Late at night, in the Second Prince's palace.
Click.
Arjen, hidden under his blanket, turned on his exploration lamp.
As the lighthouse-like beam pierced the endless darkness, he released the breath he'd been holding.
“……How much did I memorize?”
Rustle, rustle.
Arjen groped beneath his pillow and retrieved several loose pages.
Torn haphazardly from a book.
Their edges were worn ragged from constant handling.
‘If I finish memorizing these today, tomorrow I’ll start on and .’
He’d grown skilled at smuggling disposal-bound books from the royal library while pretending to read children’s picture books.
No one paid Arjen enough attention to notice.
‘That girl was peculiar.’
Arjen laid the pages on his chest.
Didn’t her slashed hand hurt?
‘Waving wildly outside windows, grabbing my clothes suddenly…’
And worse –
she’d tried to hold hands.
Arjen detested physical contact. The very concept of human warmth felt alien.
Holding hands? Absolutely…
He jerked sideways under the blanket.
‘Weakness. Only dependent children cling to others.’
Gathering the pages, he reaffirmed his resolve –
he’d grow strong alone.
“Is the prince asleep?”
Arjen froze at the servants’ voices.
“After gorging on dinner and dessert? He’ll sleep till noon.”
“Right. That’s the prince’s lamp oil, isn’t it?”
“Corpse-sleepers don’t need lamps. Mine now, dumbass.”
A fleshy slapping sound followed crude laughter.
“Feasted like kings tonight~”
“You told him the reason?”
“Obviously. ‘Poor marks mean bread crusts and broth.’”
“Not technically a lie, heh.”
‘Principles of Sword Energy Manifestation.’
Arjen shut his eyes tighter, mentally reciting text.
The servants had long swapped their lavish meals for his gruel. Emboldened by years of getting away with it, they’d grown brazen.
They’d even convinced the Ministry of Internal Affairs to increase provisions by spreading rumors of the prince’s pickiness.
Arjen chewed leathery bread.
As long as it wasn’t poisoned, taste didn’t matter. Food merely silenced hunger. Complaints would only invite worse retaliation.
“This embezzling business – weirdly satisfying.”
“How?”
“Skimming palace funds. Fat purses help, but this…” smacking sounds “Happy tongue gets royal cuisine!”
Their snickers faded down the hall.
‘Proper mana circulation through the blade generates sword energy. Output varies by aptitude.’
I’m fine.
Not frightened.
Not lonely.
Never sad.
‘Next section.’
Fine alone.
Always fine.
Only when silence returned did Arjen reopen his eyes.
Clicking his lamp back on, the boy’s face remained impassive.
“Glad I revisited the toy shop today.”
The jelly from the the turtle-shaped bag haunted his thoughts.
Had that sharp-eyed child eaten it…
‘Disaster narrowly avoided.’
The servants’ homemade jelly contained slow-acting toxins – nonlethal doses to suppress his mana. The Empress believed this explained his dwindling magical aptitude, which had disappointed the Emperor into reducing her schemes.
Once Arjen began playing the fool, even the poisoned meals stopped.
‘No evidence means no royal audience. And His Majesty…’
A ruler first, a father never.
Pages crumpled in Arjen’s grip.
No seawall sheltered him from life’s tempests. The isolated boy could only endure, waiting for storms to pass.
Bide time.
Hold breath.
This was how hollow-hearted boys survived.
