22Martius 1754.
In the Winter Palace belonging to Grand Duke Albrecht Reingardt, silence filled the chamber. The audience hall was vast, its high ceiling adorned with murals depicting the victorious history of House Reingardt, yet the morning light streaming through the tall stained-glass windows was swallowed by thick carpets and the dark wooden panels lining the walls. At the center of the room, atop a small marble dais, Grand Duke Albrecht sat on his throne. He wore neither armor nor lavish robes but only a perfectly tailored gray wool suit, perhaps to emphasize his tall, upright posture. His silver hair, slicked back, gleamed under the light, and his sharp blue eyes stared forward with a grave expression.
Before him stood his son, Leihnbach van Reingardt.
Leihnbach was nothing like the Grand Duke's other children. He was tall and slender, with pale blond hair that fell slightly disheveled over his forehead. His eyes were sky blue, but unlike his father's piercing gaze, Leihnbach's eyes radiated a goodness so pure it seemed impossible for someone like him to exist in a world this harsh. He wore a simple brown suit, loose and comfortable, hardly what one would expect from the heir of one of the kingdom's most powerful duchies.
"You called for me, Father," said Leihnbach, his voice gentle, without a hint of defiance. He did not address him as "Your Grace" or "Grand Duke" in private moments like this. It was one of the few freedoms he had.
"I did," Albrecht replied, his voice deep and commanding. "The council has reached a decision. The incident with the Moon God and the theft of The Ghoul Affection have forced the King's hand. The Sovereign's Gambit will be held earlier this year. And I want you to represent House Reingardt."
Leihnbach did not show any surprise. He simply looked at his father and waited for him to continue.
"Your brother Mattchrein is too aggressive," Albrecht went on, as if weighing every word. "He would see the Gambit as a battlefield and never as a stage for diplomacy. Your sister Micholrne is too busy with her petty intrigues among the handmaidens. She treats power like a child's toy, so I conclude that neither of them is suitable for this."
He paused for a moment, his sharp eyes fixed on Leihnbach. "You, on the other hand, are an oddity. Even the people in this palace call you the Idiot Prince, the Mad Saint. They see your kindness as weakness and in my personal opinion, they are wrong. Your kindness can be a weapon, a contradiction to those who crave division and conflict."
Leihnbach lowered his head slightly. "I am not sure I am fit for such a game, Father."
"I am not asking you to be fit," Albrecht replied. "I am asking you to participate, nothing more. Observe and report back to me about the young heirs from other factions. Who is strong, who is weak, who is ambitious. Think of this as your first duty as the official heir."
Heir. That word weighed heavily on Leihnbach's shoulders. He had never wanted it. He would rather spend his time in the library or walking through the gardens, sensing the emotions of the plants and animals around him. But he knew he had no other choice.
"Very well, Father," he said quietly. "I will do it."
"Good." Albrecht rose and walked toward the large window overlooking the palace courtyard. "Kirsthendarch will accompany you. As your advisor and guard."
"Kirsthendarch?" Leihnbach was a little surprised. Kirsthendarch was his childhood friend but also the captain of his father's personal guard, a cold and pragmatic fighter, as far as he could remember.
"You need someone to guard you from yourself," said Albrecht without turning around. "You may go now. Prepare yourself. You leave the day after tomorrow."
Leihnbach bowed and left the audience chamber. As he walked through the marble corridors, his mind was in complete turmoil because deep down he did not want to go to the Sovereign's Gambit. He hated politics and intrigue. He knew that place would be hell for him, a place where his sincerity would be seen as foolishness and his empathy as weakness.
He entered his room. Unlike the other grand parts of the palace, his room was simple and functional. There was only a bed, a writing desk piled with books on philosophy and botany, and a few landscape paintings on the walls.
He sat at the edge of his bed, closed his eyes, and felt the flow of Essence within him, the power of his Channel, Beatific Ruin. A strange power that no one truly understood, not even himself.
He was at Order 9, which scholars called Dolent, the Sufferer. His power was not destructive at all. He could sense the emotions of others, absorb their suffering, and radiate calm.
As he concentrated, he could feel the swirling emotions throughout the palace. The ambition of his father's advisors, the envy of the servants, the fear of the guards. All of it constantly assaulted his awareness. Sometimes he wished he could shut it off.
He remembered the first time he realized his power. When he was fifteen, his sister Micholrne had fallen gravely ill. The best physicians could not cure her. In desperation, Leihnbach sat by her bedside for days, holding her hand. He felt Micholrne's pain and fear and instinctively tried to pull it out, to draw it into himself.
Micholrne miraculously recovered the next day, but Leihnbach fell ill instead, tormented by fever and nightmares for a week as a result of absorbing his sister's suffering. It was then that his father realized that his "strange" son possessed a power that could not be considered normal.
His chamber door opened. Kirsthendarch stepped inside. He was a man in his late twenties with short black hair and sharp gray eyes. He wore practical black leather armor, with a longsword hanging at his waist.
"Prince," he greeted, his voice flat.
"Kirst," Leihnbach replied. "You've heard?"
"I've heard," said Kirsthendarch, standing in the center of the room. "I don't like it. The Sovereign's Gambit is no place for someone like you."
"Father ordered it."
"I know, and that makes it worse. The Grand Duke is using you as a sacrificial pawn."
Leihnbach looked at his friend. "You think so?"
"I know so," said Kirsthendarch. "He wants to see how the other wolves react to a lamb thrown among them. I would bet your father wants to measure them by sacrificing you."
"Perhaps you are right," Leihnbach said softly. "But orders are orders."
Kirsthendarch sighed. "Fine. If we must go, then we go prepared. I have requested the archives on previous participants. We will study them and come up with a strategy."
"Strategy?" Leihnbach gave a faint smile. "My strategy is to be myself, Kirst. Perhaps that is enough."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Kirsthendarch muttered. He walked over to Leihnbach's desk and picked up one of his books. "The Philosophy of Inner Tranquility? Do you really want to die?"
Leihnbach let out a small, genuine laugh. "Maybe by reading how to accept fate, I will be more ready to face it."
Kirsthendarch put the book back. "I will prepare light armor for you. And a short sword. You will have to learn how to use it."
"I do not like violence, Kirst."
"I know. But listen, Leihn, I dislike seeing you die even more because you refuse to defend yourself. Think of the sword as your final argument when words fail you."
For the next two days, Leihnbach spent his time with preparations he did not want. Kirsthendarch forced him to practice basic swordsmanship in the back courtyard. Leihnbach's movements were awkward and clearly lacked strength, which was to be expected. He had no talent for it. But he still tried, for his friend's sake.
He also read the intelligence reports Kirsthendarch had gathered. They were brief profiles of the young heirs from House Droct, House Valerius, and other factions. All of them were described as ambitious, ruthless, and well-trained in the arts of war and intrigue. Compared to them, Leihnbach truly did seem like an idiot.
On the night before their departure, Leihnbach could not sleep. He kept wandering alone through the dark palace gardens.
After pacing the same path repeatedly, he finally sat on a stone bench near the lotus pond, staring at the reflection of the moon on the still water.
He felt a mental pressure in his mind. He knew well that as a middle child he was highly likely to be named heir, and that was what he feared most. He hated anything that smelled of power or politics.
He suddenly remembered a story he had once read, an ancient drama from a faraway land about a prince burdened with the duty of revenge, whose doubts made him question his own sanity. He felt like that prince, trapped in a role he had never chosen, bound by a game of nobles.
Suddenly, he sensed a sharp wave of sadness from the palace, pinpointed by his focus to Micholrne's chambers.
Leihnbach rose at once and walked back inside. He knocked gently on his sister's door.
"Micholrne? May I come in?"
The door opened, and there she was. Her eyes, usually full of slyness, were now red and swollen from crying.
"Leihn," she whispered. "Don't go."
"I have to," he replied softly.
"No, you don't understand," she said, pulling him inside. "The Sovereign's Gambit is dangerous. You know what I mean, don't you? You could be killed, both physically and in your mind. Please, listen to me, you must know what I mean, think of yourself—"
"I know," Leihnbach cut her off.
"You don't know," she hissed. "I heard the maids talking about rumors from House Droct. They have a new weapon that can attack the mind directly. It could be used on anyone, even you."
"Thank you for telling me, Micholrne," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. He used his Resonant Touch, absorbing some of her anxiety and fear, replacing them with calm. "I will be careful."
Micholrne looked at him, her eyes clearer now. "Why are you always like this?" she asked. "Why are you always so calm, as if nothing can hurt you?"
Leihnbach gave her a sad smile. "Because I have felt enough pain for a lifetime, both mine and others'. There is not much left that can surprise me."
Leihnbach left his sister's room, his heart a little heavier. Micholrne's warning confirmed his fears.
The next morning, he and Kirsthendarch departed in a simple horse-drawn carriage, heading to the private island off the southern coast where the Sovereign's Gambit would take place. They left early because they planned to travel at a measured pace.
As their carriage passed through the palace gates, Leihnbach looked back at the grand towers. He felt like he was leaving one prison only to enter another.
"Are you ready?" Kirsthendarch asked, his gray eyes watching him with concern.
Leihnbach looked ahead at the uncertain horizon.
"I don't know, Kirst," he answered honestly. "I truly don't know."