John replied, with the posture of someone who had been in that position a thousand times before. However, inside, a question throbbed: Why did these leaders bring their young geniuses to me?

Before he could continue with protocol, Barbara One cleared her throat, catching his attention with a subtle gesture.

— Young lord — he began.

John looked at him with mild curiosity, but anticipated the speech.

— Chief of the tribe, if the matter is the Golden Hummingbird, there is no need to worry. I have already found a solution that is satisfactory to both parties.

Barbara One, visibly embarrassed, forced a smile.

— Well, young lord... actually , on that note, I would like to propose a counteroffer.

John arched an eyebrow. His face hardened for a moment—an instinctive reflex of someone who senses an unexpected movement on the board.

— Chief of the tribe, and what would that proposal be? — he asked , with a searching look.

The leader smiled, trying to hide his nervousness.

— Young lord... you are still young, but you are the heir to a vast territory, destined for greatness. Therefore, you will need strong warriors... and , more importantly, loyal ones.

John nodded slightly, signaling for him to continue.

— Bo Barbaro, despite being young, is already a promising fighter. If the young lord accepted him as his personal warrior, I am sure he would not disappoint him . — He looked at John, trying to catch any hint of approval. When he read nothing on his face, he added, hurriedly: — I must add... Bo Barbaro has already reached the Primary Realm, although only recently evolved.

John didn't answer right away. His gaze shifted to Kassandra , who already understood that it was her turn to speak.

— Matriarch , do you have something to declare? — he asked , this time with a lighter smile.

Kassandra returned the gesture with grace and stood with the natural elegance of a leader accustomed to diplomacy.

"Young lord, my request is not much different from Chief Barbara One's. Beatrice is a young woman of rare talent. I fear her potential is being underutilized in the Water Clan," he declared, his voice sounding like the flowing of a deep stream.

There was a brief silence, and then she added:

— If the young lord is willing to take her under his wing and nurture her growth with the proper resources and training... I believe he will have a valuable pillar for the future at his side.

John crossed his arms, keeping his smile.

— Chief of the tribe. Matriarch of the clan. Your requests are indeed reasonable. As the future lord, it is inevitable that I build my own strength.

The two leaders looked at each other, quietly pleased. John paused briefly, as if pondering something important—and then his voice changed. Not in pitch, but in density. It became sharp as the blade he had been training with just now.

- However...

Kassandra 's expressions changed immediately. The change in tone alerted them—something was wrong.

—I'm afraid the young geniuses you introduced me to... are n't what I'll need for the future.

A heavy silence fell over the balcony.

— They are not qualified.

Hearing this, a shadow passed over the faces of the two leaders. It wasn't anger—it was disappointment . Wounded pride. And perhaps… a touch of fear.

Anger was evident on the faces of the two leaders. Even the young geniuses couldn't contain their indignation—they both felt humiliated. Who would have thought? This young lord, so young, dared to display such arrogance?

John, however, seemed impervious to the hostility that gathered in the air like a storm about to break.

"In two years, I will leave for the Magic Training Institute," he said, his voice as steady as forged steel. "With the Institute's resources, combined with my family's… as long as I stay alive and focused, reaching my mother's level will only be a matter of time."

The two leaders looked at each other, confused, perhaps even uncomfortable. John noticed, but didn't care.

—When I have enough power, truly strong and talented warriors and mages will bow before my banner with a simple snap of my fingers.

He smiled. A small, almost cruel smile.

— Chief of the tribe. Matriarch of the clan. Tell me... why would I waste precious time and resources nurturing your so-called young geniuses?

The words fell like hammers on the porch.

Beatriz trembled. The water around her began to float in thin, glowing spheres, dancing in the air in response to her uncontrolled emotions. Kassandra , in a nearly invisible gesture, completely suppressed her disciple. She knew: if Beatriz even dared to release killing intent here, they would all be killed before they knew what hit them.

Bo Bárbaro , more impulsive, was unable to contain himself.

"Who gave you the right to humiliate the pride of the tribe?!" he roared , his voice reverberating off the stone walls. "Being a young lord does not give you that right!"

John remained unmoved. He shot a direct look at Barbarian One, who promptly suppressed Barbarian Bo , forcing him into silence.

Kassandra , in turn, gritted her teeth, containing the fury that threatened to overflow.

"The young lord is right," he said at last, his voice tense. "Geniuses from regions like ours are nothing but trash in his eyes. Forgive our children, they are still too young to understand that."

Barbarian One said nothing. His face was tight, muscles pulsing. Hot smoke escaped from his nostrils—compressed, smothered rage.

But John, with the coolness of a commander who sees beyond the battlefield, spoke seriously:

- Wrong.

Kassandra stopped. Her body stiffened as if a blade had grazed her skin.

— Matriarch, your words are wrong. You have misunderstood what I said. If you think I am insulting you because you are leaders of distant regions... or looking down on their young people for not being of noble lineage... then they are completely mistaken.

Kassandra took a deep breath. Pull yourself together. The leader's natural elegance returned.

— Young sir , then please be clear with your words — he requested.

At that moment, a maid appeared discreetly at the entrance to the veranda. John nodded, giving her permission to enter. She served tea to everyone with precise, practiced movements. Just as I was about to leave, he noticed her :

— Wait.

She stopped immediately.

— Call Iza for me. Tell her to bring what I asked for.

The maid nodded and left without a sound, taking the young lord's words with her.

John returned to the leaders.

— Matriarch of the clan. Chief of the tribe. Unfortunately, I cannot fulfill your requests. I hope you understand.

They both agreed, even though they were reluctant. At this point, they knew they couldn't force anything there.

— As I said — John continued — I already have a satisfactory solution for both of us.

He then headed straight towards Bo Barbaro, his expression more curious than cold.

— Bo Barbaro, why are you here today? What did you hope to achieve with this visit?

The question fell like a stone on the surface of a calm lake. Absolute silence. All eyes turned to the young beastman, who seemed to freeze. He scratched his horn with a confused look, glanced at the chief of the tribe—who offered him no answer—and finally spoke:

— Ahh ... the tribe chief , the great Barbarian One, told Bo Barbarian that becoming a young lord's warrior would bring glory... and protection to the tribe. Bo Barbarian is the strongest young man in the tribe. Chief also said that the young lord would make Bo Barbarian very strong.

John crossed his arms, not hiding his interest.

—So you came to me seeking glory, strength... and protection for your tribe?

Bo Barbarian nodded vigorously.

Continued...

🔻 Author's Note Anibal99 🔻

You're feeling it too, aren't you? The sharpness of John's words, the weight of the silence, the pride of the leaders being crushed under the heel of a young man who already understood the game of power better than anyone else.

Yes, my dear readers… you are not joking around. And let me make this clear: in this world, it is not enough to be born with talent — you either have to prove your worth, or you will be trampled by those who have already decided to follow the path to greatness with blood in their eyes and ice in their hearts.

 But tell me, what would you have done in the place of Beatriz or Bo Bárbaro? Would you have kept quiet? Would you have attacked? Or would you have laughed in the lord's face? Tell me in the comments, I want to see the courage or madness that lives within you.

 Like, comment, vote, donate if you can — it's your support that sharpens my pen and feeds this universe we've created together. Every click is a step in John's ascension, and a little extra push in the dark plans that are yet to come.

Until the next chapter...

— The Author Anibal99