Leon woke to the sound of steel on steel.
He was out of bed before his eyes fully opened, hand reaching for the practice sword he kept beside his nightstand. Old habits. His room was still dark, the pre-dawn light barely touching the frost patterns on his windows.
The ringing continued. Rhythmic. Deliberate. Someone was training in the yard below.
Leon crossed to the window and looked down. His brother Aren was in the practice yard, moving through sword forms with mechanical precision. Even from here, Leon could see the steam rising from his brother's breath, the way frost formed and shattered with each movement.
Frost Knight techniques. Aren had evolved his Swordsman class two years ago by mastering both blade and ice magic. The kind of advancement that required perfect harmony between disciplines.
Leon pulled on his training clothes and headed down.
The keep was quiet at this hour. Most of the household was still asleep, recovering from last night's feast. Leon passed two guards who nodded but didn't speak. They knew better than to interrupt a noble heading to morning training.
The practice yard was cold. Leon's breath misted in the air as he stepped onto the packed earth. Aren didn't stop his forms, but his eyes tracked Leon's approach.
"Couldn't sleep?" Aren asked, transitioning smoothly into a defensive stance.
"Thought I'd get some practice in."
"Liar." Aren lowered his blade. "Mother told me what happened. About the cider."
Leon said nothing. He picked up a practice sword from the rack, testing its weight.
"Third prince," Aren continued. "Why would anyone target you specifically?"
"I don't know."
"That's what worries me." Aren raised his sword again. "Come on."
Leon moved into position. His brother was right. Earning the Swordsman class meant the System had recognized his skill, but recognition wasn't enough against poison or knives in the dark.
They started slow. Basic forms, testing distance and timing. But Aren pushed the pace quickly, forcing Leon to react faster, think quicker.
"Your footwork is sloppy," Aren said, his blade sliding past Leon's guard to tap his ribs. "Again."
Leon reset. His stats were lower than Aren's in every category. His brother had years of training, years of experience. But Leon had something else. He could read patterns, see openings before they appeared.
He waited for Aren to commit to an overhead strike, then stepped inside his reach. His practice blade touched Aren's throat.
"Better," Aren admitted. "But you telegraphed it. Against someone watching for it, you'd be dead."
They reset and continued. Leon's muscles burned. Sweat froze on his skin in the cold air. But his mind was sharp.
"You're getting better," Aren said, stopping after another exchange. "Keep that up."
Leon nodded, catching his breath.
"Now let's work on your ice magic," Aren said. "If you're going to survive, you need to start using all your advantages."
"You think they'll try again?"
"Would you give up after one failure?" Aren sheathed his practice blade. "Whoever wants you dead has resources. They threatened a servant's family, planned the timing perfectly, knew exactly where you'd be sitting. That takes money, information, and patience."
Leon had been thinking the same thing. "So what do I do?"
"Train. Get stronger. And watch everyone." Aren's expression was serious. "Until we know who's behind this, you can't trust anyone outside the family. Not the servants, not the guards, not even the other noble houses."
"That's a lonely way to live."
"It's a living way to live." Aren clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's work on your ice magic."
They moved to the covered section of the practice yard. Here, training dummies stood in rows, some already scarred and frozen from previous sessions.
"Your bloodline gives you Ice Affinity," Aren said. "But affinity isn't the same as control. Show me what you can do."
Leon held out his hand. He'd practiced this before, but never seriously. Ice magic was his mother's domain, his sister's focus. He'd always been more interested in the sword.
But now someone wanted him dead.
He concentrated. The cold came easily, a familiar presence in his blood. Ice crystalized in his palm, forming a jagged shard about the length of his finger.
"Weak," Aren said. "Try again. Feel the cold. Don't just summon it. Understand it."
Leon tried again. This time he thought about winter, about the frost on his windows, about the way his mother's presence could drop the temperature in a room. The cold wasn't just a tool. It was part of who he was.
The ice formed smoother this time. Longer. More controlled.
"Better. Now combine it with your sword work."
Leon picked up his practice blade. "How?"
"The Neve Family Technique. Frost Edge. You have it listed but you've never really used it, have you?"
Leon shook his head.
"It's simple in theory," Aren said. "You coat your blade in ice, reinforcing it and adding cutting power. But it requires maintaining the magic while fighting. Most people can't manage it until they've mastered both disciplines separately."
"But you can."
"I've been doing it for years. The Frost Knight class just means the System recognized I'd mastered both." Aren drew his own blade. A thin layer of frost immediately coated the steel, gleaming in the early light. "You're still new to this. You'll have to work at it until it becomes second nature."
Leon looked at his practice sword. Then at the ice in his other hand.
He dismissed the ice shard and gripped his blade with both hands. He focused on the cold, on making it flow through him and into the weapon.
Nothing happened.
"You're trying to force it," Aren said. "Ice doesn't respond to force. It responds to patience. Let it grow."
Leon tried again. This time he didn't push. He just held the blade and let the cold seep into it naturally.
Frost began to form along the edge. Thin. Fragile. But there.
[Skill Level Up: Neve Family Technique: Frost Edge, Lv 1 → Lv 2]
"There you go," Aren said. "Now hold it while you move."
Leon swung the blade. The frost shattered immediately.
"Again."
He reformed the frost and tried a slower movement. It held longer but still broke.
"Again."
By the time the sun was fully up, Leon could maintain the frost through three consecutive strikes. His arms ached. His magic felt drained. But the blade was holding ice.
"That's enough for now," Aren said. "You're pushing too hard. Magic exhaustion is real. You'll feel it later."
Leon lowered his blade. His hands were shaking slightly.
"Go get breakfast," Aren continued. "And Leon? Start thinking about what you want to master. Swordsman is fine, but if you want to survive in this world, you need real power. Will you pursue ice magic like Mother? Master both blade and frost like Father and me? Or find your own path?"
"I don't know yet."
"Then figure it out. Because someone out there has already decided what they want you to be." Aren's voice was cold. "Dead."
Leon headed back to the keep. The morning training had cleared his head, but Aren's words stayed with him.
What skills did he need to master?
More importantly, what would keep him alive?
The dining hall was starting to fill with early risers. Leon grabbed bread and cheese, found a quiet corner. He pulled up his Status screen again, studying it.
All stats at D or E rank. A handful of skills barely past beginner level.
If someone sent a real assassin, he'd die.
He needed to get stronger. Fast.
His mother entered the dining hall, moving with purpose. She spotted Leon immediately and crossed to his table.
"Walk with me," she said quietly.
Leon abandoned his breakfast and followed her out into the corridor. She led him to her private study, a room lined with books and maps, frost patterns decorating every surface.
"The Captain found Jeren's daughter," she said once the door was closed. "She's alive. Frightened, but unharmed. She was being held in a basement near the docks."
"Did she see who took her?"
"Two men. Masked. Professional." His mother's voice was ice. "They're dead now. Killed themselves with poison before the Captain could question them."
Leon said nothing for a moment. "They'd rather die than talk."
"Which tells us whoever hired them is more frightening than death." His mother moved to her desk, pulling out a map. "The basement was rented three weeks ago under a false name. Paid in gold. No trail."
"So we have nothing."
"We have a timeline. They started planning this at least three weeks ago. That means something triggered their decision." She looked at him. "Think, Leon. What happened three weeks ago? What changed?"
Leon thought back. Three weeks ago he was still training for his Swordsman class. He hadn't even earned it yet. Nothing significant had happened.
Except...
"I turned thirteen," he said slowly. "Three weeks ago was my birthday."
His mother's expression shifted. "Your birthday. The traditional age for..."
"Class selection," Leon finished. "When most nobles start seriously pursuing their first class."
"Someone doesn't want you to grow stronger." His mother's hands pressed flat against her desk. Frost spread from her fingertips across the wood. "They want you dead before you can become a threat."
"But I'm not a threat. I'm third in line. I don't have political power."
"Not yet." His mother looked at him with those calculating eyes. "But you wil"