The rhythmic clatter of horse hooves and the creaking of carriage wheels echoed through the dilapidated streets. For the 3rd Prince, Balor, it was a disheartening sight.
The absence of watch guards, the lack of a gate to mark his arrival, and the missing welcoming committee all served as bitter reminders of his misfortune. Among the five contenders for the crown, he had drawn the worst hand.
His destination was the Western Plains, the homeland of the deposed Queen Silla, the mother of 1st Prince Musa.
The people of this land remained fiercely loyal to her memory. In times of uncertainty, they would have easily abandoned their duties to support the First Prince, defying any orders to the contrary.
By some twist of fate—or perhaps through unseen hands working in the background—the City of Silla, one of the three key cities destroyed by the Great Eruption, no longer existed. Those who had managed to escape had sought refuge in nearby towns, leaving behind a land once known for its grandeur.
When Prince Balor finally arrived, the first thing he noticed was the absence of the Baron and his family.
His sharp gaze swept through the Baron's once-proud home. Inside, only three servants remained, and not a single ducat or important document could be found. The Baron's household, like the city, had been emptied of life.
"I wouldn't expect anything less from cowardly dogs," Balor muttered through clenched teeth, his anger simmering in silence.
He was met not with the expected royal welcome, but with chaos—and the foul stench of filth hurled at his carriage. Stepping out, his handsome face remained calm, unfazed by the insults and the anger directed at him.
"Ahri, it seems I was right to bring you along," Balor said, his voice calm but commanding. "I'll give you no more than a week. Clear the soot and ashes. It's the only way I can get that insufferable fool to deliver the goods."
Ahri, the ashwraith, bowed his head in acknowledgment. "What should we do about the migrant crisis?" he asked, his tone respectful but edged with concern.
Prince Balor's gaze shifted toward his second retainer, Remi. "There are too many mouths to feed," he said, his voice carrying a weight of decisiveness.
"Leave that to Remi. Restore order among the common folks. For those who refuse to work—let them starve."
He paused, his attention turning to the threat beyond their walls. "As for the barbarians outside, seek their aid. If they agree to ally with us, grant them this fief. If they refuse… enslave them."
Remi, a strikingly tall woman with wings sprouting from her feet and hair that gleamed like metallic golden petals, bowed deeply. "As you command, my prince. I will oversee the census and rid the city of the vermin."
With a sharp nod, she turned and departed, leading her legion in swift formation behind her.
Ahri's voice broke the silence. "My prince, should I send the hounds after Baron Nakry?"
"There's no need," Balor replied. "By now, he should be far away... but not for long. You have your orders. I'll deal with the baron myself. A lowly noble, daring to steal my coffer—let's see how far he runs."
With those words, 3rd Prince Balor leaped into the air, his body shifting and expanding into a twelve-meter-long serpent. Nebula clouds gathered beneath him as he ascended, soaring through the sky with terrifying speed, like a predator in pursuit of its fleeing prey.
Those who witnessed the Third Prince's transformation were once more reminded of the formidable might of the Great Khan Dynasty.
__________________________________
The Eastern Black Water, despite its ominous name, encompassed a cluster of satellite isles that formed a natural defensive barrier protecting the coastal mainland. Among these islands lay the Barony of Dayle, home to Stormwatch Keep, a stunning island with tropical weather and swaying palm trees year-round.
The picturesque seaside villa had become the new home of Princess Hedwig, the second princess, who now reclining under the warm embrace of the sun, held a glass of Château La Fati, savoring each sip. Her consort, with gentle care, applied pressure to her shoulder as she rested.
In the grand scheme of things, Hedwig knew she had drawn the best lot of all her rivals. She did not need to subjugate unruly barbarians. The tribes in this region, unlike the warlike ones in the Northern and Southern territories, were peaceful.
Over time, they had seamlessly assimilated into the local culture, leaving Hedwig to enjoy her life in this idyllic paradise without concern, so it seems.
The Barony was progressing as expected. "The cargo supply lines are on schedule, the docks are being repaired, and the streets are maintained.
As for the illegal gambling dens, they've all been shut down following your decree. Anyone wishing to resume business must apply for a permit, Your Highness," Paola reported with her usual composed authority.
A woman of stunning beauty, Paola's light skin and long, cascading curls lend her an exotic presence. Yet her beauty was only a fraction of her true worth.
Her intelligence and ingenuity rivaled even that of 1st Prince Musa, earning her immense respect within the royal household. After all, Paola is the inventor of the Flesh Pouch, a remarkable achievement that filled the coffer of the Khan's Household.
"And the other matter I asked you to handle before our departure?" the Second Princess inquired, her eyes fixed on the documents before her.
"If all goes as planned, the Third Prince will encounter his greatest crisis a year from now. If he fails to overcome it, that will remove one more obstacle from your path," Paola responded with unwavering confidence.
The Second Princess gave a slight nod, her expression calm and unreadable. "And what of the First Prince?" she asked, her voice sharpening.
Paola hesitated, though only briefly. "Your Highness, you must stay vigilant at all times. While his current position makes it difficult for him to strike, we cannot let our guard down. That man follows no rules, nor does he possess the honor of the Third Prince."
A heavy silence fell upon the group, the weight of the words hanging in the air.
Suddenly, the stillness was shattered as a beach ball smacked into the Second Princess's face, its impact echoing.
The guards standing nearby visibly tensed, sweat forming on their brows as they dared not look in her direction. An uncomfortable silence lingered as the ball owner came running, panting, and stumbling over their words in an attempt to apologize.
It was a group of fallen noble youths, perhaps aged fifteen to seventeen, their faces pale with fear. With a gentle smile, the Second Princess picked up the ball and returned it to them, her voice soft as she advised them to be more careful in the future.
"To whom do these little bastards belong?" she commanded, her voice calm but laced with an unmistakable edge as the youths retreated, clearly believing they had been forgiven.
To the outside world, she was known for her poise and maturity. But those who truly knew her understood otherwise.
Even something as trivial as the incident with the beach ball—could she have dodged it? Of course, she could have. But Hedwig had a flair for theatrics. If there was an opportunity to make herself appear like a damsel, she would seize it, even if it meant accepting a small inconvenience at the moment.
For those with keen eyes, it was obvious that her guards could have intercepted the ball easily. Yet, their movements seemed paralyzed at that precise moment, as though an unseen force had bound them.
Hedwig was a woman of many faces—charming on the surface, her smile warm and disarming. Yet behind that pleasant mask lurked something far more sinister. She had a way of making her victims feel safe, all the while her dagger had already found its mark.
"..."
A guard quickly stepped forward. "The Melrose and Crysha Family, Your Highness."
"I expect such names to no longer exist before supper," the Second Princess said coldly, her gaze fixed on the blue horizon.
The guards around her nodded hurriedly.
Paola said nothing, she was used to the Princess' nature.
"What about the Sixth Princess?" Xou, the dwarf, suddenly interjected. She wielded a massive sword, easily twice her size, with an effortless grace.
"You needn't worry about that child," Paola replied dismissively. "She's inexperienced and poses no real threat. Her presence works in our favor."
Consort Poen remained silent, his hands moving methodically, continuing the massage with a steady, practiced rhythm. He knew his place—deeply ingrained as if it were etched into his very being.
He was one of three consorts, chosen by the Second Princess, though many still questioned why. Poen, a tall, portly middle-aged man from a merchant family, was seen by many as the least qualified among them. Yet, for reasons that remained a mystery to everyone else, she favored him the most.
Today, however, Poen felt a rare flicker of gratitude. Out of all the consorts, he had been chosen to accompany the Second Princess, Hedwig.
In his heart, he counted this as a stroke of fortune, though a deep unease lingered, especially when it came to the Sixth Princess.
Something was unsettling about her—a dark premonition he couldn't shake. Leaving someone like her alive felt dangerous, as if it could prove to be a fatal mistake.
"Is there no strategy for dealing with Uoe?" Princess Hedwig inquired.
The beach fell silent again, tension filling the air as everyone weighed their thoughts carefully.
"Shall I take care of it?" Xou volunteered.
"…"
"The one guarding him won't allow it," Paola interjected quickly, shooting down the suggestion as soon as it surfaced.
"Aren't they forbidden from interfering?" Xou pressed, a pout forming on her lips.
"Normally, yes. But Uoe's talent with the sword is extraordinary—once in a million years. Even if he doesn't win the throne, he's still a candidate to become the Dynasty Sword God," Poen finally spoke, surprising Xou.
"So, you do have a voice!" Xou teased, though her eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"Aren't you clever panda," Hedwig chimed in, her tone mocking yet affectionate. "How shall I reward you?"
Paola's expression darkened, her unease growing as she began to sense where this conversation was headed. It unsettled her deeply. The Princess never rewarded anyone—that was an unspoken rule.
It was the duty of others to lavish her with praise and gifts, not the other way around. To receive a reward from the Princess was not something one should accept lightly.
"Shall I invite Baron Dayle as your reward?" Hedwig continued, her gaze now fixed on Poen, awaiting his response.
"It won't happen again, Your Highness," Poen pleaded his voice barely a whisper, laced with desperation.
"No, I think I should…" Hedwig mused. "It seems you enjoyed watching me with other men. Am I wrong, Paola? By my belove consort own mouth, we should do nothing.
I should just sit around and wait for my brothers to win, and watch them fuck me over, or am I mistaken?" She turned toward her other attendant, her voice cool and sharp.
"Your Highness, we are still in public, lower your voice!" Paola said, trying to steer the conversation back toward a more acceptable tone.
Hedwig exhaled sharply, the tension in her features slowly fading as Paola's hand moved gently through Hedwig's hair, calming the anger that had been building inside.
"As for Uoe," Hedwig continued, her voice steady once more, "probe into his situation. If his proctor interferes, gather evidence. That's grounds for disqualification.
You must secure the proof, no matter the cost." Her gaze shifted back to Xou, her expression firm but composed.
"Yes, Your Highness. I won't let you down," Xou replied, her voice unwavering.
Though Xou was momentarily surprised, she didn't take Poen to be the type, yet his submissive behavior told her all she needed to know.
Her primary focus remained on dealing with the 4th Prince, Uoe and that was no easy feat!