Chapter 4: Father's Court
The halls of the Glayder estate were vast, polished, and suffocating in their grandeur.
Even at a young age, I could feel the weight of history pressing down upon me. Portraits of ancestors stared down from the walls, each one frozen in eternal pride. The servants whispered as they passed, careful never to disturb the quiet hum of authority that lingered in every corner.
Today, I was brought to the Father's Court. Not as a participant, not as a speaker, but as an observer. The nobles gathered, their voices smooth yet sharp with the undercurrent of competition. Each word, each gesture, each polite smile carried hidden meaning. I understood it all instinctively. Years of life, study, and experience sharpened perception even beyond the natural senses of infants.
My father presided at the center, a man of regal bearing and strict discipline. His eyes swept the room, reading every noble like a scroll of text. He did not yet know the extent of my awareness, and that was to my advantage.
The nobles spoke of trade, land, and the future of Dicathen—but beneath their elegant words, the corruption was clear. Plans to exploit slaves, schemes to enrich families through deceit, and whispers of secret deals with foreign powers. Every noble in this room had an agenda, and every agenda threatened the kingdom they were supposed to serve.
I watched silently, cataloging each piece of information. I remembered my first life, where knowledge was power and foresight saved lives. I remembered my second life, where patience and strategy separated a king from a pawn.
Even now, as a child, I could see the cracks forming in this society. These cracks would become my tools.
A man to my left spoke with pride about his new weapons, entirely ignorant of the potential disaster they posed. Another boasted of his estate's profits, unconcerned about the suffering of the people who labored there. I made a mental note of each one—their strengths, weaknesses, ambitions, and fears.
By the time I would sit upon the throne, every detail would be known. Every secret would be exposed. Every betrayal punished.
And yet, I remained calm. The nobles were pieces on a board, and I… I was already planning three moves ahead.
A servant approached and whispered in my ear, "My lord, your first lesson in politics is over. You may return to your chambers."
I nodded silently, though the nod was more for habit than respect. As I was carried away, my gaze lingered on the nobles, the servants, and the walls themselves. Every stone, every painting, every word spoken in this room would be remembered. Every small detail might one day save my life—or allow me to take one.
Outside the windows, the streets of Dicathen stretched endlessly. Children ran, merchants shouted, and the wind carried the faint scent of smoke from distant factories. Among them, I sensed the first of my future subordinates—another child whose life would soon intertwine with mine.
The game had begun. And I, even as a child, was already playing to win.