The moon hung pale and thin over the Academy of Crowns, its light pooling on the cobblestones like spilled milk. The main courtyard was quiet now, emptied of the clang of swords and shouts of sparring matches. Only the occasional patrol of robed attendants broke the silence.
Edran walked toward the east wing, where the invitation had said the "strategy session" would be held. He kept his pace unhurried, his hands clasped behind his back like a man on an evening stroll. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the academy gardens.
The east wing was less a wing and more a private cluster of rooms reserved for senior students and noble gatherings. The lamplight spilling from the tall windows flickered with movement — shadows passing behind curtains, the hum of voices inside.
The room he entered was lavish, with a low table set with wine and delicate pastries. Half a dozen students lounged in cushioned chairs, their laughter sharp and deliberate. Darius sat at the head, a goblet in hand, his golden hair catching the light like a halo — though the smirk on his face was anything but angelic.
"Ah, brother!" Darius rose slightly, gesturing with mock warmth. "We were just discussing the upcoming trials. Do come in."
Edran stepped inside and let the door click shut behind him. "I wouldn't want to interrupt."
"You wouldn't," Darius replied smoothly. "This is exactly the kind of… conversation you should be part of. We're all competitors here, after all."
It didn't take long for Edran to see the pattern.Darius would bring up a scenario — a tactical problem from past competitions — then "ask" Edran for his opinion. Each one was a loaded trap: either answer in a way that showed ignorance or refuse and appear aloof.
The others were in on it. Lira Veyran was here, sitting to Darius's right, sipping her drink with quiet amusement. Taren Holt sat opposite her, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Two other nobles — neither friends nor enemies of Edran — leaned forward like spectators at a duel.
"Here's a good one," Darius said, swirling his wine. "Suppose you face an opponent whose cultivation path relies entirely on speed. What's your counter?"
Edran leaned back in his chair. "Depends on the arena terrain, the opponent's weapon, and whether they're overconfident."
Darius arched a brow. "And if they're not overconfident?"
Edran's lips curved faintly. "Then I make them so."
A small chuckle rippled around the table. Darius's smirk thinned.
The questions continued, but Edran began turning them back, asking for details Darius hadn't considered.When Darius mentioned a "river crossing ambush," Edran inquired about the water's depth and current speed.When Darius brought up "a siege scenario," Edran asked about civilian evacuation protocols — something no one else had thought of.
By the third exchange, it was clear to the room that Darius's "tests" were shallow — impressive to casual listeners, but lacking the depth of someone who had truly studied.
Taren Holt noticed it first, his eyes glinting with interest. Lira's smirk faded into something more calculating.
After an hour, Darius finally waved a hand. "Well, that was… enlightening. Thank you, brother, for sharing your… perspectives."
Edran rose. "It's been a pleasure."
On his way out, Taren called after him. "Third Prince — I'd like to spar with you before the trials."
Edran didn't look back, but the faint upward twitch of his lips was answer enough.
Outside, the night air was cooler still, the scent of jasmine sharper. Edran let the calm wash over him. He hadn't humiliated Darius outright — but he'd shifted the balance. In the Academy of Crowns, sometimes victory was simply leaving the room with more allies than you entered with.
Three nights until the competition. And the board was already tilting in his favor.