Leon sat under a crimson-leafed elm tree at the edge of the courtyard, still breathing heavily from his duel.
Servants hurried by, whispering and stealing glances.
Some with fear.
Some with awe.
Most with confusion.
For seventeen years, Leonard Graves Virdalia had been ignored, pitied, or mocked.
One victory — and the narrative began to crumble.
Leon pulled open his system menu.
---
[Crown Points: 500]
Available Purchases:
Minor Strength Enhancement: 400 CP
Minor Speed Enhancement: 400 CP
Basic Swordsmanship Memory: 500 CP
Beginner Healing (Passive): 300 CP
Crown's Favor (Luck Boost): 500 CP
---
He considered carefully.
I could boost strength… but that won't fix my lack of skills.
Speed is tempting. Survival often favors the faster, not the stronger.
Swordsmanship Memory... would give me instant basics. Save years of training.
Leon exhaled slowly.
Instinct and calculation warred inside him.
Finally, he chose.
Purchase: Basic Swordsmanship Memory - 500 CP
Confirmation flared before his eyes.
---
[Memory Injection Initiated...]
PAIN.
It felt like a sword was being hammered into his skull.
Thousands of movements, stances, and parries — every basic technique drilled into the muscle memory of a thousand soldiers — flooded into his mind.
When it ended, Leon slumped against the tree, gasping.
He flexed his hand.
Shifted his stance.
Drew the battered training sword.
Perfect form.
No hesitation. No doubt.
He smiled grimly.
"This is only the beginning."
The bells tolled.
Three long peals — a summons to court.
Leon's heart skipped a beat.
He knew what this meant.
The King was calling him — and it would not be to offer congratulations.
Two royal guards approached, armor gleaming, spears at their shoulders.
"Third Prince Leonard. His Majesty demands your presence."
Leon bowed slightly. "Lead the way."
As he walked through the towering marble halls of the castle, Leon activated the system's passive analysis.
---
[Area Hazard Scan Active]
Threat Level: Moderate
Hostile Intent Detected: Multiple Sources
Recommendation: Remain alert.
---
The throne room doors loomed ahead.
Carved from obsidian and steel, they bore scenes of conquest: kings raising cities from ashes, knights trampling enemies underfoot.
The guards slammed their spears down.
The doors groaned open.
Leon stepped into a den of lions.
King Armand sat on the Black Throne, draped in crimson robes, a gold scepter resting across his knees.
Around him stood the full court:
Dukes and barons
High-ranking knights
Court magicians in flowing robes
At his side, Queen Morganna — cold, poised, and deadly.
Leon bowed low.
"My King. My Queen."
Armand's voice boomed through the hall.
"Leonard Graves Virdalia. Step forward."
Leon obeyed.
The King studied him with hard, unreadable eyes.
"You humiliated your brother today."
Leon kept his face blank.
"I fought with honor, Your Majesty."
"Aye. You did." The King's lips curled into a sneer. "But honor does not replace loyalty. Nor does skill outweigh obedience."
The court murmured.
Leon stiffened internally. This is a warning.
Armand rose, scepter tapping against the marble floor with each step.
"You are my son. Yet you are... untrustworthy. A liability."
Leon swallowed.
He knew what would come next.
"You will be assigned to the Outlands," Armand declared. "The fiefdom of Black Hollow. A wasteland. A pit of disease and rebellion."
Shock rippled through the court.
Black Hollow was a death sentence for nobles. No wealth. No allies. No future.
Leon bowed again, deeper this time.
"As you command, Father."
Inside, he was trembling with barely suppressed excitement.
The Outlands... means freedom.
Away from your claws.
That night, Leon packed his few belongings into a single travel trunk.
Simple clothes. His battered sword.
Nothing else.
As he finished, a knock came at the door.
He tensed, ready to defend himself.
But it was Mira, his childhood friend — the only servant who had ever shown him kindness.
Small, brown-haired, and quick-witted, she bowed low.
"My Prince. I have news."
Leon motioned her inside quickly.
Mira handed him a sealed parchment.
"The Duke of Greystone plans to... ensure you do not survive the journey."
Leon's blood ran cold.
Of course.
The nobility wouldn't risk him rising any further.
"What else?" he asked.
Mira hesitated.
"There's more. Some say... the Queen herself has put a bounty on your head. Fifty gold crowns. Dead or alive."
Leon clenched his fists.
So. They wanted him dead, and they weren't subtle about it.
He smiled grimly.
"Then let them come."
Before dawn, Leon rode out.
His escort was laughably small:
Two guards (loyal to the Queen)
A driver
A supply wagon
Leon sat in the creaky carriage, sharpening his blade, senses on high alert.
Every bend in the road. Every shadow in the forest.
He knew the ambush would come.
Sure enough — four hours out of the capital — it did.
Masked riders burst from the trees.
Crossbows twanged.
Leon's guards barely pretended to fight.
One was shot immediately. The other dropped his sword and fled.
Leon leapt from the carriage, rolling and coming up smoothly — blade in hand.
Three bandits circled him.
"You're dead, princeling," one sneered.
Leon smiled coldly.
"Come and see."
The first attacker charged — fast, reckless.
Leon sidestepped and drove his sword through the man's thigh, twisting viciously.
The man screamed, collapsing.
The second came in slower — more cautious.
Leon feinted high, then spun low, slashing the man's calf.
Blood sprayed.
The third tried to grab him from behind.
Leon elbowed him in the throat, spun, and smashed the hilt of his sword into the man's nose, shattering it.
Three enemies down in under twenty seconds.
Breathing hard, Leon looked around.
More were coming.
Five. No, six more.
Too many.
The system chimed.
---
[Emergency Option Available]
Spend 200 CP to activate: Crown's Favor (Luck Boost)
---
Leon gritted his teeth.
"Do it."
Instantly, the world seemed to shift.
The ground under the attackers' horses became muddy, causing them to slip.
One rider was thrown into a tree, neck snapping audibly.
Another's crossbow misfired, bolt shooting into his own foot.
Chaos.
Leon waded in, a storm of precise strikes.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
When it was over, the road was littered with groaning, bleeding bodies.
Leon stood alone, bloodied but unbroken.
As the sun set over the battered landscape, Leon wiped his blade clean.
He knew the message had been sent.
He wasn't the weakling prince anymore.
He was something else.
Something dangerous.
Leon gathered the horses, the weapons, and the supplies.
He took everything of value from the bodies.
Waste nothing. Rule everything.
By the time he reached Black Hollow, he would have an army of his own.
The Outlands would not be his exile.
It would be his kingdom.
And from there...
He would return to the capital.
With fire.
With blood.
With a Crown.