Once again, Lionel found himself alone with the projection of the king.

  “He was enslaved, you say? Then how did he escape?” The king spoke with curiosity.

  Lionel took in a deep breath before responding. “He gained the loyalty of a Jotun, your majesty. Together, they wreaked havoc on the bandits. Releasing more slaves to mount a resistance. Before escaping in the chaos.”

  “Hahahaha, using humans as distractions. It seems my blood runs strong in his veins. Good. The first legion will hold their trials in Wunderberg in six months. I expect him to be there.” Lionel shivered at the king's sudden interest in his youngest son. The attention of such a man was a curse more than a blessing.

  “I will prepare our departure at once, your majesty.” Lionel bowed before the projection.

  “No, he will go alone. The boy has been coddled for long enough.” With that, the projection cut off. Leaving Lionel alone once again. He felt a pang of worry for the young prince. But the king's words were absolute; he had no choice but to comply.

  —-

  Our return to the village was anything but triumphant. We were beaten, hungry, and extremely tired. It was undeniable that something inside of us had broken. For the brothers, this was their first confrontation with the cruel reality of life. For the giant and me, it was different; we may have experienced many things. But never had we felt so lacking in control. To have your agency taken away from you. This creates the need to always feel in control. But unlike the giant, I knew how unattainable that is for me, at least for now. Being royalty had many perks, but freedom was not one of them. My first life was evidence enough of this fact. To the king, I was nothing more than an untested pawn.

  And until I gain enough strength to decide my own fate. The revelation that Lionel gave two days after my return was just another example of this. But besides the obvious lack of control, I must say I was quite excited to finally gain some fucking independence. My entire second life, I have been under someone's watchful gaze. Never truly capable of expressing myself without someone watching and reporting back to my father. I had not seen the brothers since our return. They were held up in the medical ward. Having lost too much blood and broken a few ribs. Bjorn was completely unconscious, while Magnus was in a state in between.

  For the next few days, Jurgen and I spent our time training. On one such day, I finally decided to satiate my curiosity. “What is that raw manipulation I saw you use?” To further my point, I created sparks on my fingertips.

  I saw how Jurgen’s eyes widened in surprise, before looking around to make sure no one was watching. His reaction caused not only confusion but a sense of wrongness that I could not explain. To see this mighty giant look around in fear felt fundamentally wrong.

  “Drakkus, listen to me very carefully.” The seriousness in my face caused any response to die in my throat. “Never do that in front of anyone. Sorcery has been banned under holy law. If the church knew of this, they would publicly burn you at the stake.” The raw emotion in his voice was heavy with emotion.

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  That was when the realization hit me. It was fifty years ago when the war with the dwarves began. If memory served than it was the church that started that war by holy decree. The dwarves were either slaughtered en masse or forced into strict slave contracts to never create their automata again. They had been masters of metallurgy and runesmithing. Creating techno-magical constructs beyond my wildest imagination. With what Jurgen just said, everything became far clearer. If they could do that to the dwarves, then what stopped them from doing the same to the giants? The answer was that they already had.

  After that conversation, I never brought up the topic again. Some things were better left unsaid. Especially when it concerned heresy. The church was one of the three great powers of the Empire, next to the human and elven kingdoms. I was nowhere near strong enough to challenge them. And on the seventh day since our return, the storm had grown especially restless. The five of us sat in the town hall discussing our journey to Wunderberg with Ivan and the council. When a stranger barged through the door. He wore white garments with red and gold accents. On his breast pocket was the insignia of the church inquisition. Jurgen tensed next to me. The Inquisitor had extremely sharp features like a hawk. His brown hair was cut short and slicked back. His blue eyes trailed across the room, landing on Jurgen and me with disgust. “I knew the frontier was backwater, but to associate with the lesser races is a new low.” He spoke with absolute disdain as he regarded us.

  His eyes fell on Lionel next, giving way to confusion at seeing a royal knight here. “Did your mother never teach you manners, Inquisitor?” My voice was laced with venom as I spoke. Memories of the fire flashed through my mind, inciting anger and hatred to bloom.

  His face transformed to anger as he responded. “Mind your tongue, Elf! The lord of the Sun may permit your existence, but that does not excuse heresy.” He narrowed his eyes, and a dangerous glint appeared in them.

  Lionel was the first to respond, getting up from his seated position. “Mind your tongue, welp, you are speaking to a prince.” Lionel did not yell nor raise his voice. He did, however, unleash his killing intent, causing the insolent man to shiver.

  “Ah. Forgive me. I was not informed His Highness consorts with such… interesting company.” Realizing what he had done. The inquisitor straightened his clothes before giving another disdainful glance in my direction. “Hmph,” turning towards Ivan, he commanded. “Take me to the best accommodations in this... town.”

  “Ahh, apologies lord inquisitor but the best accommodations have already been taken by the prince. But I would be more than willing to organize something more appropriate.” Ivan spoke respectfully. Yet the inquisitor shot another measuring glare my way before motioning Ivan to show him.

  My eyes shot towards Jurgen, both of us thinking the same thing. We both remember the bandits speaking of an ‘exotic buyer.’ And now, almost exactly a week later, an inquisitor appears in the back end of nowhere. We would not state it outright for fear of conspiracy, but it was all too coincidental.

  —-

  Deep within the human capital, in one of the large courtyards of the palace. A young man was practicing his magic. Light bent around his hands before burning a hole in the wooden training dummy. “Tsk.” Alexander Viven Drakkar was still not satisfied with the result of his skill. He was the only one of his siblings to have inherited the combat aspect of light magic. But even then, it was far too weak compared to father's. As the oldest heir of the kingdom, the weight on his shoulders would have been unbearable for most. But Alexander welcomed the challenge with open arms.

  The gods knew that his other siblings were not up to the task. With a final sigh, Alexander wiped the sweat from his brow. Turning towards the servant waiting at the edge of the courtyard. “What?” Alexander spoke with frustration in his tone.

  The servant girl bowed low before speaking. “Your Royal Highness, the archbishop requests your presence.” The servant remained bowed, knowing exactly how finicky Alexander could be.

  Without even acknowledging her presence, he continued walking to the palace. Black granite columns with marble accents. Alexander looked at all of this with bored eyes. Its hard to be amazed when you’ve seen it a hundred times. Alex walked through the corridor until he reached his personal meeting room. Opening the mahogany double doors, he saw archbishop Ishmael waiting for him on one of the chair drinking tea. The archbishop nodded in greeting to the young prince. Alexander nodded in return before taking a seat opposite the old man. Archbishop Ishmael was a legend within the clergy as well as Alexander's mentor. He had been a vital part in the purging of the dwarven scourge. The archbishop was a heavy-set man with a thick jawline and blue eyes.

  “Welcome, acolyte. Surely Sollaris smiles upon us this day.” Ishmael stroked his white beard while speaking. “The Pope has been granted a vision today. The gods see great things in your future.” The archbishop's smile was slightly unsettling to Alexander. Yet he was drawn in by the man's words. What vision could that be?