Chapter 19: The Weight of a Crown

One week had passed since the battle, the memory of it still vivid in Leonis's mind. He sat in his room, moving around the arm which was reattached the week before. The healer had done an impressive job, though a faint scar remained as a reminder of his near defeat. His thoughts drifted to his father's words from last week:

"My elite men found your sword… it was burnt along with the beast you defeated, and only the handle remained... So I will get a sword crafted by the finest Dwarven smiths. It will be waiting for you when you are ready."

Today was a critical day, the day of the Council. The entire empire had heard of the prince's feat. It was still hard for Leonis to comprehend how quickly the tides had turned. Just a week ago, he was regarded as the shameful prince. Now, people whispered his name with awe. He knew he was the subject of a thousand conversations "The disgraceful prince who did the impossible." But with the glory came the weight of responsibility.

The funeral for the fallen soldiers had been held in his absence while he was recovering, much to his regret. He had sent a personal message to their families, but that hadn't lessened the guilt gnawing at him. He had led them to battle, and many had died. The empire might praise him, but he still felt the burden of their lives on his shoulders.

The sun streamed into his chambers as he stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his coat. He was dressed to attend the Council meeting, an important one that would decide the course of action against the growing threats on the empire's borders.

Leonis wore a dark teal cloak with gold embroidery along the edges, giving him an air of nobility. The royal insignia gleamed on his left side, marking him as the first prince. His shirt was a loose, white button-up, with the top buttons undone, revealing a hint of his toned chest. It was a subtle but intentional style—refined but comfortable. His slim-fitting black pants tucked into his knee-high boots gave him a tall, elegant figure, yet he felt ready for whatever lay ahead.

He inhaled deeply, adjusting the cloak before heading towards the door. As he made his way through the grand halls of the palace, servants bowed, and guards saluted. Their gazes lingered a little longer than usual, admiration and newfound respect shining in their eyes. The shameful prince was no more.

As he reached the council chamber, the massive doors were opened by two guards. Inside, the empire's most powerful figures awaited—generals, advisors, nobles, and, of course, his father, Emperor Valerian Perdium, seated at the head of the table, his presence commanding as always.

The entire room fell silent as Leonis entered. He could feel the weight of a hundred gazes on him. The silence was thick with anticipation. Emperor Valerian's emerald eyes locked onto his son's, and a proud, knowing smile touched his lips.

"Welcome, Leonis," the Emperor said, his voice carrying authority yet warmth.

Leonis gave a small bow of respect, acknowledging the council before taking his seat. His youngest brother, Caelum, sat a few seats away, his face lit up with excitement, still basking in the glory of their victory.

The discussion soon began. They spoke of strategies, alliances, and the growing threat of demonic forces in the east. Leonis listened intently, aware that his newfound fame was both a blessing and a burden. He had proven himself in battle, but now came the time to lead—an even greater challenge.

Halfway through the meeting, Emperor Valerian's gaze turned serious as he addressed Leonis directly.

"Leonis," he said, "your actions last week have not gone unnoticed. The council and the empire speak highly of your courage and resolve. But battles are far from over. The Orc and Goblin invasions are but the beginning. Our scouts report demonic activity growing rapidly in the east. We may have to move sooner than expected. I trust you will be ready."

Leonis met his father's gaze, nodding confidently. "I am ready, father. And when the time comes, I will wield the sword you promised."

Valerian smiled. "Indeed. The dwarven smiths have already begun crafting it. You will have it soon enough."

The room erupted in discussion about the upcoming campaigns, but Leonis's mind wandered. He was one step closer to the prophecy, to becoming the warrior the empire needed. The shameful prince was no more, only the future emperor remained.

As the council concluded and the room began to clear, Leonis stood by the large window, looking out at the horizon. The weight of his new responsibility settled upon him, but there was also a glimmer of hope. He was not the same person who had woken up in this world just a short while ago. Now, he was the one who could change the fate of the empire and perhaps the entire world.

But he knew one thing for certain: when the time came, he would be ready for the next challenge that lay "beyond the horizons."

As Leonis and Lord Alistair made their way down the spiraling stone stairs toward the imperial armory, a sense of anticipation coiled deep in Leonis's chest. It had been a week since the battle, and while his wounds had mostly healed, the loss of his arm was still fresh in his memory. The fact that the healers had managed to reattach it was nothing short of miraculous, but the throbbing pain that lingered reminded him of the high price he had paid.

But today, there was something to look forward to—something that could change everything. The sword his father had promised him, crafted by the finest dwarven smiths, awaited him. It wasn't just any sword; it was to be his weapon, one that would accompany him into every future battle, carrying with it the weight of his legacy.

As they approached the entrance to the armory, Leonis could hear the rhythmic clanging of hammers on metal echoing through the halls, followed by the crackling sound of furnaces burning at impossible heat. The scent of molten steel mixed with the earthy smell of stone filled the air, heavy with the weight of ancient craftsmanship.

They passed through a massive, reinforced door made of obsidian and steel. Inside, the room was vast, its walls lined with all manner of weapons—swords, spears, hammers, and shields, each more magnificent than the last. But it wasn't the display that caught Leonis's eye; it was the figure standing in the center of the room, his back turned, busying himself with the final touches on a masterpiece.

The dwarf was shorter than Leonis but built like a boulder—stocky and muscular, with arms as thick as tree trunks. His beard was long, fiery red, and braided intricately, contrasting with the smattering of soot that clung to his skin. Despite the ruggedness, there was an air of refinement about him, like a fine artist who took immense pride in his work.

Lord Alistair stepped forward, clapping the dwarf on the back with a smile. "Baldric, I see you're still toiling away, even though I thought you'd have it ready by now."

The dwarf, who Leonis assumed to be Baldric, grunted and shot Alistair a sideways glare. "Aye, I've had it ready for a while now, but I like to ensure perfection before handing over a blade like this." His voice was gruff but carried an undeniable sense of pride.

Baldric turned to face Leonis, his sharp eyes studying him with an intensity that made Leonis shift slightly under his gaze. "So, yer the prince, huh? The one who nearly got himself killed?" His words were blunt, almost rude, but there was a glimmer of something else in his tone—respect, perhaps?

Leonis straightened, meeting Baldric's gaze. "Yes, that would be me," he replied, keeping his tone steady, though his curiosity was piqued by the dwarf's attitude.

Baldric snorted, crossing his burly arms. "Figures. Ye noble types are all the same—thinking ye can march into a battle without a proper weapon. But ye showed some spine out there, I'll give ye that." He glanced at Lord Alistair. "Heard ye lost a lot of men though."

Leonis felt the pang of guilt again but held his ground. "Yes, we did. And I intend to honor their sacrifice by becoming stronger."

Baldric grunted in approval, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to weigh Leonis's words. "Hmph. Well, ye might just be worth it then." He turned back toward the anvil, reaching for something beneath a dark cloth. "Ye'd better be, for the sword I've made ye is no ordinary blade."

With a dramatic flourish, Baldric removed the cloth, revealing the weapon beneath. Leonis's breath caught in his throat.

The sword was magnificent.

Its blade was long, elegant, and translucent, with intricate ice-like patterns running through its crystalline surface. The frosted design gave the impression of magic frozen within the metal itself, and a cold, almost mystical blue light radiated from it, casting a soft glow in the dim light of the armory. The aura surrounding the blade shimmered like the northern lights, a cool but powerful emerald green that extended beyond the weapon's edge, hinting at the enchanted power within.

The hilt and crossguard were equally breathtaking. The guard was angular and ornate, with swirling silver-gray metallic designs that seemed to flow like energy. At the center of the crossguard, a radiant emerald gem pulsed softly with an inner light, enhancing the appearance and mana of the weapon. The handle, slender and elegant, was wrapped in a leather that matched the silver-gray tones of the guard, providing a perfect grip for swift strikes.

Leonis couldn't help but reach out, his fingers brushing the air just above the blade. It emanated a strange, cold energy that sent shivers up his arm, but it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it felt as though the sword was responding to him—calling out to him in a way that made him feel as if they were connected.

Baldric smirked, clearly pleased by Leonis's reaction. "Aye, this here is a blade worthy of a prince. Forged from the finest dwarven materials, and imbued with frost magic as well as mana amplification." He ran a hand along the edge of the blade, his eyes gleaming with pride. "She's sharp enough to cut through nearly anything, and the emerald gem there will help ye channel your mana more efficiently. Not that ye'd need it, I reckon, with the way ye've been improving."

Leonis took a deep breath and grasped the hilt. The moment his fingers closed around it, he felt a surge of power flow through him. The blade hummed softly, as though it recognized its new master. It was lighter than it looked, yet he could feel its raw potential thrumming beneath the surface. He raised it, watching the emerald glow flicker and intensify.

"This… this is incredible," Leonis whispered, awe-struck.

Baldric's cheeks flushed slightly, and he scratched the back of his neck in a gruff, almost embarrassed way. "Aye, well, it ain't nothin'. Just a bit of dwarven craftsmanship, is all."

Lord Alistair chuckled, clapping the dwarf on the shoulder. "Don't let him fool you, Leonis. Baldric's been working on that sword for weeks. He poured his heart and soul into it."

Baldric huffed, crossing his arms. "Bah, don't go telling him that. I don't need the lad gettin' all sentimental on me."

Leonis smiled, feeling an unexpected warmth for the grumpy dwarf. "Thank you, Baldric. I'll wield this sword with pride."

The dwarf's eyes softened for a brief moment before he turned away with a grunt. "Aye, ye'd better. Now, get outta here before I change my mind and take it back."

As Leonis and his uncle left the armory, the weight of the sword felt right in his hand. It was more than just a weapon, it was a symbol of his growth, his potential, and the future he was determined to forge.