Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

The knights of the Chryso stirred uneasily. They were sworn to protect the imperial family, but situations like this - conflicts between princes - put them in an impossible position. Their commander, a grizzled veteran who had served three generations of the imperial family, watched the exchange with carefully concealed concern.

Castor's voice dripped with disdain as he replied, "At least I don't skulk back to the palace like a thief in the night, dressed like a common traveler and eating street food.

Have you fallen so far that you can't even maintain the basic dignity expected of your station? Or perhaps you've finally run out of coin in your wanderings and come crawling back to the imperial teat?"

A pulse of power, subtle but unmistakable, emanated from Jaegar.

The air seemed to grow heavier, and the enchanted flames in the nearby wall sconces flickered.

"Careful, Mister Castor," he said softly, all pretence of disinterest gone from his voice. "You speak of things you don't understand. I've walked paths you couldn't imagine in your most fevered dreams, seen wonders and horrors that would shatter that fragile façade of importance you wear like borrowed clothing. I'm here because I choose to be, not because I need anything from this gilded cage you call home."

Castor, to his credit, stood his ground despite the magical pressure that made several of his knights take involuntary steps backward. "What does a petty outlaw like you know about the duties of the palace?"

A cold laugh escaped Jaegar's lips. "You should really watch you speak; otherwise, you won't have a tongue to waggle anymore."

"Is that a threat?" Castor's voice was quiet now, dangerous.

"A threat? No," Jaegar replied, taking a step forward.

The knights tensed, but he paid them no mind. "Merely a warning. But since you seem so concerned with duty and responsibility, let me give you some free advice: when the real storm comes, and it is coming, your golden armour and court intrigues won't save you. The game you're playing is so much smaller than you realize."

The tension in the entrance hall finally snapped like an overdrawn bowstring.

Jaegar, his earlier façade of casual indifference evaporating like morning dew, took a deliberate step toward Castor. The temperature in the hall seemed to drop several degrees as he spoke, his voice low and dangerous.

Even knights behind him thought that Castor spoke out of turn.

"You speak so high for someone who had been locked for the biggest crime," Castor said casually, but as soon as he spoke, the temperature suddenly dropped as Jaegar's expression turned serious.

"You really don't know who you are messing with. And whoever sent you, tell them I am not a man to follow the rules."

What happened next occurred so quickly that most of the observers would later struggle to describe it.

One moment, Jaegar was several paces away from Castor; the next, he had crossed the distance in a blur of motion that defied normal human capabilities.

His fist, devoid of any magical enhancement yet moving with devastating precision, struck Castor squarely in the stomach.

The impact was catastrophic.

Castor, despite his own considerable martial training, had no time to properly brace himself.

The blow lifted him off his feet, driving the air from his lungs into an explosive gasp. His body, propelled by the sheer force of the strike, hurtled through the air like a discarded doll, crossing the entire length of the entrance hall before crashing into the far wall with a sickening thud.

The ornate hall, with its soaring pillars opening to the outside and its floors of polished marble, fell utterly silent, save for the echo of Castor's impact and the faint groans now emanating from his crumpled form.

The assembled knights stood frozen, their golden armour catching the last rays of the setting sun as they struggled to process what they had just witnessed.

What made the display all the more shocking was the complete absence of magic.

Every person present in that hall was a trained knight, and they all recognized that Jaegar had accomplished this feat through pure physical prowess.

It was a chilling reminder that the wizard prince was dangerous not just for his magical abilities, but for his martial skills as well.

Ser Neale, the vice head of the palace guard knights, finally broke the stunned silence with a weary sigh.

A veteran of countless campaigns and political intrigues, he had hoped to avoid becoming entangled in yet another dispute between princes.

But duty left him no choice.

Stepping forward, his armour hardly making a sound despite its weight—a testament to his mastery of movement in battle gear—he addressed the wizard prince.

"Prince Jaegar, you shouldn't have done that." His tone was respectful but firm, carrying the authority of his position and his reputation as one of the finest warriors in the empire.

Jaegar turned to face him, a hint of amusement playing across his features. "And what are you going to do about it?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge, or perhaps an invitation.

Neale's response was to slowly unsheathe his sword, the enchanted blade catching the light and seeming to hum with barely contained power.

Around him, the other knights moved into a complex formation that spoke of countless hours of training together. These were not ordinary knights; they were masters of their craft, each capable of holding their own against a dozen regular warriors.

A smile crept across Jaegar's face as he observed their movements.

They certainly knew how to welcome him home, he thought to himself.

Despite the gravity of the situation, there was an almost juvenile excitement in his expression as he prepared to face multiple opponents of this calibre. Your next chapter is on empire

He made a conscious decision not to use his magic; this would be a perfect opportunity to test the limits of his physical training, and see how far he had progressed in honing his body to match his magical might.