I was staring into Lily's dark blue eyes as she radiated murderous intent, but she moved the knife away. ''I don't forgive you, even if you've become handsome. You hurt me and can't expect me to forget it.''
''I know, I don't want you to,'' I replied, without looking away. ''I don't deserve it. I remember what he did, and it sickens me to the core.''
Lily looked even more confused, but got rid of the weapon, asking. ''What do you mean, 'he'?''
''You'll find out one day. Just know it eats at me, and I will earn your forgiveness, even if it takes me years.''
The older woman looked taken aback. A small, dangerous part of me wanted to smile at the crack in her armour. I crushed it instantly. Lily shook her head and narrowed her eyes. ''Sorry changes nothing.''
''I understand,'' I said, dropping my gaze. ''But I will earn it somehow, and show you I'm not the same anymore.''
Lily backed off at my words, looking torn as she spun around, leaving the room without saying a word. I stared at the door, wondering how long she'd hate me for. Seconds later, I sighed in relief. While sitting there, I remembered the feeling of her aura, and it was something else.
For a woman her size, she's strong. Why did they send her with me? To get rid of the shameful prince?
I shook my head to get rid of Lily and her hate before I got ready for bed. I took off my tunic, only to stop when I saw the six-pack and solid muscles that now covered me. A smile crossed my face as I felt the energy return to me. Thankful I wasn't obese anymore and can fight monsters in a dungeon, unlike the previous Arthur, who was scared of such a thing.
After that, I finally let myself relax. The moment my head touched the pillow, the bone-deep exhaustion from weeks of relentless training pulled me under like a tide. I slept soundly, dreamlessly. When morning came, I woke feeling lighter, refreshed, almost eager. My body still ached in places, but my mind was sharp again, hungry for the fight ahead.
True, I could swing a sword with growing confidence, yet magic remained beyond my reach. Even Selene and Garrick, with all their natural gifts, had mastered spells I couldn't so much as spark. None of it mattered. The absence of magic didn't dim the fire in my chest. If anything, it burned hotter.
Monsters were waiting, and I was ready. I headed out of the room and ran into the old man.''Come on, my prince,'' he said, slapping me on the shoulder. ''We need to get you registered as an adventurer.''
''I want to do it on my own,'' I informed my mentor. ''I need independence, instead of relying on everyone around me.''
Garrick's eyes narrowed before he laughed as we walked through the manor. ''Good mindset, Arthur. What about the ladies? I can see the way the maids are watching you?''
I glanced at the older man and huffed. ''Don't waste your time chasing butterflies. Mend your garden, and the butterflies will come. I still need some work.''
Following that, we stepped out of the manor's main entrance only to see a Century of soldiers waiting for me outside, causing me to look at Garrick. ''Why are we bringing so many Legionnaires? Isn't it a bit too much?''
''We'll be doing some training while you're in the dungeon,'' the old man revealed, going over the soldiers perfectly lined up. ''You see, these men and women are from the Ninth Legion. They caught the ire of the king, so they have been named your army, like every other Verona Prince.''
''So they were assigned to me?''
Garrick nodded. ''Yes, the rest are camped outside the capital under the command of General Sahana Bloodaxe, a strange woman but loyal to the kingdom.''
''What have they done?''
''What do you mean, my prince?''
''My father would have taken them as one of his personal Legions, but yet they're just encamped outside Varanthal.''
''I'm not allowed to speak of such situations,'' Garrick responded. ''It's for King Ragnar to explain. But all I know is that they're your legion and you'll have to lead them.''
Fuck, I mean, I've played strategy games and loved ancient Rome back on Earth. It shouldn't be too hard to thrive.
''Very well. I'll take command,'' I said at last, my gaze shifting to the figure now striding toward us. ''But that's a problem for another day, and I have some ideas I need to write down for the legion.''
The Centurion moved with the quiet certainty of a man who had long since made peace with violence. Salt-and-pepper hair framed a weathered face, and his green eyes held an intensity that made the air feel heavier. He halted three paces away, dropped to one knee with practised grace, and spoke in a low, resonant voice thick with respect.
''My Prince. It is an honour to witness your awakening, I'm Senior Centurion Marcus Valerius,'' he introduced himself, paused, then continued, ''My Century stands ready. We will escort you safely to the Threshold of Hollowend and secure it for your safety.''
''A Century is one hundred soldiers, correct?'' I asked; the only knowledge I had of the Verona Legions came from broken memories.
''Yes, Your Highness.''
Seems good, similar to the Roman Legions back on Earth.
''How many Cohorts does the Ninth Legion have?''
''The Ninth stands at four thousand one hundred, Your Highness,'' Marcus revealed.
Before I could say anything, he continued. ''One thousand veterans in the First Cohort, the next three have seven hundred Legionnaires each, plus five hundred rangers and five hundred Legionnaire Cavalry, the latter is still en route from the eastern camps.''
''Wait, since when does this spoiled prince know about military matters!'' Selene teased from behind us.
I turned around and stopped short when I saw the beautiful brunette walking toward me. She noticed my gaze and gave me a dazzling smile. ''I hope you don't trade in the Lions for your new Legion, my lord.''
''Never,'' I replied, chuckling. ''You guys can help the First Cohort with protecting me.''
''Acceptable,'' she said before rushing off to rally her soldiers, who were still asleep.
The older man nodded, looking worried as I didn't respond straight away. There was something there, but I didn't push. ''And I assume these men are from the First?''
''Yes, we arrived from the Eastern Front before your journey to Riverrun.''
So, forty-one hundred men, a Verona Legion is fifty thousand strong, but I don't need that many.
Forty-one hundred men. Not an army, but a small legion, enough to die under the wrong orders, enough to win a small war if used right. I thought for a few seconds. ''We'll recruit more soldiers, but it's not important. I can work with the current numbers.''
Realising they never replied, I glanced at the two men, who were looking at me with strange expressions. Garrick shook his head. ''Where did this come from? I know you ignored your military tutor because I was there.''
''I don't know,'' I said with a shrug. ''I remember some things from the lessons.''
That's when it hit me: back when I'd broken my arm in my past life, I'd spent endless hours mastering those strategy games in my previous one. And now, at last, I could finally bring all that hard-won knowledge into the Ninth. ''We're at the command, your highness!'' Marcus exclaimed, causing the Legionnaires to bang their shields on the ground, a loud clang.
The sound echoed across the courtyard as Garrick led me toward the stables, and one of the staff brought out our horses. After that, we left the manor and headed toward the western part of Riverrun, where the dungeon was located. I turned around as Marcus shouted for the Century to move.
They were marching behind us, looking professional. Wow, this will take some time to get used to.
Following that, the march west out of Riverrun felt strangely ceremonial at first. One hundred Legionaries in perfect step behind us, shields slung across backs, their spears rattling softly in their bundles, boots grinding the packed dirt road into a low, steady drumbeat that relaxed me.
I rode at the head beside Marcus, while the old mentor kept throwing me sideways glances like he was still trying to solve the puzzle of who the hell I'd become overnight. I kept my eyes forward, letting the rhythm sink in, no wagons, no luxuries, just men, horses. Every so often, I'd catch the low murmur of soldiers talking among themselves, voices too disciplined to carry far, but the tone was curious.
I pretended not to notice. The road left the city's outskirts and wound through low, rolling hills dotted with pastures. My thighs burned from the unfamiliar saddle, but I refused to show it. Sometime later, the road dipped as we crested the final rise, and there it was: Riverrun sprawled below us like a living thing carved from stone and timber and stubborn will.
The western district came into view first, with warehouses hugging the riverbank, the churn of waterwheels turning in the current, and the faint tang of wet wood, fish, and forge smoke drifting up to meet us. The town wasn't grand, not like Varanthal with its marble spires and endless banners.
It had a hard-earned solidity that made the capital feel soft by comparison. The moment we crossed the first bridge, the rhythm of the march changed. The clatter of hooves and the steady crunch of hobnailed boots drew eyes. Faces appeared at windows. Merchants paused mid-haggle.
A blacksmith stepped out from beneath his awning, hammer still in hand, wiping soot across his brow as he watched us pass. Children darted between legs, pointing at the perfect lines of the Century behind me, at the crimson cloaks and the glint of spear heads. I felt every stare like a physical weight settling on my shoulders.
They knew who I was. Of course they did. The shameful prince who'd spent years rotting in luxury while the kingdom bled on its borders. The one who'd been too fat, too drunk, too cowardly to even look at a sword without flinching. And now here I was, riding at the head of my soldiers, looking like someone who actually belonged on a battlefield.
I kept my gaze forward, chin level, expression blank. Let them stare. Let them wonder. The old Arthur would have hunched in the saddle, cheeks burning, trying to disappear. I sat straighter, letting the burn in my thighs remind me how far I'd come, and pretended the whispers sliding past like river current didn't reach me.
Marcus rode beside me in silence, but I could feel the pride rolling off him in waves. The Century moved like a single creature, shields aligned, pace unhurried, weapon bundles rattling in perfect time. They knew they were being watched, too, and they gave the townsfolk something worth watching.
We turned off the main thoroughfare onto Guild Row, the wide cobbled street that led straight to the Adventurers' Guild. The crowds thickened here. More whispers. A few people actually stepped back as we passed, clearing space without being told. I caught fragments:
''That's him? Looks different.''
'The Ninth? I thought they were exiled.''
''The fat prince's finally sobered up, eh?''
I didn't react. Didn't need to. The truth would spread faster than any denial. The Guild building rose at the end of the street like a squat fortress: three stories of dark river stone, heavy oak doors banded with iron, the familiar bronze plaque of crossed sword and staff above the entrance.
Torches burned in iron sconces even in daylight, and the faint smell of old leather, sweat, and spilt ale drifted out every time someone entered or left. Marcus raised a fist. The Century and the ten Lion Guards halted with a single sharp stamp of boots that echoed off the surrounding buildings.
The silence that followed was almost reverent. I swung down from the horse, biting back a wince as my thighs protested the sudden shift. My boots hit the cobbles solidly. I handed the reins to a waiting stableboy without looking, then adjusted the sword belt at my hip, still new, still stiff, but mine.
Garrick dismounted beside me, giving me a quick, searching glance. ''You sure about going in alone, lad?''