5. The Mischievous Prince in Training
The next morning, Eryndor awoke to the booming voice of Celyndor echoing through the halls.
"Get up, you lazy brat! You have training today!"
Eryndor groaned, pulling the covers over his head. "Why does being a prince involve waking up so early? Can't I just sleep until noon and rule from my bed?"
Elantha popped her head in, smirking. "Nope. Father said today's training is non-negotiable. Politics in the morning, magic in the afternoon."
"Politics and magic? Who even scheduled this nightmare?" He let out a deep groan.
"Mother," Elantha said with a wicked grin. "Have fun!"
The first lesson was with his father in the royal study, a grand room filled with shelves of ancient tomes, maps of the kingdom, and an overwhelming sense of authority.
King Altharion sat behind a massive desk, his expression stern. "Eryndor, as a prince, you must understand diplomacy. Today, we will discuss treaties."
"Treaties?" Eryndor yawned, slumping into his chair. "Can't we just skip to the part where I sit on the throne and look handsome?"
The king glared. "A ruler who does not understand the art of negotiation is a ruler doomed to fail."
As Altharion droned on about trade agreements and territorial disputes, Eryndor's mind wandered. His system chimed in:
[New Task: Propose a Ridiculous Treaty to Test Your Diplomacy Skills!]
Eryndor's eyes lit up. He raised his hand. "Father, may I suggest a treaty idea?"
The king arched an eyebrow. "Go on."
Eryndor stood, adopting a mock-serious tone. "We should establish a treaty with the squirrels of the Eastern Forest. In exchange for their acorn supply, we offer them... access to our royal bathhouse!"
The room fell silent. Then, Altharion slammed his hand on the desk.
"Eryndor!" His father's aggressive tone caused him to shake.
"What?" Eryndor said, shrugging. "It's innovative! Squirrels are very resourceful."
Even Altharion couldn't suppress a chuckle, though he quickly masked it with a cough. "Enough of your nonsense. Focus! One day you will come to understand the scope of this world and be serious with your future."
After a grueling morning of political training (and several reprimands), Eryndor moved to the castle courtyard for his magic lesson.
His instructor, Archmage Kaelith, was a stoic elf with a beard so long it nearly touched the ground. He looked at Eryndor as if he were a particularly unruly spell gone wrong.
"Today, we will practice control," Kaelith said, handing Eryndor a glowing crystal. "Infuse it with a steady stream of mana."
Eryndor held the crystal and focused, his brow furrowed. He could feel his magic surging, but controlling it was another matter entirely.
[New Task: Overcharge the Crystal for Maximum Chaos!]
Eryndor's grin widened. "Steady stream? Got it."
He poured an excessive amount of mana into the crystal. It began to glow brighter... and brighter... until it exploded in a shower of sparks.
Kaelith's beard caught fire.
The old mage calmly conjured a water spell to douse himself, though his glare could have turned the entire courtyard to ice.
"Eryndor," Kaelith said, his voice dangerously calm, "perhaps we should focus on theory today."
After the explosion, Eryndor limped back to the dining hall for lunch, only to find his siblings waiting for him.
Celyndor smirked. "I heard you tried to blow up Kaelith."
"It was a controlled explosion," Eryndor said defensively, taking a bite of bread.
"That's what they all say," Elantha quipped, patting him on the head.
Despite the teasing, Eryndor knew his siblings cared. Elantha often covered for his mischief, while Celyndor— though strict— secretly admired Eryndor's creativity.
The system chimed in again:
[New Task: Compliment Celyndor Without Sounding Sarcastic. Reward: +1 Charisma Point.]
Eryndor winced. Complimenting his brother? That was harder than any spell.
"Celyndor," he began, forcing a smile, "you're... uh... very good at glaring. It's inspiring, really."
Celyndor rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."
The day ended with a lesson from Queen Lysithea, who took a more hands-on approach.
"Leadership isn't about power," she said, walking with Eryndor through the gardens. "It's about understanding your people and earning their trust."
Eryndor nodded, pretending to listen. Then he spotted a group of palace guards training nearby.
"Mother," he said, grinning mischievously, "can I earn their trust by challenging them to a duel?"
Lythea sighed. "Eryndor, sometimes I wonder if you'll ever take this seriously."
The system, however, had other ideas distracting him from her words:
[New Task: Challenge the Captain of the Guard to a Duel. Bonus Reward: +1 Strength Point if You Land a Single Hit!]
Eryndor bolted toward the guards before Lysithea could stop him.
The guards burst into laughter as the young prince stood before Captain Thalor, a towering elf with arms like tree trunks. His silver armour reflecting the light from the sun.
"I challenge you to a duel!" Eryndor declared, holding up a practice sword.
Thalor raised an eyebrow but humored the prince that looked ridiculously tiny compared to his frame. "As you wish, my prince."
The duel began, and Eryndor's strategy was simple: dodge, distract, and hope for a miracle. Thalor who had been bored took this as a moment to amuse himself, he did not even count it as an actual duel.
He darted between Thalor's legs, threw a handful of dirt at his face (earning groans from the watching guards), and even tried to tickle him. Thalor laughed as pretended to be affected.
Finally, with a desperate lunge, Eryndor managed to poke Thalor's knee.
"Ha!" he shouted, throwing his arms in the air. "Victory is mine!"
Thalor shook his head, amused. "You're relentless, I'll give you that."
As the sun set, Eryndor returned to his room, exhausted but satisfied. His system chimed one last time:
[Daily Summary: Tasks Completed – 3. Rewards Earned – Charisma +1, Strength +1, Reputation Among Squirrels +100.]
Eryndor flopped onto his bed, grinning. His days might be chaotic, but they were never boring. And somewhere deep down, he knew that even through the mishaps, he was learning what it meant to be a prince— his way.
What could possibly go wrong with his perfectly carefree life?