Shattered Sanity

As time continued to pass, the lessons that Riven received from the Hypnotist became less generic and more specific.

As while things like posture, confidence, and the philosophy of nobility formed the foundation of Riven’s education, they alone were nowhere near enough to prepare him for the world that awaited beyond the laboratory walls.

There existed countless traditions, customs, expectations, and unspoken rules governing noble society, the ignorance of whom could expose him as an outsider within moments, which was why, the Hypnotist ensured to educate Riven about them.

”For you to fulfill your destiny, you can’t simply resemble a noble,” the Hypnotist explained, as he closed another leather-bound journal before placing it upon the table.

”From this day onward, you shall learn to think, converse, and conduct yourself exactly as one born into the highest circles of the Valdrak Empire.

Because, only through education can you truly possess the depth to play the role the mission requires of you.”

He said, as Riven nodded in understanding.

Lucky for him, his memory made learning new things easy, as what could take several months for a normal student to learn, he could grasp within hours, making teaching him a truly rewarding experience for the Hypnotist.

”For your first lesson, I will teach you the proper way to greet His Imperial Majesty,” the Hypnotist said, as he stepped away from Riven’s bedside before moving towards the centre of the laboratory.

”Every child born into nobility learns this before reaching the age of ten, because a single mistake before the Emperor is remembered far longer than a hundred flawless greetings.”

He paused for a brief moment before demonstrating the movement himself.

”Observe carefully,” the Hypnotist instructed, as he smoothly slid his dominant foot behind the other until both heels almost aligned. ”Your left hand rests behind your back, your right hand covers your heart, and only then do you incline your body exactly fifteen degrees while lowering your gaze. Your chin lowers before your shoulders do, and you remain in that position until His Imperial Majesty acknowledges your presence.”

Riven silently watched every movement unfold before him, as he committed the sequence to memory exactly as it had been performed.

”To a commoner, this appears to be nothing more than a respectful greeting,” the Hypnotist explained, as he slowly returned to an upright posture. ”However, every noble present will notice whether your shoulders lowered too quickly, whether your rear foot shifted too early, or whether your hand rested even an inch away from where tradition demands it. Those tiny details separate men raised within the high nobility with a proper etiquette teacher from those merely pretending to belong there.”

”I understand,” Riven replied, as he finally realized that nobility was measured just as much through precision as it was through blood.

As in the coming days, many such lessons followed.

”Today, I shall teach you the hierarchy of the Empire,” the Hypnotist explained, as he unfurled an enormous parchment depicting the noble bloodlines of Valdrak. ”Power does not exist in a straight line. It branches like the roots of an ancient tree, and unless you understand those branches, you will inevitably offend someone without even realizing it.”

He slowly traced the chart with one finger.

”Above all stands His Imperial Majesty. Beneath him stand the Four Great Houses, whose authority extends across nearly every province of the Empire. Beneath each Great House serve dozens of lesser noble families, each commanding their own knights, merchants, governors, military officers, and retainers.”

”So every noble ultimately serves one of the Four Great Houses?” Riven asked, as his eyes carefully followed every branch stretching across the parchment.

”Almost every noble,” the Hypnotist corrected, as he gently tapped several names upon the family tree. ”There are exceptions, however, exceptions are remembered precisely because they are rare.”

For the next several weeks, the lessons shifted from politics to etiquette.

”Today, you shall learn how a noble dines,” the Hypnotist explained, as Karen carefully arranged an elaborate dining table beside Riven’s bed.

He deliberately picked up each utensil one after another.

”The outer utensils are always used first. Your elbows never rest upon the table, your movements remain slow, and your attention belongs to your company rather than your plate.

Noble banquets exist to cultivate influence.

The food merely provides an excuse for everyone to gather.”

”So conversation carries greater value than the meal itself?” Riven asked, as he observed every movement with unwavering concentration.

”Precisely,” the Hypnotist replied, as he elegantly cut another piece of meat.

”A starving peasant attends a banquet to eat. A noble attends one to strengthen alliances.

Which is why, you must never eat your food in full.

You only eat about 80-90% leaving the rest 20% on the plate, no matter how delicious it is, to show that you eat out of luxury and not necessity.”

He instructed, as Riven committed the lesson to heart.

Several days later, another topic followed.

”Today, we discuss Noble Galas,” the Hypnotist explained, as he placed another book before Riven. ”You will attend many throughout your lifetime, therefore you shall never appear uncertain inside one.”

He slowly paced across the laboratory while speaking.

”You never remain standing against the walls, because only frightened guests hide there. You circulate through the hall, greet those appropriate to your station, excuse yourself before conversations become stale, and never monopolize another noble’s attention.”

”I see...” Riven murmured, as genuine curiosity appeared within his eyes.

”If asked for a dance, you accept whenever circumstances permit,” the Hypnotist answered, as he calmly demonstrated the opening posture of a formal dance. ”A refusal without proper reason reflects poorly upon both yourself and your house.”

The following month, dancing itself became another lesson.

”There are six formal dances recognised by the Imperial Court,” the Hypnotist explained, as despite having no partner, he flawlessly demonstrated each opening stance. ”The Imperial Waltz, the Silver Crescent, the King’s Measure, the River Bloom, the Autumn Spiral, and the Twin Star Promenade.

You need not become the finest dancer in the ballroom, however, you must recognize each dance the moment the music begins, and perform each one without embarrassing your station.”

”I shall remember every step,” Riven replied, as his photographic memory silently preserved each sequence exactly as it had been shown.

Eventually, the conversations drifted towards subjects Riven had never expected.

”Today, we discuss sport,” the Hypnotist announced, as he placed a thick volume filled with illustrations upon the table.

Riven looked mildly surprised.

”Sport?” he repeated, as the topic seemed strangely out of place amongst lessons concerning emperors and noble etiquette.

”Politics extends far beyond council chambers,” the Hypnotist explained, as he opened the book to a painted illustration depicting thousands of cheering spectators surrounding an enormous arena. ”The greatest sport within the Empire is known as Bannerfall.”

He turned another page.

”Two teams compete across ever-changing battlefields while attempting to seize the opposing command banner and return it safely to their own fortress.

Victory demands strategy, discipline, teamwork, and adaptability, which is why the masses adore it.”

”It resembles warfare,” Riven observed, as he studied the battlefield diagrams.

”That resemblance is precisely why the nobility encourages its popularity,” the Hypnotist replied, as he nodded approvingly.

He turned another page once more.

”Each of the Four Great Houses sponsors one of the Empire’s premier Bannerfall clubs. House Dawnriver sponsors the Dawnriver Raiders. House Winterfang sponsors the WolfPack Howlers. House Embercrest supports the Redvale Titans, while House Ironveil stands behind the Real Ironmen.”

”I see, and which of these team do you want me to support?” Riven began, as realization slowly spread across his face.

”...For the mission, you need to support the Dawnriver Raiders.”

The Hypnotist replied, as Riven nodded as though it were but natural.

”You admire their captain, Cedric Halvor, the greatest Banner Runner of the past decade.

You remember their championship victory four years ago, their defeat in last year’s final after surrendering a two-banner advantage, and the fierce rivalry they maintain with the WolfPack Howlers.”

”So even casual conversation requires preparation,” Riven concluded, as he finally understood why such seemingly trivial knowledge mattered.

”Especially casual conversation,” the Hypnotist corrected, as a faint smile appeared upon his face. ”Political discussions are expected. Meaningful conversations are often hidden behind seemingly meaningless ones.”

He taught, as while the Imperial Anatomist continued transforming Riven’s body through Blood Refinement, the Hypnotist relentlessly expanded the boy’s understanding of the world awaiting him beyond the laboratory, ensuring that when the day finally arrived for Riven to step into noble society, there would exist almost nothing capable of revealing that he had once been nothing more than an unknown child born far beyond the borders of the Valdrak Empire.