The scene inside astonished all the trainees.

  Immediately beyond the gate was a large earthen courtyard, with scattered military-style training equipment.

  No marble courtyards. No fountains singing. No banners fluttering in theatrical welcome.

  Just a U-shaped row of wooden buildings stood at the end of the big yard. Plain. Solid. Unapologetically simple.

  Farther behind rose several taller structures, yet even those followed the same restrained design. No gemstones embedded in pillars, no gilded edges, no intricate carvings proclaiming wealth.

  If one judged by the length of the outer wall, this was likely only a small section of the entire Training Grounds. Even so, what lay before them was enough to make any would-be thief question whether climbing that modest wall had ever been worth the effort.

  Ferir, and a handful of other commoners, found the place… acceptable.

  But for the majority who had grown up wrapped in the splendor of the Palace of Light, however, this was less a surprise and more a collapse of fantasy.

  They had come expecting refinement. Instruction in statecraft delivered beneath chandeliers. Lessons in command followed by evenings attended by servants bearing trays of delicate pastries and fine tea.

  This was not a place for future rulers.

  Instead, it looked suspiciously like a barracks of soldiers.

  The white-robed man from the Grand Palace did not miss the trainees’ expressions, exchanged knowing smiles.

  Then a broad-shouldered man with close-cropped brown hair strode forward, spoke in a clear voice:

  “Trainees, assemble.”

  The sheer volume startled all twenty-seven of them. They scrambled toward him in a disorderly cluster, nearly colliding with one another.

  The man’s brow furrowed.

  “When I say ‘assemble,’ I expect you to form proper lines.”

  Ferir shifted sideways until he found himself aligned in something that resembled a row. Around him, others hurried to do the same, straightening their backs, adjusting their posture. The chaos gradually condensed into rough formation.

  Satisfied, the man continued.

  “I am Barten deLauren, chief supervisor of the upcoming training program. Within the Grand Palace, I serve as a member of the Council of Strategy. From this moment forward, this entire compound will be the extent of your daily lives and activities. Each trainee is treated fairly here and must abide by the rules and schedule common to all.

  “The days ahead will not be easy.” Barten went on. “But understand this. The effort required of you is both worthy and necessary. Each of you has already proven exceptional to stand here today. Do not forget the pride you carry, nor the true goal that lies before you.”

  A tall blond young man suddenly spoke up, his voice laced with open mockery.

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  “Here? Seriously? Even the barracks of the Palace of Light are more comfortable than this place.”

  Ferir had shared a carriage with him on the way here. The man had introduced himself as Tharnor, heir to the renowned House of Lambaror. Ferir could not deny he had taken a dislike to him. The entire journey had been an endless parade of hunting trophies and exaggerated exploits, each story polished brighter than the last.

  Barten lifted his chin slightly and fixed Tharnor with a level, unreadable stare.

  “You are Tharnor Rultoma Lambaror, correct? This Training Base was constructed following the architectural standards of the Grand Palace across several eras. In other words, former Rulers have endured conditions much the same as these. If such circumstances prove difficult for any of you, we will not prevent that person from leaving.”

  A prolonged silence followed as the man in white finished speaking. He looked around to make sure there were no more questions, then stepped back to let someone else introduce the schedule for the first day.

  The explanation went on and on under the blazing sun, which was pouring fire directly onto their heads.

  Next came the dormitory assignments.

  Two per room. Men and women separated. Ferir tried not to show his disappointment as his dream of having his own room shattered.

  The young women seemed to accept their pairings with easy smiles and soft chatter. On the other side, Ferir noticed Tharnor edging a little closer to Kevin.

  “If rooms are assigned by rank, perhaps you and I will be sharing, Your Highness.”

  Kevin did not respond, but his eyebrows furrowed slightly. It could have been irritation, or simply the merciless sunlight carving lines into his patience.

  “Ferir Hakken and Kevin Luskism Samuel K. Alaskark, room 4.”

  Ferir looked over and caught Kevin looking at him in the same way he looked at Tharnor.

  Ferir held no ill will toward the prince. Still, sharing a crumbling dormitory room with someone raised in silk and chandeliers was certainly not the best option.

  They were led to the residential quarters and dismissed to find their rooms and settle in. The classroom buildings had already lowered expectations, yet the dormitory managed to sink even further.

  It looked ancient.

  The structure might very well have been built a century ago and then forgotten by time. Black mold crawled across sections of the walls. Vines climbed upward as if trying to reclaim the building for nature. From a distance, it resembled a stacked warehouse more than a place meant for future Rulers.

  Ferir and Kevin located Room Four without difficulty. The number had been nailed onto the door long ago, its red paint faded into a tired, dusty shade.

  Ferir pushed the door open, and a wave of dust rushed out to greet them.

  Kevin recoiled instantly, coughing into his sleeve, dignity dissolving into sputters. Ferir, veteran of the Roman Library’s most abandoned shelves, calmly tied a cloth around his face and stepped inside as if entering a battlefield.

  The interior was as austere as the exterior had promised. In the center stood a round wooden table with two straight backed chairs. Against the right wall were two narrow wooden wardrobes. Nearby, a bookshelf faced the entrance.

  By the door rested a large aluminum water container perched on a stone base, designated for drinking water. A broom leaned in one corner. A wastebasket sat beside it.

  And…

  That was all.

  Kevin finally subdued his coughing fit and looked around, disbelief sharpening his features.

  “There are no beds?” he asked.

  Ferir glanced around once more, though he did not truly need to. A bed, if it existed, should have been the first thing to assert its presence in a room. This chamber barely had space to breathe, let alone accommodate two full sized beds.

  Kevin’s dissatisfaction surfaced without restraint.

  “What kind of management overlooks something as basic as beds? I need to speak with them.”

  He turned as if prepared to march straight back out, but Ferir caught his sleeve.

  “Wait. I think…”

  He stepped toward the wooden wall on the right and rapped his knuckles against it. The sound was hollow.

  Ferir examined the joint where two walls met and found a shallow indentation just large enough for his fingers. He hooked them in and pulled.

  With a grinding protest and a storm of dislodged dust, the wall panel shifted aside.

  Hidden within were two narrow beds, stacked one above the other and built directly into the wall.

  ? The Noble Reincanarted Demon King ?

  by BookRusher98