Chapter 1: The Crippled Crown Prince
Dawn broke over the Kingdom of Phillipe in hues of golden orange. Inside the prince's chamber, sunlight touched the cheek of Xebec von Phillipe, who slept peacefully, one hand clutching a pillow, the other arm… empty. A lingering wound from the past, never fully healed. He slowly opened his eyes, sighed, and sat at the edge of his bed.
"Morning again..."
He gazed out the window. The city looked calm, but his heart was not. Today, an important meeting of the nobles would be held—and he knew it wouldn't just be a matter of protocol.
After preparing, Xebec walked slowly out of the palace, his footsteps echoing through the long corridor. He wore formal white robes with a light cape. Though he had lost one hand, his dignity had never waned. Servants bowed as he passed, though some whispered behind his back.
"Can a crippled prince truly be worthy of the throne?"
He pretended not to hear. He'd heard it too many times. Yet the words still pierced deep.
In the palace courtyard, Xebec greeted the citizens waiting to meet him. He smiled, offered words of encouragement, even patted the shoulder of a child practicing with a wooden sword. These small moments brought him comfort, though they didn't erase the shadows in his mind.
Not far from there, in the training grounds, Xebec stood alone, swinging a wooden sword with his left hand. Sweat trickled from his brow, but his eyes remained sharp. He had yet to fully become a Swordmaster, but his training was relentless. He wanted to prove that one hand was enough to defend a kingdom.
His cheerful sister, Nanea, suddenly arrived carrying two wooden swords.
"Big brother Xebec! Teach me again! But this time, I'm not losing!" she said with a laugh.
They trained together. Nanea's laughter was a light in his heart. But in a flash, the memories came flooding back.
Years ago—Xebec, still a teenager, heard Nanea's scream from the forest behind the palace. A shadow demon had slipped through a dimensional rift and was chasing her. Without thinking, Xebec leapt in front of her. The creature's claw tore through his right arm. Blood, pain, screams. But Nanea survived. And Xebec lost a hand.
As the memory faded, the voice of the Grand Advisor, Lord Halverick, broke the silence.
"Prince, the nobles have gathered. The King commands your presence."
Xebec nodded. He walked to the grand council chamber, where nobles and royal advisors had gathered beneath a glass ceiling painted with the kingdom's history.
The atmosphere was tense. Eyes were watchful. Some nobles whispered, comparing the prince to his younger brother—Bastian.
Bastian, seated nearby, looked at his brother with a calm smile. He did not yet realize he was at the heart of a quiet, growing conspiracy.
Suddenly, the doors opened. A man in a deep crimson cloak entered with piercing eyes. It was the stepfather of Lady Astrid—Duke Malefic. Behind him stood Grand Duke Theral of the South, ruler of a strategic region and commander of elite forces.
Duke Malefic approached Bastian. His face calm but filled with intent.
"Your Highness, Second Prince," he said quietly. "The kingdom needs new strength. Your brother… is crippled, and the people need a symbol of hope."
Bastian hesitated. "I do not seek power, my lord."
The duke merely smiled faintly, glancing toward Grand Duke Theral. "Just think on it. When the time comes, you'll know who truly supports you."
Bastian had not yet been swayed. But fate had begun to write its next chapter.
---
That night, Xebec returned to his private balcony, gazing at the starry sky. He recalled the council meeting. One noble had boldly declared, "How can someone incomplete lead the royal army?"
Anger and sorrow swirled within him, but he held them back. Behind him, soft footsteps approached. Nanea arrived with a cloak and a cup of tea.
"Brother... I know they're cruel. But… you're still my brother. You're strong—even stronger than them all."
Xebec looked at his sister, a faint smile forming.
"Let them underestimate me… I'll never stop fighting."
That night, while the palace slept, Xebec quietly descended into the underground training chamber. There, he trained alone with wooden dummies, refining his one-handed combat style. Sweat, blood, and resolve blended as one. He knew the day he must fight for his throne… was drawing near.
And far away, in some dark and forgotten place, a man in ritual robes whispered a forbidden name:
"Baal… Demon King. Your time draws near."
---
By morning, as the guards returned to their posts, Duke Malefic had yet to depart the palace. He made his way slowly toward the eastern tower, where Bastian resided. The setting sun painted the sky like a veil over human schemes.
"What is it you truly want from me?" Bastian asked quietly, his voice low but sharp.
Duke Malefic didn't answer right away. He pulled out a small wooden box, locked with ancient magic. Inside, he revealed something—a black seal inscribed with complex red-glowing symbols, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Something given only to a true heir," he whispered. "Something that could make you more than human."
Bastian stepped back, his expression shifting. "You're insane."
"No. I am merely opening the way," the duke replied. "One day, you'll understand—the world will not be changed by a one-handed prince… but by someone who dares claim the power the old gods left behind."
He closed the box and walked away, leaving Bastian in the fog. Bastian stared at his own hands, clenched his fists, and looked toward the palace.
Elsewhere, deep beneath the palace, a long-buried chamber began to crack. A faint red light seeped from ancient carvings. Something bound—sealed since the reign of the kingdom's first ruler—was slowly awakening, stirred by magic leaking back into the world.
And Xebec… returned to his room after an exhausting night of training. As he opened the door, he found an owl carrying a scroll. The letter bore no signature, but the handwriting was unmistakably noble.
> "The throne is not for the pitied. It belongs to the fearless. Return to the shadows… or be swallowed by them."
Xebec gripped the letter tightly. He raised his head, his gaze no longer wavering.
In the throne room, King Phillipe—their father—sat motionless before a map of the realm. His hair had turned white, his shoulders heavier than ever. Beside him, royal advisor Lady Irwena spoke softly, "The time is drawing near, Your Majesty. If Prince Xebec cannot withstand the pressure… there are others."
King Phillipe closed his eyes. He knew. He knew the storm was coming.
---
The next morning, the palace resumed its bustling rhythm. But the atmosphere had changed. Word of Duke Malefic and the southern Grand Duke spending the night in the palace had reached the ears of servants and guards. Rumors spread like poison in the air.
"Prince Bastian will replace his brother."
"Prince Xebec is no longer worthy."
In the palace garden, Nanea looked at the blossoming flowers. She knew their world was shifting. But she wouldn't let her brother face it alone. She clenched her small fist and swore that one day, she too would be a strength that could protect Xebec.
And elsewhere, in a place not marked on any official map, Duke Malefic reopened an ancient black grimoire passed down through generations—The Grimoire of Baal. He smiled, speaking to the shadow beginning to take form from smoke:
"Soon, the seal will break. And the world will remember true power."
---
To be continued...