The Cowardly king

The classroom on the third floor of Eldrin Academy smelled of old parchment and dust, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the wooden desks. Ren Arclight sat in the farthest corner by the window, his chair slightly tilted back, arms crossed. His dark hair fell over his face, concealing the fact that his eyes weren’t focused on the chalkboard.

Outside, in the courtyard below, the real lesson was taking place.

A group of boys had surrounded a frail-looking student near the fountain, their sneers sharp as knives. One of them, a taller boy with a title embroidered onto his uniform—"The Steel Striker"—stepped forward.

"A weakling like you should know his place."

The boy flinched, his back pressed against the stone fountain. He was smaller than the others, his hands trembling at his sides. His title, barely legible on his chest, read "The Mute Scribe." A useless name. A weak name.

Ren had seen this play out a hundred times before. The powerful trampled the weak—it was the natural order of this world. If you were born with a strong title, you rose above the masses. If you were born with a weak one… you were better off forgotten.

The teacher droned on at the front of the class, scratching equations onto the blackboard. No one was paying attention. Some students pretended to listen, but Ren could tell they were stealing glances outside too. It was human nature. People enjoyed watching the powerless suffer—it made them feel stronger.

Ren tightened his grip on the edge of his desk.

He wasn’t a hero. He had no grand ideals about justice. But something about this scene gnawed at him. Maybe it was the look in that boy’s eyes—the silent, hopeless acceptance.

His fingers twitched.

With a slow breath, he reached out—not physically, but with something deeper. His power was weak, barely worth mentioning. The Cowardly King. A title so laughable it was almost an insult. Unlike those with grand names who could summon fire or command armies, his ability was pitiful.

He could control weak creatures.

A simple crow perched on the rooftop. Its black eyes reflected the golden light of the setting sun, scanning the courtyard for scraps. Ren closed his eyes and reached into its mind.

The connection was instant.

His consciousness brushed against the bird’s, a whisper threading between them.

"Fly."

The crow obeyed without hesitation, diving from the rooftop like a falling star. Wind ruffled its feathers as it angled toward its target. Ren controlled its every movement, guiding it like an extension of his own body.

Just as the bully raised his fist to strike the smaller boy, the crow veered at the last second—its wing smacking hard against the side of the boy’s head.

"What the—?!"

The Steel Striker stumbled backward, his foot slipping against the damp stone. His arms flailed, trying to regain balance, but it was too late.

With a loud splash, he fell into the fountain.

A stunned silence filled the courtyard.

Then—laughter.

Not from the other bullies, but from the onlookers. Some of them pointed, chuckling at the sight of one of the academy’s self-proclaimed elites floundering in knee-high water, his uniform drenched.

Ren exhaled slowly, letting his control over the bird fade. The crow flapped its wings and took off, disappearing into the trees beyond the school wall.

No one looked up. No one suspected him.

Good.

The Steel Striker shot up from the water, his face red with rage. "Who did that?!" he shouted, spinning wildly. The smaller boy had already taken the opportunity to slip away, vanishing into the crowd.

Ren smirked faintly, turning back toward the classroom. He hadn’t saved that boy out of kindness—no, it was something else. A habit. A game. He didn’t need brute strength to survive in this world. He just needed to stay unnoticed.

The weak had to be smart.

"Ren Arclight."

His breath caught for a split second.

The teacher’s voice rang through the silent classroom. Heads turned. Eyes focused on him.

"You seem more interested in the window than the lesson. Would you care to explain the equation on the board?"

Ren slowly turned his gaze forward. On the blackboard, a series of numbers and formulas glared back at him, completely foreign. He hadn’t heard a single word of the lecture.

For a moment, he considered making something up. Bluffing. But he knew better.

Lowering his head slightly, he spoke in a quiet but firm voice.

"I don’t know, sir."

A few students chuckled under their breath. The teacher sighed, shaking his head.

"At least you’re honest. Pay attention next time."

The lesson continued.

Ren let out a slow breath and leaned back in his chair. That had been close. He had spent too much time watching the courtyard, too much time enjoying his little game. He needed to be careful.

The world didn’t reward those who got caught.

As the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day, students rushed toward the exit. Ren stayed behind, letting the others leave first. He had no interest in the crowded hallways.

Stepping out into the evening air, he glanced at the sky. The crow from earlier still perched on a distant rooftop, watching him.

"The Cowardly King."

That was what fate had called him. A useless, laughable title.

But deep down, Ren knew better.

He wasn’t just a coward. He wasn’t just weak.

His title had another name, a name hidden beneath layers of restriction. A name that no one—not even he—fully understood yet.

"King of the Kingless World."