Chapter 13: A Rose upon the Ashes
The Royal Castle of Phillipe once again echoed with hurried footsteps. Unlike usual, the grand royal hall buzzed with whispers filled with tension. The sun had yet to rise fully when the nobles were summoned for an emergency council.
Upon the throne sat King Phillipe, his body frail. His old age and the lingering magic wounds from the last battle had dimmed his once radiant presence. Yet his eyes remained sharp as a sword, even if his body weakened.
To his right sat Grand Duke Theral, ruler of the southern provinces, wearing a cryptic smile. Across from him, Duke Arcturus de Malefic appeared haughty in a dark cloak and a staff adorned with ancient carvings.
Between them stood Prince Bastian, the second heir, whose face showed growing inner conflict with each passing day. Hidden beneath his royal garments, the demon seal secretly given to him by Duke Malefic pulsed faintly on his chest.
> "Xebec has returned from the north," announced one of the advisors, "wounded, but victorious against Baal's demonic forces in western Artheon."
Some nobles clapped, but the applause sounded stiff. Grand Duke Theral glanced at Bastian with politically calculating eyes.
> "But the toll on the people cannot be ignored," said Viscount Ellrich. "Can a one-armed heir truly lead the kingdom in these chaotic times?"
> "Xebec is not just one arm," Nanea, Xebec's youngest sister, declared boldly. "He has courage, strategy, and strength—even Swordmasters respect him."
A cold laugh escaped from Duke Malefic. "We're not talking about courage, Princess. We're talking about the throne."
Meanwhile, outside the hall, Prince Xebec had just arrived. His battle-worn attire was torn at the edges, and his silver hair carried a trace of dust. Walking beside him was Astrid de Malefic, her sharp eyes unable to mask her worry.
> "My father and the Grand Duke have already started planning their next moves," Astrid murmured. "They want the throne, Xebec. And… perhaps not for you."
> "Let them try," Xebec whispered, eyes fixed on the hall ahead. "I won't face them as a prince. But as a Swordmaster…"
As Xebec stepped inside, the room fell silent. Even Duke Malefic turned slightly to observe the motion of the crown prince's single arm, which still radiated a sword-like aura despite holding no blade.
> "I'm not here seeking approval," Xebec said calmly. "But I will protect this land—even if every table in this room is turned against me."
King Phillipe raised his hand, struggling to speak through heavy breaths. "Enough… I don't know how much longer I have. But… if I fall, I want to see you all still standing together. Not killing each other for a crown."
But in the corner of the hall, Bastian looked down. Inside him, a battle had begun. Their father's words felt like a burden—not a call.
And that very night, beneath a moon veiled by clouds, Grand Duke Theral and Duke Malefic secretly summoned Bastian to the western tower.
> "Right now, the throne is held by one hand," Duke Malefic whispered, swirling his wine. "But the other hand… can be yours, if you dare to reach for it."
Bastian gave no reply. Yet beneath the skin of his chest, Baal's seal began to glow faintly in the dark…
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Flashback: The Power of Grand Duke Theral
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The night sky rolled with thick clouds above Castle Phillipe. But it wasn't thunder that rattled the stained glass windows that night—it was a faint but powerful magical aura slamming against the wards of the castle walls.
In the western tower, after the secret meeting, Bastian had left. But Grand Duke Theral still stood alone, staring at the sky from a high balcony.
Cold wind whipped through his cloak, adorned with the emblem of a silver coiled dragon—the ancient sigil of House Theral, one of the oldest clans, predating even the founding of the Phillipe Kingdom.
Duke Arcturus de Malefic approached slowly. "You've yet to show your true self, Theral. Even King Phillipe seems to have forgotten who stood beside him during the Black Mist War four decades ago."
Theral narrowed his eyes. "Phillipe hasn't forgotten. He's chosen to pretend."
Arcturus sighed. "You still carry that power?"
In a blink, the air around Grand Duke Theral shifted. The night sky cracked like glass. The earth let out a soft cry. The figure of the aging man now shimmered with a draconic aura—both terrifying and beautiful—a form of ancient warrior energy said to belong only to Swordmasters who had fused with the soul of their ancestral dragon.
> "Once, I was called Theral the Southern Conqueror," he whispered. "And among all Swordmasters, only one ever came close to matching me… young Phillipe, when his sword was still untainted by politics."
Lightning flashed across the tower's peak.
> "So why do you stand by me now?" Arcturus asked warily.
Theral smiled. "Because I swore once to protect this kingdom's legacy. But I've yet to decide who is worthy to inherit it. If Xebec wants the throne… then he must face not only sorcery, but the strength of legends."
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After Theral and Duke Malefic's deep conversation, a heavy rain battered the tower's windows that night. The two made their way toward King Phillipe's chambers. A flash of lightning lit the room, revealing the aged king sitting pensively on an intricately carved wooden bed. In the dimly lit space, Duke Malefic stood calmly, arms folded beneath his unnaturally pristine blue cloak—too clean for someone who often waded through the filth of power.
The wooden door creaked open.
> "Your Majesty, Grand Duke Theral has arrived," said a guard.
King Phillipe merely nodded. As Theral entered, his frame tall and broad even in old age, his presence filled the room with an oppressive air.
> "Theral… my old friend," Phillipe said with a bitter smile.
> "King Phillipe," Theral replied, no longer using the familiar tone of old. "I believe the time is near."
They exchanged a look. In the past, that gaze conveyed trust. Now, only shadows of that past remained.
> "Do you remember when we were young, fighting on the borders of Artheon?" Phillipe asked quietly. "We swore to build a world free of tyranny."
> "That world never came to be," Theral replied coldly. "All we have is a weakened kingdom… led by a boy with only one hand."
Phillipe closed his eyes for a moment.
> "Xebec may not be perfect. But he is my son. My heir."
> "And your heir will lead us to ruin," Duke Malefic cut in with a faint smile. "The people grow uneasy. And the outside world begins to sense your weakness, Your Majesty."
Theral stepped closer. His voice grew firm, like thunder behind dark clouds.
> "If you truly intend to pass the crown to Xebec, then I shall see it as the abandonment of our old oath. And… don't blame me if I act."
King Phillipe straightened, his body trembling.
> "Are you… threatening me, Theral?"
> "Not a threat. Just a truth you refuse to hear."
A faint magical aura enveloped Theral's body. A sickly green glow flickered briefly in his eyes—a trace of dark magic he once rejected, now merged within him. That power didn't come from himself… but from a pact made in secret.
Duke Malefic smiled, as if his plan had entered the next phase.
> "You were once my friend," King Phillipe murmured sadly. "Now you're just a shadow of that man."
Theral looked back without emotion.
> "What you call a shadow… is the only light left that can save this kingdom. If not through your bloodline… then through force."
He turned, his steps heavy but certain.
> "Stop clinging to your broken son, Phillipe. The world will not wait for a prince with a shattered heart. The world only listens to strength."
As the door closed behind them, silence swallowed the room. King Phillipe did not weep, but his hands trembled—grieving not only the loss of his youth, but the fading strength that could no longer protect anyone—not even his family.
Duke Malefic turned with a feigned look of sympathy.
> "I will always be here for you, Your Majesty… when no one else remains."
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To be Continued…