I Acquire Overpowered Traits Just By Taking Damage

The city's prosperity had already been established in our minds before we even exited the ship. We confirmed it with everything we saw through the carriage windows: the well-maintained cobble streets, the prosperous shops on every corner, and the sheer number of two-story or higher buildings. It was far more prosperous than even my father's town.

But what hammered it home was our destination. Whereas a citadel would usually double as the fort and the ruler's residence in a regular town, here there was a separate palace located in the heart of the city.

Past the walls, which seemed more for decoration and display than serious defense, we were escorted through a beautiful courtyard of flower patches and well-trimmed hedges. Maids and servants walked about, making the space as busy as the streets.

Finally, we entered the main hall of the castle, which in its dazzling splendor at once made us conscious of our humble appearance. There were large chandeliers, colorful curtains, grand paintings on the walls, and expensive furnishings generously scattered throughout. That said, our senses were immediately captured by the long table where food was slowly being brought out. Even at its incomplete array, the feast had already exceeded my expectations.

"Greetings, your highness. We are humbled and honored by your generous welcome," Sir Lawrence, who headed our little procession, bowed as reverently as he could.

It was only then that I noticed the elevation at the far end of the table. A man sitting on the high seat responded with a smile. The silver and gold on his teeth, clothes, necklace, and fingers glistened in the bright room.

I glanced at Elena after hearing "your highness." That must have been why this city looked like a royal city—because it was one. And we might in fact be in the presence of royalty. She only shrugged. She might have been just as clueless as I was.

"You are always welcome in my house, Sir Lawrence. It is always a pleasure to host a friend," the man said, descending from the elevated seat to the table. "I see new faces."

Sir Lawrence obliged, pointing first at the Baron behind him. "This is Lord Elias, the Baron of Greylock."

"This is Prince Basil, younger brother to King Alexes of South Minot," the knight introduced the man to the baron, and enlightened us all. Not that we were even a little surprised.

"My lord, you are most welcome. I hope your travel has not been too tiring," the prince smiled at Lord Greylock.

The baron responded with a bow. "A pleasure to meet you, your highness. And the warmth of your welcome has melted away any weariness."

Sir Lawrence next pointed to Elena, who happened to be standing by my side. "And this is his daughter, the fair Lady Elena."

She responded with a well-practiced curtsy. As unladylike as she usually was, I hadn't known she could do something like that properly.

"And these are the knights who came with us and their family members. Some of them you may remember from our previous stopovers," the old knight said, introducing the rest of us.

I realized then why Sir Lawrence knew the prince. If this was a routine stop on their voyages, he must have hosted the old knight many times.

"Well, please, don't keep standing. I would hate it if the chill got to the food before my guests," the prince said a moment later.

Music to the ears. The sight and scent of the food had been taunting us ever since we entered the room.

Even though we wanted nothing more than to gobble down the delicious dishes, etiquette had to be followed. Especially in the presence of someone so high up. We slowly took our seats, careful not to make unnecessary sounds. Face-to-face with the food, we resisted the urge to reach for the ladles.

And when we finally started to eat, every slice, every scoop, and every swallow was slow and graceful. Even Edmund was eating like a proper human.

The only indication of our tearful appreciation at finally tasting food with flavor—and texture that didn't torture the mouth—was our silence. Our palates were stunned by the sudden switch from miserable rations to a feast fit for a prince.

Alas, it was the prince himself who broke the silence.

"I am sure you have been made aware of the civil war that has come to plague our lands again. When Sir Lawrence last visited, it was only a rumor of rebellion. Just days after his departure, it was confirmed," Prince Basil said, glancing at the old knight and the baron at his left and right before scanning the rest of the table.

"Our youngest brother has been bewitched by foul influences in his court and has put forth a claim to the crown. My mother's relatives and her home province have sided with him," he continued.

"I wonder how they convinced him? Seniority is the basis of precedence—the rule of succession in our lands since time immemorial," the baron commented, looking genuinely baffled.

The prince shook his head. "There is an absurd rumor going around. It says that our youngest brother is the only legitimate child. That the present king and I were not really sons of the late queen."

"Preposterous, I know. And not a shred of evidence to back it. Still, somehow, some people are fooled."

"Most unfortunate. But at least the war is going in your favor, your highness... or so I heard back in Castor," Sir Lawrence said.

"And you heard right, sir. As we speak, my traitorous brother is besieged in his castle at Thornston. The king believes the town will fall any day now," the prince answered jovially.

"Then allow me to make a toast for your inevitable victory, your highness," the baron raised his wine glass.

"To victory, then, Lord Greylock," Prince Basil accepted the gesture.

I hastily reached for my own as the rest of the table followed suit. We raised our glasses and chanted, "Victory."

But even that seemed to lift the prince's mood only for a moment. He waited a few seconds before speaking again.

"That said, I would like to ask a favor from your entourage, Baron Greylock... Sir Lawrence." He stroked the stubble on his chin and seemed reluctant to continue.

We all stopped what we were doing and waited for his next words.

"An Orcen warband, driven south by the war, has been terrorizing nearby villages. The best of our mages and troops are committed to quelling the rebellion."

"With how volatile the situation is, I cannot afford to send a sizable portion of my already diminished garrison to deal with this menace."

"As such, I have decided to enlist the aid of mercenaries, and passing mages and fighting men." The prince paused, seemingly trying to read our faces. "I was wondering if you could also lend your aid."

Orcs. Another type of lesser humanoid. And by lesser, it was only their intelligence. In combat, Orc warriors were feared. Sir Roland once told me it would take two trained soldiers to bring down a single Orc warrior. Not to mention their chieftains, who were considerably larger and more formidable—it was said it would take several knights to deal with just one.

What Prince Basil was asking was not easy. And it was understandable why Sir Lawrence and the baron did not immediately answer.

"In exchange you will be generously rewarded. I will arrange abundant provisions and a sizeable purse for the rest of your voyage," the prince added.

Sir Lawrence shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. He glanced at the baron, who looked ready to speak.

"I have fought Orcs before, and it wasn't just a warband but a host," the baron said, deep in thought, as if reminiscing. "They're just greenskins with bigger bodies. Helpless against a disciplined attack."

"I think I can lead this sortie," the baron added solemnly. Sir Lawrence nodded in agreement, although oddly silent.

"Perfect!" the prince exclaimed.