The Perfect Knight and the Illusionist (BL)
Chapter 1: Marius Valenkraft

Chapter 1: Marius Valenkraft

MARIUS

"Marius Valenkraft."

I rose from my seat as the Dean of the Royal Knights Academy announced my name, correctly cutting through the softness of ’Valen’ with a hard K, then crushing it beneath the guttural R, and ending it with the clipped final -ft of "kraft."

My reputation preceded me, as it always did. Sometimes it was to my credit, but most of the time it was because of the legacy that the name Valenkraft carried.

A thousand pairs of eyes were fixed on me, watching my every move. Some gazes admired me. Some probed me. And some challenged me. The whispers sizzled in the air, most of them merely repeating my name as if to remind themselves that they were in the presence of a real Valen.

I walked through the wide aisle in the center, making sure that every single step I took emanated confidence and intent. The sunbeams that shone through half-translucent walls of the ceremonial hall guided me, just as the legend says my ancestor from millennia ago—a man simply named "Valen" back then—was led to find the last surviving bloodline of the royal family just in time to save the heir’s life. Without Valen the First Knight, there would have been no Emperor of today, and probably no Empire at all.

So here I was, a man of the thirty-sixth generation of the Valenkrafts, invited to the stage to give a speech at the enrollment ceremony for the Royal Knights Academy as the representative of the new entrants.

As I got onto the stage, I bowed to the Dean, turned, bowed to my peers who would go on to become my comrades, and began to recite a speech I had prepared.

Being the meticulous man that I was—against my wishes—I had written and practiced my speech to perfection. Words flowed out naturally, each syllable articulated with polite authority I had been trained to assert since I was a child. The content of my speech was flawless, the delivery perfect. My focus was not on avoiding mistakes, but on making sure that I won the approval and acceptance of everyone. Here, today.

My eyes, filled with conviction that I learned to wear, relentlessly sought to meet the gaze of everyone. Each moment of eye contact was to last no longer than a second, and within that second, I had to turn hostile hearts into friendliness, skepticism into belief, and envy into admiration. I was destined for great things—

I was designed for this.

Then my eyes landed on a boy.

First, there was intrigue — who turns up to the entrance ceremony with such disheveled hair?

Then an observation — he’s rather small and frail to be a knight, isn’t he?

Then a little irritation — why won’t you look at me?

Then a little skip of the heart as he turned his head, gave me a side-glance, and blushed.

Our eyes finally met and something in me broke, as if an intrusive thought I had dedicated my entire life to keeping away finally found a weak spot in my heart and poked it with a soft tip of a child’s finger.

For the first time in my life, I stuttered. In front of everyone.

I desperately averted my gaze from the boy and continued.

"Be strong, Marius. You can’t afford not to."

My father’s words echoed in my mind.

Those words were engraved in me for as long as I could remember. And those words were with me in the harsh wind that stung my cheeks on winter night’s hike through the mountain trail wearing only linen shirts and shorts. Those words were with me between the thousandth and two thousandth sword swing I practiced in a day. The words enabled me, guiding me ’to be’ what I needed to be. The words stopped me, reminding me what ’not to’ be.

I only stuttered once, but I felt my voice needed extra conscious effort to keep steady.

I focused on the tip of my right index finger. This is where I always started, a routine I practiced through countless nights I needed something to hold onto in the dark of my own room when uncertainties filled my young mind.

My gaze betrayed me for a moment and caught a glimpse of the boy’s pale blond hair again while I was trying to look at another student,

So I moved my attention to the first joint.

As the blue shade of the boy’s eyes flickered in my mind I focused on the second joint.

Erase him, Marius.

Feel my knuckles, my wrist, my elbow, and my shoulder.

Erase him.

Body rules the mind.

That was what Father told me. A bodily control can discipline the weak mind, trapping it in the right place, stopping it from wandering around, and letting it serve the body as it was supposed to.

And it worked. As it always did.

I got back on track after that little stumble, and when I finished my speech, I was content that I did not fail.

Applause, cheers, a nod of approval from the Dean.

I did deliver. My imperfection, that rarest of rare moments of weakness, had been noticed only by a single insignificant boy with messy hair.

On the way back to my seat, I persevered. I managed. I succeeded—

In not looking for that boy again.