Arzoth took heavy, deliberate steps toward the dining room, his leather boots clinking against the polished marble. He wore the finest clothing he had ever dreamed of: a white high-collared silk shirt with silver fastenings, slim-fitting black trousers tucked into knee-high leather boots, and a long, high-collared navy blue coat embroidered with silver thread. His hands were covered with black leather gloves. His long white hair was tied down in a low ponytail with a smooth strip of fabric.
He stopped before the grand wooden door, assuming it led to the dining room. Luckily, his sharp memory allowed him to recall every detail from the novel – the palace, its operations, and the royal family, giving him a distinct advantage.
As the door creaked open, he was greeted by the expansive dining room, which was far larger than his entire apartment. He approached the long dining table, which was surrounded by six chairs on either side, with one larger chair at the head of the table.
To his surprise, the room was empty, despite Alvi assuring him that everyone was waiting. In the novel, Arzoth would wake up much later than he did and would arrive at the dining area even later. Alvi had orchestrated this trick, informing Arzoth of the arrangement beforehand so that he would arrive ahead of the king. Arzoth sighed.
"I should have known better."
"You're here early today, Arzoth." Arzoth turned around, startled by the voice. The man standing before him was the one he could recognize even from the back of his head. Evren Draven, the crown prince of Eldrakai. He carried himself with grace and elegance. He stood with effortless poise, like the main character he was, whom Arzoth admired the most, even when he was just words on a page.
In the original timeline, Evren had always been overly kind towards his younger brother, even though he had to face many challenges because of Arzoth. God knows how the crown prince could not lash out at the brat every time he does something to create trouble.
Evren had silky black hair that gracefully fell across his forehead, giving him an impeccable appearance. He wore a grey silk shirt tucked into his black trousers. The colour of his waistcoat and brooch on the collar of his shirt matched the dark green colour of his eyes.
The sharp sound of Evren's knee-length black leather boots echoed against the floor with each confident step as he made his way towards his seat at the right side of the table, not expecting a reply from Arzoth, confident that he wouldn't receive one.
Arzoth finally found his voice, though it wavered with uncertainty. "I was hungry." As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to slap himself.
"Was that it? That was the best I could come up with?"
Standing in front of Evren felt like a dream—one he was quickly ruining. Evren raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching slightly, but he said nothing. Arzoth clenched his jaw.
"God, that was so lame."
Evren studied Arzoth, standing there, captivated. He was confused as to why his brother had not yet rolled his eyes at him or uttered any cruel remarks. It felt unusual.
"Aren't you taking your seat?" Evren asked.
Arzoth froze for a moment before moving to the seat next to Evren. This surprised him, as Arzoth usually took the seat opposite him because he disliked sitting next to his older brother.
"Should we wait for the others?" Arzoth asked.
"Not today. Your majesty and Your grace are occupied with the arrival of Duke Victor Valmond and his son, so it's just you and me."
The maids entered the dining area in a line, one behind the other, carrying various fancy covered bowls. The room was filled with the aroma of food. The maids wore a similar outfit to Alvi. They placed down the cuisines on the table with practiced ease before they served Arzoth and Evren, before standing by the wall with their hands clasped in front of them.
Arzoth was more focused on the served cuisine placed before him than on his surroundings. Arzoth and Evren began their meals. The sweet bread was soft and rich, melting on Arzoth's tongue like cotton candy. He had eaten nothing like this before. The delicious meal was far from the bland, rubbery noodles he once called a meal. Both brothers ate in silence. The only sound in the room was the clinking of cutlery against one another.
Once full, Arzoth looked up at Evren and broke the silence,
"Are you planning to train next?"
"I am! What's on your mind?"
"I'd love to join you, if that's okay."
Evren paused, his eyes widening. It was the first time Arzoth had expressed a desire to train, and he wanted to do it with him, of all people. Evren braced himself, initially thinking it might be yet another prank, but it didn't turn out that way. He composed himself and replied, "Alright, if that's what you want."
In the original story, Evren never missed his training sessions on the training ground. He would force himself to practice his Swordsmanship even when he was exhausted to death.
Arzoth knows that his body is too fragile, as it has only lived on its status and not its strength for far too long; he must hone himself and build that strength, so that he can survive any challenge that comes his way. In the original story, Arzoth only focused on his beauty, luxury, and plans to take over Evren's position in this state; no wonder his skin is way too soft and delicate for his good. He curled his fingers, feeling how delicate they felt; it frustrated him to the core.
"Hopefully, training with Evren could beat some durability into this body."
****
The training ground was an open space with green, soft grass all over the place. Swords clashing against each other at a distance, where knights and soldiers practiced. Various types of sharp weapons, like swords, spears, were displayed on the side for use.
Evren stood in the middle with his sword and threw one towards Arzoth. Though Arzoth managed to grasp the sword, but could not handle the weight, and he dropped it. Arzoth cursed under his breath,
"Damn it! Why did it have to be so heavy!?"
"Try picking it up," Evern said, walking over. Arzoth reached out to the fallen sword, He gripped the hilt with all his strength before he lifted it, making the sword stand vertically on the ground. "You are squeezing too hard, Arzoth. Let your grip be firm but not rigid. A too-tight grip makes movements stiff." Evren said. Arzoth loosened his grip on the hilt, yet kept it firm. "Good, now lift it." Even crossed his arms over his chest; interested in his brother's trial, his sword balanced effortlessly in his hand. Arzoth used the strength of his biceps, and surprisingly, the weight of the sword no longer felt heavy; he lifted it with ease. Evren nodded in approval.
A low mocking chortle echoed behind them. Turning around, they saw a young man approaching. He had ginger hair, sleeked back smoothly, his deep crimson velvet coat, embroidered with gold thread, covered most of the fabric of a white high-collared silk shirt billowed slightly at the sleeves, fastened at the neck with a golden brooch in oval shape that shone under the sun.
He stood before Arzoth at a respectable distance, controlling his nerve-wracking laugh. He said, "I never knew the prince had any interest in swordsmanship."
Arzoth narrowed his eyes at the man, "And who might you be?"
The man straightened up and said with a puffed chest, "I am Aldric Valmond, the eldest son of the Duke Victor Valmond."
Evren said with a firm yet formal tone, "Sir Aldric, this is a royal training ground. Visitors aren't allowed in here."
"I couldn't resist seeing the prince's... skills. Never heard of a prince who can't even hold a sword properly." Aldric purred.
Arzoth clenched his fist, gripping the hilt of the sword with a force he didn't know existed within this body. "Why don't we Spar?" he knew that it was his anger speaking, that Aldric was way more skilled in swordsmanship than him but the words were already out. Aldric smirked, "If Your Highness wishes". Evren looked at Arzoth, with his eyebrows furrowed in concern, "Are you sure? You just learnt to hold the sword."
"I'll be fine." Arzoth spun the sword with ease, startling Evren. Moments ago, Arzoth was struggling to even hold the sword straight, and now, he wielded it like a trained knight. It was impossible for a person like Arzoth. Evren hesitantly stood at the side while Aldric pulled out a sword from the display, his movements trained and confident. His face played an arrogant smirk.
Arzoth felt the sword in his hands become much lighter than when he had first lifted it. His hands no longer trembled, his muscles no longer strained. It was unsettling, but he didn't have time to think about that. It was time to test out his strength.
Like a sudden lightning bolt, a blue rectangular screen materialized in front of Arzoth's face. The screen flickered and glowed blue, highlighting words at the centre of it.
[System Activated]