The Invincible Young Master

The elderly barbarian who had spoken cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"We've heard stories about your strength and your achievements at the academy," he said, his tone filled with awe and respect. "We'd like to ask for pointers."

Spark raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his wine.

"Pointers? What kind of pointers do you want?" he asked, intrigued.

Without hesitation, the elder asked, "The secrets of invincibility. How can we, too, reach your level?"

Spark almost choked on his wine, coughing as it went down the wrong way.

He blinked in disbelief, turning to Bronn, who stood beside him, looking guilty but trying not to laugh. It was clear Bronn had spread some exaggerated stories about him.

"These greedy bunch," Spark muttered, shaking his head. Bronn scratched the back of his neck, unable to meet Spark's gaze.

The elders leaned in closer, eyes wide with anticipation, waiting for some great secret. Spark sighed, setting his cup down and giving them a serious look. "You can't."

A hush fell over the group. The elders stared at him, confused.

"You can't achieve invincibility. It's not something you can just train for or learn," Spark explained. "You have to be born with it." Find more adventures on M-V-L

The elders exchanged bewildered glances, not fully understanding. One of them, hesitant, finally spoke. "Born with it? What does scion mean?"

Spark sighed again, this time rubbing his temples as he gathered his thoughts.

"Let me put it this way," he said, "No matter how much you train, no matter how many battles you fight, there's a limit to what you can achieve. Invincibility isn't just about strength or skill. It's something inherent, something that comes with... fate."

The elderly men exchanged glances, still trying to grasp the idea.

They looked frustrated, as though they had expected a hidden technique or some profound wisdom that would unlock a new level of power for them.

Seeing their disappointment, Spark decided to explain further. "Strength, skill, and intelligence, they all matter. But true invincibility? The kind you're talking about? It's not something you can attain through effort. No amount of training will give you that."

One elder, clearly dissatisfied, frowned. "But we've trained for decades, mastering ancient techniques and fighting countless battles..."

"And that's made you strong," Spark acknowledged. "It's given you power and wisdom, and that's important. But there will always be someone stronger, and faster. Invincibility is... an illusion. If you chase it, you'll waste the time you could use to make the most of your actual strengths."

The elder sighed in frustration but nodded reluctantly. The other elders exchanged thoughtful looks, trying to absorb Spark's words.

Bronn, watching the exchange, finally spoke up. "He's right, you know. Boss always tells it straight."

Spark shot him a look but chuckled, appreciating Bronn's attempt to ease the tension.

The elder bowed his head respectfully. "It seems we were asking for too much. Thank you for your honesty, Scion."

Bronn grinned, and Spark, relieved to have dodged any further awkwardness, returned to his wine. He sipped, shaking his head at the absurdity of the conversation.

"Invincibility," he muttered. "What nonsense."

Just then, the sound of heavy footsteps thudded across the ground as the barbarian king's grumbling voice echoed through the lively feast.

He staggered toward Spark's table, clearly drunk, with a jug of wine still in his hand. His eyes were wild with determination, and a mischievous grin played on his lips.

"Lad!" he called out, his voice booming. "Come fight me!"

Spark glanced up from his cup, raising an eyebrow at the king's bold challenge.

The old man had been downing that jug for most of the night, and now he was clearly beyond the point of small talk.

"I've been hearing a lot about you," the king continued, sloshing the wine in his jug before taking another long swig. "Let's see if you live up to the rumors."

One of the elders hurried over, looking concerned, and placed a hand on the king's arm.

"Your Majesty, I think this is inappropriate," he urged. "Scion is our guest. It's disrespectful."

Another elder joined in, trying to calm things down. "Yes, Your Majesty. The scion came here as a guest, not for a fight."

But the Barbarian King, too drunk to care, shrugged them off with a grunt, pushing the elder aside with ease.

"Out of my way," he growled, his eyes locked on Spark. "This is between me and him."

At the table, Spark sat calmly, his fingers lightly tapping his wine cup.

He met the king's gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips as he watched the giant man approach.

Bronn, standing nearby, shifted nervously, clearly unsure of how this was going to play out.

Spark took another sip of his wine, his cheeks flushed slightly from Bronn's earlier pour.

He eyed the king with mild amusement.

"Oh?" he said, the smirk widening. "You are challenging me?"

The king, standing tall and full of pride, nodded firmly. "Yes! Let's see what you've got!"

His words were slurred, but the challenge was clear. He slammed his jug down on a nearby table, ready for a brawl.

Spark, still seated, swirled the wine in his cup lazily, his eyes never leaving the king.

"Why are you so sure of yourself?" he asked, his tone playful. "Do you want to lose face in front of your son?"

At those words, a hush fell over the nearby onlookers. Bronn blinked in surprise, while the elders exchanged wary glances.

The king paused, his brow furrowing as Spark's words seemed to pierce through his drunken haze.

For a moment, he stood there, deep in thought.

Finally, after a long silence, the king grunted.

"Hmph…" He scratched his head as if reconsidering. "Forget it."

With a dismissive wave, he turned and stumbled away, wobbling slightly as he went.

"Once I defeat your old man," the king muttered, waving his hand in the air, "then I'll challenge you."

As the Barbarian King staggered off, the tension in the air lifted, and the feast resumed. Spark, still seated, chuckled quietly to himself and finished the last of his wine.