We sat in comfortable silence, the gentle crackle of the firepce filling the space as we sipped our tea. Then Theoden spoke, his tone still tinged with disbelief.

  “I still can’t wrap my head around it—Master Ba actually accepted you as his disciple.”

  “We thought it would take more than just an offering,” Constantine added. “He’s never agreed so easily before.”

  I didn’t take offense. I knew them well enough now to understand it wasn’t meant to belittle me. It wasn’t jealousy—they were just genuinely surprised. After all, being personally trained by Master Ba was something they’d both worked hard toward.

  “It wasn’t just any offering,” I replied, setting my cup down with a soft clink. “It took me a week to find a thousand-year-old ginseng.”

  That caught their attention. All three turned to me, wide-eyed.

  “And getting to Louyang in the Western Continent wasn’t exactly easy either,” I added, letting the warmth of the tea settle in my chest.

  “You went yourself?” Trevon asked, completely stunned.

  I nodded. “Yes. And there’s no need for titles between us anymore. Just Cassius will do. We’ll be training under the same master now—that makes us martial brothers.”

  They exchanged gnces, still reeling.

  “I traveled to Louyang quietly with a small team. Recruited Matthew Trottier as our guide to cross Moonshade Peak…” I let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Though honestly, he made the journey twice as difficult.”

  Trevon blinked, then burst into ughter. “I finally believe Nia’s stories about her professor. She used to tell me the wildest things about him—always with a warning that it wasn’t something to talk about in public. I didn’t think any of it was real until now.”

  “I thought it was just another one of Cece’s exaggerated tales,” Constantine added, raising an eyebrow.

  “It’s not,” I muttered under my breath.

  Theoden chuckled. “At this point, I’m more impressed you survived the journey than the fact that Master Ba accepted you.”

  I shook my head, but a smile tugged at my lips despite myself. The road here hadn’t been easy, but sitting here—sharing warmth, ughter, and a sense of brotherhood—I couldn’t deny it.

  It was worth every step.

  In this life, I had already made my decision—I would become one of Master Ba’s disciples. I wanted to refine my swordsmanship, not just to grow stronger, but to become someone better than I was before. Someone prepared for the future I knew was coming.

  In my past life, Trevon and I had been close. He often shared stories about his master—small glimpses into the man’s life, his habits, his values. One story, in particur, stayed with me: he once spoke of a rare opportunity that Master Ba deeply regretted missing.

  A thousand-year-old ginseng.

  It grew only on Moonshade Peak and appeared under a very specific condition—when the full moon’s light bathed it. The herb had to be harvested at that exact moment or it would vanish, lost for another cycle… or forever.

  But Master Ba couldn’t go.

  At the time, he was caring for several rare and injured spirit beasts—creatures that demanded his constant attention. Leaving them behind would’ve required immense preparation—logistics, trusted caretakers, protective formations. Even then, the journey to Moonshade Peak was perilous. If he didn’t time it perfectly, the chance would slip through his fingers.

  That story stayed with me.

  So when I decided to seek him out as my teacher, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I would bring him the one thing he once desired but never obtained. Not just as an offering, but as proof of my resolve.

  I began my research, determined to uncover everything I could about the legendary herb—and more importantly, about Master Ba himself.

  But it proved difficult. He was a recluse, and reliable information was scarce. Trevon’s stories, while precious, were fragmented—told from a disciple’s perspective. Personal and heartfelt, but incomplete.

  I needed more. I wanted to understand the man behind the legend. Who he truly was. What he valued. What kind of gesture might move him enough to take on a new disciple.

  In Louyang, his name was known, mainly for his unparalleled skill with the sword. But beyond that, little was said. His private life remained a mystery, carefully guarded or long forgotten.

  My only promising lead y with two men: Duke Bourdelle and Marquis Voschell. According to old records I had come across, they had once trained under Master Ba in their youth. Trevon had never mentioned that detail—perhaps he did, and I simply forgot—but I was surprised all the same. I hadn't expected the quiet, stoic duke or the ever-composed marquis to share such a connection with the man I now sought.

  If anyone knew the man behind the swordsman, it would be them.

  But I couldn’t simply knock on their doors and ask. They weren’t just former students—they were powerful political figures. And I was a prince. Any direct approach would attract attention, spark rumors, and raise questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

  So I chose a quieter path.

  Both men occasionally hosted small, informal gatherings at their estates. Not formal court events, but intimate affairs—attended by nobles, schors, retired knights, and sword enthusiasts. I waited, watched, and when the time came, I requested an invitation—not as royalty, but as a humble practitioner of the bde.

  Under the guise of studying the history of sword styles across the Empire, I asked to speak with them privately. My request was modest, respectful—just a young noble pursuing a personal interest.

  To my relief, they agreed. Perhaps they saw through the pretense, or perhaps curiosity got the better of them. After all, word had likely spread of a once indifferent prince who now trained relentlessly, seeking knowledge with quiet intensity.

  Our conversations were brief, but revealing.

  I didn’t mention Master Ba outright—not at first. Instead, I inquired about obscure techniques: old stances, forgotten footwork, the breathing patterns unique to certain schools. It was Marquis Voschell who first gave me a knowing smile and said, “That sounds like something old Ba would say.”

  From there, the door opened.

  They didn’t give me a map or a name—but they gave me what I needed: fragments. A passing mention of Moonshade Peak. A quiet nod to an herbalist who once supplied Master Ba. And a warning about the trials set in pce to protect what waited at the summit.

  It was enough.

  And most importantly, I got what I came for without the court ever suspecting what I was truly after.

  As I took the cup to get another sip, I gnced and met the eyes of the three people in front me. It was urging me to talk more about the adventure I had on the Moonshade Peak . Without further ado, I continued.

  “Moonshade Peak isn’t on any map you can just buy. You either know someone… or something,” I said, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “In my case, I followed an old trail pieced together from fragmented stories—some of which came from the Marquis and the Duke during our little ‘history chats.’”

  I leaned back slightly. “Honestly, if it weren’t for Matthew Trottier’s creative detours, we would’ve reached the summit much sooner.”

  There was a pause.

  “I hired him because he was said to be the only person alive who’d made it to Moonshade Peak and returned.” I shook my head. “Looking back, I think he survived through sheer luck… or maybe the mountain took pity on him.”

  Theoden ughed under his breath. “What did he do?”

  “Got us lost. Twice,” I said ftly. “Tried to bribe a territorial earth hawk with salted nuts. And worst of all—he started a rockslide because he insisted on the edge of a cliff for a ‘better view of the sunrise.’”

  Trevon was practically wheezing with ughter now, and Constantine was trying to hold back a grin.

  “Sir Conrad had to carry him for a portion of the descent,” I added, sipping my tea as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “He twisted his ankle fleeing from a shadow rabbit.”

  “A… shadow rabbit?” Theoden repeated, baffled.

  “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Small, fast, aggressively territorial, and very offended that Matthew tried to pet it.”

  By now, the three of them were full-on ughing.

  “But,” I said, the humor fading just slightly, “we made it. Barely. We reached the summit the night of the full moon and harvested the ginseng at the exact moment the light touched it.”

  I paused, then looked down at the cup in my hands. “It felt like… a piece of fate. Like this time, I wasn’t too te.”

  The ughter quieted, and for a moment, the fire was the only sound between us.

  Then Constantine leaned back and muttered, “You risked your life, together with Professor Trottier. And faced a rabbit with attitude… all for one herb?”

  I smiled faintly. “Not just for the herb. For a chance to be better.”

  The ughter faded into a thoughtful silence. The fmes crackled quietly between us.

  Then Theoden looked at me, his voice quieter than before. “Master will definitely like you.”

  I looked up and didn’t try to deflect the words. I simply nodded.

  “…I hope so.”

  As our conversation lingered and another memory of Moonshade Peak stirred in my mind, an attendant quietly approached, offering a polite bow.

  “Your Highness, Young Masters—the evening meal is ready. If you’ll allow me to guide you.”

  He gestured toward a room just across from where we sat, set aside for a private dinner.

  We followed him into a modest but warmly lit dining space. The scent of freshly baked bread, herbs, and stewed meat greeted us as soon as we stepped in. The table was already id out with simple fare—hearty beef stew simmered with root vegetables, crusty bread still warm from the oven, and a side of wild greens dressed with a light vinaigrette. There was even a small pot of berry compote to go with the bread, a sweet touch unexpected in such a humble pce.

  It wasn’t grand, but it was comforting—the kind of meal that soothed the fatigue of a long day’s journey.

  Theoden let out a contented sigh as he took his seat. “This smells amazing.”

  Trevon was already helping himself to the bread. “I could eat five of these.”

  Even Constantine cracked a small smile. “Simple food, done right. I’ll take this over pace dishes any day.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. As I sat down and took my first bite, warmth spread through my chest—not just from the food, but from the moment itself.

  In my past life, I had dined in halls lined with gold and crystal, surrounded by courtiers and endless conversation. But none of it had ever tasted like this. None of it had ever felt this real.

  There was no weight on my shoulders here. No expectation to perform, to calcute, to endure. Just ughter, clinking cutlery, and the quiet comfort of being seen—not as a prince, but as Cassius.

  And for the first time in a long time, I let myself enjoy it.

  Dinner passed with easy conversation and full stomachs. The stew was rich, the bread endlessly replenished, and the warmth in the room lingered long after the ptes were cleared.

  Eventually, the innkeeper returned with a gentle reminder that the hour had grown te and our rooms were prepared. We rose from the table, still a little reluctant to leave the comfort behind.

  “This inn might not look like much from the outside,” Theoden said as he stretched his arms overhead, “but I might just sleep better here than in my bed.”

  Trevon let out a loud yawn as he rubbed at his eyes. “Ahh… bed. Let’s just go sleep already,” he mumbled, his earlier nervousness and doubt completely melted away, leaving behind only the sleepy pull of exhaustion.

  “Yes, sleep without a single care in the world, Trev,” Constantine said with a ugh, watching with clear amusement as Trevon shuffled forward like a lifeless doll, dragging his feet across the floor.

  Theoden chuckled and nudged him gently. “Try not to pass out in the hallway. I’m not carrying you.”

  “Mmm… no promises,” Trevon muttered, not even lifting his head.

  I watched them with a faint smile, something soft and unfamiliar blooming in my chest. It was a quiet thing—this warmth, this sense of ease. In my past life, I had known many nights filled with noise and people… yet none had felt quite like this.

  No masks. No titles. Just boys at the end of a long day, teasing one another like brothers.

  And for the first time, I let myself think—it was nice.

  Really nice.

  An attendant led each of us to our individual rooms along a quiet hallway upstairs. The floors creaked faintly beneath our steps, and the scent of aged wood and vender drifted through the corridor.

  When we reached my door, I turned slightly to gnce back at them.

  “Rest well,” I said simply.

  “Same to you, Cassius,” Theoden replied with a knowing smile, deliberately skipping the title.

  Trevon gave a sleepy thumbs up, and Constantine offered a small nod before they each disappeared into their rooms.

  Mine was modest—wooden beams overhead, a single oil mp casting a soft golden glow, and a bed with thick wool bnkets neatly folded. A small window overlooked the forest edge, moonlight filtering in through the branches.

  I closed the door behind me and exhaled.

  This quiet, this peace… it was unfamiliar. But not unwelcome.

  I sat at the edge of the bed, letting the silence settle. For so long, my nights had been filled with shadows of the past. But tonight, for the first time, they didn’t feel so heavy.

  Maybe—just maybe I was starting to believe in this second chance.

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