“Never ask for more than what you are given.”

“Never accept any food unless it is given to you by this maid.”

“You have no name. Only your title, as the prince. Forget the name that was once given to you.”

These were three of the four instructions given to me by my father, the Emperor of the great Orion Empire.

And the last one was—

“No matter what… live. You were born out of love, and you were meant to be a gift to us.”

Those were his pleading words on his deathbed.

◇

Emperor Harald De Fora Astravor was once a commoner—an orphan, and a test subject of a highly confidential procedure.

Later, the compassion he showed toward the people he encountered during his service in the army earned him the title of hero.

His reputation spread across the globe, even beyond the borders of the empire.

A symbol of humanity’s hope and salvation—that was Harald before he became emperor.

“I am grateful that Your Majesty would consider this unworthy subject for something far beyond his station—”

His words wavered with terror. The man who had stood firm amid looming, indefinite death on countless battlefields now found his resolve faltering.

“But this… this is beyond me…”

Harald pleaded when he was informed of his appointment as heir.

He tried everything—to deny it, to avoid it, to run from it.

“…I have never neglected your orders, nor withheld my loyalty, Your Majesty… but this command…”
His voice trailed off as he understood the weight of what was being asked of him.

He could not refuse.

The Emperor had stood behind Harald throughout the war—when he faced not only enemies on the battlefield, but political threats within the empire itself. The Emperor was the one who protected him from those shadows.

For the first time, Harald’s voice began to crumble.

And from that moment on, so did his path.

The previous emperor had lost all his heirs to war and political strife. As age claimed what little strength he had left, so too did his political power wane.

Unable to allow those who exploited the war to strip away both his authority and his remaining family, he made a bold decision at the end of his reign.

He appointed the hero of humanity as his successor.

Even if the throne were to be taken, it would be taken from the hero—not directly from him.

He chose to be remembered as the emperor who foolishly appointed a commoner, rather than allow those who ruined him to seize power outright.

“…I knew this would be difficult,” Harald muttered. “But this is beyond what I prepared myself for…”

Only weeks after his appointment, the previous emperor passed away, and Harald ascended the throne—an ascension already steeped in ruin.

Most of the imperial family’s power had shifted to the nobles even before Harald’s coronation.

Like his predecessor, Harald became a puppet emperor—but unlike him, Harald was seated as a puppet from the very beginning.

The nobles did not usurp the throne immediately because Harald, the hero, still had value.

With him on the throne—even in name alone—the empire gained protection. No ambitious state dared declare independence. No neighbouring nation could easily wage war.

Not because Harald was a fearsome force on the battlefield anymore, but because opposing him meant opposing a symbol. To fight against him was to destroy morale, to be branded as enemies of humanity’s saviour.

That was the situation beyond the empire’s borders.

Inside the empire, however, Harald’s image steadily decayed. Rumours spread—vile accusations that he had stolen the throne from a rightful ruler. The man once revered became an object of scorn.

Harald understood better than anyone what it meant to hold a position beyond one’s reach.

Every decision he made became fodder for mockery among the nobles.

The most he was able to do was marry the woman who had once fought beside him during his days as a hero.

She is now remembered only as the Nameless Empress of the Unworthy Crown.

She was a high elf—a member of the elven royal family—and the mother of his child.

Because the empire refused to accept a so-called sub-human species as empress, both she and her child were forced into seclusion, erased from public existence.

Even as the family of a hero—of an emperor—racial discrimination ran deep. Or perhaps it was made deep, deliberately, to prevent any gathering of power.

Before she could witness the horrors of what was to come, the empress died—mysteriously—shortly after giving birth to an unusual half-elf child.

Even though… she was not the one meant to die that night.

◇

The half-elf prince inherited his mother’s nameless existence and lived under constant threat.

And yet—

Despite countless assassination attempts and repeated poisonings, not a single strand of his hair was ever harmed.

Harald’s relentless protection was part of the reason.

But there was more.

An unseen force—far beyond human understanding—watched over the child from the shadows.

It was an ominous, vengeful presence. One that had once been erased from the world at the cost of countless lives.

It was the very force Harald had defeated to earn his title as hero.

And yet, it lingered.

「Hatred. Responsibility. The price—none of it mattered when it came to your child’s survival, did it? …ahahah…」

A dark humanoid form emerged from a mist black as the abyss itself, whispering beside the sleeping infant.

There was mockery in its voice. And pity.

「In the end, we could not forgive each other. We only understood—when it was too late.」

Its gaze was fixed on the child, but the words were not meant for him.

They were meant for the one who had brought him into this world.

And for the one who paid the price with her life.

The late empress.

When the mist-formed figure touched the infant’s nose, the child stirred and frowned.

「I upheld my end of the deal. Now, let us make the final one.」

With that, the figure vanished.

Moonlight crept through the room, illuminating corners where lamps could not reach. The infant lay there—unaware, unnamed—and would remain there for decades.

Shaped by the commands of an unworthy crown.

And by a soul born from the shadows of the past.

◇

「 ‘Bored,’ you say? 」

The humanoid black mist repeated the word, amused.

“Yup,” replied the half-elf prince.

He appeared to be no older than a human in his early teens. In truth, it had taken him several decades to reach that stage—physically and mentally. And yet, in some ways, he was far more mature than his appearance suggested.

「That is quite an interesting word for a child hanging by a thread in this prison you call a castle.」

“Well, Eva and Lis were barred from entering today,” the prince said flatly. “So I’m bored.”

「They were not barred. They were turned away by the captain of the inner guard.」

“…What did you just say?”

The prince froze. Guards—mere guards—had turned them away?

Before he could demand further explanation, the misty figure twisted into an expression that would have sent chills down the spine of anyone else.

Except him.

「I could help you meet them in secret, if you wish. Or—」

The prince fell silent.

「We could deal with the root of the problem instead. In a far more interesting way.」

The prince’s shoulders drooped for a moment. Then—

“Count me in,” he said with a mischievous smirk. “Especially if it brings Eva and Lis back into the palace.”

That night would become just another entry among the many unexplained incidents of the forsaken palace of the nameless prince.

◇

By morning, the capital was shaken.

The entire inner guard squad—along with their captain—had been found dead.

Their bodies were impaled upon a withered tree just outside the palace grounds.

There were no signs of resistance.

Rumours spread like wildfire.

Strange whispers filled taverns and alleyways alike, as yet another incident was added to the growing list surrounding the Crown Prince’s palace.

Over the next decade, such occurrences became disturbingly common.

Some claimed the vengeful spirit of the late empress had returned, seeking blood from those involved in her death.

Others spoke of curses, devils, or divine punishment.

“Vengeful spirit of the empress?” scoffed a clearly drunken man. “Don’t be stupid. If it were her, it would’ve started the very next year—or even the next night after her death. Not decades later! And not at the Crown Prince’s palace!”

“Th-then who do you think did it?” asked the man beside him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the drunk replied.

“Obvious how?”

He tapped his temple sharply.

“Think, you fool.”

“The Crown Prince,” he said.

“…What?”

“Think about it. That boy took decades just to reach the age of a human early teen. Even if his mother was a high elf, that kind of ageing isn’t normal. Not for humans. Not for elves. Especially not for a half-breed.”

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s common knowledge that children born between humans and higher races usually die young. Most don’t survive birth. Yet in this case, the mother died instead.”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this,” the other man said, confused.

“Just listen.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“Everything started the moment the Crown Prince was given his own palace. A few years later, servants and guards assigned by high nobles began disappearing—or were made examples of. Meanwhile, Emperor Harald? He’s nothing more than a puppet now.”

“Are you saying the emperor did all this?”

The drunk scoffed.

“He was once a hero. Now? He’s leashed. Do you really think he has the power to do this?”

“Then you’re saying it’s the Crown Prince?” the other man whispered. “The child who isn’t even allowed to have a name?”

“Shh,” he hissed. “You want trouble?”

He took another swig before continuing.

“The Crown Prince isn’t human. He isn’t even properly humanoid. Human blood mixed with high-elf blood—and yet he ages like neither. Decades pass, and he’s still a child. That’s why his only companions are those two: Leonis, the illegitimate son of a marquis, and Lady Evalyn, the duke’s puppet heir.”

“…He is strange,” the man admitted. “But how could a child do all this alone?”

The drunk’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“They say the empress made a deal with the devil. Her life, in exchange for her son’s. And they say that the devil still honours the deal—protecting the child. Guiding him. For reasons unknown.”

“That’s absurd,” the other man muttered.

“Maybe,” the drunk shrugged. “But the empress’s death was never explained. No witnesses. No proof. No answers.”

He glanced around the tavern.

“And every road leads back to the Crown Prince.”

Silence fell.

No one agreed.

No one denied it either.

Therumourss continued to spread.

Quietly.

Like rot beneath the crown.