"In a world where crown and heart intertwine, ego is a blazing fire, shaking the throne and subduing the empire"
Tavon drew a short breath before stepping into the center of the room, his hands clenched behind his back. With a single stomp of his armored heel, the heavy sound echoed throughout the chamber, silencing the murmurs and drawing everyone's attention.
"The meeting will begin," he declared, his voice firm and resonant in the vast hall. "Your Majesty, with your permission, I will now present the latest report on Midgaria's situation."
Tavon straightened his back. "The Abyssal Gates are growing increasingly unstable. In the last three months, no less than fifteen new gates have emerged, including one on the border of Savaranth and Tirnaval, which nearly wiped out an entire Beast village. So far, attempts to seal them have failed—the 13 Oaths of Ruin now guard some of them."
The room was immediately filled with hushed whispers that quickly escalated into unrest. Some nobles appeared panicked, while others gripped the arms of their chairs with tense expressions.
"The 13 Oaths of Ruin…" one of the Hierophants whispered, like a fearful prayer.
It was a natural reaction. After all, who in this room didn't know the Thirteen Generals of the Abyss? They were the right hands of the Demon King—the world's destroyers. Entities that brought nothing but calamity wherever they stepped. Each one of them possessed the power to rival an entire nation. They weren't just strong; they were intelligent and battle-hardened, and their bodies defied the very laws of this world.
No Astral Voyager had ever defeated them.
There may have been a few capable of holding their own for a while who could match them in brief combat. But in the end, all shared the same fate—defeat.
"If they've started guarding the Abyssal Gates…" a general said gravely, "then we're no longer facing mere monsters. They're waiting for us. Daring us to come."
Grandfather tapped his fingers on the armrest of his throne, calming the room without uttering a word.
"What does the expedition team report on the Abyssal Gate?" he asked, his voice calm though his eyes gleamed sharply.
A general from a battalion different from Tavon stood up. His body was short—typical of the dwarven race—and though he tried to appear composed, fear was etched into his face. His neatly braided silver beard and clenched fists at his sides trembled slightly.
"Your Majesty…" his voice was deep, but a tremble of dread remained. "We… lost contact with the last expedition team."
Silence fell like a shroud over the room.
"What do you mean, Captain Krim?" Tavon asked. His voice remained steady, but his eyes narrowed sharply.
Captain Krim swallowed hard before continuing in a lower tone. "Before the connection was lost, they managed to send one final message… something that—"
He paused as if still trying to comprehend what had truly occurred.
He stepped forward, hands trembling, and pulled a communication crystal from his belt—a magical artifact that links forces on the battlefield. A faint glow still flickered from within, signaling that one final recording remained inside.
The Emperor glanced sharply in his direction. "Play the final recording."
Captain Krim nodded and touched the crystal's surface. A bluish light shot forth, forming a magical projection. Static sounds filled the room, interspersed with panicked breathing.
— "We found someone…"
The voice was hurried, filled with terror.
— "She can… she can erase pages from our Arcana Codex! That's… that's not possible, is it? No Abyssian should—"
Then, another voice.
Not an Abyssian.
Not one of the expedition team.
A low whisper layered with a strange echo that bled into the recording.
— "You… belong to us."
Then came a shriek that pierced the room.
The scream of an Astral Voyager who had realized—too late—that they had walked into a trap.
— "G-Get us out! It's a trap! It's—AARRGH—"
The recording ended. The communication crystal dimmed, leaving a silence heavier than before.
I froze.
My ears were ringing. My heart pounded. The world around me suddenly blurred. I knew that voice… too well.
"Aster…" I whispered unconsciously.
My right hand clenched the edge of my robe. I lowered my head, letting my bangs fall slightly over my widened eyes.
Aster… no, it couldn't be.
She was one of the Astral Voyagers summoned a year ago. The one who saved me when I nearly died in Orindar. She was the one who always spoke with unwavering faith that this world could one day be free of the Abyssians.
She was my friend.
One of the few who saw me as an equal.
My lips parted, but my voice caught in my throat.
I couldn't accept this.
I just couldn't.
Tavon let out a heavy sigh before turning to look at Grandfather. "Your Majesty, it's likely that the expedition team has—"
"No!"
The word escaped my lips before I could think.
All heads turned to me at once.
I swallowed hard, trying to calm myself, but it was useless. "Aster and the others… they might not be dead. We have to send a rescue team!"
I looked at Grandfather with desperate hope, but before he could reply, another voice cut in.
"Absurd!"
I turned toward the source of the voice.
Dorian Aeneas, the Marquis of Solaraine, had risen from his seat. His jaw was clenched, and his narrowed eyes burned with visible anger.
"Think before you speak, Prince Elenio!" he snapped.
I tensed but stood my ground.
"Instead of wasting our forces to rescue a group that is likely already dead," he continued with clear irritation, "we should be focusing on the fifteen Abyssal Gates that continue to open! Every second wasted could mean another region falls!"
"But we don't know if they're truly dead!" I countered quickly. "They could still be holding out somewhere! We can't just abandon them—"
"And how many more must die just to search for them?!"
I fell silent.
"We've already lost too many Astral Voyagers!" Dorian pressed on, his voice laced with frustration. "Too many! They were summoned to fight the Abyssians, but hardly any survive beyond a year! And now you want to sacrifice even more soldiers for a squad that the Abyss may have already consumed?! It's madness!"
I clenched my fists tightly. "We have to try," I said, struggling to keep the tremor out of my voice.
Dorian merely scoffed. "That's the problem, Your Majesty," he said, turning to address Grandfather. "Your Crown Prince doesn't seem to understand reality."
The room fell silent again.
I turned to Grandfather.
He leaned back in his chair, the usual mirth in his eyes now replaced with weariness. His fingers tapped slowly against the table, indicating he was deep in thought.
My heart pounded louder.
What would Grandfather decide?
He let out a slow breath and turned his gaze to the Hierophants seated at the opposite end of the table. "Does the Temple have any information about an Abyssian capable of erasing pages from someone's Arcana Codex?"
The room remained quiet. The Temple dignitaries exchanged uncertain glances. Then, before any Hierophant could respond, a different voice rose from the end of the table.
"I will answer that, Your Majesty."
I turned.
Uncle Arcanist.
He sat calmly in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. His sharp Golden eyes were fixed on Grandfather. "As far as we know, the Arcana Codex is a binding decree that links magic and soul. It is an absolute law."
He paused, letting his words settle into everyone's minds.
"If something exists that can alter or erase pages from someone's Codex," he continued, his tone deep and grim, "then the entity they encountered is exceedingly dangerous."
My chest sank.
I saw Grandfather nod slowly before shifting his gaze back across the room. There was exhaustion in his eyes but also an unshakable firmness.
"We will prioritize the fifteen Abyssal Gates."
In that instant, my blood turned cold.
I stood frozen. "Wait…"
I stepped forward, trying to make sense of his words. "So… we're not sending any help to an expedition team?"
Grandfather looked at me. His golden eyes were filled with something I couldn't quite name—not anger, not disappointment, but something far more piercing.
"No."
The world around me seemed to crumble.
I clenched my fists. "But… they could still be alive! We can't just abandon them—!"
"Nio," Grandfather's voice was gentler now but still resolute. "We cannot risk more lives."
"But it's Aster—" my voice cracked halfway.
Before I could finish, another voice echoed through the chamber, deep and thunderous like a beast's roar.
"We've wasted enough time here."
I turned toward the source.
A towering figure rose from his seat, looming over everyone else in the room.
Thalgar Wildfang, Duke of Savaranth.
His body was massive and muscular, far larger than any normal man. His fur was dark brown with black markings scattered across it. Though his face retained some human features, his fangs were visible each time he spoke. A pair of storm-gray eyes glared at me with blatant irritation.
"My Crown Prince we all knows that you are not just a naïve child who doesn't understand the battle, thinking we can waste our forces on a few people who might already be dead."
I stiffened.
"Thalgar is right," another voice followed. Dorian Aeneas leaned back in his chair, staring at me as though I were merely a nuisance in this meeting. "Crown Prince, with all due respect, you must stop acting childish."
"We're facing fifteen active Abyssal Gates!" Thalgar growled, his voice echoing through the room. "And one of them is in my territory! Even now, one of the Oaths of Ruin is there—on my land! Threatening my people!"
Several nobles nodded, their gazes agreeing with Thalgar's words.
"And you want us to waste time rescuing a few people who may not even be alive?" he continued. "How many more lives do you want to sacrifice, huh?"
I clenched my fists.
"They might still be alive! They need us!"
Dorian snorted, his tone filled with boredom. "And if they're already dead?" He stared at me sharply. "Will you still insist on sending troops just because you can't accept reality?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but Thalgar continued first.
"Do you think the lives of our soldiers are a game?!" His voice thundered. "If you want to save them, why don't you go there yourself?!"
I froze.
Dorian chuckled softly. "Don't be ridiculous, Duke. We all know the Crown Prince can't do that."
I could feel their gazes piercing me like invisible daggers. Every pair of eyes in this room stripped away my weaknesses, probing for any crack they could use to bring me down. I knew—I had always known—that I was unwanted here—as a crown prince without Arcana Codex, the strength to fight, and the courage to kill our enemies. And now, with my plea sounding like the stubborn whining of a child, they finally had the reason to voice what had always been whispered in the empire's walls.
Dorian's eyes scanned me from top to bottom, full of judgment.
"The Crown Prince doesn't even have an Arcana Codex, does he?" Dorian's voice was light, almost sounding like a joke, but I knew it wasn't just mockery. It was a deliberate insult, a calculated disdain. I could hear faint whispers filling the room, some of them not trying to hide their sneers. The laughter of the nobles in the Throne hall erupted.
Whispers spread around the room from the other nobles.
"Doesn't have an Arcana Codex…"
"…and not a fighter either…"
The words pierced deeper than they should have. I clenched my hands by my sides, trying to calm the storm inside me, but it was in vain. I wanted to shout, to defend myself, to say that I wouldn't let Aster die like that, that I wouldn't sit idly by while they all sat comfortably on their thrones, sacrificing more lives for plans they deemed more important. But a much more dangerous voice filled the room before I could speak.
"It seems you are all so ready to place your necks in the Guillotine."
Grandfather turned his gaze toward Dorian and Thalgar, his golden eyes flashing sharply. Usually, there was a softness there, a hint of humor in his gaze, but this time, all I saw was anger so cold it felt like a blade of ice forged in eternal fire. He didn't need to raise his voice, didn't need to bang his fist on the table, or shout for the people in the room to realize they had crossed a line.
In an instant, the air around me changed.
Slowly, a thick, glowing book appeared in the air—Arcana Codex, his own, floating before him. I could feel the overwhelming magical pressure pressing against my body, constricting my lungs, as though I had suddenly been thrown to the bottom of the ocean.
Grandfather didn't even raise a finger, yet the atmosphere in the room shifted drastically. The nobles, who had so boldly mocked me just moments ago, now appeared frozen, their bodies tense like wire pulled too tight. Dorian, who had been so confident, now seemed rigid, while Thalgar—the Duke of Savaranth, burly and wolf-like—let out a low growl, his fur bristling, his claws gripping the table, ready to defend himself from any potential attack.
"You just…" Grandfather leaned slightly into his chair, his voice still calm, but that calmness made it even more threatening. "Insulted my grandchild… in front of me?"