Chapter 133: Uncle, Master got bitten by a mosquito

Julian stood at the head of the table, his high-collared coat feeling like a suit of armor as he spread the ancient vellum map of the Viremount Continent across the surface.

The edges were frayed, and the ink had faded to a deep sepia, but it held the weight of centuries.

"Since you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, Your Highnesses," Julian began, his voice regaining that cool, authoritative edge that had made him a legend in the lecture halls of his past life, "...we shall skip the pleasantries."

They nodded, ready to take on the lesson.

"Lucius and I were about to discuss the topographical defense of the Northern border. Prince Cassian, since you’re so observant, tell me: why has the Holy Empire never successfully breached the Iron Pass?"

The Iron Pass, also called Blackspire Mountain, marked the border with the Holy Empire.

Cassian blinked, his cocky slouch faltering for a second. He looked at the map, his eyes tracing the jagged lines of the Blackspire mountains.

"Because it’s cold? And Uncle, the Grand Duke, kills anyone who tries?"

Liora giggled, but Julian didn’t crack a smile.

"Elementary," Julian said, tapping a charcoal pencil against the map. "But incorrect from a strategic standpoint. Lucius?"

The young boy leaned forward, his eyes bright with concentration. He didn’t need a slate for this; he simply pointed to the narrow, winding gorge that acted as a funnel, then mimicked a pincer movement with his small hands.

"Exactly," Julian nodded, but the prince and princess did not exactly understand what Lucius had just explained, so Julian elaborated. "The terrain of the mountain forces a massive army to break into single files, making their numbers a liability rather than an asset. It’s not just about the cold, Prince Cassian. It’s about the earth itself."

Cassian’s eyes narrowed, a spark of genuine interest replacing his confusion. He leaned in, his boots finally hitting the floor with a dull thud.

"So, if I had a smaller, more mobile unit—"

"You’d still be crushed by the avalanche the Northern scouts would trigger," Julian interrupted, his eyes meeting the Prince’s, and the Prince’s lips pouted into a small, Oh. "Never fight a war where the mountain is your enemy’s ally."

"Then," Liora raised her hand to ask a question. "...if I were the enemy’s forces, what do I have to do to bypass the obstacle?"

"Well, if there was a way, do you think the Northern borders would still be standing?" he asked with a little genuine smile, glad that his students were following.

"But there has to be a way, right?" Cassian asked. "They say nothing is impossible, and no fortress is permanently impregnable."

"Well, that’s true," Julian said and scribbled a little map. "There are always ways to bypass an impregnable fortress," he lifted his head and looked up at them. "But would you really like it if there was a method to bypass the impregnable fortress of the North?" All three children shook their heads, and Julian beamed. "That’s what I thought. But just in case, shall we discuss some methods and see if you’re as knowledgeable in warfare tactics?"

The room fell into a focused silence. For the next hour, the ’Teacher Kim’ persona took over completely.

Julian didn’t see a Prince, a Princess, and a Young Lord; he saw three students who needed to understand that power wasn’t just in a crown or a sword, but in the knowledge of the world they ruled.

He moved between them, correcting Liora’s messy quill-work and challenging Cassian’s aggressive tactical theories. Lucius, the quietest, was the most precise, his slate filled with intricate diagrams of trade routes.

"Master," Liora whispered, tugging at Julian’s sleeve while he was explaining the sea-currents. "You’re very good at this. Better than the men in the Palace who just read from the scrolls."

"That is because a scroll is a dead thing, Princess," Julian said softly. "Knowledge should be alive."

Suddenly, the heavy library doors creaked open.

Julian didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The air in the room shifted, growing heavier and cooler, smelling of cedar and something faintly dangerous.

Alaric was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He had changed into a simpler, dark tunic, but his presence was anything but simple. He watched Julian with an unreadable expression—a mix of that predatory satisfaction from the morning and a new, startling sense of pride.

"I see the classroom has expanded," Alaric noted, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards.

He didn’t seem as irritated as he did the previous day when he found the prince and princess here. Well, we all know why.

Julian’s spine went rigid. He didn’t need to turn around to feel the Duke’s heavy, proprietary gaze.

The ’Calm Mind’ he had so carefully reconstructed during the geography lesson began to fray at the edges, pulled apart by the gravity of the man leaning against the doorframe.

"Uncle!" Liora chirped, her earlier focus on the map vanishing as she skipped toward the Duke. She didn’t hesitate, grabbing his large hand and pulling him toward the table. "You’re just in time! Teacher Julian is telling us why the mountains are smarter than the soldiers."

Julian felt a strange, sudden warmth in his chest as he watched the interaction. Despite his previous coldness towards the prince and princess, they had both gotten comfortable with him after their little game of tag in the garden the previous evening—talking freely, tugging at his sleeves, treating the most feared man in the Empire like a common relative. Children are just so simple.

It was a domestic side that Julian wanted to see more often.

"Is that so?" Alaric asked, his voice softening slightly for the girl, though his eyes never left the back of Julian’s head.

"Yes! But Master is a bit unwell," Liora continued, her voice full of childish concern.

"Unwell?" The Duke’s brow arched a bit.

"Yes, he says he has a chill, and a big mosquito bit him right on the neck! It left a purple mark."

Julian flinched, his hand instinctively flying to his collar. Why, Liora? Why did you have to bring it up again?

Alaric’s expression shifted instantly. The dark, simmering amusement Julian had seen in the bedroom that morning returned tenfold. He pushed off from the doorframe and walked toward Julian, his stride slow and heavy—the gait of a hunter who had already trapped his prey.

"Ah... a mosquito," Alaric murmured, stopping so close that Julian could feel the heat radiating from the Duke’s chest.

"Yes, Master said it was a big and very stubborn one," Cassian added, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that suggested he found the idea of a brave mosquito quite entertaining.

And Lucius nodded as well, scrunching his face as if he wished to kill the mosquito himself.