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.

Three days after the competition, a hooded figure rode through the night toward the imperial capital. His horse was exhausted, but he pushed it harder. The information he carried was worth a fortune.

The man's name was Felix. He'd been working as a servant at Iron Sword Academy for two years, paid by Cornelius to report any useful information. But what he'd witnessed three days ago was beyond anything he'd expected.

A ten-year-old boy defeating a third-class warrior with ease. A child who could sense energy levels that even trained warriors couldn't detect. This wasn't just talent, this was something extraordinary.

Felix reached the capital by dawn. The city was massive, ten times larger than any town near the academy. Tall walls surrounded it, and guards checked everyone entering. But Felix had papers that identified him as a merchant. He passed through easily.

He went straight to Cornelius's son's residence in the noble district. The house was grand, showing the family's wealth and influence.

A servant led him to a private study where a man in expensive robes sat reading reports. This was Lucius, Cornelius's son and an official in the imperial court.

"Felix, this better be important," Lucius said without looking up. "I'm busy."

"My lord, I have information about a prodigy at Iron Sword Academy. A ten-year-old who defeated your father's student Dante."

Now Lucius looked up, interested. "Go on."

Felix told him everything. How Marcus had caught Dante's sword with two fingers, how he'd moved with impossible speed, how he'd humiliated a third-class warrior without even drawing a weapon.

Lucius leaned back, thinking. "A ten-year-old with that level of power? Impossible. Unless..."

"Unless what, my lord?"

"Unless he has divine bloodline or extremely rare cultivation talent." Lucius stood and walked to the window. "Tell me everything about this boy. Where did he come from?"

"He appeared three years ago. Grandfather Octavius found him by the river and adopted him. The boy claims bandits destroyed his village and killed his parents."

"His name?"

"Just Marcus. No family name."

Lucius turned sharply. "No family name? And he appeared three years ago by the river?" His eyes widened slightly. "How old did you say he was?"

"Ten years old now, my lord. Which means he was seven when-"

"When Prince Marcus of the Aurelius Kingdom supposedly drowned in the Tiber River," Lucius finished. His mind raced. Could it be the same child? The timing matched perfectly.

"My lord, you don't think..."

"I think I need to report this to someone very important." Lucius's face showed excitement. "If this boy is who I think he is, King Cassian will pay handsomely for this information."

Felix smiled greedily. "And my reward, my lord?"

"You'll get your gold. Now leave me. I have urgent letters to write."

After Felix left, Lucius sat at his desk and carefully wrote two letters. One to his father Cornelius, telling him to watch the boy carefully. The second to King Cassian, suggesting that the lost prince might be alive.

In the Aurelius Kingdom, Cassian sat on his throne, listening to reports from his ministers. Ten years of ruling had aged him. Gray streaked his hair now, and lines marked his face.

"Your Majesty, tax collection is complete for this quarter," one minister reported.

"The northern border remains quiet," said another.

Cassian nodded, bored. Ruling was less exciting than taking power had been. He'd imagined glory and triumph, but reality was endless paperwork and complaints.

Then a messenger arrived, breathless from running. "Your Majesty! Urgent letter from the imperial capital!"

Cassian took the sealed letter. As he read it, his face went pale, then red with anger.

"Everyone out," he ordered quietly.

The ministers scrambled to leave. They knew that quiet voice meant danger.

Alone, Cassian read the letter again. A ten-year-old prodigy named Marcus at Iron Sword Academy. Found by a river three years ago. No family name. The timing matched exactly.

"Impossible," Cassian muttered. "The boy drowned. I saw him fall into the river. The beasts, the current-no child could survive that."

But doubt crept into his mind. What if Marcus had survived? What if the nephew he'd tried to kill was alive and growing strong?

Cassian crumpled the letter in his fist. If Marcus was alive, he was a threat. The boy had legitimate claim to the throne. Worse, if he learned to cultivate, he could become powerful enough to seek revenge.

"No," Cassian said aloud. "I won't let fear control me. Even if it is him, he's just a ten-year-old boy. I have armies. I have power. I have nothing to fear."

But his hands trembled as he called for his most trusted general.

General Brutus entered and bowed. He was older now, heavier, but still loyal.

"Brutus, I have a task for you," Cassian said. "There's a boy at Iron Sword Academy who might be... a threat to the kingdom. I want you to investigate quietly. Don't make it obvious. Just confirm his identity."

"Your Majesty, may I ask what kind of threat a ten-year-old poses?"

Cassian's eyes were cold. "The kind that grows into a sword pointed at your throat. Do as I command."

Brutus bowed and left, but inside he felt uneasy. Something in the king's voice reminded him of that night ten years ago. The night they'd killed Queen Helena and thrown her child into the river.

*Could the boy have survived?* Brutus wondered. *And if he did, what kind of monster have we created by taking everything from him?*

Back at Iron Sword Academy, Marcus had no idea that forces were already moving against him. He sat in Grandfather Octavius's garden, practicing energy control.

Since revealing his strength, the other students treated him differently. Some with respect, others with jealousy. He didn't care about either.

Lydia found him there as the sun set. "Brother Marcus, Grandfather wants to see you. He says it's important."

Marcus stood and followed her. In the office, Grandfather Octavius looked serious.

"Marcus, sit down. We need to talk about your future."

"My future, Grandfather?"

"You're too strong for this academy now. You need better resources, stronger opponents, and advanced techniques." Octavius paused. "I think it's time you entered the regional tournament. It's held every five years in the imperial capital. The best young warriors from all over compete."

Marcus's heart beat faster. The imperial capital. Where Cassian ruled. Where his enemies lived.

"When is this tournament?" he asked calmly.

"In six months. You'll be eleven by then, the youngest competitor ever. But I believe you're ready."

Marcus nodded slowly. "I'll participate."

Octavius studied his adopted grandson's face. "Marcus, I know you have secrets. I don't know what drives you, but I see darkness in your eyes sometimes. Whatever you're planning, whatever revenge you seek-be careful. Hatred can make you strong, but it can also destroy you."

"I understand, Grandfather. Thank you for your concern."

After Marcus left, Octavius sighed heavily. "That boy is walking toward fire. I just hope he doesn't burn himself to ashes."

Outside, Marcus looked up at the stars. His hands clenched into fists.

*Six months until the tournament. Six months until I see the imperial capital again. Six months until I'm one step closer to Cassian.*

He didn't know that Cassian already suspected his identity. He didn't know that spies were coming to investigate him. He didn't know that every step toward revenge was also a step into a carefully laid trap.

The game of cat and mouse had begun, but neither side knew who was the cat and who was the mouse.