If Orvin was the steel that forged me, and Elaira was the fire that shaped my inner resilience, then Master Lugen was the cold calmness that sharpened my mind. He didn't speak much. But every word that came from him was a decision.
I was first summoned to the tactics room when I was six years old. That room wasn't just a study room. It was an invisible battlefield. Its walls were covered with maps, old books in foreign languages, and war records from at least seven generations of Argwager generals. In the center of the room, a round table with miniature armies and castles—a replica of the real world, deadlier than any sword.
Lugen sat on the north side of the table. His hair was white, his eyes sharp like an eagle's, and his hand always held a raven feather quill that he never used carelessly. He was the symbol of this house's wisdom, a strategist who had served our family his entire life, with a number of war experiences you couldn't count even if you had 10 arms.
"You're not here to learn how to win," he said without looking at me. "But how not to lose. Those are two different things." I remained silent. Listening. He placed a map in front of me. The northern border region.
It had names of fortresses I'd never heard of. Villages. A river that was a main trade route. And to the northeast... a large red mark. "This isn't a theoretical lesson. This is a real event from twenty years ago," he said. "If you were the Duke Argwager's son at that time, what would you do?" I stared at the map. Pondering. Analyzing as Elaira had taught, but this time with the weight of lives. "I would divert troops from the west, leave the east temporarily empty, and send scouts through the mountains." Lugen nodded. "You've just opened up a possibility of attack from the sea. But... your thinking isn't bad. You're thinking three steps ahead, not one."
Since that day, every afternoon became a small battlefield. Not with blood, but with logic. Not with magic, but with diplomacy. I learned how one delayed message could cost thousands of lives. I learned that it's not strength that determines the fate of a kingdom, but trust. And that is built with sacrifice. "Raphinha Caesar, the first Emperor of the Empire, won the hearts of the people before winning the battlefield," Lugen said one day. "And he was killed not because of his weakness, but because his strength was frightening." I kept those words. Reflecting on them as night fell and only candlelight accompanied my tactical studies.
At the age of nine, I was given the responsibility of devising a fictitious defense strategy for the northeast region if monsters from the valley ran rampant. I created an early warning system with bells and sound magic, evacuation routes for children and servants, and counter-siege tactics. Lugen stared at my plan for a long time. A very long time. Then he said: "You're not perfect yet. But within you lies the backbone of a statesman." And when he said that, I felt this world wasn't as harsh as I thought.
But lessons with him were not always warm. He often took me to military meetings as an observer. Not speaking. Just listening. The voices of the officers, political strategies, whispers of betrayal, and decisions made not with the heart, but with pure logic.
I witnessed how power worked. How a single smile could mean war, and a single silence could be a sign of a treaty. "Leadership isn't about kindness. But about responsibility for decisions that can kill," he told me as we walked down the corridor towards the palace balcony. "You want to build a large family? Then be the first pillar to stand in the storm."
His words were like a hammer shaping my character. I learned that my dreams would not come true with just love and determination, but with a foundation built from trials and the iron of decision. And that night, as I sat at the small table in my room, with a map and a pen, I wasn't drawing future plans like an ordinary child. I was devising a defense system for my future home. A home that would have at least eleven children. A home that would be protected not only by walls, but by ideas and strategies.
I wrote: "Even kingdoms can fall if their leaders are negligent. But a family... can survive in darkness if the father brings light."