Eric, Hopkins, and Drac stood a fair distance away, giving ample space for the training match. They watched quietly, the cool morning air hanging still between them and the two figures at the center of the ground.

Carlos tightened his grip on the sword he had chosen as his weapon. Ocean, on the other hand, remained completely unarmed. He stood with his hands folded behind his back, posture relaxed, expression unreadable — a stark contrast to Carlos’s visible tension.

Carlos drew in a shaky breath as he approached. His stance was correct; he pointed the sword forward, knees slightly bent, weight distributed evenly. Ocean’s eyes swept over him in a brief evaluation.

The basics were there. His form was not sloppy. But the hold — the hold lacked certainty. He wasn’t using the full strength in his wrists and forearms. His grip was hesitant, not anchored.

"You’re thinking about the sword," Ocean said calmly. "A weapon is only an extension. You should be thinking about yourself."

Carlos swallowed and adjusted his stance once more.

"Strike," Ocean instructed.

Carlos stepped forward and swung. The swing held force, but the control was lacking. Ocean shifted an inch, letting the blade pass without ever coming close to him.

"Your wrists," Ocean said, voice steady. "Use them to guide the blade, not your shoulder alone. Otherwise, your strike is easy to read and easier to evade."

Carlos nodded hard, cheeks warming with frustration, and raised the sword again.

"Again."

He attacked. Ocean sidestepped.

Again. Ocean leaned back slightly, the blade cutting air inches before him.

Again. Ocean’s foot barely moved, yet the sword failed to make contact.

Carlos’s breath grew uneven. Sweat rolled down his temple, his heart pounding harder with each attempt. Ocean remained composed — as if he were merely observing a routine exercise.

Eric watched with quiet interest. Hopkins’s gaze was sharp, assessing every movement. Drac stood with arms crossed, expression unreadable.

"You have the fire in you, try and tap into your mana as you move." Ocean guided, sensing the mana that was getting triggered because Carlos was trying hard.

"Your grip is too tight now," Ocean remarked. "That makes your swing stiff. Control, not force, Your Highness. You’re trying to cut me in half with every strike. That only makes you slower."

Carlos clenched his jaw, irritation and embarrassment twisting in his chest. He looked like he wanted to retort, but he quickly stopped himself. Ocean wasn’t mocking him — he was dissecting his weaknesses with precision.

Ocean took a single step forward, claiming the space Carlos was losing to hesitation.

"Confidence," he said quietly. "You fear failure. And fear narrows movement."

Carlos looked up, stunned for a moment by the blunt truth.

Ocean continued, voice low but firm. "You must enter a duel believing you are capable of standing at the end. Not simply wishing for it."

Carlos exhaled shakily. He adjusted the sword grip, bringing his wrists into alignment with the blade like Ocean had indicated.

Ocean nodded. "Better. Once more, use the mana in your core and try to guide it to your arms."

Carlos stepped forward — this time with controlled intent. The blade cut through the air straight and fast with the fiery faint orange sheen coating the blade. Ocean moved to the side but had to shift a little more than before.

Carlos saw it.

And a small spark of confidence flickered.

Ocean caught that spark in his gaze as well as the mana that managed to reach his blade.

"Good," he said. "Direct your attacks with purpose. Predict where I will move. Don’t follow. And keep tapping into your mana, guide it."

Carlos lifted the sword again, inhaled deeply, and struck — this time anticipating Ocean’s sidestep, adjusting in mid-swing.

Ocean raised one hand and stopped the blade between two fingers, unfazed by the way the steel was starting to glow because of the heat.

Carlos froze — shocked — his breath caught in his throat.

Ocean lowered the blade slowly, turning it aside without force.

"That," Ocean said, "is a strike guided by belief, not fear."

Carlos’s chest tightened — not from exhaustion — but from the unfamiliar feeling of being acknowledged for something that he did on his own and not after being told by his mother.

Ocean stepped back. "Again. Build on that."

Carlos adjusted his footing and prepared to attack once more — this time, not as a prince trying to survive, but as a fighter determined not to lose himself before even stepping into the arena.

Carlos attacked again, guided by Ocean’s calm instruction. Each strike still lacked polish, but now there was focus behind them — an attempt to learn rather than merely flail. His movements grew steadier, his footing more secure. It was a small shift, yet undeniable. The blade sang through the air growing hotter with the fire that slowly poured out of Carlos.

Ocean observed every subtle change:

the determination tightening Carlos’s jaw,

the adjustment in his shoulders,

the way he began using his wrists the way he’d been told.

His improvement was faint, fragile...

but real.

Ocean deflected the next strike with a light flick of his fingers, watching the young prince recover his stance instead of stumbling. Carlos pushed forward again, attacking with cautious intention.

Hopkins’s brows lifted slightly.

Even Eric leaned forward with growing interest.

Carlos was sweating, breathing hard, but he didn’t back away. He no longer swung blindly. He thought. He tried. And that mattered.

Ocean halted the next swing with his palm, holding the blade still. Carlos stared, chest heaving, waiting for criticism.

Instead, Ocean spoke quietly.

"Had it not being for the unnecessary things taught to you," he said, "you would have been standing beside your brother as his equal."

Carlos’s breath caught, confusion flickering in his eyes.

Ocean released the blade and stepped back.

"You are not incapable," he continued. "You are just... misguided."

Carlos lowered his sword slowly, uncertain how to respond.

Ocean watched him carefully — not as an opponent in training, but as a young man shaped by neglect and fear. A boy raised under a shadow that demanded perfection while offering nothing to nurture it.

A boy whose life had been strangled by someone else’s ambition.

Ocean could see it clearly now:

Carlos was not inherently weak.

Carlos had been made weak.

And if he continued under Katherine’s control, he would be lost entirely.

If there had been time, Ocean thought, this child might have learned to stand with pride. He might still.

But the Trials left no room to rebuild a life overnight. And Katherine’s influence would soon turn him into something beyond saving if nothing changed.

Ocean exhaled, gaze steady.

After the Trials, he resolved silently, Carlos will be freed from her.

Because unlike his mother —

Carlos still had a chance.

A sliver of redemption not yet crushed.

"Again," Ocean instructed gently.

Carlos nodded, lifting his sword with more certainty than before. He stepped forward, and the blade cut forward — not perfectly, not powerfully — but with conviction.

Ocean parried easily, yet there was the faintest sense of progress in the clash.

This time when Carlos regained his footing, he didn’t look like he was preparing to lose.

He looked like someone trying to win.

Eric, Drac and Hopkins were surprised to see Carlos improving so quickly. He lacked a lot of things but the pace of improvement was commendable.

"I didn’t know His Highness could parry so well." Hopkins muttered.

"Marquis is a good instructor." Eric spoke with a hint of pride.

He didn’t seem fazed by the improvement of Carlos.

"Doesn’t this make you worry, Your Highness?" Hopkins asked Eric.

Eric simply chuckled, "Not at all, Marquis is doing what he thinks is right."

"It’s not that," Drac spoke up and the two men looked at him "Master is training him because he wants you to have a worthy fight."

Eric smiled hearing this.

Carlos fell to his knees because of the lack of stamina, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. Ocean smiled down at him.

"You did great." He spoke and gave his hand to Carlos.

Carlos hesitantly grabbed Ocean’s hand and Ocean almost yanked him up, not too hard, Ocean leaned ahead close to his ear and spoke in a low voice.

"You still have a chance to redemption, Your Highness. Think about what you want to do with your life."

Carlos was stunned for a moment as Ocean steadied him and then looked at Eric.

"It’s your turn now Prince Eric." Ocean called.

Eric beamed happily before he grabbed his sword and walked towards the middle of the training ground while Carlos walked back.

Carlos had always learned from everyone around him that being a King was his birthright and that he didn’t need to do anything as it would all be taken care of by his mother.

At some point he didn’t even know what he wanted, he wasn’t good at any particular thing, honestly speaking. His trainers always praised him for whatever he did calling him a prodigious Prince who was their only King. But after seeing the reality lying stark naked before him during the First Trial, he was sure that he was nowhere near prodigious.

Carlos sat down on the bench watching the spar between Eric and Ocean. Their movements unlike him were on a completely different level.

He knew Eric was strong but he was also very fast. Carlos’s eyes couldn’t even follow their movements as he only saw the sheen of blue of Ocean’s hair and the scarlet of Eric’s blade dancing at a blinding speed in perfect harmony.

He also heard the sound of laughter, Ocean was laughing as if enjoying the spar. Not one word of speculation.

Carlos felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

Ocean said he had a chance for redemption...

But, would his mother let him go?

And would he even survive without his mother?

Everything that he had seen and believed was shattered around him and he had no idea of what to do. Eric, the boy whom he thought was a good-for-nothing had become so capable that everyone in the kingdom loved him and praised him. Carlos,.on the other hand, who had recieved praise all his life was being shunned.

What was he supposed to do now?