Chapter 7 — Wandering the Kingdom

The kingdom stretched endlessly before him—rolling hills dotted with villages, dense forests where sunlight barely touched the ground, and rivers that glimmered like silver ribbons. Kaelen walked without destination, each step purposeful yet free, a man unbound from the expectations of fame and glory.

The world outside the Colosseum was harsh. Wild beasts roamed the forests, brigands prowled the roads, and rumors of monsters whispered from village to village. For Kaelen, each encounter was a lesson. Every movement, every attack, every subtle motion of an opponent, a blade, or even a branch became part of his growing library of techniques.

In a small village market, a pair of drunk merchants tried to cheat a boy of his coin. Kaelen stepped between them, drawing the Morphblade silently. With a single, precise motion, he disarmed the stronger man and left the other cowering, unable to understand how effortlessly he moved. No one dared call him a hero, yet no one challenged him. Kaelen did not seek recognition. He sought understanding—of combat, of people, of life itself.

Days passed in a rhythm of observation, training, and survival. He slept under the stars, fished in streams, and sparred against bandits and wanderers alike. Every opponent, no matter how small, contributed to his mastery. His copy ability, once a tool for survival in the Colosseum, became sharper, faster, more instinctive. He no longer merely mimicked—he perfected what he saw, learning not just techniques but the intent behind them.

One evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, Kaelen sat by a river, sharpening the edge of his Morphblade. The sky burned crimson, reflecting in the water, and he watched the ripples distort his own reflection. In that moment, he remembered the crowds—the boos, the accusations, the blind admiration. The Colosseum felt like a lifetime ago. Here, in the wild, his skills were his own.

A rustle in the trees caught his attention. A wolf, sleek and black, stepped into the clearing, teeth bared, eyes glinting. Kaelen rose slowly, analyzing the creature. It lunged. He sidestepped effortlessly, using the wolf’s momentum against it. A single sweep of the Morphblade knocked it off balance, leaving it unharmed but subdued.

Kaelen’s lips curled into a faint, approving smile. Even in the wild, every challenge, no matter how small, sharpened him. Every move he copied, every instinct he honed, prepared him for something greater.

As night fell, he resumed walking. Villages and forests faded behind him. Ahead, the city of Valenheart glimmered like a jewel in the darkness, unaware of the traveler who would soon change the path of a young prince’s life.

For Kaelen, the journey was endless. Every step, every battle, every observation was a step closer to mastery. And as he moved, the shadows of monsters lurking beyond the kingdom stirred, as if sensing the Mirrorblade’s presence in a world that would soon need him more than ever.