After completing his morning training, Ighoras prepared breakfast. He was not a good cook, but five years ago, after Lady Selenia's death, he had been forced to start cooking for the young prince, and over time, he had become quite skilled at it.
Most of the time, he prepared a simple breakfast. But today, he cooked red ox meat he had obtained the day before, along with an egg. It was meant to celebrate Aerys's admission to the Academy in a few days.
It might be the last time the boy could enjoy a meal without worry, so Ighoras paid extra attention to every detail.
I hope he survives to enjoy my cooking again…
That was when Ighoras heard screaming.
"Nnnnnngghhhhhaaaaaa…!"
Aerys's room was close to the kitchen, so the sound reached him easily. He grabbed his sword and ran toward the room. Bursting through the door, he found Aerys sprawled across the bed, only his upper body resting on it, foam bubbling at the corners of his mouth. He was unconscious.
"Prince!"
Ighoras rushed to his side and checked his pulse. It felt normal—just like when he had found him earlier.
He's fine. What was he—? Huh?
His gaze shifted to the floor. Faint traces of footsteps marked the grond. He gently placed Aerys fully onto the bed, then crouched to inspect the marks more closely.
Is this…?
Unsure, he placed his own foot over one of the prints and followed its path.
His breath caught.
The footprints matched the exact patterns of his own sword techniques. Ordinary movement would never leave marks like these on a wooden floor—but martial techniques sometimes did, especially when forceful stomps were used to anchor one's stance.
What? Did he learn this on his own?
It was impossible. Ighoras had trained for years to reach his current level, yet the Prince's steps were flawless. Such precision normally required years of foundational training.
He only watched my training for at most two years…
The realization left him stunned.
He observed me for two years… and replicated decades of experience?
It was unbelievable. And yet, his eyes burned with tears.
To Ighoras, Aerys had always been someone who needed protection—the son of the woman he had cherished . Discovering the boy's talent filled him with gratitude rather than fear.
He placed two fingers on Aerys's wrist, probing his internal essence flow.
No essence… He only learned the movements.
Perhaps that was for the best. If it became known that the Prince had learned to absorb and use essence, the four ducal houses would erupt in fury.
Ighoras lingered for a moment longer, then quietly left the room.
Two days passed.
Aerys slept fitfully, his body twisting restlessly. A new fear washed over him—not the fear of losing Ighoras's protection, but something older, more primal. The fear of his enemies. The fear of finally facing them. He could already imagine their mockery, their disdain.
"The body has been woven anew. The veil of unconsciousness lifts."
A sharp jolt tore through his mind, and Aerys woke with a gasp.
"Ugh!"
He sat up, panting. The memory of the unbearable pain before losing consciousness still lingered vividly.
"Ha… I will never try that again."
[I warned you, Master.]
"…Yeah."
It had been his choice.
Aerys rose from the bed and stepped into the center of the room, preparing to test the sword technique.
It won't hurt now… right?
The echoes of twenty years of practice have been woven into your being, forging strength as though earned across decades.
Good.
He assumed his stance and swung his dull sword. The difference was immediate—his movements were sharper, more precise, more efficient. When he stomped forward to transition into the next step, the floor rumbled loudly.
"No!"
Startled, Aerys froze. Deep marks had been left behind by his foot.
"This is bad…"
Worry crept into his chest.
It leaves footprints even without internal essence flow…
As he debated what to do, a knock sounded at the door.
"Prince. Your breakfast is ready."
It was Ighoras.
Aerys hurriedly pressed down on the damaged section of the floor, trying to erase the mark, but it refused to fade. At that moment, the door opened and Ighoras stepped inside.
"Prince?"
"O-Oh! Haha, I'm starving!"
Aerys quickly dragged the table from the window to the center of the room. Ighoras frowned slightly.
"Don't you usually eat by the window?"
"Y-Yes, but… I won't be returning for a while, so I wanted to eat here."
It was suspicious, but Ighoras said nothing as he set the meal down. Aerys exhaled quietly and sat.
"Oh…"
The breakfast consisted of roasted ox meat, fried vegetables, and eggs—his favorite. It wasn't the lavish fare of nobility, but to Aerys, it was more than enough.
He fell silent. He knew this was Ighoras's quiet way of wishing him well—perhaps for the last time.
Holding back tears, Aerys picked up his fork and ate.
He made sure not to leave a single bite.
After the quiet meal, Ighoras finally spoke.
"When did you… st—"
He stopped himself.
"…learn my sword technique?"
"Huh? Uh—w-what are you talking about?"
Aerys froze. Ighoras moved the table aside and pointed at the floor. The footprint was still there.
I wasn't wrong.
The mark was unmistakable—the stomp used to transition into the second formation of his sword technique.
Aerys lowered his head. He had never been taught combat or magic arts, but he still knew the laws of the Empire. Stealing another person's martial or magical techniques was forbidden and deeply despised.
"I… I…"
He had no excuse. He couldn't even meet Ighoras's eyes.
Then Ighoras knelt.
"You did well."
"…Huh?"
"I am your guard, Prince. If not for my oath, I would have taught you myself."
"Ighoras…"
Tears spilled freely now. To Aerys, Ighoras had been more of a father than the Emperor ever was.
Ighoras produced a folded sheet of paper and handed it to him.
"What is this?"
"An essence circulation method tailored to my sword technique."
"Why are you giving this to me?"
"I would prefer to give you a method for absorbing and circulating essence to strengthen your nexus," he said calmly, "but you will find something far better at the Academy. Learn it."
Aerys's tears fell freely. He had sworn never to cry again after his mother's death—but he was still just a boy.
Ighoras gathered the empty plates and turned to leave. At the door, he paused.
"You may cry today. But from tomorrow onward, you must be strong."
"…Thank you."
Aerys wiped his face.
He no longer felt fear or hesitation.
Even without his mother—or Ighoras—he still had somewhere to return to.