I wake up with a light heart, having slept well.   

A soft sunlight filters through the gold-embroidered curtains of my chamber, its rays caressing my skin with a soothing warmth.   

It’s truly pleasant, a welcome contrast to the restless nights haunted by dreams of battles and blood.   

  

I stretch slowly, savoring this moment of peace, then head to my window to gaze at Lilyani’s city center.   

From up here, in the castle’s heights, the cobblestone streets are already bustling: merchants set up their stalls, children run laughing, and colorful garlands flutter in the morning breeze.   

Today is the Festival of Heroes, a celebration marking the tenth anniversary of our victory over Amérance. Music, dance, laughter, and alcohol will fill the streets until dawn, a vibrant tribute to our warriors’ sacrifices.   

  

But for me, Arthur Zodiac, Prince of Lilyani, this day carries a special weight.   

It’s also a reminder of my uncle, Lancelot Zodiac, one of the Big Four, whose legend still looms over the kingdom.   

I prepare to leave, glancing at the clock: it must be around seven. I’m a bit late to meet Rikami at the training camp, and she hates waiting.   

  

No matter, I slip on my usual jacket—a turquoise blue coat bearing the Zodiac Clan’s crest—and check my sword, securing it carefully in its sheath.   

I take one last look in the mirror, adjusting my tousled blond hair and ensuring my appearance reflects a prince’s dignity. Then I step out, my stride resolute.   

Training with Rikami has become increasingly frequent lately. At first, it was roughly every two weeks, a chance to hone my basic skills. But now, we’re clearly at one session a day. It feels like things are heating up, as if a shadow looms on the horizon.   

  

On my way, I pass through the kitchen to find my friend Mike.   

He’s there, busy preparing my usual lunch—a fresh bread stuffed with cheese and dried fruits, a simple but comforting treat.   

Mike is full of talent, probably one of the best cooks on the continent, with a mastery of flavors that could rival royal chefs.   

  

I’ve long tried to make him understand he doesn’t need to use such formal language with me—   

“Your Highness, I present to you an exquisite selection”—but what can I do? It’s his way of showing respect.   

I eat quickly while chatting with him about the upcoming festival, then hurry to the training camp at the castle’s center.   

  

On my way, I pass by Yura’s chamber.   

It’s strange that she hasn’t come out yet—usually, she’s waiting for me when I wake, a warm smile on her lips.   

As I listen closely, I hear a heated discussion inside, tense voices cutting through the morning silence. Intrigued, I stop.   

  

“Damn it, why didn’t you tell me anything?!” a furious female voice exclaims.   

“If I had told you, what would you have done? Condemned the world? I did this to protect you, to stop you from making a choice you’d regret. Now, I’m the one who has to bear this,” another voice replies, calmer but heavy with restrained pain.   

“To hell with that!”   

The door flies open, and Rikami storms out of Yura’s chamber, visibly on edge.   

  

Her green eyes flash with anger, her steps heavy with frustration. I don’t think now’s the time to talk to her.   

She heads toward the training camp without a backward glance.   

Fine. Even if it risks annoying her further with my tardiness, I’ll check on Yura to make sure she’s okay.   

  

I cautiously crack the door open.   

“Yura, is everything alright?” I ask gently.   

“Yes, yes, just a little argument about tonight’s performance,” she replies, a forced smile on her lips. “We’re rehearsing the script.”   

“Oh, okay! Can’t wait to see it. You sounded really into your roles,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.   

“Eheh! You know us, we always go all in! By the way, we received an injured man from Nébiatine at the infirmary. I need to check on him. I’ll join you at the camp later. Be careful with Rikami—I think she’s still in character. She might hit harder than usual.”   

“Haha! Don’t worry, I’m starting to know her, and I have a new technique to test—thanks to you, by the way. I hope you’ll be there when I use it.”   

“It shouldn’t take long,” she says, slipping on her jacket before heading to the castle’s medical wing.   

  

I take the opposite direction toward the training camp, my mind troubled.   

“An injured man from Nébiatine? Hmm…” I murmur to myself.   

News from that lost colony rarely reaches me, but if a survivor has arrived, something serious must have happened. I push the thought aside and quicken my pace.   

  

I arrive at the camp.   

Rikami stands in the arena’s center, dressed in her usual combat attire: her fitted emerald-green dress, practical yet elegant, her katana drawn and gleaming in the morning light.   

She looks at me with determination, her piercing eyes silently challenging me. I give her a friendly smile.   

  

“Hey! How are you…”   

Before I can finish, she lunges at me, her katana aiming for my chest in a lightning-fast strike.   

I step to the side to dodge, heart racing, and quickly draw my sword to parry her next blow.   

  

I’m starting to understand her striking techniques—it’s like playing a percussion instrument.   

Once I find the rhythm, everything flows. Her assaults are predictable if you decode them, a deadly dance paced by her light steps.   

“You could at least say hello!” I protest, panting.   

“There are no hellos on a battlefield,” she retorts, her voice cold and sharp.   

  

I see. She wants to play it like that. Fine, I’ll shed the jacket and give it my all.   

I can’t win—not yet—but I can at least prove her training wasn’t in vain.   

I toss my jacket to a nearby guard, who catches it with a surprised look, and take my stance, sword raised.   

  

The fight is intense. She’s clearly not going all out—I can feel the restraint in her movements—but that suits me just fine.   

Her steps are as graceful as ever, her combat style unique, a fluid dance I’ve never seen elsewhere.   

I’ve noticed her weakness: this style is vulnerable to someone who knows her well. With experience, you can predict her next moves. For a novice, though, overcoming her would be nearly impossible.   

  

The fight lasts about five minutes.   

I rarely manage to go on the offensive; she almost always forces me back, shifting her steps, adjusting her body to break the rhythm I try to set.   

She’s got me—her katana speeds toward my head.   

At that moment, I hear Yura shout from the stands:   

“Now, use your new technique!”   

  

I focus, channeling my Mana at the point of impact.   

Her katana bounces off a crystalline barrier forming around my skull.   

“YES! My diamond magic—it works!” I exclaim, triumphant.   

I turn to Yura in the distance and give her a thumbs-up to thank her for helping me perfect this technique.   

  

But at that moment, a sharp kick from Rikami catches me off guard.   

I land on my back, her katana at my throat. Yes, she’s a very sore loser. For her, this is a small defeat within her victory.   

She offers me a hand to help me up, a rare smirk on her lips.   

“That was good today. You’re improving more and more. You should keep studying magic with Yura.”   

“Thanks, Rikami!” Compliments from her are rare, so I take this as a big win. Her approval fills me with unexpected pride.   

  

Two guards enter the training camp and approach us.   

“Rikami, Yura, and Arthur Zodiac, His Majesty the King requests your audience in the throne room,” they announce solemnly.   

We pack our things—I retrieve my jacket from the guard—and head out, a tense silence settling between us.   

  

The guards open the massive doors to the throne room.   

Inside, I see my father, King Zodiac, seated on his obsidian throne, my mother at his side, and an injured man I don’t recognize. What a strange audience.   

The man is gaunt, covered in bandages, missing an arm—radiating an aura of suffering and resilience.   

  

The King rises, his grave gaze weighing on us.   

“Arthur Zodiac, Prince of Lilyani,” he begins, his voice echoing through the vast hall, “I hope your training with Rikami has borne fruit. The hour is dire. We have lost our entire colony at Nébiatine. The search for the artifact has failed. Moreover, we’ve lost the legendary sword Abbadon.”   

  

What?! What is he talking about? If this is true, it means my uncle Lancelot is… dead?!   

My heart clenches, and I immediately turn to Rikami, seeking confirmation in her eyes.   

She responds with a shameful nod, her lips pressed tight, betraying a hidden pain.   

  

No, I can’t cry here. I must stay strong, for my people, for my family.   

I grip my sword’s hilt with all my strength, my knuckles whitening under the pressure.   

“You will leave the country,” the King continues. “You must become the paragon of power your uncle was. You must become a seasoned adventurer. To that end, you’ll travel to Driul, a village to the west, held by an old war comrade. He can take you in. You’ll go with Rikami, if she agrees.”   

  

Rikami looks irritated, her fists clenching at her sides. But she notices Yura’s disapproving shake of the head and holds back.   

“King Zodiac,” she says finally, her voice firm, “I’ll go with your son on three conditions. First, I bring Yura. Second, I take Leyart with us.” She gestures sharply to the wounded man.   

“And finally, I want full autonomy to act. No restrictions whatsoever. If you must banish me from Lilyani for this, so be it, but I won’t hold back anymore.”   

  

A heavy silence falls. My father exchanges a look with my mother, then nods.   

“Accepted. You’ll leave at dawn tomorrow.”   

“Leyart? Who’s that?” I wonder silently.   

Is it the wounded young man beside my father? He looks terrible: missing an arm, covered in bandages, with disheveled red hair. A fire mage, perhaps? He doesn’t seem fit to travel with us tomorrow, but Rikami has spoken, and she doesn’t jest.   

  

Rikami turns, looking at me, then Yura, then Leyart at the back of the hall.   

“Come on, let’s go. We’ll enjoy the evening. We leave tomorrow.”   

Her voice is a mix of command and resignation. We nod, still in shock, and leave the throne room to join the festivities—a last night of light before the darkness awaiting us.