The corridors of the inner palace echoed with deliberate steps. Cloaked in crimson velvet and gold-laced black, Sir Gavric Vorn led the way with his usual stoic calm, but the sound of boot heels behind him carried a new rhythm—measured, unwavering, and confident. Fortis Lactresia followed, no longer with the meandering curiosity of a boy lost in thoughts, but with the certainty of someone who had made a decision.
For two months, he had been a shadow among the soot and sweat of the mines. Now he walked like steel drawn from a furnace—shaped, cooled, and ready.
They reached the Royal Hall, and the two great doors of red cedar swung open, creaking under the weight of their bronze latticework. The sunlight pouring from stained glass danced across the white marble floor, where seven silver sunbursts were inlaid to represent the seven founding noble houses of Lactresia.
The room itself was massive—vaulted ceilings supported by golden columns carved with the deeds of past monarchs. Silken banners, crimson with the blacksmith's anvil sigil of House Lactresia, hung on either side of the central dais. On the throne, under a grand canopy of dark oak and steel, sat King Marcus Lactresia, his presence commanding yet contemplative today.
Eight noblemen stood to the sides, dressed in their house regalia, watching Fortis as he approached. These were the heads of the eight major noble families of Lactresia:
Lord Halreth of Wyrmsrest – mountainous, rich in granite and stubborn people.
Lady Velina of Ormere – coastal and known for its maritime scholars.
Lord Galven of Thornridge – harsh winters, master of cavalry.
Lord Denrik of Vaelspire – fertile riverlands and high agricultural yields.
Lord Xandor of Cravenhall – iron mines and disciplined militias.
Lady Thira of Moonwatch – highland traditions and precise metallurgy.
Lord Emric of Goldmere – vineyards and the finest glassworks.
Lord Berron of Stonehearth – volcanic soil and formidable blacksmiths.
To their right stood Duke Kellen Draemyr, head of the Duchy of Eldros Vale, the largest territory in Lactresia, located in the western highlands. Kellen was a refined man with streaks of silver in his hair, and his land produced the kingdom's best strategic commanders.
Beside the nobles were five merchant lords—men and women whose commercial empires rivaled even the noble houses in influence. Each ran one of the five trading companies that had elevated Lactresia's economy:
Durand Ironmark – head of Ironmark Co., specializing in weapon-grade alloys. (Rank 1)
Selena Varnis – founder of Varnis & Daughters, makers of ornate steel blades. (Rank 2)
Jhoran Nells – CEO of Nellsworks, famous for their durable mining tools. (Rank 3)
Bartho Grell – runs Grell Armory, known for affordable, mass-produced gear. (Rank 4)
Mira Hentel – owner of Hentel Forgecraft, newer but innovative with exotic designs. (Rank 5)
Fortis entered between the two Royal Blades—the First Sword, Sir Gavric, and the Second Sword, Dame Rosha Talven, a sharp-eyed woman with a scar down her cheek and a blade nearly taller than she was.
He approached with his eyes locked forward, posture strong. His hair was tied back, and his tunic was plain—military gray, not princely red.
Then, without hesitation, he dropped to one knee.
"Your Majesty," he said.
King Marcus raised a hand, calm and authoritative.
"Fortis Lactresia," the king said. "Your return from the mine was not just unexpected—it was courageous. You saved the lives of many and risked your own without hesitation. Such deeds are not the duty of a prince... yet you acted without waiting for command. Do you desire a reward?"
The hall hushed. Eyes turned.
This was the moment they were curious about. For years, Fortis had advised merchants, drafted city defense plans, and optimized logistics for expeditions. Every time, the king offered him land, coin, or title—and each time Fortis declined.
"I live in the house that feeds me. I only do what must be done," he would always say.
But now—he stood.
And he spoke.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I have three requests."
Murmurs swept the hall.
The king did not react. "Proceed."
Fortis stepped forward. "First, I request permission to reform the mine's structure. The loss of life cannot be tolerated. I have drawn plans for safety improvements: line-of-sight signal flares using spark powder, mirrored light relay systems for internal signaling, reinforced supports, and more. I only request a skilled team to enact these changes. I will provide the designs."
He handed over the scroll to Gavric, who passed it to a clerk.
"Second," Fortis continued, "I request permission to train seriously. I will soon ask to be assigned a knight—one who has reached Norm Reach stage—to spar with me daily. Someone who will push me without hesitation."
Gasps followed. Lady Velina covered her mouth. Even Gavric's brows rose slightly.
Duke Kellen Draemyr, who had until now only watched, gave a slow approving nod.
"Lastly," Fortis said, "I want permission to join monster expeditions. Not as a strategist. Not as an observer. As a sworder."
The silence now was heavy.
King Marcus looked down at him with a piercing gaze. "As a sworder?"
Fortis met his eyes. "Yes."
The king paused. There was tension in the room. He glanced at Gavric, then at Rosha.
"Under one condition," he said slowly. "You may join—but the Fourth Sword will accompany you at all times during the mission."
Fortis bowed again. "Accepted."
The king was silent again. Then said, "And that is all?"
Fortis took a breath. "No, Your Majesty. I have one final request. Not for the king... but for my father."
Even Gavric tilted his head.
The king sat upright. "Is this something the king cannot grant?"
Fortis looked briefly down, slightly embarrassed.
"It is... personal. I will ask it when we speak next, in private."
There was a pause. Then, unexpectedly, the king smiled.
"Very well."
With that, Fortis bowed once more, turned, and walked out of the Royal Hall.
And the murmuring began.
"He was... different." "Did you see his eyes?" "He walked like a soldier." "He asked for a knight. A sparring partner." "He asked to fight."
Lady Thira of Moonwatch whispered to her sister: "He's becoming dangerous. In a good way."
The merchant Durand Ironmark, who once dismissed the prince as a quiet thinker, muttered, "We underestimated him."
Duke Draemyr leaned over to the king and said softly, "Your Majesty... perhaps he's making himself into someone worthy of the throne."
King Marcus did not respond immediately. Then he whispered to himself, so quietly even Gavric barely heard:
"No. He's becoming something else."
He looked toward the doorway where Fortis had just left.