The afternoon air in the Andalus mansion was heavy—a mix of the scent of pinewood from the garden and the smoke from the fireplaces that crept up from the inner rooms. From the tall stained-glass windows, Arthur gazed out at the courtyard.
There, a large steel carriage belonging to the Rich Trade Union had just pulled up. Its symbol—a golden lion biting a chain—was carved prominently on the carriage door. Behind it, porters were busy unloading large crates sealed with red wax.
"It must have been an order from Duke Naba de Stico," Arthur murmured. Goods from the north were always full of secrets—sometimes rare metals, sometimes snowman furs, sometimes ancient manuscripts never touched by commoners.
A butler's steps broke his reverie. Corton, loyal to the family since grandfather Arthur's time, bowed politely.
"Young master, the Archduke has summoned you. He is waiting in the study."
Arthur closed his eyes from the window and turned around. The long corridor he was walking through was filled with paintings of Andalusian ancestors—horsemen, warlords, diplomats.
Their faces were imprinted on the canvas, their eyes seemed to follow his every step, judging whether he was worthy of bearing the family name.
In his study, the Archduke of Nosy-de-Andalus was hunched over a dark oak desk. Stacks of financial documents, trade route maps, and official seals surrounded him.
Her brown hair was streaked with silver, and her green eyes—the same eyes as Arthur's—stared intently as if they could weigh every soul that stood before her.
As soon as Arthur entered, the Archduke quietly closed the folder.
"Arthur," his voice was deep but controlled, "your time here is almost up. In two months, you will be leaving for Piece Imperial Academy."
Arthur choked. He knew that name. Piece was more than just an academy; it was a bastion of knowledge and power.
A place where noble heirs were forged, where friendship could turn to betrayal, and where weakness could mean death.
Its location is in the north, under the supervision of Duke Naba de Stico—a man known for his firmness and coldness, without mercy.
"There," the Archduke continued, "you will learn more than just law and the sword. You will be forced to confront politics, friendship, and even betrayal. Many return from Piece as leaders… but many more return as mere names on tombstones."
Arthur swallowed, trying to hide his unease.
The Archduke stood and walked over to the safe. From inside, he pulled out a short dagger in a black leather sheath.
The hilt was engraved with the Andalusian family crest: an outstretched eagle grasping the sun. He handed the dagger to his son.
"This belonged to your grandfather," he said softly. "Keep it. Not to kill… but to remind you of who you are."
Arthur accepted it with both hands. The cold metal made his heart beat harder. He knows that the journey to Piece is not just about gaining knowledge—it is the first step into the arena of power struggle.
Outside, the city bells of Matrix tolled with the setting sun. Far to the north, Duke Naba de Stico's stone fortress stood braving the blizzard—awaiting the arrival of a child who, whether he knew it or not, would write a new chapter in the empire's history.