I’ve already turned two. In this castle, they call me a prodigy… and they’re right, although not for the reasons they think.
—“His Highness is brilliant! He speaks fluently, reads like a scholar, and answers with perfect logic!”—the servants exclaimed.
“Ha… if only they knew it’s all thanks to a divine cheat code,” I thought, pretending to focus on a book with a serious face. The goddess gave me the full package: turbo brain, premium magic, and a life anyone would envy. But even dreams can feel artificial.
Two people always accompany me: Susy, a young maid in her twenties with honey-colored eyes and an infectious smile. She looks like she was painted by a classical artist. And Alfred, an elderly butler in his sixties with white slicked-back hair and a calm gaze that hides the war veteran he once was. They say he’ll begin training me in swordsmanship when I turn three. I just think: “goodbye nap time, hello torture.”
In this world, swordsmanship is divided into five branches:
1. Royal – the basic style that everyone learns. 2. Imperial – advanced, demanding immense discipline. 3. Bestial – a brutal mix of swordplay and martial arts. 4. Soft – precise, swift, a rare art for the elite. 5. Stellar – the ultimate form. Only the gifted master it: combining all styles, magic, strength, and agility.
Apparently, only legends can master the fifth. And yes… I’m already on their radar.
Being a prince might sound like a dream. Everyone watches me. Everything I do is scrutinized. Yet… why do I complain? In my previous life, loneliness was my only companion. Now I have parents —the King and Queen— although they’re always busy. And a sister, Scarlett, who travels as a diplomatic envoy. Every time she returns, she crashes into me with a hug like time didn’t matter.
Scarlett, the Scarlet Princess. Fiery red hair, crimson eyes… the only one in the Noir bloodline who doesn't have black hair. They say she can’t inherit the throne… and that I’m destined to rule. But no one ever explains why.
🍴 The Palace of Flavor
Eating here is surreal. The aromas drift through the corridors like magic.
- Breakfast: Floryn honey, golden Ekrim bread, crystalline Saphal fruits, and firelight tea.- Lunch: Vandel root cream, wyvern meatballs (yes, you read that right), and snowfoam pudding.- Dinner: What they call the “Royal Nocturnal Feast.” Once you taste it, you forget your previous life.
My daily schedule is rigid—but delicious:
1. Wake up, royal bath with perfumed water. 2. Divine breakfast. 3. Library with Alfred. Mountains of books I devour in two hours. 4. Magic lessons with Celsius, the court sage. 5. Lunch. 6. Etiquette with Alfred: posture, manners, the fine art of bowing without looking bored. 7. Public speaking with Susy: speeches, cadence, eye contact. If I stutter… well…
—“Don’t breathe if you’re going to hesitate in front of a crowd!”—Susy would yell, launching a kick that sent me flying out of the royal patio.
And before I could cross the castle wall, she’d soar after me to land another kick and send me back.
—“There. Back on stage. From the top,”—she’d say, smiling.
At night, Susy would tell me stories: of kingdoms named after colors, mythical races, endless wars, neutral empires ruled by colorless emperors… and how the Kingdom Noir is the only one without slavery or discrimination. An oasis in a divided world.
🧠 Magic and Swordplay
At three years old, the torment began. Alfred, merciless as ever, stole my childhood with cold steel.
—“Every royal child must bleed before they rule,”—he’d say, throwing me to the ground.
Celsius, on the other hand, subjected me to magical trials that left me unconscious for three days. He discovered I had affinity with every magic color:
- 🔴 Red: Fire, explosion — Offensive - 🔵 Blue: Water, ice — Defense - 🟢 Green: Nature, healing — Restoration - 🟡 Yellow: Lightning, speed — Agility - 🟣 Violet: Darkness, spirit — Stealth - ⚪ White: Light, blessing — Protection - ⚫ Black: Chaos, curses — Extreme risk
And those were just the basics. Each lesson was divine punishment. I dread the advanced ones.
⚔️🔥 Battle Scene – Dance of the Scarlet Blade
At four years old, even the instructors couldn’t keep up. One afternoon, as I trained with Alfred…
The sky was clear, and the noon sun poured onto the palace arena, making each grain of sand shimmer like golden dust. Marble pillars surrounded the roofless battleground, and the bordering gardens whispered in the wind.
I held my royal training sword with both hands, breathing steadily as I faced Alfred. Sweat trickled down my forehead. The light armor I wore felt like it carried the weight of a thousand battles.
Then, the air shifted.
—“Did you feel that?”—Alfred whispered.
—“Feel what?”
Footsteps echoed from the west corridor.
Scarlett emerged, backlit by the sunlight. She was the embodiment of fire. Red hair flowing like flames, silver armor sparkling like stars, and crimson eyes that cut through the soul.
With each step, garden leaves rustled, as if the wind trembled in her presence.
—“You’re such a fool, little brother,”—she said playfully. “In battle, you never look away—even if it’s me.”
—“I was caught off guard, not distracted,”—I replied as I stood up from Alfred’s last blow.
Scarlett unsheathed her sword. Its blade released a wave of light, roaring with divine energy.
—“Face me. I want to know if the rumors about the prodigy prince are true.”
The crowd began to form—nobles, servants, guards—all drawn by the clash.
Alfred crossed his arms silently, assuming the role of referee.
—“Begin when ready,”—he said with a deep voice.
I nodded. Scarlett raised her sword. At that moment, everything else faded.
🌪️ Combat!
The first strike shook the air. CLANG! Sparks flew like fireworks. My arms trembled from the impact, but I stood firm. She smirked and spun on one foot, thrusting sideways—barely missing me.
—“Not bad, little prince… but don’t bore me!”
I answered with a flurry of rapid blows. Speed, precision, strategy—Alfred’s training had paid off.
But Scarlett… she was something else.
Each movement created trails of fire. Her blade seemed to burn with willpower. Every footstep scorched the ground. She moved like a dangerous dance—fluid and fierce.
The onlookers stopped whispering. Silence fell like fog.
I feinted toward her flank, forcing her back. Her smirk vanished briefly… then returned sharper.
Then she cast a spell.
—“Crimson Veil!”—she shouted.
A burst of red energy engulfed her. Her speed doubled. I could barely keep up. Leaves from the garden flew with each impact. Our swords became streaks of light—like meteors colliding.
My heart pounded like a war drum. My feet sunk into the sand. Each block left my arms shaking.
And just as our blades were about to clash again… Alfred stepped between us!
—“Enough!”—he roared, gripping my sword in both hands.
Panting, I looked at him in confusion. Turning to Scarlett, I saw two royal enforcers had seized her arms. They wore black armor, unsheathed black blades, and wolf-shaped helmets.
When they touched her… a shockwave rippled across the arena. Leaves launched skyward. The air buzzed. Cracks spidered across the sand floor.
Dead silence. It wasn’t respect… it was fear.
Scarlett lowered her gaze, slowly sheathed her sword, and turned away.
The guards vanished like shadows. Without another word, she left.
From that day on… she never spoke to me again. If we crossed paths, she turned her head. If I followed her, she disappeared.
Asking didn’t help. Everyone averted their eyes. The mystery settled… like a shadow in my new life.
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