The early morning sun glinted off the Eastern Continent's mountains, casting long shadows across the Voss estate. The training halls were alive with the sound of swords clashing, soldiers' footsteps, and the soft hum of circulating qi.
Lucien Voss observed quietly, his pale eyes following Kaelric's movements. The second son had grown sharper, more precise, but something had begun to show—a subtle reliance on Lucien's insight, though he would never admit it.
Lucien's lips curved slightly. Good. That reliance was the first thread.
"Brother," Lucien said, approaching Kaelric in the inner courtyard, where the younger son practiced a complex internal form, the qi around him glowing faintly like a silken veil of light. "I noticed your left meridian fluctuates when you push your qi too aggressively. A skilled enemy could exploit it. I can help you stabilize it… if you trust me."
Kaelric's eyes flickered with suspicion. "And why should I trust the fourth son? You are weak—always have been."
Lucien bowed respectfully. "Because I observe, not just strike. A true enemy is not always in front of you."
Kaelric studied him. Pride warred with curiosity, suspicion with the need for advantage. Finally, he nodded curtly. "Very well. Show me."
The sessions continued over days. Lucien guided Kaelric's qi flow, taught subtle strategic maneuvers, and suggested improvements in his swordplay. On the surface, it seemed like the guidance of a weak, observant brother. But beneath it, Lucien was planting seeds: subtle doubts about Ragnar, hints that Kaelric might be underestimated, suggestions that small mistakes could lead to disaster, all carefully calibrated to shape Kaelric's thoughts.
At night, Lucien watched his brothers from the balcony. Ragnar's gaze lingered a little longer on him than usual. Kaelric, in contrast, was already thinking aloud, repeating phrases Lucien had subtly introduced:
"Perhaps I must act before my brother's incompetence endangers me."
Exactly as Lucien intended.
The Voss Kingdom's borders were quiet for now, the northern raiders driven off, yet the real battle was only beginning. Power within the family was more dangerous than any enemy army. One careless word, one misplaced trust, and a brother could die—or worse, destroy Lucien before he could act.
Lucien's mind turned like a well-oiled mechanism. Patience, observation, subtle influence—these were his weapons.
He walked past Kaelric's training hall later that night, softly muttering under his breath.
"They trust me… they believe they guide themselves. But the hand that whispers is the one that pulls the blade."
And with that, Lucien's first thread of true manipulation was complete. Kaelric would unknowingly step into the trap, believing it to be his own strategy. Ragnar's suspicion was growing—but it was not yet sharp enough to strike.
Lucien smiled faintly in the moonlight.
The game had begun. And the fourth son, the weakest in body but the sharpest in mind, had already taken the first move.