Aurein's POV
"Rise and shine, Prince Aurein. It is time to begin your training. My army awaits us," General Voltaire said as he shook me—rather violently, if I may add.
"Wait—I'm still sleepy. And who allowed you to barge in here while I was resting?" I grumbled, eyes shut, refusing to move.
"The King—your father—ordered me to wake you. And you do not have the luxury of saying 'wait' during wartime. Your enemies will not wait for you," he said, still shaking me like I was some sort of stubborn rag doll.
"Enough! I want to sleep!" I yelled, finally cracking my eyes open and glaring at the window. "Do you see that? There's no sun! The sky is still pitch black—dawn isn't even close! Why must we start now? Are you truly that desperate to torture me?" I huffed, rolled over, and yanked the blanket over my head.
"Oh? A stubborn prince, I see," he said, voice turning suspiciously casual. His footsteps drifted away. "Very well. I shall go report to your father and tell him the truth—that you wish to abandon warrior training and become a Moon Dancer instead."
I shot upright.
My eyebrows furrowed, eyes still half-shut from sleep. "You are truly wicked to me! What have I ever done to deserve this? I've never wronged you—not even once!" I hissed.
He said nothing.
Probably smirking. I refused to open my eyes just so I wouldn't see it.
"Well? SAY SOMETHING!"
"What is the meaning of this?"
My father's voice thundered from the doorway.
My eyes flew open. "F-Father! You're here already?!" I gasped.
General Voltaire stood beside him—with that smile, the pleased, traitorous, I-hope-you-suffer smile.
"I-I'll get ready now!" I said, leaping from the bed as though flames were licking my feet. I dressed in record time.
"Good! I came here to tell you that I cannot watch you today with your training as I have some important matters to do." My father said, "General Voltaire, I'm giving you the full authority to command my son while on training."
"Very well, your majesty."
Argh! He must have been waiting for this moment!
* * *
We walked through the stone corridors toward the training grounds.
And yes—I was fuming.
"The moon is still high in the sky. LOOK!" I pointed dramatically at it. "Why are we training so early?! Do none of you ever sleep?"
"Enemies do not wait for sunrise, Your Highness. If our warriors learn to be alert at this hour, we will never be caught unprepared," he said.
"What do you mean we? You will fight for me. I never said I wanted to join battles," I muttered, narrowing my eyes at him.
He only chuckled softly.
Shaking his head.
As though I was the unreasonable one.
At last, we reached the place where his warriors awaited us—lined up in perfect formation, stern and disciplined, like statues of iron. Their armor glimmered faintly under the pale glow of the moon, and every gaze snapped forward the moment General Voltaire stepped into view.
The moment they noticed me, however, their rigid expressions shifted into confusion—then quickly into respect as they lowered their heads in salute.
"Will you be watching our training, Prince Aurein? It is an honor," one of the warriors said.
"Prince Aurein will not merely watch," General Voltaire said. "He will join today's training from now on. You are to treat him as an equal—no special treatment, no exemptions."
Every warrior subtly glanced at one another—equally confused and far too afraid to voice it.
I glared at him.
"You are evil, General Voltaire," I whispered—more like hissed—in his direction.
He didn't reply. Instead, I watched the shift in his posture: calm and playful fading into iron-spined discipline. His expression hardened in seconds.
"Prince Aurein. Change into your training gear. Now," he said.
"Are you ordering me?" I said, hands on hips. "Are you rushing me?"
Several soldiers nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Then I saw the General's expression—unchanged, unreadable—but his eyes...
His eyes shifted toward me like a predator sizing up its prey.
I froze.
Fine. Maybe I was a little scared.
"I—I was just asking! I'll change! Where is it?" I said quickly.
"In that armory hut," he said, gesturing to a small wooden structure nearby. "Your gear is prepared inside. I will give you one minute."
"One minute? That's barely anything!" I protested.
"Thirty seconds," he said coldly.
"You have no heart!"
"One."
"Wait—you're really counting?!"
"Two. If we reach thirty and you are still not dressed, you already know the consequences... Prince Aurein," he said—voice smooth and dangerous.
"You treacherous demon!" I snapped before dashing toward the hut.
The moment I opened the door, an ungodly stench attacked me.
I gagged.
"What in the—?! Have they never heard of bathing?! Is fighting the only thing in their brain? This smells like someone boiled sweaty shoes and fed them to a dead horse!" I complained loudly.
Outside, his voice echoed like thunder.
"Nine! Ten!"
"YOU ARE TERRIBLE!" I yelled back as I rummaged through a wooden table and found the training gear bundled neatly.
I stripped and changed at lightning speed—because if there was anything I feared more than smelling like this hut...
...it was General Voltaire reporting me to my father for disobedience over something as stupid as changing clothes.
That man currently held my entire life hostage.
And he knew it.
Curse him!
* * *
By the time I returned to General Voltaire's side, his expression was indescribable—somewhere between shock, disbelief, and deep spiritual suffering.
His warriors were visibly shaking—shoulders trembling, lips pressed tight—desperate not to laugh.
And I knew exactly why.
"Look at this!" I complained, tugging at the massive folds of fabric hanging off me. "This training gear is enormous! It's falling off! My waist is right here—if I let go for one second, I'll be naked in front of your entire army!"
He stared at me once, then sighed.
"Well, perhaps if you didn't have the body of a delicate maiden, it wouldn't be a problem," he said.
His warriors SNORTED. One even coughed to cover the sound of their laughter.
I turned slowly—eyes deadly—and glared at them.
"You dare laugh? At me? At the prince of this kingdom—the future king?" I threatened.
Silence.
Utter, terrified silence.
General Voltaire stepped closer, his voice deepening.
"Tell me, do you think they'll ever respect you as king looking like that? You look ridiculous. Undignified. You are nothing like your father's imposing presence," he said.
"Oh, excuse me for not being tall and built from steel!" I snapped. "I didn't choose this ridiculous outfit! If someone prepared gear that actually fit me, we wouldn't have this problem!"
He pressed two fingers against his temple, as if I was the source of every lasting headache in his life.
I smirked.
Good.
If he insisted on dragging me here at the crack of eternal darkness, I would at least ruin his day.
"Come," he said—and grabbed my wrist before I could dodge.
"HEY—where are you dragging me?!" I yelped.
"There was once a female recruit in my unit. I kept her old training gear. You can wear it."
"You expect me to wear women's gear?" I said, scandalized. "Are you mocking me now? Trying to embarrass me on purpose?"
"It is the only size that will fit you," he replied.
"I am NOT a woman!"
"Stop complaining."
He pulled me back into the rancid-smelling hut, and I followed only because he still had my wrist in an iron grip.
The moment we stepped inside, I almost gagged.
"This place reeks," I muttered. "Do none of you ever clean? Is this what happens when you leave men like you unsupervised? Sweat, dirt, and despair?"
He ignored me—of course—and rummaged through an old storage chest.
Dust flew everywhere.
Finally, he pulled out a folded set of armor—slender in shape, slightly ornate, and clearly untouched for years.
"Found it," he said. "Remove your clothes."
I stared at him.
Blink. Blink.
"Seriously? Right here? In front of you?"
"Yes. Hurry," he said sharply. "What are you embarrassed about? We're both males, Prince Aurein. And you'd better get used to stripping in front of other warriors—we bathe together after training."
"What?! Where is my privacy?!"
"There is no privacy for a warrior," he said. "Even baths can be ambushed by enemies."
I stared at him, horrified.
"This army is insane."
And yet...
He crossed his arms.
Waiting.
Judging.
My eyes narrowed.
I hated this.
I hated him.
And I really hated that he was right.
With a dramatic sigh, I began unfastening the oversized uniform.
"Fine," I said.
Because at this point... I had already accepted my fate.
I was going to die of embarrassment long before any enemy killed me.
I stripped.
First the top. Then the bottom.
The cool air hit my bare skin, and just as I was turning away to hide my dignity, I noticed him tilt his head—and smirk.
"General!" I yelped, covering myself with both hands. "Turn around!"
He did not turn around.
Instead, he laughed.
"Even your manhood is tiny," he said. "How do you expect to satisfy a woman with that size? Will you even be able to impregnate someone?"
My soul left my body.
"JUST—just give me the training gear!" I shouted in humiliation.
He handed it over—far too slowly—and I snatched it before he could make another comment.
"Leave! Let me change in peace!"
"I will give you thirty seconds," he said.
"HMPH!"
He strode toward the exit of the hut.
"One... Two..."
By the time his counting faded outside, I was already forcing the outfit on—angrily, dramatically, and absolutely praying no one opened that door.
When I finally stood before the cracked mirror inside the hut...
I froze.
No.
No!
The tunic pressed against my skin like a clingy lover. It hugged my waist as if it had been tailored by a vengeful goddess of seduction.
It was supposed to be training gear.
But on me?
It looked like I was being prepared for someone's private fantasy.
The fabric wrapped around me with criminal precision, outlining the faint curve of my waist—something I never cared about until now. The seams framed my torso like delicate hands, sculpting a line from chest to hips I never asked to display.
And the back—
Heavens above, the back.
A narrow V-shaped slit exposed a strip of skin from my shoulder blades down to my lower spine. A pair of silver ribbons laced through the opening, tied just loosely enough that the ends brushed down along my skin every time I breathed.
It felt... intimate. Scandalously intimate.
The material itself had a faint shimmer—the kind the kingdom used for female warriors, moon dancers, and ...those who entertained nobility in private chambers.
Of course General Voltaire would give me this.
Every time I raised my arm, the fabric shifted just enough for my collarbones to show through—like an invitation I had no intention of giving.
I tugged at the sides of the tunic in panic—only to discover SIDE SLITS.
Side. Slits.
Designed for movement—yet every step flashed a glimpse of my thigh.
MY THIGH.
Since when did thighs become a public spectacle?!
And the trousers—CURSE THEM.
They clung to my legs like paint. Not pants.
Paint.
There was no room. None. I moved and the fabric moved with me—perfectly outlining every contour of my legs.
One high kick?
Boom. The entire kingdom would know what shape my thighs were.
"I don't look like a warrior," I whispered in horror.
Not a prince.
Not a trainee.
Just someone beautifully wrapped for someone else's entertainment.
I swallowed, stared at my reflection, then whispered:
"This is... seduction in fabric form."
It fit me too well.
Too beautifully.
Too sinfully.
I pressed my palms to my face.
"WHY does this fit me perfectly?!"
My mind raced.
Whose outfit was this?
The only woman who ever joined General Voltaire's army...
Why did she leave?
Did she flee?
Did she run away because of him?
HA!
Serves him right if she did!
And now here I was—caught in her cursed, seductive training attire.
* * *
When I returned to General Voltaire's side, every single one of his soldiers was staring at me.
Not laughing.
Not whispering.
Just silently staring—like they were studying every inch of my body.
General Voltaire glanced at me... and smiled like the devil.
"It fits you perfectly," he said. "No doubt. You have the exact same size as the previous owner."
"What is wrong with you?" I snapped. "And where is the woman who owned this? Did you torment her too?! Did she leave your army out of sheer humiliation?!"
He adjusted his collar—calm, composed—and then addressed the warriors.
"Eyes forward! Do not let your gaze wander!" he said sharply. "Prince Aurein is a man. His body is NOT something you should lust after!"
Every head snapped forward.
My face burst into flames.
I immediately grabbed the slit on my side, trying to hide it. Too seductive. Way too seductive.
"Next time, prepare a proper outfit for me! A male one!" I barked.
"Yes, I will," he whispered. "My men are starving for the sight of a woman's body... and unfortunately, yours is close enough."
"STOP TALKING," I hissed.
"If the king and queen see my warriors lusting over you, they will be punished," he muttered.
"And how is that MY fault?!" I snapped.
"Enough," he said, suddenly snapping back into General mode. "We begin. Time is being wasted."
The air changed instantly.
Every soldier stood straighter—alert, focused, waiting for orders.
"As this is your first day," he said, folding his arms, "you will receive an initiation."
"Huh?"
"It is an endurance trial. If you succeed, you shall receive a reward."
"And what reward could possibly make me happy that will be coming from you?" I scoffed.
He smirked.
"I guarantee you will like it, Prince Aurein. But I will not tell you unless you succeed."
"Tch. Fine," I said. "So what is this endurance training you speak of?"
His grin widened.
And something cold slithered down my spine.
"Simple. From this base, you must reach the foot of Mount Tramo—where a small stone pedestal stands and you need to stand on top of it. It is roughly six kilometers from here."
"Oh. That's not so ba—"
"You must reach it," he said, voice suddenly dark, "without being captured."
"...What?"
"You will run. And we," he said, motions sweeping toward his army, "will chase you. If you reach the pedestal before we catch you, you win. If not..."
He paused.
Every soldier grinned like wolves.
"...you will receive a punishment you will not enjoy."
My heartbeat exploded. A cold sweat crawled down my back.
General Voltaire raised one hand.
"My army—prepare!"
Armored feet shifted. Bodies straightened. Dozens of trained warriors took formation—All of them staring directly at me.
"Wait—WAIT!! General Voltaire! Is this for real?" I cried, stepping back.
He took one slow step toward me, smiling far too widely.
"One..."
"W-WAIT!!" I yelped, taking a step back.
"Two..."
"GENERAL!!"
"Three. RUN."
"WAIT I'M NOT READY—AHHHH!!!"
He lunged.
His entire army charged.
And I—
—I ran.
I RAN LIKE MY SOUL WAS BEING CHASED BY DEMONS.
"THEY'RE GOING TO EAT ME ALIVE!" I screamed, sprinting for my life as fifty trained warriors thundered after me like a pack of starving tigers who just spotted a plump, terrified deer wearing seductive training clothes.
I hate this life!
End of Chapter 4