[One Week After Recovery][Location: Academy Dining Hall][Time: Lunch]
Sol carried his tray to what had become "his" table—the one he shared with Godfrey and Lyra, positioned near the windows with good natural light. Comfortable. Familiar. Safe.
He sat down, Godfrey already chattering about something he'd read in the temple library, when a shadow fell across the table.
Marcus stood there with his tray, Kieran hovering behind him looking uncertain.
"This seat taken?" Marcus asked, gesturing to the empty spot across from Sol.
The entire dining hall seemed to pause. Conversations stuttered. Heads turned.
Marcus—crown prince, heir apparent, social king of the Academy—was asking to sit at Sol's table.
"It's... open," Sol said carefully.
Marcus sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world. Kieran followed suit, taking the spot next to Marcus with a small apologetic smile at Sol.
And just like that, lunch became: Sol, Godfrey, Marcus, and Kieran. Sitting together. Eating like it was normal.
Lyra arrived a moment later, faltered when she saw Marcus, then shrugged and sat down anyway. "Well. This is new."
"Is it though?" Godfrey said cheerfully. "Marcus and Sol are brothers now. Brothers eat together. This makes perfect sense!"
"Peculiar brothers," Marcus corrected, cutting his meat with precise movements. "Who insult each other regularly."
"You haven't insulted me yet today," Sol observed.
"The day's young. Give me time."
Several nearby tables were openly staring. Sol could hear whispered conversations:
"—actually sitting with the bastard—"
"—since the forest incident—"
"—Marcus never sits with anyone outside his circle—"
Marcus ignored them all, his posture relaxed, his attention on his food. Making a statement through casual indifference: this is normal now. Adjust.
"So," Marcus said after swallowing a bite, "I've been thinking."
"Dangerous," Sol muttered.
"Hilarious. Anyway." Marcus pointed his fork at Sol. "You saved my life in the forest using magic that should be impossible for your age. Which means you have knowledge and skill that aren't being properly developed."
"I have Professor Aldwin," Sol said.
"Who teaches you theory and meditation. Not combat applications." Marcus set down his fork. "You need practical training. Real combat drill. The kind that turns magical knowledge into actual fighting capability."
Sol had a bad feeling about where this was going.
"I'm going to train you," Marcus announced. "Properly. Combat magic, tactical awareness, physical conditioning—everything you need to not be completely helpless in a fight."
"I'm four years old," Sol pointed out. "And Level 1."
"You're an 847-year-old soul in a four-year-old body," Marcus countered. "You have the knowledge. You just need the physical framework to use it. And I'm going to provide that framework."
"Why?" Sol asked suspiciously.
Marcus met his eyes. "Because you're my brother. And I don't want to watch you nearly die again because your body can't handle what your mind knows how to do." He paused. "Also because having a legendary Contractor as a trained ally is politically advantageous. But mostly the brother thing."
"Seventy percent politics, thirty percent genuine concern?" Sol guessed.
"Sixty-forty. I'm not completely heartless." Marcus looked at Godfrey. "You too. Divine blessings are great, but you fight like you've never had formal training."
"I haven't!" Godfrey said. "Mother says I'm too young for combat instruction."
"You're five and you have forty-nine Divine Graces. You're going to end up in combat whether you're trained or not. Better to be prepared." Marcus glanced at Kieran. "Kieran's already in my training regiment. Now it'll be the four of us."
Kieran nodded. "It's actually really good training. Marcus is harsh, but he knows what he's doing."
"Harsh?" Lyra asked.
"He once made me run laps until I threw up because my footwork was sloppy," Kieran said. "But my footwork is perfect now, so..."
"I'm a effective teacher," Marcus said without shame. "If you want to be coddled, find someone else. If you want to actually improve, train with me."
Sol looked at Godfrey, who was practically vibrating with excitement. "Training! With actual structure! This sounds amazing!"
"You're way too enthusiastic about being worked until you vomit," Sol observed.
"I have Grace of Endless Stamina," Godfrey said. "I literally can't get tired. This will be fun!"
Sol sighed. He was going to regret this. But Marcus was right—he did need combat training. His knowledge was useless if his body couldn't execute it.
"Fine," Sol said. "When do we start?"
"After final classes. Training yard, east section. Don't be late." Marcus returned to his meal. "Oh, and Sol? Wear clothes you don't mind destroying. Combat training is rough on fabric."
[That Afternoon][Location: Academy Training Yard - East Section][Time: After Final Classes]
The east training yard was less populated than the main yards—favored by advanced students who didn't want beginners getting in the way. Marcus had clearly chosen it deliberately for privacy.
Sol, Godfrey, and Kieran stood in a line while Marcus paced in front of them like a drill sergeant. Lyra had come to watch, sitting on a bench at the yard's edge.
"Basic principles," Marcus said. "Combat isn't about being strongest or fastest. It's about being smarter than your opponent. Reading their intent, exploiting their weaknesses, making them fight your battle instead of theirs."
He stopped in front of Sol. "You're smallest, weakest, and lowest-level. In a straight fight, you lose to everyone. So you don't fight straight. You fight dirty. You use every advantage—terrain, distraction, magic, contracts. Whatever works."
"Reassuring," Sol said dryly.
"It should be. You're a Contractor. You don't need to win fights personally—you need to win fights through superior resources." Marcus moved to Godfrey. "You're divine-blessed with defensive Graces. That makes you perfect for protection roles. But protection is active, not passive. You need to learn positioning, threat assessment, priority targeting."
"I can do that!" Godfrey said eagerly.
"We'll see." Marcus stopped in front of Kieran. "You've been training with me for months. You know the drill. Today you're helping me demonstrate."
Kieran nodded, looking nervous but ready.
Marcus pulled out wooden practice swords—three of them, sized appropriately for children. He handed one to Kieran, kept one himself, and set the third aside.
"First lesson: observation. Watch."
Marcus and Kieran took positions five paces apart. They circled each other slowly, practice swords raised.
"Kieran, what am I doing?" Marcus asked while moving.
"Circling," Kieran answered. "Looking for openings."
"Wrong. I'm controlling distance. Keeping you in my optimal range while staying out of yours." Marcus demonstrated by stepping closer, and Kieran reflexively backed up. "See? I move toward, he moves back. I control the engagement distance."
Marcus stopped circling. "Now watch his stance. What's wrong with it?"
Sol analyzed automatically. "His weight is forward on his left foot. Back foot isn't planted properly. If you strike high, he'll block. But if you sweep low and left, he'll stumble."
Marcus smiled. "Correct. Kieran, reset."
Kieran adjusted his stance, spreading his weight more evenly.
"Better," Marcus said. "Now: strike patterns. Most fighters telegraph their attacks. Watch." He swung slowly, deliberately, letting them see how his shoulder dipped before the strike, how his grip shifted, how his weight transferred.
"Three signals before the blade moves," Marcus explained. "If you can read them, you can react before the attack actually comes. Kieran, full speed now."
Kieran lunged. Marcus sidestepped, his practice sword tapping Kieran's ribs before the younger boy could recover.
"Too predictable," Marcus said. "You committed to the lunge before checking if I'd dodge. In real combat, you'd be dead. Again."
They went through the sequence five more times, Marcus pointing out mistakes, adjusting Kieran's form, demonstrating proper technique.
Sol watched, his 847-year-old tactical mind cataloging every detail. This wasn't just training—it was education. Marcus was teaching them to think like fighters, not just swing swords.
"Sol, you're up," Marcus said suddenly. "Take the sword."
Sol picked up the third practice sword. It was sized for children, but still felt heavy in his four-year-old hands.
[MP: 103.7/126.4] (Fully recovered now, pool back to normal)
"Don't swing yet," Marcus instructed. "Just hold the stance I showed Kieran. Weight balanced, blade at ready position."
Sol adjusted his posture, copying what he'd seen. His body was small and weak, but his mind knew proper form. The disconnect was frustrating.
"Not bad," Marcus said, walking around him. "Your positioning is perfect—too perfect. You hold the sword like someone who's done this ten thousand times." He stopped in front of Sol. "Which you probably have, in your previous life. But that knowledge is trapped in a body with no muscle memory. We need to build the physical foundation to match your mental understanding."
"How long will that take?" Sol asked.
"Months. Maybe a year to get you to basic competency. Several years to get you to my level." Marcus shrugged. "But we're starting now, so the sooner you're not completely helpless, the better."
They ran through basic forms for the next hour—footwork, stance transitions, guard positions. Nothing flashy. Just fundamentals repeated until Sol's tiny arms burned with exhaustion.
Godfrey practiced alongside him, his divine stamina making him never tire even as Sol struggled. The five-year-old was cheerful and encouraging throughout, which somehow made it both better and worse.
"Break," Marcus called finally. "Water. Five minutes."
Sol collapsed onto the bench next to Lyra, his entire body protesting. His mana pathways were fine—fully healed now—but his muscles weren't used to this kind of work.
"You look half-dead," Lyra observed.
"Feel completely dead," Sol muttered.
"Marcus is a brutal teacher," she said. "But effective. I've watched him train Kieran for months. The improvement is noticeable."
Sol watched Marcus demonstrating a more advanced technique to Godfrey, who was absorbing it with typical enthusiasm. Despite everything—the cruelty, the antagonism, the months of torment—Marcus was genuinely good at this. Teaching came naturally to him.
"He cares," Lyra said quietly, following Sol's gaze. "About being good at things. About making others good at things. It's why he was so threatened by you—you were good at things you shouldn't be, and he couldn't control or predict it."
"And now?"
"Now he's channeling that into actually helping you improve." She smiled slightly. "Character growth. Who knew?"
Movement at the edge of the training yard caught Sol's attention. Four figures stood watching from the tree line—too far to hear conversation, but clearly observing the training session.
[New Observers Detected]
The first was a girl, maybe seven years old, with silver hair that caught the late afternoon light like moonlight on water. She wore an elegant dress that marked her as high nobility—no, higher than that. The embroidery patterns suggested royal lineage or something equally prestigious. She stood with perfect posture, watching Marcus with a small smile on her face.
[Analysis: Unknown Noble Girl][Age: ~7 years old][Appearance: Silver hair, refined clothing, noble bearing][Focus: Marcus (interested observation)][Social Status: Very High]
Beside her stood a tall boy for his age—probably eight or nine—with black hair and glasses that caught the light, hiding his eyes in the glare. He adjusted them with one hand, his posture relaxed but his attention sharp.
[Analysis: Unknown Noble Boy #1][Age: ~8-9 years old][Appearance: Black hair, glasses, tall, observant][Demeanor: Mysterious, analytical][Notable: Hiding eyes deliberately with glasses angle]
As Sol watched, a girl with messy green hair in a bob cut smacked the black-haired boy on the back of his head hard enough that his glasses slipped.
"Stop being mysterious!" Her voice carried across the yard—energetic, impatient, completely unafraid of social niceties.
[Analysis: Unknown Noble Girl #2][Age: ~7-8 years old][Appearance: Green hair (messy bob), casual deportment][Personality: Direct, physical, informal][Relationship to Glasses Boy: Familiar enough to hit him]
The fourth figure was lounging in a tree branch above them—a boy with red hair and a bandage across his face, lying on his back with his hands behind his head like he had not a care in the world.
"Ahhhh," the red-haired boy said loudly, stretching. "It feels so good to be back from the capital. I missed this place."
[Analysis: Unknown Noble Boy #2][Age: ~8-9 years old][Appearance: Red hair, facial bandage, relaxed manner][Status: Just returned from capital][Personality: Casual, irreverent]
The red-haired boy leaned forward on his branch, looking directly at Marcus's training session. His eyes widened slightly, then he started laughing.
"No way," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Is Marcus actually slumming it with a bastard? And training him?" He laughed harder. "What did I miss? Did the crown prince get hit in the head? Did someone replace him with a pod person?"
The silver-haired girl—the one watching Marcus—turned sharply. "Cassius, don't be rude."
"I'm not being rude, Vera, I'm being accurate," Cassius said, still lounging in his tree. "Last time I was here, Marcus spent every spare moment making that kid's life miserable. Now he's giving him sword lessons? That's not character growth, that's personality replacement."
Marcus had definitely heard—the training yard wasn't that large. But he continued demonstrating a form to Godfrey, deliberately ignoring the observers.
"Who are they?" Sol asked Lyra quietly.
"Trouble," Lyra said. "That's Vera Emillus—silver hair, watching Marcus like he's the most interesting thing in the world. She's been obsessed with him since they were five. Very high nobility, very rich, very used to getting what she wants."
"And the others?"
"Her usual group. Theodore—the one with glasses—is from House Blackwood. Quiet, smart, likes playing mysterious. Petra—green hair, aggressive personality—is from House Verdane. And that's Cassius up in the tree, House Redmark. They're all high nobility, all Marcus's age group, all insufferably smug about it."
"They're Marcus's friends?" Sol asked.
"More like his court," Lyra said. "People who orbit him because he's crown prince. Vera's the only one who seems genuinely interested in him as a person rather than a title."
From the tree line, Theodore adjusted his glasses again, the angle now catching light to hide his eyes completely. "Peculiar indeed," he said in a mild tone that suggested deep waters underneath.
Petra kicked the tree Cassius was lounging in. "Are we just going to stand here watching, or are we going to say hello? I'm bored."
"You're always bored," Theodore observed.
"And you're always pretentious with your mysterious glasses thing," Petra shot back.
Vera ignored them both, her attention still fixed on Marcus. Her smile had faded to something more analytical, watching how he moved, how he taught, how he interacted with Sol and Godfrey.
"Marcus has changed," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Since the forest incident. He's different."
"Everyone changes after nearly dying," Theodore said. "The question is whether the change is genuine or just tactical."
"With Marcus?" Cassius called down from his tree. "Always tactical. Everything's political with our dear crown prince. Even kindness."
That wasn't entirely fair, Sol thought. Marcus had shown genuine care—rough and pride-wrapped, but real. The truce wasn't just politics.
But explaining that to these observers would require conversations Sol didn't want to have.
Marcus called the break over, summoning Sol and Godfrey back to training. As Sol stood, he noticed Vera's eyes shift to him—assessing, curious, calculating.
[Analysis: Vera Emillus][Interest in Sol: Curious (new element in Marcus's life)][Threat Level: Unknown][Social Danger: HIGH (influential noble with Marcus's attention)]
"Focus, Sol," Marcus called. "We're doing reaction drills next. You need to learn to move before thinking."
Sol returned to the training yard, very aware of the four observers watching from the tree line. Judging. Analyzing. Probably planning something.
The Academy's social dynamics were already complicated. The addition of Marcus's former circle—people who'd been gone or distant during Sol's first months—was going to make everything more complex.
But for now, he had sword forms to practice and a brutal crown prince teaching him not to be completely helpless.
The politics could wait until after training.
[Later - Walking Back to Quarters]
"They're going to be a problem," Sol said to Godfrey as they walked back toward the residential wing, both exhausted from Marcus's training.
"Who?" Godfrey asked, still somehow energetic despite two hours of intense drill.
"Vera's group. The observers."
"Oh, them!" Godfrey's expression brightened. "I can see their threads! Vera has a bright pink thread to Marcus—really strong, like obsession mixed with genuine affection. Theodore has a gray thread that goes everywhere and nowhere—he's connected to information, not people. Petra's threads are all green and sharp, pointing at things she wants to fight or break. And Cassius..." Godfrey squinted. "His threads are red and gold, pointing toward chaos. He likes making trouble."
"That's concerning."
"They're not bad people," Godfrey said thoughtfully. "Just complicated. Vera genuinely cares about Marcus, even if she's possessive. Theodore is loyal despite pretending not to care. Petra wants to prove herself. And Cassius is bored with normal noble life, so he stirs things up for entertainment."
"How do you get all that from threads?"
"Divine Sight!" Godfrey said happily. "It shows me not just connections but the nature of those connections. It's very useful for understanding people."
They reached their quarters to find Marcus already there, reading on his bed. He looked up when they entered.
"Tomorrow, same time," Marcus said. "And Sol—work on your footwork tonight. Your stance is perfect but your movement is stiff. Practice the transitions I showed you."
"I'll try not to collapse from exhaustion first," Sol said.
"Weakness is temporary. Skill is permanent. Practice anyway."
Kieran came in a moment later, looking as exhausted as Sol felt. "Is it always this brutal?" he asked Marcus.
"Only when I'm being nice," Marcus said. "When I'm actually serious, it's much worse."
"Terrifying," Sol muttered.
But looking at Marcus's slight smile, at the way he'd genuinely tried to teach them today, at the careful attention he'd paid to their individual weaknesses—Sol had to admit it was effective.
Brutal, exhausting, and absolutely no fun whatsoever.
But effective.
And with Vera's group now watching, with social dynamics shifting, with the Thirteen arriving in just ten days—Sol needed to be more than just knowledgeable.
He needed to be capable.
Even if it meant training until his tiny body wanted to give up.
[End Chapter Fifteen]
[Status Update][Days Until Thirteen: 10][MP: 103.7/126.4 (Fully recovered)][New Development: Combat training with Marcus (brutal but effective)][Training Group: Sol, Godfrey, Kieran, led by Marcus][New Observers: Vera's group (potential complications)]
[Vera's Group - Quick Profiles][Vera Emillus: Silver hair, 7 years old, interested in Marcus, high nobility][Theodore Blackwood: Black hair, glasses, 8-9 years old, mysterious, information-focused][Petra Verdane: Green hair (bob), 7-8 years old, aggressive, direct][Cassius Redmark: Red hair, facial bandage, 8-9 years old, chaos-oriented, just back from capital]
[Note: Social dynamics expanding, Marcus's old circle returning, new complications emerging as Sol's profile grows]