I saw the way his body tensed, his eyes flickering between the ruined utensils and my hands, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.
He had pushed too far. And he was only just realizing it. Before he could even think to move—before any of his little entourage could react—I moved first with a deadly inhumane speed.
One second I was at the table. The next I was next to Benedict, my fingers curled into his hair, grabbing a handful of that perfectly styled golden mess, and with zero hesitation, I slammed his face into the table.
Hard. Like face splitting hard. The impact was brutal.
Plates rattled violently. Glasses toppled over. The whole table shuddered under the force.
Benedict cried out, his voice muffled against the polished wood. A sharp gasp rang from his entourage—one of the nobles stumbled back in horror, another looked too shocked to move.
When I pulled him back up, blood was already dripping from his nose.
His hands shot up to his face, fingers brushing against the damage. A choked, disbelieving noise left him, his pride struggling to comprehend that I had actually done it.
"Y-You—!" He barely got the word out before he snapped, his voice shaking with rage. "You little—!"
And then, even through his pain, even through the blood trickling down his lips, he still couldn't keep his mouth shut.
"You really are just a pathetic—just like your whore of a mother—"
Wrong answer.
I grabbed him again, this time by the back of his throat.
Benedict's entire body seized up, his hands scrambling to pry my grip off, but I didn't give him a chance. With a twist of my wrist—a single movement, effortless, like I was tossing a ragdoll—I sent him flying.
[A/N: Keep in mind that they are small, so it is highly possible for this to happen. Considering one spent most of hi time in the woods and the other in his palace.]
His body soared through the air, twisting violently before he collided with the massive oak tree shading the garden. The impact shook the trunk, knocking loose a few leaves.
The breath left him in a strangled gasp. A few students screamed in surprise and shock I ignored it.
Reaching up, I ripped off my heavy outer coat, tossing the excess fabric to the ground like a king discarding his finery before battle. My high-collared shirt remained, but I loosened the sleeves, rolling them up as I walked toward him.
The crowd parted for me, wide-eyed students scrambling back as I approached the fallen prince.
Benedict was groaning, struggling to push himself off the ground. Blood smeared his lips, his hair disheveled, his perfect royal image utterly shattered.
He lifted his head, eyes burning with fury—until he saw my face. And that fury? It cracked because he finally realized what was happening.
For the first time in his spoiled, privileged life, Benedict wasn't about to face a petty sibling scuffle.
No.
He was about to receive a lesson. A very humiliating one and it was long overdue.
An ass wooping.
"You like talking," I said, my voice cold, my shadow falling over him as I reached him. "Let's see if you like talking through broken teeth."
Benedict tried to move, to scramble away, but he wasn't fast enough. I grabbed his collar, hoisted him up, and buried my fist into his stomach repeatedly. One hit more painful than the last
A sharp, strangled sound left his lips.
His entire body convulsed, the air in his lungs violently expelled, and for a brief second, his legs gave out entirely. I let him fall to his knees.
"Pathetic," I murmured, staring down at him. "I thought you were supposed to be royalty?"
His eyes flickered with rage, his pride still trying to salvage something, anything—but his body betrayed him. He couldn't breathe properly, he couldn't even stand and we had just begun.
I grabbed him again, yanking him up by his collar, before driving a brutal knee into his ribs. A sharp crack echoed from his frail little body. Benedict gasped painfully, spitting out a mix of saliva and blood.
Gasps rang out from the crowd. One of the nobles in his entourage finally found his voice, his tone horrified.
"Camden—! H-He's the Prince—!"
I barely glanced at him. "And? I'm his superior"
He shut up instantly.
I turned my attention back to Benedict, lifting him by the collar once more. His body was shaking, his breaths ragged, his face twisted in pure agony. I leaned in slightly, my voice deadly soft. "Say something else about my mother."
He said nothing.
"Go on," I whispered. "Say it again, I dare you."
Still nothing. Gone was the arrogance and pitiful pride For the first time in his life, Benedict finally understood something—
There were consequences and he was paying for them. I finally released him, letting him collapse onto the dirt, a pathetic heap of royal failure.
I took a step back, rolling my shoulders, before reaching up to straighten my sleeves.
The garden was still silent. No one spoke, no one moved, they didn't dare.
Benedict remained on the ground, shaking, coughing, his hands trembling as he pressed against the dirt, trying to find some semblance of dignity to pull himself together.
I sighed.
And then, for good measure, I reached down—grabbed his head—and shoved his face into the dirt.
A finishing touch to his humiliation. Benedict let out a strangled noise, but he was too weak to fight back. I stepped over him, already losing interest.
Turning my gaze to the garden, I stared at the crowd of nobles, all of them too stunned to even speak.
Slowly, I cracked my knuckles.
I stood before them, the entire garden still paralyzed by the aftermath of what had just happened. Benedict's humiliated form lay crumpled on the ground, his face still half-buried in the dirt, while his entourage lingered uselessly, too afraid to intervene, too stunned to even lift him up.
The weight of their silence was suffocating.
All around me, noble students—some my age, some older—stood stiff, their eyes darting between me, Benedict, and the broken remains of their so-called 'social hierarchy.'
I let them sit in their fear for a moment.
"Let's make something very clear," I said, my voice calm but carrying absolute weight.
"If any of you—any of you—think about harassing, bothering, or so much as looking the wrong way at my friends," I glanced at my new acquaintances, still sitting at the table, their expressions shifting between awe and unease, "then you'll find out that Benedict got off easy."
I meant it and they knew it.
The nobles who had been whispering among themselves shut up immediately. Some flinched, others took a step back, but none of them spoke against me.
Good.
I turned back to my friends, my expression softening slightly.
"It was nice eating with you all," I said simply. "But I have Sword play class."
They hesitated, still absorbing everything that had just happened, before one of them—the girl who had asked me about runes earlier—nodded.
"Thank you," she said quietly. I gave her a nod in return, then turned on my heel and walked off.
=
=
I was already in a bad mood when I arrived. And by the time I picked up my sword, that mood had only gotten worse.
There was something about the way the instructors looked at me—their expressions flickering between wariness and unease—that irked me.
I could tell that word had spread. What had happened in the garden had reached the training fields before I even got here.
There were whispers among the older students. Some nobles looked at me like I was a rabid dog off its leash, while others—mostly the more arrogant ones—held smug expressions, probably thinking that they'd get a chance to humble me during training.
They were about to be very disappointed.
"Pair up," the instructor called. "We'll begin with sparring drills."
A noble I didn't recognize—a boy maybe two years older than me—stepped forward, grinning. "Prince Camden," he said, his voice mockingly polite, "Would you do me the honor?"
I looked him over. Smug, confident and arrogant. The typical class bully. Probably thought he was about to make a name for himself by going against me.
I stepped forward.
"Sure," I said flatly, picking up my sword.
The instructor nodded. "You may begin." The noble wasted zero time—he lunged forward, his stance solid, his strikes fast and well-practiced. He wasn't bad.
For a noble that is. But that was the problem. He fought like a noble, like a rehearsed dancer on the stage.
Clean, elegant footwork, controlled swings. A style that had been drilled into him by swordmasters who had never known the chaos of real combat.
He had no idea how to handle someone like me. I moved before he could blink. My blade parried his first strike so effortlessly that he stumbled forward, thrown off balance.
I could have ended it right there—but I didn't. Instead I let him flail. He tried to recover, but I didn't give him the chance. My sword flicked out, batting his blade aside with almost insulting ease.
Another attempt, another failure.
Another.
And another.
Every time he attacked, I was already three steps ahead. I sidestepped, redirected amd toyed with him.
His face turned red, his frustration boiled over. And that's when he made his mistake. He overextended.
I stepped in—fast, vicious, merciless—and with a single precise movement, I knocked his blade out of his hands.
The sword clattered to the ground and a heartbeat later, my blade was at his throat. The match had barely lasted a minute.
"Boring," I muttered.
I sheathed my sword, stepping back taking notice that the training yard was dead silent. The instructor cleared his throat.
"Next!"
And so it went. One opponent after another. Older nobles, stronger nobles, cocky nobles, talented but stupid nobles. I had a whole spectrum of these idiots. None of them stood a chance.
I dismantled them all.
Some fights lasted longer than others, but the result was always the same. By the time I was done, the entire class looked at me differently—not with fear, exactly, but with something else.
They were beginning to realize that I wasn't like them. I wasn't playing their games and I wasn't holding back.
By the time class ended, no one even tried to speak to me. Fine by me.
***
[Mid Afternoon]
The sun hung low in the sky as I walked toward the carriages waiting outside the academy gates.
I could see Benedict in the distance—limping slightly, his entourage whispering among themselves as they helped him into his own carriage.
I didn't bother acknowledging him. I had already made my point instead, I headed toward my own coach. The carriages were lavish as always, their polished wood gleaming in the fading sunlight, the golden sigils of Eldoria displayed proudly on their doors.
I climbed in without a word, settling into the plush seats. The ride back was quiet. My servants, seated across from me, stole occasional glances, but none of them dared to speak.
They had seen what I had done. They had seen what I was capable of and they didn't know what to make of it. I stared out the window, watching as the academy gates faded into the distance.
***
[Royal Palace]
[His Highness' personal study]
The flickering glow of candlelight danced across the polished floors of the royal study as Bernard stood before King Alistair. His aged hands were clasped behind his back, his posture straight despite his years of service. He had delivered many reports in this very room over the decades, but few carried the weight of tonight's discussion.
Alistair, seated behind an imposing mahogany desk, steepled his fingers, his icy blue eyes sharp as they fixed upon the elderly servant.
"Speak, Bernard," the king said, his tone even but firm. "How did Camden fare on his first day at the academy?"
Bernard nodded, his voice carrying quiet pride. "Your Majesty, the young prince performed exceptionally. He excelled in his Etiquette & Mannerism class—his posture, speech, and conduct were near flawless, a remarkable improvement from previous assessments. Even the instructor, who is not one to give praise lightly, had no complaints."
Alistair exhaled slightly, a barely perceptible show of approval. "That is good to hear. And the other subjects?"
"In Swordplay, he was simply... unmatched," Bernard admitted. "The noble children, even those older than him, fell before him like leaves in the wind. The instructor himself was at a loss for words. There was no challenge that could push him."
Alistair's lips curled into something that might have been amusement. "I expected nothing less. What of his magic studies?"
"His performance in Runic & Arcane Magic was even more extraordinary. He displayed an understanding of the subject far beyond his years. The students and even Magus Solvane himself were taken aback by his insights. When asked to demonstrate, he turned a simple spell into something far more intricate, guiding it rather than controlling it. The level of intuition he possesses is... unheard of in someone so young."
The king leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with interest. "It seems that Camden is proving himself a prodigy in all things."
Bernard hesitated.
"Go on," Alistair said, noting the pause. "You have told me the good news. Now for the rest."
The elderly servant bowed his head slightly before continuing, choosing his words carefully. "There was... an incident during lunch, Your Majesty. A rather public one."
Alistair's brow twitched slightly. "An incident?"
Bernard took a steady breath. "Camden attacked Benedict."
Silence fell over the study like a heavy curtain. Alistair's fingers slowly tapped against the desk, his expression unreadable.
Bernard pressed on. "It began when Camden sat with a group of commoner students during lunch. He enjoyed their company, much to the dismay of the noble children. That was when young Lord Benedict approached him, along with his usual followers. The young lord made... unkind remarks about Camden's choice of companions, attempting to humiliate him. Camden ignored the insults at first, but then Benedict turned his ridicule towards the commoners."
Alistair closed his eyes briefly. "Of course he did," he murmured.
"Camden remained calm, instructing them to ignore Benedict's words. However..." Bernard paused, his face tightening. "Benedict made an offhand remark about Lady Evelyne."
The king's fingers stilled. His eyes flicked open, sharp and unreadable. Bernard swallowed. "That... was when Camden snapped."
Alistair exhaled through his nose, his face betraying no emotion. "What did he do?"
Bernard didn't hesitate. "He broke his fork and knife in half with his bare hands, stood up with inhuman speed, and slammed Benedict's head into the table with enough force to draw blood."
"But that was not the end of it," Bernard continued. "When Benedict, despite his injuries, continued his insults, Camden threw him across the garden into a tree. He then... beat him mercilessly." [A/N: Wooped is ass mercilessly]
The king leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "So, Benedict's arrogance finally caught up to him."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Bernard hesitated. "After the fight, Camden issued a warning to the nobles. He made it clear that if anyone dared to harm his new acquaintances, they would face consequences."
Alistair raised an eyebrow. "And did they believe him?"
Bernard allowed himself a small, knowing smile. "I do not believe any of them will dare test him, sire."
The king was silent for a moment. Then, with a measured sigh, he sat forward. "Summon both Camden and Benedict to me at once."
Bernard bowed deeply. "At once, Your Majesty."
[Camden's POV]
The palace gardens were a world of their own, separate from the rigid halls and suffocating expectations of the court. Here, among the winding hedges and soft, sun-dappled grass, I could forget—for a time—that I was supposed to be something other than myself.
And right now? I was busy playing with a puppy.
The gardener's dog had recently had a litter, and one particularly adventurous little creature had decided that I was his new favorite person.
The tiny puppy, a ball of black and brown fluff, yipped and chased after my fingers as I wiggled them in front of him. His stubby legs were too short for the speed he wanted to move, causing him to tumble onto his face.
I laughed. "You're hopeless."
The puppy, unbothered by his own clumsiness, barked excitedly and scrambled back onto his paws.
"Prince Camden," came a carefully measured voice from behind me.
I didn't need to turn to know it was Bernard. I let out a small sigh, giving the puppy one last pat before straightening. "I assume this isn't just a friendly chat, Bernard."
The old servant's face, ever calm and composed, betrayed the faintest hint of seriousness.
"His Majesty the King has summoned you," Bernard said evenly.
I arched a brow. "Let me guess—because of what happened to Benedict?" Bernard didn't confirm it outright, but his slight nod was enough. I rolled my shoulders, stretching slightly.
"Took him long enough," I muttered.
The puppy pawed at my boot, whining for attention. I knelt down, ruffling his ears. "Looks like I've got to go, little guy," I murmured. "Duty calls."
Then, with one last look at the peaceful gardens, I turned and followed Bernard toward the palace.
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