Edran POV

Edran sat there and wanted to die, or maybe just disappear. Either worked, really.

Here was his younger brother, the family's great hope, practically begging some Instance Seven shit for brains for help. Instance Seven, which was a garbage heap and a place where failures went to pretend they still mattered.

And Jason had lost to this guy.

Edran kept his face neutral, polite even, because that's what you did when you were drowning and someone threw you a rope made of straw. Especially when that someone was royalty. You smiled and said thank you and pretended it might actually save you. Even when you knew it wouldn't.

The Brennans were destroying them. Systematically, methodically, with the kind of patience that only old money could afford. Every business venture suddenly hit mysterious delays, and every contract found itself tangled in red tap

And Jason's grand plan? Win the tournament. Make a splash. Get the king's attention. Win and request this be stopped.

He couldn't even win Instance Seven.

Edran responded when spoken to, nodded when appropriate, maintained the facade of interest that politeness demanded. Inside, though? Inside he was screaming. This prince—Theodore—was their last hope? This was what they'd been reduced to?

He'd watched the recordings, of course. Everyone had. Theodore was good, but nothing impressive. He had gotten lucky, that's all, not meeting Jason. Good matchups, favorable terrain, opponents who made mistakes.

Theodore was talking about [Mana Manipulation], and Edran made the appropriate listening noises while internally cataloging all the ways this was pointless. They needed practical help, not theoretical discussions about skill mechanics. They needed someone who could actually emulate Garrett, not someone who'd gotten lucky in the worst Instance bracket.

"Well, I'm afraid I cannot help you with replicating those skills," Theodore said.

Irritated, Edran stood immediately, the relief of being able to leave almost overwhelming. "Let's go, I told you this was a waste of time."

Jason's hand clamped down on his arm, pulling him back down. The grip was firm, unyielding, and the smile never left his brother's face. "Sit down, brother. It's quite impolite to just leave like that."

The humiliation burned him silently. Not just that they were here, begging, but that Jason wouldn't even let him maintain the pretense of dignity. Had to keep him here and make him sit through this farce to make sure everyone saw exactly how desperate the Kormack family had become.

Theodore watched them with what looked like amusement, and Edran wanted to scream. Their family was dying, their entire legacy crumbling, and this prince found it entertaining?

"I said I can't help you replicate the skills. I didn't say I couldn't help."

Oh, wonderful.

More false hope and straws to grasp at while they drowned.

Edran settled back in his chair because what else could he do? Jason had made it clear they weren't leaving, and causing a scene would only make things worse.

But he could at least expose this for the waste of time it was.

"Your Highness, might I ask how one would defend against skills that have been refined over generations? Surely theoretical knowledge differs from practical application." Edran said, keeping his tone respectful but letting skepticism color the edges. "The Brennans are known for their domination skills. Complete mind control over their opponents. How does one counter something like that?"

He'd heard the rumors, same as everyone. The Brennans could make you their puppet, force you to act against your will, turn your own body into their weapon. It was the kind of power that belonged in stories, not reality, but enough people had experienced it firsthand that even the skeptics had to acknowledge something was there.

Theodore tilted his head slightly, and something in his expression shifted.

"The Brennans don't use mind magic, they use [Blood Manipulation] and [Telekinesis]," Theodore said casually, like he was discussing the weather. "Not domination, not control in the way you're thinking. Those are just rumors."

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Edran's thoughts stuttered to a halt.

How did he know that?

The Brennan family secrets were exactly that—secrets.

Generations of careful obfuscation, of misdirection, of letting people believe whatever terrified them most. And he just... knew?

"Both skills work through intent when dealing with creatures that have willpower," Theodore continued, still in that same casual tone. "The manipulation requires imposing your will over theirs. It's a clash, brief but decisive. Win that clash, and their skills fail. Lose it, and you're at their mercy. The actual "weighing" happens in an instant."

It sounded too simple. There had to be more to it than that.

"Here," Theodore said, turning to Edran directly. "You're Rank 5, right? You know how to project killing intent? You have to, it's one of the basic skills of Rank 5s. Try it on me."

Edran blinked, confused by the sudden request. "I'm sorry?"

"Project your intent at me. Hostile, killing, whatever you want to call it. You're Rank 5, you've certainly learned how to do it by now."

Was this a joke?

Some kind of elaborate mockery?

But Jason was nodding, encouraging, and what else could Edran do? He gathered his intent, that focused hostility that Rank 5s could weaponize and manifest in the world, and directed it at Theodore.

Or at least, he tried to.

The prince didn't even blink, much less flinch or react in any manner. He just kept talking like nothing was happening. As if Edran's full on killing intent, which could make weaker Rank 3s collapse and Rank 4s flinch away, was beneath notice.

…How?

"See, intent is interesting," Theodore was saying, completely unbothered. "Most people think of it as an attack, but against skills like [Blood Manipulation], it's more like armor. A barrier that says 'no, you can't touch me.'"

Pride rearing its ugly head and taking over Edran's rational mind, he pushed harder. His ego demanded some kind of reaction. Theodore surely had limits. Surely, he couldn't just ignore a Rank 5's focused killing intent.

Theodore blinked.

That was it.

"That's actually perfect," Theodore said with a smile, but it wasn't mocking. "See how you're straining? That's exactly what Garrett will do when his skill fails—provided, of course, you can train your willpower higher than someone who's dedicated his whole life to the two main skills his family has which require willpower to dominate their opponent."

The casual devastation of that statement hit Edran like ice water.

He'd been straining?

What?

"The key is making your will a wall, not a sword. You're not trying to attack them, you're trying to exist so firmly that their attempts to change you simply... don't." Theodore said.

"How?" The word escaped before Edran could stop it.

"Training," Theodore said simply. "Meditation, focus exercises, constant practice at maintaining your sense of self against external pressure. You're Rank 5, Edran, you can help your brother out. In fact, if you have any other Rank 5s or Rank 6 in your family, have them bombard Jason. That's the training. He'll develop resistance. I doubt he'll have enough time, though. The Brennans spend their whole lives learning to project their will outward. You need to spend way less time learning to keep yours contained, solid, immovable."

"That's it? Just... willpower training?" Jason asked, and Edran could hear the same desperate hope in his brother's voice that he was feeling.

Theodore raised an eyebrow. "You're talking about matching someone who's had generational knowledge and decades of practice. Garrett's not some amateur who stumbled into these skills. His entire family structure is built around maximizing their effectiveness."

The hope dimmed but didn't die, because at least it was something. At least it was a path forward that didn't involve groveling to other noble families or abandoning everything they'd built.

"Understand, this isn't going to be easy. Or quick. Or guaranteed."

"But it's possible," Jason said, and it wasn't really a question.

"Everything's possible," Theodore replied. "The question is whether you can develop enough willpower in time. Garrett's had his whole life. You have, what, less than a week or two depending on what the second event turns out to be and if you face him there? Regardless, there's another factor. Emotion weakens your defenses. Fear, anger, desperation—they all create cracks that skills like [Blood Manipulation] can exploit. The calmer you are, the more solid your defense. Start small, work your way up"

He stood then, apparently considering the lesson complete. "This has been a pleasant conversation, gentlemen, but I'm afraid I must attend to other matters."

"Why help us?" Edran found himself asking as Theodore turned to leave.

The prince paused, seemed to consider the question. "Because it's interesting," he said finally. "And because Jason asked politely. Amazing how far basic courtesy gets you, isn't it?"

After Theodore left, the brothers sat in silence for a moment.

"Well," Jason said eventually, "that went better than expected."

"You really think we can do this?" Edran asked, hating how young and unsure he sounded despite being the older one.

"I think we don't have a choice."

They'd fight because they had to fight. They'd train because they had to train. All they needed was a chance, and they'd gotten it. However slim, however improbable, it was more than they'd had this morning.

"We should start immediately. Every day matters now."

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