The Puppet Emperor Regresses

The past few days had been fairly quiet, with some moments of frenzied activity for Mikhail as he refamiliarised himself with his villa and its daily routines. 

He had expected a parade of new tutors to be foisted upon him by the Lord Chamberlain, but surprisingly, only one had arrived - a young researcher named Anton. 

Anton was a quiet, studious man who seemed more interested in his Herbology research than in actually tutoring Mikhail. 

This arrangement suited the young prince perfectly. Anton spent most of his time in Mikhail's study, poring over books and scribbling notes, while Mikhail was free to pursue his own interests.

"Your Highness," Anton had said nervously on his first day, "I understand that you may not be interested in formal lessons. If it's alright with you, I'd be grateful for the opportunity to continue my research here. I won't bother you much."

Mikhail had smiled inwardly at this. It was the perfect setup. 

Besides, Anton had loyalties to no one, as would be evidenced by his future success as a magic potion researcher and producer. The only thing he thought and cared about was Herbology. 

"That sounds fine, Anton. You may use my study as you wish. I'm sure we can both tell the Lord Chamberlain that our... lessons... are progressing well."

Anton had looked relieved, and since then, they had settled into a comfortable routine. 

The Lord Chamberlain was satisfied, knowing that a "capable young mind" like Anton's was educating the prince, which allowed Mikhail the freedom to continue his training without interruption.

As Mikhail prepared for another day of training, his mind turned to the only swordsmanship technique he truly knew - Basic Imperial Swordsmanship. 

It was a style taught to everyone in the empire, from common soldiers to nobles from small houses. Those with talent typically moved on to more advanced techniques, but Mikhail felt a special connection to this fundamental style.

He could have schemed to acquire manuals of advanced techniques from the imperial library, but something held him back. 

The memory of Gregor, his loyal butler from his past life. Their countless hours of practice had imbued Basic Imperial Swordsmanship with a deeply personal meaning for Mikhail.

With these thoughts in mind, Mikhail entered his Personal Dimensional Space. The space now shimmered with light as he materialised within it, wooden practice sword in hand. 

Aurora rushed out of her forest area the moment Mikhail arrived and hovered nearby, her multicoloured light pulsing gently.

"Let's see what we can do, shall we?" Mikhail murmured, as much to himself as to Aurora.

He settled into the Imperial Guard stance – feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, sword held at chest level with both hands. 

He felt the minuscule amount of aura within him stirring, responding to his focused intent.

As he began to move through the basic forms of Imperial Swordsmanship taught to him by Gregor, Mikhail found himself slipping in and out of old memories with each stance. 

Each movement flowed into the next with a fluidity that shocked him - the Defender's Wheel, the Striking Tiger, the Flowing Stream – felt alive with potential.

An hour passed as Mikhail trained, methodically cycling through the forms over and over.

Sweat beaded on his brow, his muscles burned with exertion, but he pushed on. There was a rhythm to it, a meditation in motion that seemed to quiet the constant chatter of his mind.

As fatigue began to set in, Mikhail's consciousness started to drift. The boundaries between past and present blurred, and he found himself reliving memories of his previous life…

--- --- ---

Emperor Mikhail, weak and powerless, stood in the palace gardens.

His body, never strong to begin with, had been further weakened by years of inactivity and the crushing weight of his ceremonial robes.

Yet here he was, a wooden practice sword in his trembling hands, determined to learn even the basics of self-defence.

Gregor stood before him, patient as always. "Your Majesty, shall we begin with the Imperial Guard stance once more?"

Mikhail nodded, trying to ignore the pitying looks from the palace guards nearby.

He knew what they saw – a pathetic figure playing at being a warrior. But he had to try. He had to do something, anything, to shake off the feeling of helplessness that haunted his every waking moment.

As Mikhail attempted to mimic Gregor's stance, his arms shook from the effort of holding even the lightweight practice sword.

Sweat trickled down his back, and his breathing came in ragged gasps.

"Perhaps we should rest, Your Majesty," Gregor suggested gently. "You seem fatigued."

"No," Mikhail wheezed, shaking his head stubbornly. "We continue. I must... I must learn this."

Gregor's eyes softened with a mixture of admiration and sorrow. "As you wish, Your Majesty. Let us proceed with the Imperial Thrust."

For hours they trained, Mikhail struggling through each basic movement while Gregor offered patient guidance. By the end, Mikhail could barely stand, his body trembling with exhaustion.

As Gregor helped him back to his chambers, Mikhail felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. "I'm sorry, Gregor," he murmured. "I lack the talent to protect even myself, let alone an empire."

Gregor's response was firm but kind. "Talent can be overcome with perseverance, Your Majesty. We will continue tomorrow, and the day after, for as long as it takes. You will grow stronger. I believe in you."

--- --- ---

[System Alert: Host's Temporal Consciousness activated. Past life experiences accessible.]

In the void of his Personal Dimensional Space, Mikhail blinked away the memory. He realized he had been moving through the forms automatically, his body remembering movements it had never truly mastered in his past life.

Aurora zipped around him, her light pulsing encouragingly. Mikhail smiled at the sprite's enthusiasm.

Feeling a renewed surge of energy, he resumed his practice with increased vigour.

As he trained, Mikhail began to experiment with infusing his movements with aura.

He remembered the breathing exercises Gregor had taught him, exercises that had never yielded results before.

Now, as he synchronized his breath with his movements, he could feel the aura within him responding.

With each strike, each parry, each step, Mikhail channelled his aura.

The wooden practice sword began to hum faintly, resonating with the energy flowing through it.

Aurora darted around him, occasionally enhancing his strikes with bursts of magical energy.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as Mikhail fell deeper into his training.

He moved through the forms again and again, each repetition feeling more natural than the last. The ache in his muscles faded into the background, his mind focused solely on the flow of movement and aura.

Without realizing it, Mikhail had entered a state of martial trance. His consciousness floated, detached from the physical sensations of his body.

In this state, past and present began to blur once more…