Chapter 4 - Wesley's Teacher

After walking for a few minutes, Edmund and his procession arrived at the ballroom. He signaled his arrival to the servant by the door, who then promptly announced, in his clearest and loudest voice, the arrival of the king and queen.

The entire ballroom instantly quieted down. Once Edmund was certain all eyes were on him, he began to walk toward the throne at a slow, deliberate pace. He nodded politely to a few people as he passed, making sure to smile in a way that seemed both kind and kingly.

As Edmund walked between the assembled guests, his golden robe flickered in the ballroom’s light, giving all onlookers a sense of ease. However, as soon as people noticed the king’s shining golden robe, their attention shifted to the youth walking behind him.

Unlike the king's saintly golden attire, the youth wore a dark robe. While Edmund's robe seemed to emit light, drawing gasps of admiration at its elegance, the youth’s robe seemed to absorb light like a black hole. He emanated a faint aura of emptiness, his ice-cold green eyes unblinking and severe, instilling a quiet dread in those who looked at him.

Most of the kingdom’s nobles recognized Wesley as the second prince, but visiting dignitaries from other kingdoms, as well as those less familiar with the Holt family, immediately assumed that Wesley was the renowned genius prince.

Eventually, Edmund reached the throne. He turned elegantly, looked out at his guests, and seated himself on his throne. The queen took her seat on a smaller throne to Edmund’s right, with little Delan on her lap, while Wesley stood to Edmund’s left. Once everyone was in place, Edmund spoke in a dignified, cheerful voice:

“Welcome.”

The hall broke into applause, and many guests began moving toward the throne to pay their respects and offer congratulations. The first to approach was an elderly man. After bowing to Edmund, he spoke in a croaky voice:

“The King of Norn sends his best wishes to His Majesty, King Edmund Holt, and the crown prince.”

The old man looked directly at Wesley when he mentioned the crown prince. Though this startled Edmund, he quickly regained his composure and smiled at the old man, saying:

“We appreciate the King’s good wishes. Please, enjoy the ball.”

Wesley stood motionless, his face devoid of emotion, which impressed many in the hall. Some of the women even cast him lingering glances, with faint blushes on their cheeks; after all, Wesley’s slender frame and youthful features gave him a certain charm.

Another guest approached the throne. This time, it was a striking young man with golden-blond hair and matching golden eyes. He bowed slightly toward Edmund and spoke in a melodious, almost singsong voice:

“The King of Tamin sends his best regards and felicitations to His Majesty, King Edmund Holt, and the crown prince.”

Like the old man before him, the young man directed his bow toward Wesley as he mentioned the crown prince. Edmund was taken aback, unable to understand why people kept referring to Wesley as the crown prince. However, he kept his thoughts to himself and returned the greeting, hoping these guests were simply mistaken about Wesley’s identity, given that they came from other kingdoms.

Unfortunately for Edmund, all the other guests lined up behind the first two took their cues from them, greeting Wesley as the crown prince. Wesley didn’t mind; to him, it was merely a bother, as he’d much rather be elsewhere. But Edmund, seated next to him, was growing increasingly anxious. He couldn’t correct them now without causing embarrassment to the guests, but he also feared that false rumors might spread, proclaiming Wesley as the crown prince, which would cause him headaches later.

Once everyone had finished their greetings and congratulations, they returned to dancing, chatting, and general merrymaking. Wesley withdrew to a quiet bench in a far corner of the hall, breathing a sigh of relief—only to be immediately surrounded by numerous young ladies eager to chat or dance or find any excuse to engage with him.

- - - - - - - - - -

After nearly ten minutes of sitting in his secluded corner and fending off the advances and invitations of at least a dozen young ladies, Wesley was finally alone. After ensuring that no one was watching him, the shadows around the corner where he sat darkened. A moment later, Wesley was gone, reappearing almost a hundred feet away in a dim hallway. After confirming that he was alone, he began walking slowly.

He continued on for nearly ten minutes until he reached the west tower of the palace. At the entrance, Wesley knocked respectfully. This wasn’t unusual, as the west tower was known to be the dwelling of the most powerful mage in the Ject Kingdom: Rale the Keeper.

"Come."

Upon hearing the brief response, the shadows around Wesley deepened, and he stepped forward, only to reappear at the top of the tower. The moment he emerged from the shadows, Wesley cupped his hands respectfully and said:

"Master."

If anyone had been watching, they would see that Wesley was alone in the dark room, with nothing else visible in the pitch-black surroundings. Yet Wesley spoke as though someone were there.

"You are late."

The darkness spoke, and the room seemed to darken further. Wesley shuddered for a moment, then replied in a steady voice:

"I had to attend the king's celebration."

A small, disapproving huff sounded from the darkness, then the voice spoke again:

"Have you finished memorizing the basics?"

"Yes, Master," Wesley replied respectfully.

"Show me your dark globe."

The darkness commanded, and in response, Wesley muttered something under his breath. A mist-like shadow spread from him, expanding until it enveloped a two-hundred-foot circumference. The entire tower disappeared, leaving only darkness where it had stood.

"Good. That should be enough."

Upon hearing these words, Wesley released the dark globe, and sweat rolled down his forehead. His face was paler than usual, and his eyes flickered slightly, but his expression remained as stoic as ever.

"Your range seems to have increased again."

The room lightened as if a veil of night had been lifted, and a figure half a head taller than Wesley appeared before him, wearing a faint but proud smile. Rale looked at Wesley with eyes that were nearly closed, assessing him like a carefully crafted painting. After a small nod of approval, he said:

"You are ready for the next level of your training."

Reaching into a shadow that seemed to emerge from nowhere, he withdrew half a dozen books. After examining each one, he looked up at Wesley and said:

"Take these books. You will commit them to memory over the next three years."

He released the books, which floated toward Wesley. Wesley raised his hand and murmured something under his breath; the books became enveloped in darkness and vanished. He then bowed slightly and said:

"Yes, Master."

"Good. Now return to your room and begin refining. Your mana capacity is pathetic."

"Yes, Master."

The shadow on the wall behind Wesley darkened again, and without hesitation, he stepped into it, reappearing a hundred feet away. He immediately started toward his room to begin refining his mana—and to look over the books he’d received.