Days blurred together under the weight of routine. I would rise at 5 a.m., dragging myself from the comfort of sleep to the chill of dawn, and make my way to the arena. There, I trained hard—three hours of sweat, bruises, and the relentless pressure to be better. By the time I returned to my room, every muscle ached. A hot wash, dressing up, and then breakfast with my parents followed.
Our breakfast conversations were oddly comforting. Father would often speak of his work—ruling a kingdom was no small task—and Mother always chimed in about how she managed the royal finances and maintained the castle's internal affairs. She liked to call it her "symbolic duties," though I knew she did much more than smile at noblewomen and sip tea.
After breakfast, Father usually left for his office or rode out for kingdom matters, while Mother retreated to her study to scribble down notes and reports. Occasionally, she dragged us along—mostly for public appearances or castle inspections. I never enjoyed those outings. My brother Alex had friends his age, cheerful boys always laughing and joking. I didn't. I had asked Mother not to involve me in those things, but she insisted. So I ended up standing around, bored, while she laughed with her circle and Alex blended in like he belonged there.
I, meanwhile, buried myself in my phone games or retreated to the quiet sanctuary of the royal library. That place became my world, my refuge. Books about history, magic, faraway empires—I devoured them all. Yet, the more I read in the book, the more the edges of my memory blurred, as if something vital was missing.
First, I have to find to strengthen by body with the mana like something called Aetherblood, a shimmering silver-blue liquid said to be drawn from the veins of ancient celestial beasts or refined from the essence of fallen stars. When consumed, it granted inhuman strength, speed, and senses. I studied the book mentioned its location: deep in the empire of Minas Tirith, somewhere in the vast forests where a river led into the heart of a mountain.
I wouldn't have believed it, if not for a story within the story. In the novel, the protagonist Jon battled a Hellkin—a human who had made a pact with a demon. Though weaker in rank, the Hellkin gave Jon a brutal fight. In the end, after unleashing his final move, Jon defeated him. As the Hellkin lay dying, he revealed the secret to his strength: "A doctor from an organization gave it to me. He found it in the mountains of Minas Tirith."
That line stayed with me. I did some digging, followed the clues, and pieced together the likely location. If I wanted to gain real strength—strength beyond mana—I would need to find Aetherblood. And that meant venturing far from the castle, into the wild.
But strength alone wasn't enough. I also needed a sword art—Which I could master even without magic. I had read about a few from the novel techniques, but most required prerequisites I hadn't met yet ,strength.
Guns were my last resort, but something deep down told me that guns are held the key to my success.
While all the novel's characters were slicing through enemies and destroying mountains with powerful techniques, I found myself shooting guns. Guns had been my favorite weapons in the previous world, but things were different now. If I had mana bullets, that would be another story—those could change everything. They're expensive, sure, but I'm a prince—so not impossible to get. Still, deep down, I don't want to rely on guns anymore."
Afternoons were spent dancing. Yes, dancing. Apparently, we were to attend a grand party, and Mother insisted I learn proper etiquette. At first, I dreaded it—especially being tossed around by an old instructor—but with time, I improved. Alex, as expected, took to it easily. He liked the attention. I didn't. But my mother was thrilled to see me participate, so I kept at it.
Now, with only two days left until Foundation Day, we sat around the breakfast table. Father looked up from his plate and said, "Would you like to come with me to see the preparations for the Foundation Day celebrations?"
I hesitated at first, but then realized this could be my chance to go outside the castle—Mother rarely allowed it. So I replied with a grin, "Yes, Father. I'm really glad you asked."
Mother raised an eyebrow. "And don't go wandering off without your father's permission," she warned.
I gave a cheeky salute. "Yes, ma'am."
Alex, not wanting to be left out, chimed in, "I'll come too!"
But Mother interrupted, "No, you have to attend the tea party with me at the Ozwals' estate."
The second she mentioned tea party, I exchanged a look with Father and barely concealed my grin. Alex pouted. Father and I both gave him the same blank expression, silently saying, We don't know you, stranger.
After breakfast, we made our way to the castle portal chamber. As we walked, I asked Father, "Why do you go personally to check the preparations? Can't you just send officials? And why don't you sit on the throne like the kings in books? They always wear crowns and rule from above."
He looked at me, then said, "Son, if a king doesn't witness the hard work of his people and thank them for it, what kind of king is he? A king is not just someone who fights and commands from a throne. If I stayed locked in the royal hall, the kingdom would crumble. People don't need a distant ruler—they need someone who stands beside them."
He paused, then added, "And as for the crown... I don't see myself as a king."
I blinked, surprised. "But Father, from what I've seen, you are a great king."
He chuckled, though there was sorrow in it. "When your grandfather passed, and I was crowned, I had to travel to the Empire to get their approval. Ten days later, I returned to bow before their emperor."
His voice hardened.
"They made me kneel. Just to show that no matter what title I hold, we are still beneath them. But to me, a king should bow only to a god. Never to another man. Never."
I could feel the weight of humiliation in his words. My father—so strong and dignified—had once been forced to bow. That truth burned itself into my mind.
He continued, more gently now, "You've yet to see how cruel this world can be. But no matter how harsh it gets, never forget to show kindness."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Yes, Father."
At that moment, the blue portal flickered to life—an elegant spiral of energy, its design credited to the dwarves.
Father glanced down at me with a smirk. "Did you eat enough, son?"
I sensed what was coming and played along. "Yes, Father... why?"
"You'll see," he said, stepping through the portal.
I took a deep breath and followed. Behind us, Sir Arthur and the rest of Father's elite bodyguard unit vanished into the swirling light.