Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 100: Training Day

The third-year elf—still standing perfectly upright with one fist pressed to his chest—did not blink.

Lindarion stared at him.

'Am I supposed to knight him or something?'

A few students down the path had paused to gawk. One girl near the stairwell was whispering into her friend's ear. A small group of second-years exchanged sharp glances.

Lindarion cleared his throat. "You can stop that."

The elf blinked once. "Your Highness?"

"Don't call me that," Lindarion muttered. "And stop saluting. It's weird."

The elf looked confused. Then bowed lower.

"Understood, Prince."

'Oh, we're going to need a full reset on this one.'

Lindarion sighed. "Do you want something, or did you just come here to scare half the hallway?"

The elf straightened again, very slowly. "I was instructed to offer my assistance should you ever require a sparring partner, a guide, or a second in a formal duel."

"…By who?"

"House Ardran of the Eastern Line," the elf said proudly. "We owe your house a blood-debt, and it is my family's honor to—"

"Okay," Lindarion interrupted. "I get it."

The elf blinked. "Do you wish to duel me now?"

"What? No."

"I accept."

Lindarion stared at him.

"…Please go do something else."

"Yes, Your—yes."

The elf gave a stiff bow, pivoted on his heel, and marched off like he was returning from war.

Lindarion stood still for another few seconds.

Then finally muttered, "What the hell was that?"

He adjusted his collar, shook off the stares, and kept walking.

—

The stone yard to the hand to hand combat class was wide, flat, and unforgiving—like the rest of Sera's personality.

Most of the others were already there, scattered in uneven groups.

Cassian was stretching with exaggerated groans.

Elara had her sleeves rolled up like she'd come looking for a fight.

Valen was sitting cross-legged in the corner, letting the wind ruffle his hair like it owed him something.

Luneth stood alone, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

Then there was Jack.

Of course he was there.

Lindarion didn't acknowledge him. He didn't need to. Jack had that kind of presence—loud without speaking, smug without smiling.

'Maybe if I ignore him hard enough, he'll combust or something.'

Sera arrived in the middle of a shouted laugh.

"Alright, you soft-fingered spell flingers!" she boomed.

"This is basic combat. That means no spells, no threads, no mana flexing—nothing. Just bones, breath, and bruises. If you've got a pretty face, say goodbye to it again!"

Cassian raised a hand. "Do we get insurance?"

"Do I look like a healer to you?"

Cassian put the hand down.

Sera clapped her hands once. The sound cracked like a whip. "Pair off!"

'Again..'

Lindarion didn't move.

He didn't need to.

Because Jack was already walking toward him.

'Oh, for the love of—'

Jack stopped a few feet away. Arms loose. Not a smile, not a word. Just that insufferable, permanent I-know-something-you-don't look on his face.

"I'm not interested," Lindarion said flatly.

"You're not my type," Jack replied coolly. "But you're the strongest in the room. Unfortunately."

Sera glanced over. "You two? Fine. Try not to kill each other."

"Can't make promises," Jack murmured.

They stepped into the circle.

No bow. No greeting.

Just tension.

Lindarion exhaled.

'Let's get this over with.'

—

Jack moved first.

No jab. No test. Just a straight punch to the throat—sharp and fast.

Lindarion ducked, swept left, and jabbed a knuckle into Jack's side. The hit landed, but Jack didn't flinch. He just twisted into a rising elbow that nearly clipped Lindarion's chin.

They broke apart. Reset.

Around them, the others had mostly stopped fighting. Watching now.

Jack stepped forward again.

Clean footwork. Crisp strikes.

'He still isn't bad.'

But Lindarion saw the pattern immediately.

Every step Jack made had intention—but no unpredictability. He was skilled, precise, talented.

But he wanted to win.

Lindarion didn't care about this.

He wanted Jack to miss.

And he did.

Lindarion sidestepped another punch, pivoted smoothly, and slammed a palm into Jack's shoulder, sending him stumbling.

Jack recovered fast—but his smirk was gone now.

"Still playing defensive," he said under his breath. "You ever going to hit like you mean it?"

"I don't need to," Lindarion replied. "You're doing a fine job embarrassing yourself."

Jack lunged.

A low feint, followed by a high knee meant to disorient. Lindarion turned with it, caught Jack's leg mid-air, and shoved upward.

Jack flipped—clean, almost graceful—and landed hard on his back.

The dust kicked up.

Lindarion didn't offer a hand.

Sera's voice cracked across the field. "Point. Sunblade."

Jack lay there, teeth clenched, staring up at the sky like it had insulted him personally.

Lindarion turned away without a word.

But just before he stepped out of the circle—

"You're lucky I like the rules of this place," Jack muttered.

Lindarion paused. Glanced back over his shoulder.

"No," he said. "You're lucky I'm letting you walk."

—

As the others resumed sparring, Lindarion stood near the edge of the yard, arms crossed, ignoring the occasional glance.

Elara was arguing with Vivienne about form.

Cassian was dragging Nikolai through an overly dramatic retelling of his last fight.

Valen and Rowan were both bleeding from the lip and not talking about it.

And Jack?

Jack was standing off to the side, jaw tense, wiping dust from his sleeves like it mattered.

Sera barked from the center of the yard.

"Tomorrow—group duels. Three on three. And yes, you'll be able to use mana, but if you channel like an idiot, I'll break your fingers myself."

Lindarion sighed.

'Just another day in paradise.'

—

Lindarion stepped through the double-arched threshold into the third-year threading chamber and felt the shift immediately—like slipping into a pool with no ripples.

There were already a bunch of students scattered throughout the room, but no one spoke. Not to him. Barely to each other.

They didn't need to.

The silence was the test.

Sleek polished stone underfoot. A wide, empty training platform at the center. No instruction posted. No warm-up drills. Just dummies—more advanced than the ones first-years trained with. These weren't practice models.

These were calibrated for pain.

'Guess this is the part where they pretend not to stare.'

They didn't. Not really.

But he felt it all the same.

Third-years leaned on walls, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.

Some pretended he wasn't even there. Others glanced, blinked once, and returned to their thoughts like he'd already been evaluated and shelved.

Only one person gave him a second look.

Darius.

The boy from last time. Tall, way sharper now. Nodded once.

Lindarion returned it.

That was enough.

"Third-year threading enhancement," a voice barked from the far entrance.

Instructor Kaelen strode in, expression flat as a blade.

His coat was half-unbuttoned, and the left glove of his glowed faintly—already activating.

He didn't stop walking as he spoke.

"Pairs today. No formations. No mana shields. Thread only. If your construct ruptures, you pay the cost."

That got a few twitches.

Kaelen's gaze swept the room. Passed over everyone. Landed on Lindarion—and didn't move.

"Sunblade. With me."

'Why me?'

Murmurs. Soft, sharp, and immediate.

Kaelen didn't give them time to linger.

He strode to the center platform and flicked his fingers once. A high-grade dummy shimmered into shape beside him—sleek black plating, dense runic inlays carved into its chest and limbs.

"A single-thread command," Kaelen said, voice even. "No affinities. Just show me your control."

Lindarion stepped forward, palms loose at his sides.

His mana pulsed once.

Threading was different here.

The ambient pressure, the watching eyes, the tension of being too young in a room of those who hated reminders.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

'Good.'

He liked it better this way.

His thread spun from his fingers—fine, bright, shimmering like a hairline fracture in space—and lashed out.

Not to attack.

To rewrite.

He looped the thread once through the dummy's center, and twisted.

It paused. Locked. Then shuddered violently.

Kaelen's eyes narrowed.

The dummy began to twitch—subtle shifts in its joints as if its own balance system had been confused.

Then its right arm dropped.

Useless. Deadweight.

Lindarion's thread retracted cleanly.

Kaelen didn't speak for a moment.

Then, simply he said.

"…Again."

—

The rest of the session blurred into strain and repetition.

Kaelen gave no praise. Just sharp commands and impossible corrections.

The third-years rotated partners. Some of them were good.

Most weren't.

Lindarion wasn't tested much.

But he noticed the way their attempts at threading always pulled a fraction wide. How their control slipped the moment Kaelen increased ambient pressure in the chamber. How they all overused elemental syncs to stabilize their constructs.

He never said anything.

He just watched.

And when Kaelen summoned the final test dummy—a tier-three reactive model designed to counter threading attempts in real time—

Lindarion didn't hesitate.

He stepped into the circle.

His thread moved once.

Only once.

And the dummy collapsed inward—like its joints had forgotten they were meant to be solid.

Kaelen stared at the result for a full three seconds.

Then turned away without a word.

But the tension in the room shifted.

This time, they looked at Lindarion.

Not just the third-years.

Not just Darius.

Everyone.

He was no longer the first-year who had been placed here.

'Finally.'

He was the first-year who belonged here.

—

He slipped his gloves back on, adjusted the hem of his collar, and walked out of the threading chamber before anyone had a chance to try speaking.

The moment he was past the threshold, the weight in the air lessened. Only slightly.

'Kaelen didn't say a word. Which means I did something right. Or very wrong.'

He didn't particularly care which.

The corridor outside was cooler, quieter. He could feel his mana beginning to settle again.

His thread was still tingling faintly beneath his skin, like it hadn't quite let go of the construct it'd dismantled.

'Should probably check for strain later. But…'

He flexed his fingers once.

'Doesn't feel like strain.'

It felt like precision.

And something else. A shift.

Not in power. Not in control.

In perception.

They had seen him.

Not just as a skilled first-year. Not as a noble. Not as a Sunblade.

As a problem.

And the academy didn't forget problems.

'Great. That'll be fun.'

He rounded the corner toward the outer hall—and stopped.

The blonde elf was there again.

Leaning against a pillar like a statue, arms crossed. Not in armor this time, but something close—a sleeveless training tunic, silver trim, the mark of the Eastern Line stitched into the shoulder.

His expression lit up like a sunrise.

"Your Highness," he greeted, straightening immediately.

Lindarion stared.

"…I told you to stop that."

"I only bowed slightly this time."

"You didn't bow. You beamed."

The elf grinned unapologetically. "Was it too much?"

"It's always too much."

The elf stepped forward. "I saw what you did in the chamber."

"I figured. I felt you watching."

The elf didn't deny it.

He offered a sharp nod instead, like a soldier affirming a mission's success. "I've studied that tier-three dummy myself. Took me four separate attempts to disable the arm. You did it in one motion."

"Lucky thread."

"That was not luck," he said firmly. "That was royalty."

Lindarion pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please don't say things like that in public."

The elf cleared his throat. "Forgive me. I am Cael'arion of House Ardran. I forgot to introduce myself earlier."

"I noticed."

"I've been tasked with observing you discreetly."

"That's not what discreet means."

Cael'arion looked genuinely baffled.

"Am I not being discreet now?"

Lindarion blinked slowly. "…You greeted me by shouting my full name and title in the middle of the hall."

Cael'arion's ears drooped slightly. "Ah."

A pause.

"…Would now be a good time to offer myself as your training partner again?"

"No."

"…What about your second in duels?"

"Also no."

Cael'arion's expression fell just a fraction. "Then perhaps I could at least escort you back to your dormitory."

"You're trying to turn this into a knighthood quest, aren't you."

"No," Cael'arion said, straight-faced. "I've already accepted that quest."

Lindarion sighed.

But for some reason… he didn't walk away.

Instead, he started walking toward the archway. After three steps, he glanced sideways.

Cael'arion was walking beside him, perfectly in step. Not hovering. Not talking. Just there.

Lindarion didn't stop him.

But he did mutter, "If you ever start calling me 'my liege,' I'm threading your mouth shut."

Cael'arion smiled faintly.

"Understood, Prince."

Lindarion didn't correct him.

He just kept walking.