Morning had come.
I woke up as the sunlight started to shine on my face. Seeing Renya in her maid outfit cleaning the room, I greeted her, "Good morning."
Hearing my greeting, Renya responded, "Good morning, Prince. Do you want to take a bath first?"
Still feeling a bit sleepy, I answered absentmindedly, "Yes…" while lying back down on the bed like a tired person.
"Okay, I'll get the water," she said, walking out of the room.
As her words sank in, I muttered, "Get…? Water…?" I realized what she meant and immediately sat up. "Wait, don't—" But the door had already closed, and she was gone. I sighed.
(Two hours later, after bathing and changing into the clothes the maids had prepared…)
Repairing the Exo-Armor
Two hours later, bathed and dressed, I sat at my workbench, carefully examining the damage my exo-armor had sustained during last night's attack. Several mana rune streams were severed, the metal leg plates were bent and battered, and the leg mechanisms had been completely disabled.
I frowned. If last night's ambush had been a real assassination attempt, I would have been dead before I could react. My mother had saved me, but I couldn't rely on luck next time.
As I disassembled the damaged components, I absentmindedly said, "Renya, can you make this part? I need... thirty-three pieces," I said while handing over the item that needed its components replaced to Renya.
Silence. Then a sharp sigh. "Prince... please have mercy on me," she said with a sorrowful tone.
I fell silent for a moment and looked at Renya. Seeing her downcast expression, I suddenly realized—there were no factories, no mass production. Everything was done manually, by hand.
After realizing it, I slapped my forehead and said, "Oh right… alright then, just three pieces," while letting out a sigh.
Hearing that, Renya's face immediately lit up and she said cheerfully, "I can do that!"
Seeing how quickly Renya changed her attitude, I let out a small chuckle. Then, I returned to my work with careful focus.
But something nagged at me, a forgotten obligation. Thirty minutes passed before it hit me.
"Where is Walter Kruger?" I asked.
Renya barely looked up. "Waiting for you this morning. At the training grounds."
I froze instantly.
"Damn," I muttered, my face filled with shock.
After a moment, I dashed toward the training grounds in a hurry.
Training with Walter Kruger
I sprinted to the training grounds, only to find Kruger already in mid-swing, his blade carving through the air with practiced precision. His eyes met mine as I skidded to a stop before him.
"Sorry I'm late!" I panted.
Kruger straightened, his posture formal. "Prince."
I nodded, trying to steady my breath as I walked toward the weapon rack.
After finding the right weapon, I gave it a few swings and nodded. I looked at Kruger with a serious expression and said, "Shall we begin?" in an eager tone, tightening my stance and preparing for a sword-training duel against him.
"Can we start?"
He gave a small, knowing smile. "Of course, Prince."
For two hours, we sparred. Every strike he delivered was precise, every counter of mine just barely enough. My muscles burned, my lungs screamed for air, but I refused to yield.
"Ha... ha... ha..." I collapsed onto the ground, bruised but grinning.
Kruger loomed over me. "Are we finished, Prince?"
I forced myself back onto my feet. "Not yet."
Four days passed in a blur of relentless training.
The King's Return
The long-awaited day arrived. My father, the King, had returned, and the castle reconstruction was finally complete after the attack. I stood beside my mother in the great hall, waiting for him.
The guards outside called out, "THE KING HAS ARRIVED!"
The massive doors swung open, revealing my father. He walked with calm authority, his presence commanding the room. As one, we all dropped to one knee.
"Welcome, King," the assembled nobles and knights said in unison.
He surveyed us before giving a short nod. "Resume your duties."
Smiling at us, Father (the King) said gently, "We'll talk after dinner."
After both Mother and I nodded, the three of us walked toward the dining room.
At the Dining Table
The atmosphere at the dining table was heavy, tense.
The flavor of this morning's meal had long vanished, overshadowed by the weight of the conversation.
"So, dear… is the situation outside truly that bad?"
asked my mother, the Queen, gently dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin in graceful poise.
My father, the King, let out a slow breath.
His gaze—usually sharp and unwavering—looked more tired than usual this time.
"As bad as we feared. The Federation is fracturing… and that fracture is soaked in blood. Many factions are ready to tear each other apart," he said in a weary tone.
Hearing that, I sat up straighter.
"Father, we must prepare for the worst-case scenario," I said firmly.
He turned his gaze to me, his expression shifting from exhaustion to sharp curiosity, though he gave a faint smile.
"The worst-case scenario?" he asked with a firm tone.
"Yes," I answered, steady and sure.
With a serious face, I added,
"We've been dragged into this since the attack last night. Like it or not, we're already involved," I said with certainty.
The King rested his elbows on the table, touching his fingertips together in silent contemplation.
Still looking at me, he asked,
"And in your opinion… what's the worst that could happen?"
His expression intent, ready to hear my answer.
I stayed silent for a moment, letting the weight of the word settle before speaking it.
Looking him straight in the eyes, I said with conviction,
"Invasion."
Silence thickened.
My mother's expression darkened.
My father's eyes gleamed with deep consideration—not just thinking anymore, but truly weighing the possibilities.
Still staring at me, he finally asked,
"…Then how do we prevent it?"
His voice was quiet, but carried deep meaning.
At that moment, I realized how limited our options truly were. Letting out a slow breath, I gave my honest answer.
"We… can't stop it completely," I admitted, my face clouded with gloom. Then I continued,
"The only way is to strike first—or form an alliance strong enough to make them hesitate," I said, my voice tinged with uncertainty.
After I finished speaking, I took a deep breath.
There was no easy answer.
And from the look in my father's eyes, I knew—he understood that too.
Hearing my words, my mother and father exchanged amused glances.
Putting on an innocent expression, I said,
"Father, Mother… may I travel around the kingdom?" in a confident tone.
The moment they heard my words, their expressions turned serious.
"What for?" they both asked in unison, sounding somewhat angry.
I looked at them without turning away, then explained,
"If the Federation truly collapses, then even this palace won't be safe… just like what happened that night," I said, still wearing an innocent expression and speaking with confidence.
But my mother, seeing the way I acted, immediately understood my true intention.
With a knowing smile, she said,
"My child… just get to the point," in a firm tone.
Hearing that, I was startled.
Damn… she saw through me, I thought bitterly.
Embarrassed, I hesitated for a moment before finally admitting it.
Looking at them both, face flushed, I said,
"I… want to go on an adventure," in an awkward tone.
Right after I said it, my face turned completely red,
burning from the weight of the words I had just spoken.
Both of them looked shocked.
My mother immediately opened her mouth to object, but my father raised his hand—silently asking her to stay quiet.
Then, he looked deep into my eyes, his expression unreadable, and spoke in a firm tone, like a teacher instructing a student:
"Paul… you know the world out there isn't like the bard's tales. It's harsh. Far more deadly than anything you can imagine behind these palace walls."
I stayed silent, head bowed, but listened intently.
Seeing that, my father continued, his expression serious:
"As a former adventurer, I know… sometimes, life out there is no different from the battlefield."
He took a deep breath, then asked—his face grave, his voice heavy:
"My son… if you ever find yourself in that kind of situation—caught between life and death, in the heat of battle—what's the first thing you prepare in your mind?"
His gaze was piercing, as if trying to read the depths of my soul.
Then he added:
"If your answer satisfies me, I will consider your request."
I fell silent.
The question pierced deep into my mind, stirring something unfamiliar… or perhaps, something long buried.
Faint images of battle surfaced in my mind.
Dark trenches soaked in mud and blood. Mortar blasts shaking the earth. Thick smoke veiling all sight. The shouts of orders, the rattle of rifles, and the roar of war machines filling the air. Silence only came when all was gone.
It felt like a voice from a past I barely understood whispered softly in my ear.
I clenched my fists, then raised my head. My gaze steady, my voice firm.
"How to survive."
My father said nothing. He exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.
"Is that so…" he muttered, his gaze lingering on me as if weighing my answer. A brief silence stretched between us before he finally spoke again.
"Now, return to your room first. I will discuss this matter with your mother."
I hesitated for a moment, glancing at my mother, whose expression was still unreadable. But I knew better than to argue.
"…Okay, Dad."
With that, I rose from my seat, giving them both a respectful nod before turning toward the hallway. My steps were steady, but my mind was racing.
I had given my answer. Now, all I could do was wait.