I Became the First Prince

If the Night is Long, the Dreams are Deep (3)

The dragon of light hurtled into the storm, and from there came a great explosion of sound.
A terrible shockwave hit the entire world.

And after all of that-

‘Pot!’

As if it had all been an illusion, storm and dragon both disappeared in an instant.
There remained no auspicious light, no ominous purple brilliance, and no movement.
All that remained was dirt and dust rising to the ends of the sky.
People swallowed nervously, not even daring to predict the outcome of this mythical battle.

Just by recalling the splendid dragon’s majesty, they vaguely guessed that the Crown Prince would have won.

However, instead of talking about the outcome of the battle, they quietly waited for the dust to clear.
In stark contrast to this, the prince’s knights did not stand still like the others.
They threw themselves into the dustcloud, gripped by a desire to reach the prince.
Once inside, the dust was so thick that they struggled to see even an inch ahead of them.
Nevertheless, they ran on without any hesitation.

With their sight obscured, all they could see was the earth beneath their feet ripped and plowed by the battle.
The champions and the duke fell onto the uneven ground over and over again, yet they did not allow this to stop them for a moment.
They merely charged on, as if they knew where the prince was to be found in the cloud of dust.

The special oath they had made a while ago, that tightly bound link, aided them a lot, showed them a lot.
They sensed who the victor of the terrible battle was, and where they had to go.
But still, what was the state of the winner?

They kept running.
Those bound by their vows followed the guidance of their souls, and those not bound followed the others without a halt.
And so, they headed to where the prince was and finally arrived.

As if by magic, the wind blew in at that moment, driving away the dust.
And upon the clearing landscape, they saw the victor and the defeated.
There was the elf, with her shoulders and upper body torn as if ravaged by some maw.

“When I first met you, I felt that my destiny was intertwined with yours.
Since that day, I have thought about it every moment – how will our destinies play out?” Sigrun said, coughing blood.
“And now, my curiosity is sated.”

She looked at her upper body with her one remaining eye, then looked up again at the prince.

“You are the arbiter of my fate.”

The elf smiled, her pleasant expression not fitting the situation.

“But for my destiny to be but one of the countless fates that your Highness determines…”

Sigrun’s smile was insidious and sinister.
“That’s not what I want.”

The elf then laughed, revealing her bloody teeth.“I am greater than that.”

A purple glow rose from the elf’s body.
“As your Highness is my end, I hope to be the same to you.”

The knights immediately intuited the situation, knowing that she was about to do something dangerous.
They knew that Sigrun’s actions would be of no benefit to them or the prince, and having realized this, they were already moving.

Arwen Kirgayen wrapped her arms around the prince’s body.
In front of them stood Carls Ulrich and Vincent Balahard, serving as the shield and walls that Bernardo Eli shot out like javelins towards the elf.

At that very moment- ‘Quap!’

A sword protruded from the elf’s chest, before the radiance shaking as if it would explode right away could be released, before any of the knights reached the elf.
Sigrun looked at her chest and the tip of the blade protruding from it.
She shifted her gaze behind her back, and there stood a woman wearing a green cloak, most adept of the half-elves.

“So- You, a humble hybrid, dares-”

‘Kwaduk!’

Pale and golden Aura Blades slashed into Sigrun’s body.

‘Tuk Degur!’

The elf’s head promptly rolled over the ground.
Filled with the twisted desires and murderous intentions that had ruled her life until the last minute, Sigrun could not even close her one eye after her head was severed.
And that was how the evil faerie, who had destroyed countless heroes over the span of a millennium, met her end.

her bloody sword aside and turned to her master.
Bernardo Eli did not even think of sheathing his sword when he also turned to the prince.

“Your Highness…” said Arwen Kirgayen to the man who breathed heavily on her arms.
Vincent Balahard knelt before the prince.
He still thought of the day when the castle his family had protected for ages burned, the day when he did not see his father’s face for a final time, and he looked as if he would collapse at any moment.
Still, Vincent knew what transpired today was worth it.
The golden, ethereal armor that had shone so brightly was gone, and the prince’s bare skin was revealed, intact.
No more blood flowed from the hole in his chest.

“I lost my temper.
Even if she couldn’t employ her sword dance, this was all too much.
And for all of you to risk your lives – it’s really unfair.”

The prince complained softly, and whenever he parted his lips, blood flowed from between them.

“Your Highness! Your Highness! Don’t say anything!”

“There’s no monster worse than she.
Even though not as monstrous as Sigrun, there are a few more Elder High Elves.
If they come out now, the kingdom won’t be able to withstand their onslaught.”

“It doesn’t matter what happens to the kingdom right now… you’re on the brink of death!” Vincent screamed, his face contorted.

“It’s a good thing… Thanks to you guys, I was able to reserve my last strength.”

“Please! Please! Shut your mouth!”

But the prince did not stop talking.

“Adelia.
Could you raise me up?”

Adelia shook her head violently.

“Adelia.”

She shook her head even harder.

“Adel-”

“My prince, no!” she screamed.
“I won’t listen! I won’t follow!”

The prince sighed.

“Your Highness is trying to use your last remaining strength! If your Highness exerts yourself, you’ll surely…”

The prince smiled a bitter smile as he faced the desperate resistance of the woman whose soul was enslaved to his.
Then, he laughed.
No matter how he looked to others, his happy face was directed at Adelia and the fact that she had grown from meek to great.
Adelia herself was deep in contemplation as if she had realized that she could stand on her own from now on.

“Don’t do it! Do nothing!” Vincent urged desperately.

“You talk too brashly, Vincent.
I’m still the Crown Prince.”

“What if you’re a prince! I’m a duke! You may become a prince who never rises to the throne! I can say no more than this! So please, shut your mouth and stay still! Please…”

The prince shifted his gaze, looking for someone to help him out.
Carls Ulrich shook his head with a stern face.
The Crown Prince then turned to Bernardo Eli.

“I’m always being treated like this.
I always do everything that others don’t want to do.
Do you think I’ll do it again? Absolutely not.”

Eli’s eyes were full of tears as he spoke of his dissatisfaction.

“Arwen.”

And at last, the prince’s gaze settled on Arwen Kirgayen.

“You know… If you feel like the others, you don’t have to answer.”

Arwen didn’t answer.

“You’re the one.”

The prince glanced at those who had refused his request with a spiteful face.

“Please.
Help me to finish this.”

Arwen bit her lip until it bled, the tight muscles around her eyes twitching.
Then, after a while, she opened her eyes and grabbed the prince’s drooping body, raising it.

“Oh, no!” Adelia screamed, also grabbing onto the prince’s body.

“Sir Arwen!”

Eli and Carls had ashen pale faces, and they tried to stop Arwen.

“What are you doing now?!”

Vincent Balahard’s anger was fiery, and Adelia continued to cling to the prince’s body.

‘Chuck!’

Carls drew his sword, placing it against Arwen’s neck.

“Stop it.”

However, Arwen was not concerned with the cool texture of the iron sword pressing against her neck.
She just continued to raise the prince up.
Knowing that Carls would not stab the blade into her flesh, she managed to help the Crown Prince to stand.

“Thanks.”

Finally, the prince stood on his own two feet and expressed his gratitude with a benevolent smile.
Then he pierced the royal sword into the ground, the weapon not having been released from his grasp until the very end.
The prince’s body, which seemed as if it would collapse at any moment, still stood tall.

‘’The stairs to the sky collapsed’’

A soft song flowed from his mouth.

‘’All that remains is the cunning tribe’s screams as they plummet’’

At first, his voice was so weak as to be near inaudible, but at some point, it began resonating across the plain.

‘’In a flurry the tale does spread, and all in the world know of their fall’’

And a light burst from the prince, with him looking back at his knights in that bright glow.

“Don’t think about saving me with elixir, or by reliance on fortune.
Nectar will restore my body, but it won’t be able to restore my broken soul.
So use it where it is more needed.”

An extraordinarily brilliant flash engulfed the prince.
And when the light faded, he closed his eyes, leaning against his sword.

“Well, your Highness…” Adelia Bavaria staggered as she rounded on the prince.
“Your Highness, your eyes…”

The moment she touched him, the Crown Prince fell.
Adelia looked at him with unfocused eyes, looking at the slowly falling prince and the knights rushing to him.

“Ahhh…”

She clenched her cheeks with both hands, and started groaning, as if in pain.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!” Adelia screamed.

It was at that moment that the chain connected to her soul broke.

**

‘Ching!’

Lionel Leonberger looked at his hand with a frown.
Blood poured from where he had cut his finger on broken glass.

“Why, Your Majesty! Are you okay!?” The marshal, who has dining with the king, got up from his seat with a concerned face.

“I don’t want you to fuss about me getting a cut on my finger,” Lionel Leonberger said as he looked at the broken glass, already having wrapped the tip of his finger with a handkerchief handed him by the attendant.

“Is the glass old? There seemed nothing wrong with it.”

“I sold all the good-quality tableware to cover our finances.
I can’t say that those that remain are of good quality,” the marshal told the king with an embarrassed face.

“It’s time for everyone to tighten their belts, so there is no need to feel guilt.”

“Your Majesty understands, so I feel more comfortable,” the marshal said, and then suddenly remembered something else.
“By the way, they say the exterminations are almost at an end.
Maybe the Crown Prince will return soon.”

Hearing Bielefeld’s words, Lionel Leonberger looked out of his window.
It seemed that his eldest son, who had run wild without worrying about his father’s command that he should avoid battle by staying in the rear and appeasing public sentiment, would soon arrive in the city.

“When he comes back, he will be punished.
I will be very strict so that he can learn how to sit still.”

The marshal laughed, unable to hide his smile after hearing the king say he would punish the prince.

“News, your Majesty!” It was then that the Palace Knight Commander opened the door, running into the room.

“His Highness the prince…”

King Lionel’s face, also smiling, hardened.

“Sire…” Bielefeld looked at the king and the messenger alternately with a pale face.

Lionel Leonberger jumped up from his seat and headed straight for the city gate.
Once there, he sighted the knights who had halted before the wall.
The young champions, the pride of the kingdom, did not even step up to greet the king.
Suddenly, Lionel’s eyes were drawn to their shoulders.
The positions where the proud knights wore their pauldrons and epaulets were marred by scratches and dents.
As soon as King Lionel saw this, he felt a veil pierce into his mind.
When he came to his senses, he was standing in front of a small cart.

“I beg you, brother… wake up.”

His second son was there, weeping, unaware of his father’s arrival.

“Why do you sleep like this… Please! Please… open your eyes! Brother!”

Maximilian, beset by a fierce sorrow, saw his father and spoke.

“Oh father… Your Majesty.
My brother is acting strange.
He is sleeping without answering my words.
Your Majesty will punish my lazy brother who sleeps without knowing I am here… No.
Please do not punish him.
Just make him wake up!”

The younger prince, who always acted more mature than his age, now cried like a child.
King Lionel, looking at the cart with a hard face, forced his hands to stroke his stiff neck.

There was his son—his eldest son who left the royal palace to subdue the turmoil in the kingdom, the boy he had promised to severely punish upon his return.
He had been loaded into the cart, with his hands resting upon his chest, laying quietly, his eyes closed.