Chapter 8

Clang!

The silver-white armor fell to the floor with a loud noise. Ivailo, his expression cold, commanded,

“Get rid of it.”

The middle-aged butler beside Ivailo trembled and carefully picked up the armor. The weight made the butler stagger momentarily, and the sound of colliding metal echoed in the space. Ivailo looked at the butler with displeasure.

“I told you not to cause a disturbance, didn’t I? Get out immediately.”

The butler’s face instantly went white, and with shaking hands, he gathered the armor and rushed out of the room.

Ivailo massaged his shoulders, which were stiff from the armor. His frown deepened as he recalled the irritating situation with the countless crowds.

“Those bothersome Imperial commoners.”

The citizens who cheered and applauded him as he entered the capital. His mouth muscles ached from forcing a smile as he entered. If it hadn’t been to maintain his image, he wouldn’t have forced such an exuberant smile.

“I don’t understand. Why do I have to smile at and cater to those insignificant nobodies?”

He was of the Imperial family and the Empire’s sole Crown Prince. How dare they look at him with their own two eyes instead of kneeling in reverence? They should surely realize their treatment of him was excessive.

“If it weren’t for appearances, I would have gouged out all their eyes.”

A fleeting thought made the corner of his mouth curl up, and a chuckle escaped. Soon, the chuckle turned into laughter, which echoed loudly in the room.

“Puhahaha!”

Ivailo pressed down on his upturned lips with his hand and said, “Oh, dear. I shouldn’t be so happy. But it makes me so happy just imagining it.”

Ivailo sat in the chair, resting his neck on his clasped hands, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Ivailo, you’re almost there. Once you become Emperor, the entire world is yours.”

He had been forced to attend the Northern subjugation by the Emperor’s faction of nobles. Now he had returned successfully, and there would be no more talk of his position as Crown Prince being threatened.

“There shouldn’t be any nobles who oppose me—the Crown Prince—inheriting the throne after the Emperor dies.”

However, Ivailo’s seemingly relaxed face twisted into annoyance as he thought of those bothersome noble factions.

“I just can’t figure out what those bastards are up to. They even spouted nonsense that Freyer, not me, was more suitable for the Crown Prince position, didn’t they?”

If such a thing were to happen in reality, he would not stand for it.

“If they keep talking nonsense. It would be good to use Freyer’s head as a lesson and display it in the Imperial Palace hall.”

Ivailo licked his highly curved lips with his tongue.

When he found out that Freyer was the Emperor’s hidden son, he hadn’t been worried. After all, he was the son of the Empress Consort.

What power could the son of a consort, a foreign princess brought in as a hostage, possibly wield? He was just like any other mixed-breed, and Ivailo had decided he would generously grant him a moment of his time.

But the young Ivailo, upon reaching the Imperial Palace hall, was completely frozen. Seeing the Emperor smiling brightly at a boy who looked exactly like him, with silver hair and green eyes, Ivailo realized.

‘I was arrogant until now. And my position could be in danger because of that brat.’

That was the first time he realized the Emperor was capable of such a smile.

In that moment, Ivailo’s world shattered. In his childhood, he clenched his fists so hard that his fingernails dug into his flesh, drawing blood, and the pain still felt sharp.

He made a vow then.

‘I will take everything.’

He started taking away everything, from the most trivial to the biggest things given to Freyer. Just so Freyer would understand his place.

“That brat must have been living it up while I was in the North.”

Ivailo narrowed his eyes and summoned his secretary. A moment later, the brown-haired secretary entered the Crown Prince’s study.

“Report on what that brat, Freyer, has been doing in my absence.”

“Th-that is…”

The secretary trembled under Ivailo’s sharp gaze. Ivailo’s eyebrow twitched due to the secretary’s inability to speak.

“Speak.”

“Truthfully, the Second Prince has been frequently going out lately.”

“Going out? For what reason?”

“That… we do not know precisely…”

Ivailo slammed his hand onto the desk with a loud thud. The secretary flinched, shrinking his shoulders at the Crown Prince’s action.

“You don’t know? You’re the one who got lax while I was gone. Did I ask too much of someone like you? I merely ordered you to keep a close watch on the Second Prince’s movements.”

Ivailo stood up and approached the secretary. He then tapped the secretary’s shoulder with his index finger, pushing him against the wall.

“If you want to keep the title of ‘Secretary,’ you need to do your job well. Don’t you agree?”

Having nowhere left to retreat, the secretary bowed his head deeply. Ivailo glared at him with fierce eyes and commanded,

“Go out and find out. Right now.”

At Ivailo’s words, the secretary bowed low and fled the study as if escaping. Ivailo slowly sat back down in his chair, looked out the sunny window, and murmured, “I wonder why he’s moving so busily. Perhaps he saw hope while I was away? Even if he did. He’s still heading for hell.”

Ivailo leaned back in his chair and smirked.

“Your effort is commendable, but it ends there, Freyer. Because I will drag you into the mire.”

***

The training grounds basked in sunlight.

A sound like a chilling wind echoed where Freyer swung his sword. Despite the bright light, shadows had settled under Freyer’s eyes.

Derek, the escort knight, who had been hesitating from a distance, approached cautiously.

“Your Highness, your face looks unwell. How many nights have you stayed awake this time?”

Freyer frowned at Derek’s question and replied, “Perhaps… four days? I’m not sure.”

Derek’s eyes widened in surprise at Freyer’s words, and he then bowed his head deeply.

“It is entirely my fault. I should have paid more attention…”

“Why is it your fault, Sir Derek? This is not the first time this has happened.”

Freyer sheathed the sword he was holding into the scabbard at his waist. Freyer turned his body toward the entrance of the training grounds, but a sudden headache made him clutch his head and grimace.

“Your Highness!”

Derek flinched at his action and moved to support him, but Freyer waved his free hand dismissively.

‘I can’t continue…’

Freyer looked down and ran a hand over his head. In truth, he hadn’t been able to sleep since the last nightmare.

The clue about the woman he considered his hope had been useless, and the woman who looked exactly like his mother—whom he had met that day—had made the nightmares even more severe, causing him to stay up for several nights.

Finally, having reached his limit, a stabbing headache overwhelmed him. Derek approached Freyer, who was grimacing intensely, and asked,

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

“My body can’t take it anymore…”

Just then, the sound of unfamiliar footsteps echoed in the training grounds. Freyer carefully opened his closed eyes, and Ivailo, dressed in a navy training uniform, was approaching him. He had heard the news from Derek that his older brother, Ivailo, was returning after completing the Northern subjugation.

‘I didn’t realize my brother had already arrived.’

Freyer briefly hid his surprise and bowed his head toward Ivailo.

“Welcome, Brother.”

“By your reaction, it seems you knew I had entered the palace. It would have been nice if you had shown your face sooner.”

Ivailo, who approached with one corner of his mouth lifted, let out a sigh and said, “Ah! Or did you know and intentionally stay away?”

“That was not the case.”

Despite the seemingly sarcastic tone, Freyer merely pressed his lips together. Ivailo suddenly brought his face close to Freyer’s, his expression hardening. Ivailo smiled broadly and patted his back.

“It’s a joke, a joke. Your expression makes me feel awkward.”

Ivailo reached for the hilt of the sword at his waist and said to Freyer, “It’s rare to meet at the training grounds. How about a sparring match for old times’ sake?”

Ivailo stared intently at Freyer as he spoke. Derek, who was watching the situation, looked anxious. He glanced at the tired-looking Freyer and silently whispered in his ear, having made up his mind.

“Your Highness, sparring is impossible right now.”

“It’s alright.”

Freyer spoke in a very low voice that only Derek could hear.

“Very well.”

At Freyer’s assent, Derek sighed heavily and took a step back.

“Your Highness, I will bring the wooden swords then.”

Derek immediately moved to fetch the wooden swords, but he froze upon hearing Ivailo’s next words.

“We aren’t children anymore. Let’s spar with real swords.”

Derek desperately gave Freyer a look of refusal. But Freyer avoided his gaze and nodded slightly to Ivailo.

“Yes, very well.”

Ivailo and Freyer headed to the center of the training grounds. As both men drew their swords from their scabbards and faced each other, Ivailo swung his sword at Freyer.

Clang!

The sound of the swords clashing, a piercing noise, echoed through the training grounds. Sand dust billowed up from the ground due to their footwork. Ivailo’s lips stretched into a smirk as he fiercely swung his sword at Freyer.

Ivailo pushed Freyer even harder. Freyer, despite the aggressive assault, calmly blocked his strikes.

Zzzzing—

As Freyer blocked a strike, a red aura burst forth from Ivailo’s blade.

Freyer’s sword was instantly flung away by the aura. In a single moment, the blade, now without aura, touched the skin just below Freyer’s neck, and a tiny trickle of red blood seeped from a small scratch.

“I have lost.”

Despite Freyer’s words, Ivailo pushed the blade even deeper.

Just as Freyer bit down hard on his teeth from the pain, Ivailo withdrew the sword from his neck, raising one corner of his mouth, and said, “Such a mistake.”