A wooden training sword came barreling down on me with impressive speed. Even with aura coursing through my body, I was too slow to deflect the blow as it knocked my wind out. A disappointed tsk, escaped Lionel's mouth while looking at my keeled over form. "You lack finesse, little lion. You can't just force the aura to give you strength. You need to persuade it, like a fickle lover."
I glared up at Lionel, dreaming of slitting his throat open. "Since when did you become a poet?" I instantly regret saying it. Lionel smacked me over the head with the flat of his blade. "Damnit! What did you do that for? The old man was right, you are a bastard." Again, I regretted my actions when he smacked me once more.
"Did no one teach you respect, brat?" Lionel shook his head.
"Aren't you the one who raised me? So clearly, my lack of respect comes from your esteemed self." I sneered at him, baring my teeth.
"Moving on," Lionel coughed in his hand, trying to change the subject. "As I was saying. Aura is fickle; you have to persuade it to do anything. Forcing it will only weaken the end result."
"Ok, but how am I supposed to persuade a mindless energy? Your words don't make sense." No matter how many times we have this conversation, it never feels like I'm getting any closer.
I have tried persuasion like Lionel suggested. But the mere act felt like an affront to my very being. The strong do not ask, they take what they want. Even if I knew it was not true, the persuasion felt like an act of subservience. For some reason, I just could not do it. By my very nature, I followed the principles of dominion. All of this meant that I had to change my approach. Focusing on my internal world, I tried something different. I infused my will into the ring, generating aura. The resistance was almost instant as wills clashed.
One was untamed and wild. While my own will had a feeling of inevitability. Like an oncoming wave refusing to back down. The wills clashed for what felt like an eternity until only one will remained. Mine. The aura flowed through me without resistance, strengthening me further. Without wasting a breath, I dashed forward with immense speed. My training sword moving directly towards Lionel's unprotected side. It was nowhere near enough to contend with the grizzled veteran. But the improvement was clear as day.
The victory was minor, but it felt like overcoming a mountain. For the past five days, I have relentlessly tried to use aura in a respectable manner. And only now did I succeed. The joy was short-lived, however, as Lionel decided that this was a good time to put me through hell. And hell, it was. Lionel pushed my body to its absolute limit. When I could barely move anymore from fatigue, he switched to sparring. The amount of time I returned to my bed broken and bruised was dizzying. Yet every day I could see the benefits of his training. The integration of my skills within my fighting style became almost seamless. Everything worked together in unison. Any wasted movement was beaten out of me. After two weeks of hellish training, I felt like a new man.
I could probably take on three of my former selves. The more I trained, the more I realized how wasteful my previous approach had been. I could now do twice as much with half the energy, and to me, that growth was insane. On the 16th day since my training began, there was a break in the monotony. I had the day off from training, so I decided to check in with Ivan.
I understood the importance of public relations. And unfortunately, my reputation had taken a slight hit at Tjorval's death. It was unavoidable, but so be it. I was not going to cry over spilled milk. What would be the point? What's done is done; even if I could go back, I would not have done it any differently.
I found Ivan at the blacksmith, having a discussion with Magnus and Bjorn. Their father was busy in the smithy while they stood at the front door. They looked significantly better after the much-needed rest. I don't know how it was possible, but Bjorn looked even bigger now. While Magnus had a sharp intensity to him.
"The hunt is in a week. The preparations have already been made. We are just waiting on the rest of the youth to be prepared beforehand." Ivan spoke with complete seriousness.
The seriousness was mirrored by the brothers as they contemplated his words. "What's this I'm hearing of a hunt?" I spoke with a lighthearted tone as a way to ease into the conversation.
Bjorn was the first to turn towards me. "Oh, Drakkus didn't see you there. How've you been?"
"Eh, so and so." Shrugging my shoulders. I saw how Ivan's shoulders tensed when he heard me speak, but I paid it no mind. "Back to the topic, what is this mention of a hunt? I must say I am quite intrigued." I could see that Ivan was clearly uncomfortable with me speaking of it. But the others did not share his discomfort.
"It's a village tradition. When enough of the men come of age, and unlock access to the system. Then they are sent out on a hunt. Like a coming of age of sorts." Magnus explained in his usual calm and analytic tone.
"Hey, here's an idea, why don't you join?" Bjorn bellowed a laugh at the thought of another battle. He was more boisterous than usual, which is saying something.
"I don't know. I wouldn't want to intrude." Although I was intrigued, I did not want to overstep my bounds. And from the looks Ivan was giving, that was exactly what I was doing. "You know what? As a prince, it is only proper that I learn more of my people, so I think I will accept your invitation."
If Ivan thought he could dictate my actions, then he was sorely mistaken. I do what I please. I already wasted one life on formality and saw no reason to do so again. My red eyes glimmered with strength while glaring at Ivan. Daring him to challenge my decision. He could do nothing but sigh in defeat at the willful prince.