Bell wandered through the stone halls of King Waldstein's palace, his thoughts still caught in the web of time. The days in Ankhetor had passed quickly, and Bell found himself deeply immersed in the past—a world without the divine blessings, where people fought with nothing but their raw strength, wit, and unyielding spirit. He admired it, and even more so, he respected the people who lived in these harsh conditions, facing monsters without the aid of gods.
It was during one of his many walks through the palace that Bell stumbled upon a courtyard he had not yet seen. The area was enclosed by high stone walls, with banners fluttering in the gentle breeze, and in the center of it all was a young boy. He couldn't have been more than ten years old, but there was a determination in his eyes as he swung a wooden sword with surprising intensity.
Bell stopped to watch, his interest piqued.
The boy's strikes were quick, precise, and fierce for someone his age. He moved with an energy that reminded Bell of someone familiar. For a moment, Bell just watched, smiling at the boy's effort. But as he kept observing, he began to notice the slight imperfections in the boy's form—little adjustments that could make him even stronger.
The boy swung again, panting slightly, when Bell finally spoke. "Your stance is too wide."
The young boy halted mid-swing and turned to face Bell, startled. His blue eyes, filled with fire and pride, narrowed at the unexpected critique.
"Who are you to say that?" the boy demanded, clutching the wooden sword tighter. He held his head high, his chin raised defiantly. "I am Prince Albert Waldstein, and I will be the greatest swordsman to ever live."
Bell raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. "Prince Albert, huh? Well, Prince or not, your footwork is sloppy, and your grip on the sword is too tight. You're going to tire yourself out before you've even begun."
The boy's eyes blazed with indignation, but there was a flicker of curiosity in them as well. "I don't believe you. Show me, then!"
Bell shrugged. "Alright, if you insist."
He picked up a wooden training sword from a nearby rack, twirling it in his hand with ease. The weapon felt light—far too light for someone of his strength—but he made do. He walked over to the boy, his expression calm and confident.
"Now, watch closely," Bell instructed, stepping into a basic stance. He raised the sword, holding it loosely but securely, and with a swift, fluid motion, he brought it down in a perfect arc. The force of his swing, though restrained, caused a gust of wind to ripple through the courtyard.
The boy's eyes widened in awe.
"See?" Bell said, resetting his stance. "It's not about how hard you grip the sword, but how you control it. A strong warrior doesn't rely on brute force alone."
Prince Albert's pride took a hit, but instead of backing down, he raised his chin and faced Bell with renewed determination. "Could you show me how."
Bell's smile widened. He could see it clearly now—this was the future Albert Waldstein, the legendary hero whose name would echo through the halls of history. He remembered reading about Albert's prowess, his indomitable will, and the tales of his monstrous strength. But here was Albert as a young boy—still rough around the edges, but full of potential.
"Alright," Bell said, stepping beside him. "First, adjust your stance. Feet shoulder-width apart. You want balance, but you also need flexibility to move. Good. Now, grip the sword like this—not too tight, just firm enough to guide it."
Albert followed Bell's instructions, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Now, try a swing," Bell encouraged.
The boy lifted the sword and brought it down. It wasn't perfect, but it was much better than before.
"Not bad," Bell said. "Now, again."
They spent the next hour going through the basics—stance, footwork, grip, and control. Bell corrected Albert's form with patience, showing him small adjustments that made a world of difference. Albert was a quick learner, picking up on Bell's lessons with remarkable speed.
After a while, the boy stopped, breathing heavily but with a wide grin on his face. "I'm going to be the greatest warrior," Albert declared again, his confidence undiminished.
Bell chuckled. "You might be, but not yet."
Albert's eyes flashed with competitive fire. "Fight me then! Let's see if you're as strong as you act."
Bell blinked, slightly taken aback by the challenge. "You want to fight me? Are you sure about that?"
The boy nodded, gripping his wooden sword tightly again. "I won't hold back!"
Bell laughed. "Alright, but I won't go easy on you."
They squared off in the courtyard, Albert's excitement palpable. The young prince charged at Bell with all the ferocity he could muster, his wooden sword swinging wildly. Bell, of course, dodged effortlessly, sidestepping each attack with a grin on his face.
"Too slow," Bell teased.
Albert growled in frustration, swinging harder, faster, but it was no use. Bell was leagues ahead in terms of skill and experience. Still, he admired the boy's spirit, and after a few exchanges, he decided to show him something more.
Bell let Albert close the distance, allowing him to think he had the upper hand. Then, with a swift motion, Bell parried the boy's sword and tapped him lightly on the head with the flat of his blade.
Albert stumbled back, wide-eyed. "You…you're really strong…"
Bell shrugged. "I told you I wouldn't hold back."
The young prince's expression twisted with frustration, but then, surprisingly, it softened. Instead of throwing a tantrum or sulking, Albert smiled—a genuine, wide smile filled with admiration.
"That was amazing!" he exclaimed. "Teach me more!"
Bell laughed and lowered his sword. "You're a tough kid, I'll give you that. Alright, let's take a break. There's more to being a great warrior than just swinging a sword around."
They sat down on the stone steps at the edge of the courtyard, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the ground. Albert sat beside Bell, his energy still high, but now tempered with curiosity.
"You're really strong, Bell," Albert said, looking up at him. "Stronger than anyone I've ever met. Even Father doesn't move like you do."
Bell smiled softly. "I've had a lot of practice. And a lot of good teachers."
"Who taught you?" Albert asked, his eyes wide with interest.
Bell thought for a moment, images of his mentors and companions flashing through his mind. "I learned from many people, over many years. Some taught me how to fight, others taught me how to think. And there were some who didn't teach me anything with words but showed me through their actions."
Albert looked down at his hands, gripping his sword. "Do you think I can be as strong as you one day?"
Bell glanced at the boy, and he could see it—the potential, the raw power just waiting to be honed. Albert Waldstein would one day become a hero, not because of his title or birthright, but because of his indomitable spirit.
"You can be stronger than me," Bell said sincerely. "But you have to work for it. It won't be easy, and there will be times when you want to give up. But if you keep going, keep pushing yourself, you'll get there."
Albert's eyes sparkled with determination. "I'll do it! I'll work hard every day!"
Bell chuckled. "Good. I'll help you when I can, but remember, this journey is yours. You have to want it for yourself."
They sat in silence for a while, the cool breeze carrying the sounds of the bustling palace. Bell found himself enjoying these moments—mentoring the young prince, talking to someone who would one day be a legendary hero. It was surreal, but it also gave him a strange sense of peace.
"You know," Bell began, glancing at the boy. "One day, people are going to write stories about you. Songs will be sung about your battles, and you'll be remembered as one of the greatest heroes of all time."
Albert looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You really think so?"
Bell nodded. "I know so."
They shared a smile, and for a moment, Bell forgot that he was a man out of time, lost in the past. He was here now, in this world, and maybe, just maybe, he was meant to be here.
As the afternoon wore on, Bell eventually stood, knowing that his time with the boy was coming to an end for now. The King was preparing his forces, and soon, Bell would be at the forefront of a campaign to rid the world of the monsters that plagued it.
"I have to go now," Bell said, placing a hand on Albert's shoulder. "But we'll train again soon."
Albert looked up at him with admiration in his eyes. "Promise?"
Bell smiled. "Promise."
And with that, Bell left the courtyard, walking away with a sense of purpose. He had become more than just a warrior here—he was becoming a mentor, a guide for the future. And as he prepared to face the coming battles, he knew that he would not only fight for the present but also for the future of this world, for people like Albert who would one day carry on the fight.