The Tower Master listened in silence as the butler delivered his report.

  “Young Master has resumed normal movement,” he said evenly. “No attendants required. His appetite is stable. Sleep uninterrupted.”

  The old man’s fingers paused against the armrest. “And his days?”

  “Mostly spent in the ducal library,” the butler replied. “History. Geography. Kingdom records. He shows particular interest in administrative texts and magical theory.”

  Silence followed.

  “No signs of relapse?”

  “None observed.”

  The Tower Master exhaled slowly. If the boy could walk freely… if his strength had returned… then delaying any longer would serve no purpose.

  Training, then.

  Swordsmanship could be handled by Alric. That was simple.

  Magic, however—

  He frowned. His schedule was already overflowing, and leaving the Tower for extended periods was out of the question.

  “…Call her,” he said at last.

  The butler hesitated for just a fraction of a second. “The researcher currently on leave?”

  “Yes,” the Tower Master replied flatly.

  __

  In this world, noble education began early.

  Before the age of twelve, children were taught etiquette, arithmetic, history, and the theoretical foundations of magic. It wasn’t about casting spells—it was about understanding structure.

  Actual talent usually manifested later. Between eleven and thirteen, most children began to show signs of affinity, sensitivity to mana, or the ability to sense internal circuits.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Training only truly began once that threshold was crossed.

  Everyone learned the basics.

  Swordsmanship and magic were not mutually exclusive paths—not at the beginning. Children were taught fundamental weapon handling and basic mana control long before they were expected to specialize.

  Only later did people choose a direction. Some leaned toward magic, others toward the blade. Mages generally favored staves over swords, but that was preference, not law.

  And sword and staff were only the most common options. The variety of weapons was vast—short-range daggers, flexible chains, long-range bows, and more specialized tools designed for very specific styles of combat.

  What mattered wasn’t the weapon itself, but how well it suited the individual.

  With my condition deemed stable, there was no longer any reason to delay my training.

  __

  Dinner was quieter than usual.

  Father was present tonight, seated at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he worked through the meal with practiced ease.

  “You’ve been visiting the library often,” he said without looking up.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Kingdom records. Magical theory.”

  A brief pause. The faint clink of cutlery against porcelain.

  “I hear you no longer require supervision,” Father continued. “And that you walk the estate freely.”

  So that report had already reached him.

  “I feel fine,” I said. That much, at least, was true.

  He studied me then—not as a Tower Master, but as a father assessing whether the fragile child he remembered still existed.

  “In that case,” he said, “it’s time you began proper training.”

  There it was.

  “Swordsmanship will be handled by Alric ,” he continued. “Every noble learns the basics. Magic as well—when talent begins to surface, foundations must be laid early.”

  I nodded. This world expected that much of everyone.

  “I won’t be instructing you personally,” Father added. “My duties at the Tower won’t allow it.”

  Disappointment never crossed my mind. If anything, that outcome felt inevitable.

  “Instead, I’ve arranged for a tutor,” he said.

  Mother glanced up briefly, a knowing look passing through her eyes before she returned to her meal.

  “She’ll arrive in a few days.”

  I acknowledged it with a simple response. “I understand.”

  As the meal drew to a close, Father set his utensils aside and looked toward my brother.

  “You’re leaving for the Academy soon?” he said.

  “Three days from now,” my brother replied.

  “Preparations complete?”

  “Yes. The instructors have already sent their notices.”

  Father nodded once, approving. “Good. The Academy values discipline above talent. Remember that.”

  “I will,” my brother said.

  The exchange was short, but not distant. It carried the weight of expectation—of a path already walked by countless nobles before us.

  My brother’s gaze shifted briefly in my direction. Not pride. Not pity. Just acknowledgment.

  I returned it with a nod.

  Three years.

  By then, I would be standing at that same threshold.

  The difference was that, unlike him, I already knew the clock had started ticking.