Back at the palace, General Brutus dragged Helena's body before Cassian. The new king sat on the throne, a cruel smile on his face.

"Your Majesty, we have killed the woman as ordered," Brutus said, bowing low. "But the boy fell into the river. The current was strong and there are many beasts. He's surely dead."

Cassian stood and walked to Helena's body. He looked down at his sister without any emotion. "Are you certain the boy is dead? I want proof."

Brutus shifted nervously. "Your Majesty, no one can survive that river. Even trained warriors fear it. A seven-year-old child has no chance."

"I didn't ask for your opinion. I asked for proof!" Cassian's voice was sharp as a blade.

"We... we searched the riverbank for hours, Your Majesty. We found nothing. The beasts must have eaten him."

Cassian was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Very well. Prepare a funeral for my dear sister. Make it grand. Let everyone see how much I loved her."

Brutus looked confused. "Your Majesty?"

"You fool! The people must think this was a tragic accident, not murder. We'll say bandits attacked the palace. The king and queen died defending the kingdom. Their brave son tried to escape but drowned in the river. I, the grieving brother, took the throne to protect the kingdom in this dark time."

Brutus bowed deeper. "You are wise, Your Majesty."

"Now take Alexander's body and throw it to the dogs. That outsider doesn't deserve a funeral."

After everyone left, Cassian sat alone on the throne. His face showed no joy, only cold calculation. "Marcus... if you're alive somewhere, grow up fast. I need a reason to build my army stronger. A lost prince seeking revenge makes the perfect excuse."

Meanwhile, far away in a place beyond the mortal realm, two figures stood on a mountain peak that touched the clouds.

The man and woman looked exactly like Alexander and Helena.

Helena gazed out at the endless sky. Though she looked calm, her hands trembled. "Husband, did we do the right thing? Leaving our son like that?"

The man who looked like Alexander smiled slightly. "He'll be fine. If he can't survive in such a small world, he's not worthy of being my son."

"But he's only seven years old! He must be so scared and alone right now."

"That fear will make him strong. That loneliness will forge his character." The man turned to face his wife. "You know who I really am. You know why we had to do this."

Helena's eyes filled with tears. "I know you're not really Alexander. I know you're someone far greater. But does that make abandoning our child right?"

"We didn't abandon him. We gave him the greatest gift-the chance to become truly strong. If he stayed with me, he would grow powerful, yes. But he would always be in my shadow. He would never reach his full potential."

"And if he dies?" Helena whispered.

"Then he was never meant for greatness." The man's voice was hard. "Only those who face death and survive can stand at the peak of this universe. Pain, humiliation, suffering-these are the fires that forge legends. Without them, he's just another privileged prince."

Helena wiped her tears. "I understand with my mind. But my heart... my heart is breaking."

The man took her hand gently. "I know. But you must trust me. I've seen countless worlds rise and fall. I know what it takes to become someone who can change the universe. Marcus has potential beyond anything you can imagine. But only hardship will unlock it."

"How long must we stay away from him?"

"Until he's strong enough to find us himself. Until he surpasses even me." The man looked at the stars. "My real identity must remain hidden. If people knew who I really am, they would either worship Marcus or kill him. He must make his own path."

"And what about Cassian? He's truly evil."

The man smiled coldly. "Cassian is a tool. He doesn't know it, but he's serving our purpose. The hatred Marcus feels will drive him forward. Every memory of today will fuel his growth."

"You're using our son's pain as a training tool," Helena said bitterly.

"I'm giving him the motivation to become a god." The man pulled her close. "Trust me. One day, Marcus will thank us for this. One day, he'll understand that true strength comes from climbing up from the very bottom."

He raised his hand and tore through space itself. A rift appeared, showing stars and galaxies beyond. "Come. We must return to the Higher Realm. My absence has been noted. If I stay away longer, war will consume the entire universe."

"Will we ever see him again?" Helena asked as they stepped toward the rift.

"Yes. When he's ready. When he's strong enough to stand beside me not as my son, but as my equal." The man looked back one last time. "Grow strong, Marcus. Hate me if you must. But grow strong. The universe needs you."

They stepped through the rift and disappeared. Behind them, in the small world below, a seven-year-old boy slept by a river, dreaming of revenge, unaware that his father watched from beyond the stars.

Marcus woke with a start. He was lying on a soft bed in a small wooden room. Sunlight came through the window. For a moment, he forgot where he was.

Then everything came rushing back. His parents. The attack. The river.

He sat up quickly and pain shot through his body. He was covered in bandages.

The door opened and Lydia walked in carrying a bowl of soup. "You're awake! Grandfather said you'd sleep for days, but you're already up."

"Where am I?" Marcus asked.

"The Iron Sword Academy. This is the guest house. Grandfather brought you here last night." She set the soup down. "You should eat. You've been sleeping for two whole days."

Two days? Marcus looked at his hands. The cuts and bruises were almost healed. His body was recovering impossibly fast.

"Lydia, can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"This academy... do they teach people to become strong warriors?"

Lydia nodded. "Of course! It's the best sword academy in the entire Silvermere Region. Grandfather is the founder and headmaster. He's super strong!"

Marcus's eyes gleamed with determination. "Then I want to train. I want to become the strongest."

Lydia laughed. "Everyone says that when they first arrive. But training is hard. Most people quit."

"I won't quit," Marcus said quietly. His voice was soft but had steel in it. "I can't quit. I have promises to keep."

Something in his eyes made Lydia stop laughing. She saw something that shouldn't be in a seven-year-old's eyes. Something cold and determined and a little frightening.

"Okay," she said softly. "I believe you."

Three years passed like water flowing down a river. Marcus was now ten years old.

Every morning before sunrise, he woke and cleaned the training grounds. He swept away fallen leaves, wiped down the practice weapons, and made sure everything was perfect. The other students never saw him do this work. They only saw the results.

During the day, he dusted the books in Grandfather Octavius's library. Hundreds of books about sword techniques, energy cultivation, and warrior history. While cleaning, Marcus read every single one. His memory was strange-once he read something, he never forgot it.

At night, when everyone slept, Marcus sneaked into the library again. He practiced the techniques he'd read about. He couldn't train openly because Grandfather Octavius had rules. Students under ten years old were not allowed to begin warrior training. The body needed to mature first, the old man said.

But Marcus couldn't wait. Every night he trained in secret, pushing his body to the limit.

"Brother Marcus, let's go watch the competition!" Lydia called to him one morning. She was now eleven and had grown taller. Her skills with the sword were already better than students twice her age.

Marcus nodded. He was curious too. Today, the academy was holding a competition to find the strongest student under seventeen. The winner would represent the Iron Sword Academy at the regional tournament.

When they arrived at the arena, it was packed with people. Students, teachers, and even visitors from other academies had come to watch.

Grandfather Octavius sat in the judge's seat, his face serious. "Everyone knows why we're here. We will find our strongest talent today. The winner will train personally with me for one year. Use all your abilities!"

"Yes, Headmaster!" the students shouted together.

Marcus watched the fights carefully. The students were good, but one person caught his attention. A boy named Julian. He was fifteen years old with dark hair and sharp eyes.

"Julian is going to win," Marcus whispered to Lydia.

"How do you know? There are many strong students," Lydia said.

Marcus pointed at Julian. "Look at his energy. He's hiding his true strength. Everyone thinks he has 100 circles of energy, but he actually has 230. He's already a third-class warrior."

Lydia stared at him. "Brother Marcus... how can you tell? I can't see energy levels yet."

Marcus realized his mistake. He shouldn't know these things. A ten-year-old who never trained shouldn't be able to sense energy at all.

"I... I read about it in books," he said quickly. "The way someone stands, how they breathe. It's all written in the library books."

Lydia didn't look convinced but didn't push further.

The competition continued. Just as Marcus predicted, Julian dominated every fight. He made it look easy, never showing his full power.

The final match was between Julian and another student named Lucas. Lucas was sixteen and well-liked. Many students cheered for him.

"Julian, show me what you've got!" Lucas shouted, charging forward with his sword.

Julian smiled calmly. He dodged every attack without much effort. It was like an adult playing with a child.

Then Julian's energy suddenly exploded outward. Now everyone could feel his true strength.

"What? He's been hiding his power this whole time?" someone yelled.

Lucas's face went pale. "You're already a third-class warrior?"

"Sorry, Lucas. I wanted to save my strength for the tournament." Julian moved like lightning and struck Lucas's sword away. His own sword stopped at Lucas's throat. "I win."

The crowd was silent, then burst into cheers. Julian had proven himself.

But then an old man's voice cut through the noise. "Octavius! What an exciting event you have here!"

Everyone turned. An old man walked in with several people following him. He wore expensive robes and had an arrogant face. This was Cornelius, the headmaster of the Endless Valley Academy, their rival school.

Grandfather Octavius frowned. "Cornelius, what are you doing here uninvited?"

Cornelius smiled coldly. "I heard about your competition and came to watch. But now that I see your champion, I want to test him. My student Dante will fight your Julian. Unless you're afraid your boy will lose?"

The tension in the arena became thick. Everyone knew about the rivalry between the two academies. Cornelius had a son working in the imperial capital, which made him powerful and arrogant. He often caused trouble.

Grandfather Octavius clenched his fists. He couldn't refuse without looking weak. "Fine. Let them fight."

A young man stepped forward from Cornelius's group. Dante was also fifteen, with cold eyes and a cruel smile. He walked to the arena like he owned it.

Marcus studied Dante carefully. His eyes narrowed. "This is bad."

"What's wrong?" Lydia whispered.

"Dante has 280 circles of energy. He's much stronger than Julian. And look at the way he moves-he's planning to seriously hurt Julian, maybe even cripple him."

"What? We have to warn someone!"

"Who would believe us? I'm just a kid who cleans the grounds."

They watched as Julian stepped into the arena to face Dante. Julian sensed the danger too. His face showed worry.

"Boy, I hope you're ready. I don't hold back," Dante said with a nasty grin.

The fight started. Julian attacked with everything he had, but Dante was clearly superior. He blocked every strike easily, not even using his sword properly. He was toying with Julian.

"Is this the best your academy has?" Dante laughed. "Pathetic!"

He suddenly moved with serious speed. His sword became a blur. Julian tried to defend but was too slow.

Dante's sword cut through Julian's defense and struck his ribs hard. The crack of breaking bones echoed through the arena.

"Ahh!" Julian fell to the ground, coughing blood.

But Dante wasn't done. He raised his sword high, aiming for Julian's shoulder. If that strike landed, Julian would never use his sword arm again.

"Stop!" several people yelled.

But Dante brought his sword down anyway, cruelty in his eyes.

Then something impossible happened. A small figure appeared between Dante and Julian, moving faster than most people could see.

It was Marcus.

He caught Dante's sword with two fingers, stopping it completely. The arena went silent.

Marcus looked up at Dante with cold eyes that seemed far too old for his young face. "That's enough. If you continue, I'll teach you what real pain feels like."

Everyone stared in shock. A ten-year-old boy had just stopped a powerful warrior's attack with two fingers.

Grandfather Octavius leaned forward in his seat, his eyes wide. "Marcus... what have you been hiding?"

The entire arena was silent. Everyone stared at Marcus holding Dante's sword with just two fingers.

Dante's face turned red with anger and embarrassment. "You little brat! Let go of my sword!"

He tried to pull his weapon free, but Marcus's grip was like iron. The sword didn't move even a tiny bit.

Marcus looked at Dante with cold eyes. "Your swordsmanship is sloppy. Your stance is wrong. You rely on raw power instead of skill. If you faced a real master, you'd die in three moves."

"What did you say?" Dante's face turned purple with rage. A ten-year-old was lecturing him about swordsmanship?

Cornelius stood up from his seat, anger flashing in his eyes. "Boy, do you know who you're talking to? Apologize now, or..."

"Or what?" Marcus interrupted, still holding the sword. He looked at Cornelius without any fear. "Old man, you came here uninvited. You challenged us. Your student tried to cripple our fighter. And now you're angry because I stopped him? Where is your honor?"

Several people gasped. No one talked to Cornelius like that. The old man had powerful connections in the imperial capital.

Grandfather Octavius stood up quickly. He was torn between pride in Marcus's courage and fear of making an enemy. "Marcus, perhaps you should..."

"Grandfather, please let me handle this," Marcus said respectfully but firmly. "This man needs to learn respect."

Dante released his sword and jumped back. His whole body began glowing with energy. "I'll kill you for that insult!"

He drew his energy into his fists and charged at Marcus. His speed was impressive. Most people could barely see him move.

But Marcus just stood there calmly. At the last second, he sidestepped. Dante's fist hit only air.

"Too slow," Marcus said.

Dante spun around and attacked again, throwing punches and kicks. Each strike had enough power to break bones. But none of them hit Marcus. The boy dodged every attack without even trying hard.

"Stop moving and fight me!" Dante screamed, frustrated.

"Why? You're not worth drawing a sword for," Marcus said. His voice was calm, almost bored.

This made Dante even angrier. He channeled all his energy into his sword and unleashed his strongest technique. "Crimson Blade Strike!"

The sword glowed red with power. The attack was fast and deadly. Even Grandfather Octavius tensed, ready to intervene.

But Marcus simply raised his hand. When the glowing sword came down, he caught it again-this time with his bare palm.

The energy around Dante's sword fizzled and died. The red glow disappeared completely.

"Impossible!" Dante's eyes went wide with shock.

Marcus twisted his wrist slightly. The sword flew out of Dante's hand and clattered to the ground several feet away.

Before Dante could react, Marcus moved. He was suddenly in front of Dante, his hand raised.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Three hard slaps hit Dante's face, one after another. The sound echoed through the silent arena.

"That's for trying to cripple Julian," Marcus said coldly.

Then he kicked Dante's stomach. Not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to send the older boy flying backward. Dante crashed into the arena wall and slumped to the ground, gasping for air.

"And that's for disrespecting my grandfather's academy," Marcus added.

Cornelius's face turned so red it looked like he might explode. "You dare! Do you know who I am? My son works in the imperial palace! I'll destroy this entire academy for this insult!"

Marcus turned to face him. Despite being just a child, his presence felt heavy and intimidating. "Your son works at the palace? So what? Does that give you the right to bully others? Does that make your student's actions acceptable?"

He walked toward Cornelius slowly. "Let me tell you something, old man. True strength doesn't come from connections or family background. It comes from here.." he pointed to his chest, "and here." He pointed to his head.

"Your student is weak because you taught him to rely on arrogance instead of skill. He thought he could win through intimidation. But when faced with real strength, he crumbled like paper."

Several students whispered to each other, impressed by Marcus's words.

Cornelius clenched his fists, shaking with rage. "Boy, mark my words. This isn't over. You've made a powerful enemy today."

"I've made many enemies," Marcus said quietly. "One more doesn't scare me."

Cornelius helped Dante up and stormed out of the arena with his people following. Before leaving, he turned back. "Octavius, control your student. Next time we meet, there will be consequences."

After they left, the arena exploded with noise. Everyone was talking at once.

"Did you see that? Marcus stopped a third-class warrior!"

"He's only ten years old! How is that possible?"

"I always thought he was just a cleaner with no talent!"

Grandfather Octavius walked over to Marcus. His face showed a mix of emotions, surprise, confusion, and something like pride.

"Marcus, we need to talk. In my office. Now."

Marcus nodded. He looked at Julian, who was being helped by other students. "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine. Broken ribs, but they'll heal," one of the teachers said. "You saved him from much worse."

As Marcus walked toward the office with Grandfather Octavius, Lydia ran up beside him.

"Brother Marcus! Why didn't you tell me you were so strong?" she asked, excited and a little hurt.

Marcus looked at her with tired eyes. "I couldn't. I had my reasons."

"What reasons?"

He didn't answer. Some secrets had to stay hidden. Like the fact that he was the lost prince of the Aurelius Kingdom. Like the fact that he trained every night for revenge. Like the fact that hatred kept him going when exhaustion wanted him to quit.

In the office, Grandfather Octavius closed the door and looked at Marcus seriously.

"I can't sense your energy level," the old man said slowly. "You hide it too well. So I'll ask directly. What realm have you reached?"

Marcus was quiet for a moment. Then he decided on partial truth. "I'm at the peak of third-class warrior, Grandfather. Just one step away from breaking through to fourth-class."

Octavius's eyes went wide. "At ten years old? That's... that's almost impossible. Even the greatest geniuses in the empire don't reach that level before fifteen."

"I train every night while others sleep. I've read every book in your library. And I have my reasons for becoming strong."

"What reasons?" Octavius asked gently.

Marcus looked him in the eyes. "I made a promise to someone. A promise I cannot break. To keep it, I must become the strongest warrior in the world."

Octavius saw something in the boy's eyes that made him sad. This child had seen too much pain for someone so young.

"Very well. I won't push you to tell me everything. But Marcus, you've revealed yourself now. Word will spread about a ten-year-old genius. Are you ready for what comes next?"

Marcus smiled, but it was a cold smile. "Let them come. I'm not afraid."

What neither of them knew was that a servant had been listening outside the door. And that servant was paid by Cornelius to spy on the Iron Sword Academy.

By tomorrow, news of Marcus would reach the imperial capital. And in the palace, Cassian would hear about a ten-year-old prodigy with incredible talent.

The hunt for the lost prince was about to begin.