After passing through the grand gates of the royal palace, Lucas sat back in his seat and let out a sigh, he gazed through the tinted window as the majestic structure grew larger in his view. The paved driveway curved elegantly, lined with rows of immaculately trimmed hedges and flowerbeds blooming with rare and colorful flowers. Towering marble statues of heroes and monarchs past stood on either side of the path, exuding an air of power and grandeur.
The driver, with calm precision, navigated toward the designated car park. As soon as the vehicle came to a halt, a well-dressed butler appeared, his posture stiff and movements smooth, betraying years of polished service.
"Young Master Lucas, you're welcomed, this way please," the butler said in a refined voice as he opened the car door with a respectful bow.
Lucas gave a slight nod and stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting the light cloak he wore over his outfit. Though young, he carried himself with a mixture of calm confidence and suppressed nerves. He followed the butler through the intricately designed courtyard, the stone tiles beneath his feet echoing faintly with every step. Before long, they reached an enormous set of double doors inlaid with golden patterns and intricate carvings of dragons and celestial beings.
"These are the doors to the throne room. Please wait here while I announce your arrival to His Majesty," the butler said, before pushing open the heavy doors with surprising ease and disappearing inside.
Now alone, Lucas took a moment to absorb his surroundings. The throne room was nothing short of breathtaking. Gleaming tiles stretched across the vast floor, each one so clean it reflected the chandelier's glow above like a mirror. Golden and white candles lined the walls in elegant sconces, and tiny, star-like lights sparkled from the ceiling, casting a soft, warm radiance over the room.
The chandelier itself was a masterpiece—crafted from pure crystal and gold, shaped into swirling spirals and studded with diamonds that sparkled with every flicker of light. But what truly caught Lucas's attention was the throne. Elevated on a marble dais, the regal chair looked more like an artifact than a piece of furniture. Crafted from a mixture of solid gold and crimson velvet, with rubies and emeralds embedded along the armrests and frame, the throne radiated authority and wealth. Even the backrest shimmered with what appeared to be dragon-scale embroidery.
Lucas forced himself not to gawk and look like a country bumkin, aware of the blinking CCTV cameras mounted around the room. He remained composed, standing tall with his hands folded neatly behind him, waiting.
Moments passed.
Then, with a soft creak, a smaller door behind the throne opened. A tall, regal man with white beards and an authoritative presence stepped inside. His steps were deliberate, his face composed, and even without wearing a crown, there was no mistaking that this was the King.
"Welcome to the palace, Saint Lucas," the King said warmly as he ascended to his throne and sat with grace. "Apologies for keeping you waiting. Though I asked you to pay me a visit, I didn't expect you to come by so soon."
Lucas immediately bowed his head respectfully. "There's no inconvenience at all, Your Highness. A personal invitation from the King himself is not something to delay. I came as quickly as I could."
The King chuckled softly. "Hey kid, there's no need to be overly formal. I wouldn't want a Saint—especially one who's friends with my daughter—to be too stiff around me. Relax.
Lucas gave a sheepish nod. "Thank you, Your Highness."
Truth be told, Lucas was doing everything he could to keep his composure. The aura radiating from the King was almost suffocating. It wasn't aggressive, but it was dense and heavy—like standing under a waterfall of pressure. Even though it was clearly being suppressed, Lucas could feel the sheer magnitude of the King's power. He could only imagine what it would be like if the King ever decided to unleash it fully.
"Now," the King said, his expression becoming more serious. "Let's get to the point."
Lucas straightened.
"The world rulers had a summit yesterday. When I say 'world rulers,' I mean the monarchs of all the continents—be it human, beastfolk, elves, or dragons. We've reached an agreement to start structured training for the new Saints. The goal is to give each of you the best instruction possible from the finest mentors our continents can offer."
He paused briefly, then smiled. "Ah, forgive me. You don't speak or act like a typical five-year-old, so I forgot you're still one. But to put it simply: you're going to be assigned an elite instructor. Someone who will help you grow your strength faster than any regular teacher could."
Lucas's eyes lit up with excitement. "Thank you, Your Highness. That's a great honor."
The King raised a hand. "No need to thank me. It's part of my duty to support your development. Though, I should mention…" He gave a thoughtful frown. "The instructor I've chosen for you is a bit... extreme. But she's talented, no doubt. And she's already in the palace. You'll meet her as soon as we're done here."
Lucas bowed once more. "I'll do my best not to disappoint ."
The King nodded. "Good. If there's nothing else, you may go. The butler outside will take you to her."
With a final bow, Lucas turned and exited the throne room. Outside, the same butler was waiting patiently.
"Please follow me, young master," he said politely.
They began walking through a different hallway of the palace, this one lined with glass windows that overlooked a vast royal garden. Colorful birds flitted through the air, and the smell of roses and jasmine wafted through the open panes. As they passed by, Lucas's curiosity began to build.
What kind of instructor would be described as 'extreme'? he wondered. Hopefully not another weirdo like that drunken man from this earlier.
Eventually, they reached the garden itself. At the far side, beneath the shade of a blooming cherry blossom tree, sat a woman dressed in a combat bodysuit with light armor. She was sipping tea, her crimson hair tied up in a high ponytail. The moment she heard approaching footsteps, she set her cup down gently and turned to face them.
She stood with an air of confidence, and her piercing eyes scanned Lucas from head to toe like a hawk eyeing a target.
After a brief pause, she smiled—though there was something dangerous behind it.
"Well, well," she said in a teasing tone, walking up to Lucas. "So you're the little prodigy I've been assigned to."
Lucas blinked as she crouched slightly to meet his eye level.
"I'm Anya," she continued, reaching out and patting his shoulder. "And I'll be your new instructor."
She then touched his arm and nodded in approval. "Not bad… I can tell you've already been working out. That's pretty surprising for a five-year-old. Hah!" She let out a strange laugh, part amused, part unsettling.
Then came the grin.
A wide, devilish smirk spread across her face as she leaned in closer. "Let me tell you something listen closely, kid. I'm going to make you tough as hell. Stronger than any Saint this world has ever known. But it's going to hurt. You'll wish you could quit—but you won't. You're my little diamond in the rough now."
Lucas flinch, as single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.
Oh no… turns out my instructor's a complete psychopath, he thought, his inner voice deadpan. Yep. I'm doomed.
"Alright, champ," Anya said, straightening up. "I'll come over to your estate. We start training tomorrow at dawn. No whining. No skipping. And definitely no crying."
Lucas gave a tight nod, mentally preparing himself for what was coming.
Whatever happens… I'll survive this. I have to. If I want to stay ahead of the real protagonist, then I have no choice but to get as strong as possible.