Chapter 263: v3 - 24: unexpected guests I

Chapter 263: v3 Chapter 24: unexpected guests I

Crown Prince Lorenz of Milicia was enjoying himself.

He leaned forward in his seat in the private gallery, elbows resting casually on his knees as he watched the Arena below.

The crowd was roaring.

A fighter had just landed a decisive blow, and thousands of spectators rose from their seats.

Lorenz grinned.

"I like him."

Marcus, standing beside him, didn’t look away from the Arena.

"You said that about the last one."

"He was entertaining."

"He lost."

"That doesn’t make him less entertaining."

Marcus sighed.

Lorenz laughed.

At twenty-three, Lorenz was already Crown Prince of Milicia.

But the title did not make the crown his.

He was the designated heir.

The rightful successor.

Yet Milicia had several adult princes, each with supporters among the great houses.

The second prince was particularly dangerous.

His mother was still alive.

Powerful families gathered around her faction, and the King himself had never made it entirely clear which of his sons he favored.

The court whispered constantly.

Some believed the King preferred the second prince.

Others believed he simply wanted to keep all his sons competing so none could become powerful enough to threaten him.

Whatever the truth was, Lorenz had learned one thing early.

Being named Crown Prince did not mean he would become King.

He still had to fight for it.

And in Milicia, refusing to fight was not an option.

A prince who stepped aside did not simply lose the throne.

He made himself vulnerable to the men who wanted it.

Lorenz had never particularly wanted the Crown.

But wanting it had never been the point.

He had been born into the position.

Now he had to survive it.

That was why he needed men he could trust.

The Crown already had soldiers.

The palace already had guards.

But too many of those men belonged, openly or quietly, to one faction or another.

Lorenz needed men whose loyalty did not already belong to someone else.

Men without powerful families behind them.

Men without political obligations.

And, more importantly, men who were already capable.

They didn’t have the luxury of taking boys and training them for years.

The struggle for the Crown had already begun.

Lorenz needed men who could fight now.

Men who already knew how to use a weapon.

Men who could protect themselves.

Men who could be placed beside him without requiring years of preparation.

The Arena offered exactly that.

Its fighters had already endured the training.

They had already fought.

They had already learned how to survive.

What remained was to determine which of them were worth taking.

Marcus had spent the past several weeks doing exactly that.

He had watched fighters from the shadows.

Studied their records.

Observed their matches.

Spoken to Arena officials when necessary.

He had narrowed the field down to three.

Three men he believed were worth watching more closely.

Three men who might eventually be worth approaching.

Lorenz, on the other hand, had barely had time to look at any of them.

That was why Marcus had brought him here.

Not to recruit anyone today.

To see them for himself.

Three men would be useful.

Five would be better.

But only if they were worth having.

They needed men who could eventually serve as guards, escorts, couriers, informants—or something less official when necessary.

Men who could be useful immediately.

Their loyalty would have to be earned.

Perhaps bought.

Perhaps built through opportunity.

But at least they would have no powerful faction waiting to claim them.

And they couldn’t take too many.

A sudden purchase of dozens of fighters would attract attention.

So they had come quietly.

No royal insignia.

No palace colors.

No announcement that the Crown Prince was interested in the Arena’s fighters.

Here, Lorenz was simply another wealthy nobleman looking for potential recruits.

Marcus stood beside him in equally plain clothing.

Lorenz glanced at the papers in his hand.

"How many have you found?"

"Three."

Lorenz glanced at the papers in Marcus’s hand.

"Only three?"

"Three that I consider worth investigating further."

Marcus handed him the list.

The names were not the fighters who attracted the loudest cheers.

They were men Marcus had selected carefully.

Experienced.

Disciplined.

Reliable.

Men with clean records inside the Arena and backgrounds that could be verified.

Lorenz scanned the list.

"Hm."

He turned a page.

"These three?"

"Yes."

"You’re certain?"

"I wouldn’t have put them on the list otherwise."

Lorenz nodded.

Then another roar rose from below.

His attention shifted.

A familiar-looking fighter stepped onto the sand.

Lorenz watched him for a moment.

The man smiled toward the stands.

Someone shouted his number.

He raised a hand.

The crowd responded immediately.

Lorenz smiled.

"What about him?"

Marcus followed his gaze.

"Three hundred and twenty-seven."

"He’s not on the list."

"No."

"Why?"

"Too flashy."

Below them, Robert performed an exaggerated bow toward the crowd.

Lorenz laughed.

"He’s certainly confident."

"He’s all flash."

"Is he?"

Marcus finally looked toward the Arena.

"You’ve watched him?"

"Several times."

"And?"

"Good enough to survive. Not good enough for what we’re looking for."

Lorenz leaned forward.

"Let’s see."

The match began.

Robert’s opponent was larger and more experienced, carrying a heavier sword.

The man advanced aggressively.

Robert moved.

Not backward.

Sideways.

The first strike passed where he had been standing a heartbeat earlier.

Robert slipped around it and answered with a quick cut.

The larger man blocked.

Robert was already moving again.

He was fast.

Not simply fast on his feet.

Fast in his decisions.

He never remained in front of the heavier blade long enough to be trapped.

When his opponent tried to corner him, Robert changed direction before the other man could close the space.

When the man swung high, Robert ducked beneath it.

When he swung low, Robert stepped over the blade and struck his shoulder.

The crowd roared.

Lorenz leaned farther forward.

Marcus’s eyes narrowed.

Robert wasn’t fighting like someone who relied entirely on speed.

He understood distance.

He knew when to retreat.

When to close.

When to make his opponent chase him.

The larger fighter became increasingly frustrated.

He charged.

Robert gave ground.

One step.

Two.

Three.

Then suddenly stopped.

The larger man had committed too much weight to the attack.

Robert turned.

His blade struck the man’s wrist.

The sword fell from his hand.

The crowd exploded.

Robert kicked the weapon away before the man could reach it.

Then he was behind him.

The larger fighter turned too slowly.

Robert’s sword stopped against his throat.

Silence.

Then the man raised his hand.

"Surrender."

The crowd erupted.

Robert lowered his sword immediately.

No unnecessary strike.

No hesitation.

He offered his opponent a hand and pulled him to his feet.

Then he turned toward the stands and gave them another exaggerated bow.

The crowd loved it.

Lorenz laughed.

Marcus remained silent.

Lorenz glanced at him.

"Still all flash?"

Marcus’s expression remained unreadable.

"He’s skilled."

Lorenz grinned.

"I thought so."

"He’s fast."

"Yes."

"He reads his opponent well."

"Yes."

Marcus looked toward Robert again.

"He’s more disciplined than he looks."

Lorenz nodded.

"Then he’s worth watching."

Marcus glanced at him.

"I didn’t say that."

"You didn’t have to."

Lorenz continued watching Robert as the fighter basked in the crowd’s reaction.

"He does know how to put on a show."

"Too much of one."

Lorenz smiled.

"Perhaps."

He watched Robert wave toward the stands again.

"Still, given the sort of battle we’re preparing for, I think we could use a little entertainment from time to time."

Marcus gave him a look.

Lorenz shrugged.

"I’m not asking you to trust him."

"Good."

"I’m asking you not to dismiss him because he enjoys an audience."

Marcus said nothing.

Lorenz glanced toward the list.

"Put him on it."

"Your Highness—"

Lorenz frowned.

Marcus paused.

Lorenz continued.

"If he proves himself, then we decide whether he’s worth approaching."

Marcus studied him for a moment.

Finally, he took the pen.

He added Robert’s number.

Lorenz leaned back with satisfaction.

"Four."

"Three."

Lorenz smiled.

"We’re getting there."

Marcus said nothing.

Lorenz looked back toward the Arena.

The crowd was still cheering for Robert.

Then the announcer raised his voice.

The next fighter was being called.

"Three hundred and nineteen."

--

Tbc