A Blade Raised in the Shadows

My mind went blank. I never imagined it would come to this.

"What now, Emperor?" I asked, my voice barely steady.

Emperor Nyxarion’s brow was furrowed, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. "Unthinkable. That something such demonic, was born along with the little boy."

"A spirit is terminated inside of the subconscious.
And the boy... unscathed."

"Yes," he said grimly. "That makes him far more dangerous than we’d feared."

He turned to me, his tone now colder, final. "We move to Plan B. He must be eliminated... before something worse emerges, again."

I wasn't surprised with that decision at all.
I had a hunch of this from the moment I came back to spirit-realm.
I didn't feel sorrow for Basalin at all.
Clearly inside, I was...
...afraid of him.

"But how? We can’t touch him openly. He’s a royal heir now."

"Precisely," The Emperor nodded. "And even if we kill him... we can't explain these matters to the mortals."

"Then...?"

The Emperor’s voice dropped low, cutting the silence like a blade. "As much as I loathe the idea... there is no other option."

He stared through me, eyes like obsidian.
"We hire mortals."

***

While mating between two different races is forbidden, in Beaster, copulation between different kins within the same race are not allowed either.

But...
It was the former king, Pholomin III Lenard.
He committed the forbidden act.

He entered in a relationship with a white-tiger beast-kin, and from that union born a child of mixed-blood—Sakan Lenard, the current general. He bore grey manes from his mother and golden eyes from his father.

He was the firstborn of Pholomin III, yet even he understood that he could never be king. That’s why Sakan did not bear his father’s name.

The fault lay with the king, so he didn't abandon Sakan.

Later, the current king, Pholomin IV, was born. Child of the rightful queen. He was named the crown prince.
Despite the lineage, the two half-brothers shared a good relationship, though the queen often forbade Pholomin III from playing with Sakan.

Sakan’s early life was hard.

When Pholomin III died at the age of one hundred seventy-three, Pholomin IV took the throne at forty-eight.

And one of his first acts as king?
He appointed Sakan as his general.

Though heavily criticized by the court and the public, he stood firm, declaring his decision with the full weight of his authority.

Years passed.
Both brothers married.

Pholomin V Lenard was born a few decades later. Two years after that, Basalin entered the world.

His mother was a pure lion-kin, yet white-tiger traits surfaced in the child.

He inherited his father’s grey mane and his eyes gleamed with golden pupils.

So when the king declared Basalin as second in line to the throne, the nobles were outraged.

Only because of my public bestowal of Vulcan did some of that fury subside.

Still, the embers of resentment never truly died.
There were many who would jump at the chance to see that child removed from succession.

And so, when it became clear that we would need a mortal to do the deed...

I had countless options. Too many.
But to my unknown,
The first one who came to mind…
...was the wolf-kin who ignited the revolt.

When I returned to Beaster, I began investigating that certain individual.

Soon enough, I found him—Lysandre Fenrahl.
A fallen noble.

His bloodline had served the kingdom for generations, their lineage proud and decorated. Since Beaster’s founding, the Fenrahls held the title of General.

In fact, one of his forefathers was among the few to receive a spirit during The Great War.

But that spirit was long gone, buried with its bearer.

When King Pholomin IV appointed his half-brother Sakan as the new general, the Fenrahl family lost everything. Their ancestral duty, their honor, their status. All taken.

By a mixed-blood who, in their eyes, shouldn’t have existed.

Yes… Lysandre Fenrahl will be the perfect candidate.
Someone already burning with hatred.

***

Across the town, at a bar—

"Hey, that’s enough," The fox-kin bartender warned the over-drunken customer. "You won't even make it home this way."

"Shut up... I know... What... I am doing..." The drunkard slurred.

He kept muttering to himself, words heavy with bitterness.
"That mixed blood... Snatched... Everything from me!
Why didn't... That brat... Die?
I... Heard... There was a fire... A big one... So why!"

"Don't drink more—"

"I... I am... Lysandre Fenrahl... No one... No one tells me what to do!"
He flung his drink at the bartender, splashing liquor across the counter.

Chairs scraped as attention shifted. Murmurs rose.

"Now you have done it. Guards!"

Two dog-kin guards strode in and grabbed Lysandre.
"Don't touch me... You pests... Let me go!"
They didn’t listen. They tossed him out like a sack of grain.

"I will... Rise again... And... You all will... Perish!" He snarled, stumbling as he hit the ground.
"Damn! Curse you... You bastard... Mixed blood."

From a shadowed alley, a female voice cut through the dark.
"Look how pathetic you have become."

"How dare you... To call me... Pathetic... I’ll—"

"Shut your mouth."
She stepped into the moonlight.

***

Lysandre remained stunned silent for a moment.
His rage disappeared in an instant. He knelt immediately.
"F-Forest Guardian… I apologize. Please, please forgive my rudeness."
The shock turned him back to normal.

"I shall. But you will do what I say." My voice cold and sharp, unusual for myself.

"Please command me, I'll try my best to be someone worthy of your choice."

"It's not about you. I need your offspring."

"My son?" He blinked. "But he’s only two years old. How could he—?"

"You dare question me?!"

"N-No! Never." He bowed deeper. "If it is your will, then my son will serve. Please… tell me the task."

"The royal family have a ritual to hold a dueling ceremony for their heirs after ten years of their birth."
She met his eyes.
"I need your son to be the dueling partner for the newest heir Basalin."

His eyes darkened. "The son of that mixed blood!!!"

"Don't worry. It's not for what you think.
Basalin Lenard must die, for the greater good of this kingdom.
And your son will... eliminate him, during that duel."

A twisted smile played at Lysandre’s lips.
"I always knew, mixed bloods should never exist.
Then, will the general be executed as well?"

My voice snapped. "Just do what you're told. Nothing more."

"...But you gave that boy a spirit, didn't you?"

"So what?"

"Then how can my son ever win against such power?"

"Basalin won't be able to—"
I stopped myself. I had nearly let the truth slip.

"He won't be able to do what, Guardian?"

"…That’s irrelevant." I steadied my voice. "As for your concern… I’ll bestow a spirit upon your son. And I’ll train him myself."
I can't take risks, it will be my only chance...

***

The boy, Lumier Fenrahl, was sharp.
He understood his family's condition at a young age. So his rivalry toward Basalin grew into hatred at some point. He recognised the purpose of his training.

I often visited the palace's training ground in disguise, to check on out the heirs.

The prince was extraordinary in combat with both his sword and spirit. Basalin wasn't even close to his level. He wasn't that good in swordsmanship. But I never saw him using the great power that dwells inside him.

Lysandre taught his son about swords, but Lumier wasn't skillful in that part either, but his capability to utilise his wind spirit, Aneamph, was pretty pleasant. He mastered it in just a few years.

Of course, he got a first class teacher.

In the remaining time I taught him method to hide his spirit's energy.
I didn’t know how Basalin might react in a life-threatening moment. So Aneamph’s energy had to be hidden before the duel.

Later, before Basalin's tenth birthday, when his duel partner was to be chosen, I suggested Lumier to Pholomin IV. And eventually he agreed after meeting and checking Lumier's potential.

***

Like that, the duel began.

But, it turned out to be as if...
...fate were a bosom friend of Basalin.