As Prince Oliver and High Commander Ryan escorted K.J. toward a long table laid out with an assortment of weapons, K.J. noticed three men trailing behind them, their curiosity piqued. They glanced around, noting the absence of the King. One of the men, with long black hair tucked behind his ears and a small scar running across his right eye, seemed perpetually angry, his face twisted in a near-constant scowl. The other two, while more neutral in expression, were clearly intrigued by the unfolding scene.
The trainyard had fallen silent, the usual clamor of clashing metal and shouted orders replaced by hushed whispers. Soldiers and squires alike turned their attention to the Prince and Commander Ryan, eyes filled with curiosity as they watched the unexpected spectacle.
"Soldiers!" Ryan barked, his commanding voice breaking the quiet. The soldiers snapped to attention, their legs slamming together in unison as they held their training swords by their sides.
"Sir!" they shouted in response.
Ryan gave a swift nod, then raised his voice again. "Dismiss!"
The soldiers and squires immediately moved aside, lining up against the walls surrounding the yard, leaving a wide-open space near the weapon table. All eyes remained on K.J., the anticipation growing as they awaited what was to come.
"K.J.," Commander Ryan said, gesturing toward the long table. Prince Oliver stood in the shade of a towering troak tree, his eyes fixed on K.J., watching intently.
K.J. stepped forward, approaching the table lined with weapons of all kinds—long swords, daggers, lances, spears. Ryan matched his pace, silently observing. K.J. slowed as he reached the end of the table, his hand hovering over the weapons. After a brief pause, he pointed to a short bow, resting beside a quiver full of arrows. His fingers brushed the oak wood bow as he made his selection.
Ryan grinned, as if he had suspected K.J.'s choice all along.
A loud, mocking laugh erupted from the man with the long black hair, his iron armor clinking noisily as he shook with derision. "This mute—this fucking mute—thinks he can use a bow?" he jeered. "It takes skill to master the short bow, years of training!"
"Silence, Piercy!" Prince Oliver's voice boomed across the yard, his tone sharp with authority.
Piercy's smirk faltered for a moment, but he remained unfazed, though he settled into silence, his eyes still burning with contempt.
Ryan took the quiver from the table and slung it over K.J.'s shoulder, the arrows clattering together as they settled against his back. K.J. picked up the short bow, its smooth oak surface familiar and comforting in his grip. A faint smile flickered across his face—brief, barely noticeable—but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. He walked a few steps further, positioning himself about ten feet from where Prince Oliver stood. The target loomed 77 yards away, a fair distance for any archer.
K.J. took a moment to scan the environment, sensing the air around him. In a split second, he gauged the wind—or rather, the lack of it. There was no breeze to shift the trajectory of his arrows, an advantage he immediately recognized. Without hesitation, he nocked an arrow, drew the bowstring back, and released in one fluid motion.
The arrow flew straight, cutting through the air with precision and landing dead center in the bullseye. The sound of the impact echoed through the silent trainyard, and a gasp of awe escaped from one of the squires watching from the sidelines.
"Bah!" Piercy scoffed, though his voice wavered slightly. "That was a lucky shot!"
Oliver's curiosity deepened, and he couldn't resist testing K.J. further. "K.J.," he called, his voice drawing K.J.'s attention. "Do you think that was a lucky shot?"
K.J. didn't hesitate. His movements were swift and precise, honed by years of practice. In a single, fluid motion, he nocked an arrow, drew the bowstring taut, and released. The first arrow shot through the air with a sharp whistle, finding its target with deadly accuracy. Without pausing to admire his work, K.J. was already drawing another arrow from the quiver, his hands steady, his gaze locked on the next target.
In rapid succession, he fired five arrows, each shot faster than the last. The rhythm of the bowstring snapping back and forth filled the trainyard, and each arrow landed perfectly in its bullseye, the tips sinking deep into the wood with a solid thunk. The onlookers stood in stunned silence for a moment before the murmurs of amazement began to ripple through the crowd of squires. Their eyes widened in disbelief as they exchanged glances, unable to comprehend how quickly K.J. had unleashed such precision.
But K.J. wasn't finished.
With the same cool efficiency, he reached for more arrows, his fingers moving with practiced ease. Six arrows lined his fingers in quick succession. His breathing remained steady as he aimed, the bow an extension of his body. One after another, he fired again, his hands moving like clockwork, as if guided by instinct rather than thought.
The first arrow struck the bullseye, splitting the shaft of the arrow already embedded in the target. The crowd gasped. The second arrow followed, shattering another bullseye arrow with almost unnatural precision. By the time the third, fourth, and fifth arrows flew, the targets looked like shattered trees, their centers splintered and broken. K.J.'s sixth and final arrow split the last shaft perfectly in half, scattering fragments of wood and feathers across the ground.
The silence in the trainyard was palpable. The once-perfect bullseyes were now littered with broken shafts and shattered wood, the evidence of K.J.'s unmatched skill. Even the most skeptical onlookers couldn't help but stare in awe at the display.
Piercy's envy twisted into jealousy, and he couldn't contain it any longer. "So what! Can he defend himself?" he snarled, glaring at K.J.
Prince Oliver, annoyance brewing beneath his calm exterior, shot him a withering glance. "Why would he need to defend himself when his arrows split the targets?" Oliver gestured toward the twelve arrows embedded perfectly in the bullseyes.
Piercy's eyes flared with frustration. "I don't know—maybe a swordsman coming at him?" he snapped, grabbing a wooden training sword that was resting against the wall. Without waiting for permission, Piercy lunged at K.J., his face twisted in reckless determination.
K.J. reacted instantly, moving swiftly toward the center of the trainyard, his feet light on the ground. Piercy let out a battle cry as he swung the wooden sword overhead with all his might. "AH!"
K.J. sidestepped effortlessly, the sword whistling through empty air as Piercy missed his mark. Furious, Piercy followed up with a wide horizontal slash, but K.J. leaned back just in time, dodging again. His movements were fluid, almost instinctive, each one calculated to evade Piercy's wild strikes.
"Grr!" Piercy growled, his frustration mounting with every miss. He thrust the sword forward, hoping to catch K.J. off-guard, but K.J. spun to the side, the blade cutting through nothing but air once more. The crowd watching from the sidelines was silent, their eyes locked on the unfolding duel, captivated by K.J.'s graceful agility.
Piercy's breaths grew heavier, his swings more erratic as he struggled to land a hit. K.J., sensing the shift in Piercy's balance, seized the opportunity. In one swift motion, he kicked the base of the wooden sword near Piercy's hand, sending it flying into the air above them. Before Piercy could react, K.J. drew an arrow, aimed, and released. The arrow struck the sword in midair, knocking it further away. In a blink, K.J. fired three more arrows, each one hitting the airborne sword, pushing it higher until it fell to the ground, the last arrow pinning it there, wobbling as it stuck firmly into the dirt.
For a moment, the yard fell into stunned silence. K.J., unfazed, drew another arrow and nocked it onto his bow, pulling the string back to aim directly at Piercy's face. The point hovered, steady, mere inches from Piercy's eyes.
"You... fucking cunt!" Piercy spat, his face flushed with rage.
K.J. slowly lowered the bow, withdrawing the arrow and slipping it back into his quiver without a word. As he did, a slow clap echoed across the yard. K.J. looked up to see Prince Oliver clapping, clearly impressed. Commander Ryan stood beside him, grinning with approval.
Piercy's humiliation boiled over. "You think you can make a fool out of me?" he growled. His hands went to his waist, drawing a long, hand-crafted sharp sword, gleaming in the sunlight. Piercy raised the sword high in the air, his eyes filled with fury. K.J. remained still, not expecting him to escalate the situation so quickly.
The real sword lowered, its sharp tip coming to rest against K.J.'s throat. Though it didn't cut deep, K.J. could feel the prick of the blade against his skin. It didn't faze him. But in that moment, as Piercy's rage-fueled threat became clear, K.J. realized he could never trust this man.
"I will not be bested by a fucking mute!" Piercy hissed through clenched teeth. His sword, long and sharp, kept the two men nearly eight feet apart, its length a symbol of Piercy's violent intent. His muscular frame trembled with barely restrained fury as he stared into K.J.'s eyes, the insult heavy in the air.
"Enough!" Prince Oliver's voice rang out, his authority clear and final.
But Piercy didn't lower his blade. Instead, he pressed the tip harder into K.J.'s neck, just enough to break the skin. A thin line of blood appeared, slowly trickling down K.J.'s throat.
Everything seemed to slow down for K.J. His senses sharpened. He noticed the flickering of light—a red-orange glow dancing in the corner of his vision. A strange heat surged through the air, and in that split second, K.J. saw it: a fireball, large and furious, rushing toward Piercy's sword.
The impact was sudden and devastating. The fireball struck the blade, melting it almost instantly, the metal warping and cracking. With a blast of heat and light, Piercy was thrown backward, crashing onto the ground with a loud thud. K.J. stumbled slightly but remained on his feet. He glanced down to see Piercy's sword—now broken, partially melted, and smoking where it had fallen.
K.J. turned his gaze toward Prince Oliver and was struck by the raw power emanating from him. Oliver stood tall and unwavering, his stance commanding, as his right arm was engulfed in flames. The fire coiled around his forearm like a living serpent, the flickering tongues of fire burning bright but controlled, as if they were an extension of his very will. The flames didn't scorch his skin; instead, they danced along his arm with fluid grace, their orange and red hues casting a fierce glow across his face.
Just above his hand hovered a large, pulsing fireball, its surface swirling with chaotic energy. It wasn't merely a ball of flame—it was alive, crackling with heat and power, sparks snapping in the air around it. The core of the fireball glowed white-hot, while the outer layers shifted between deep reds and molten yellows, flickering as though the very air around it was being consumed. Trails of ember-like sparks drifted from its edges, falling to the ground in a sizzling haze.
Oliver's eyes were locked on Piercy, their intensity mirroring the flame. They burned with a dangerous mix of anger and restraint, a silent warning of the destruction he could unleash if pushed too far. The fire didn't consume him, but it pulsed in rhythm with his controlled fury, as if waiting for his command to strike.
The heat from the fireball was palpable, even from a distance. K.J. could feel its warmth on his skin, like standing near a roaring forge. The air between them shimmered from the heat, distorting the space around Oliver, making him seem larger, more formidable. This was no mere display of magic—it was a force of nature, a testament to the Prince's mastery over fire, and a reminder of the power he wielded at his fingertips.
Prince Oliver strode over to K.J., his expression softening. "You've shown remarkable skill and agility," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of praise and authority. "I require my couriers to carry weapons for two reasons: to defend their master and to defend themselves." His tone shifted, becoming more serious. "But if you ever think to use it against me... well, you've already seen what happens." He gestured toward the melted and broken sword lying on the ground. "Am I clear?"
K.J. nodded in understanding.
Oliver's expression softened again as he reached out, placing a warm, reassuring hand on K.J.'s neck. His thumb gently pressed near K.J.'s jawline, tilting his head up so he could examine the thin cut on his throat. The faint line of blood had already dried. "You realize, Piercy," Oliver said, his voice calm but cold as he looked past K.J. to where Piercy stood, "you've attacked the royal courier. And you've made this one bleed."
Prince Oliver released K.J. and turned fully to face Piercy, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. "That's punishable by death, you know that, right?" he said, his voice laced with warning. "You've got to control your rage." As he spoke, Oliver raised his hand, summoning a small fireball that floated just above his palm. The flames reflected in Piercy's wide eyes, the crackling fire burning with fierce intensity. This time, however, the fire didn't travel up Oliver's arm—it remained contained in his hand, a stark symbol of his control over the destructive force.
At that moment, K.J. stepped forward, gently placing a hand on Oliver's arm. The soft touch caught the Prince's attention, and he turned his head to meet K.J.'s gaze. K.J. gave a slight shake of his head, silently requesting mercy for Piercy.
Oliver hesitated, the fireball still hovering above his hand. He could sense the empathy in K.J.'s quiet plea. Slowly, the fireball began to shrink, its flames flickering until they finally dispersed into nothing but thin wisps of smoke, vanishing into the air.
Piercy, still defiant, sneered. "The mute tells you to stand down?" he jeered, though there was a hint of caution in his voice, aware that he was treading dangerous ground.
Oliver didn't waver. "No. He's right." Oliver's eyes gleamed with a sharp edge of amusement. "For a seasoned swordsman, you got bested by a commoner. My courier just defeated one of my men. Maybe he's suggesting you need more training."
Piercy's face flushed with humiliation as he rose to his feet, wincing at the aches in his joints from the blast that had knocked him down.
Prince Oliver stepped forward, his hand grabbing Piercy by the chestplate, pulling him closer. Piercy was met with the Prince's fierce gaze, the intensity of his searing anger reflected in every line of his face. "And he is not a mute. His name is K.J., or you can call him sir or your majesty because he's with me," Oliver said, his voice lowering into a deadly whisper. "Is... that... clear?"
Piercy growled under his breath but nodded.
"I didn't hear you," Oliver demanded again, his voice firm.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Piercy replied, his voice breaking through his defiance as he stumbled back when Oliver shoved him away.
"Come with me, K.J.," Oliver commanded, though his tone was far kinder now. K.J. nodded and began to follow, but before they had taken more than a few steps, Oliver turned back. "Piercy," he called, his voice cutting through the air.
Piercy's eyes snapped to meet Oliver's.
"Lay a hand on him again," Oliver said, his voice chillingly calm, "and I'll sear the flesh from your body." The threat was laced with quiet certainty. His gaze swept over the soldiers gathered around. "That goes for all of you."
K.J. moved toward the weapon table, returning the bow and quiver. As he did, Oliver disappeared through the kitchen door, leaving the soldiers and squires in stunned silence. The weight of the Prince's words still hung in the air.
Ryan chuckled softly as he watched K.J. place the weapons back. "Your uncle taught you how to shoot, didn't he?" he asked with a knowing smile.
K.J.'s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he nodded.
Ryan smiled fondly. "We're close in age, and I remember seeing your uncle teach you how to use the short bow when you were growing up. I figured you'd be the best one to protect the Prince." He patted K.J. on the back, his grip firm with pride. "Besides, I don't want to keep you waiting. The Prince is expecting you."
K.J. almost forgot for a moment, but quickly collected himself, offering Ryan a grateful nod before briskly disappearing into the kitchen. He made his way toward the lobby, where his Prince was waiting.
