The smell of stale beer and unwashed bodies clung to the air inside the dimly lit tavern. Broken laughter and the occasional clatter of mugs filled the room, but for Marvin Lacoste, the youngest son of King Marcus Lacoste, it was nothing but noise, a droning backdrop to his spiraling thoughts.
He sat slumped at the corner table, his once-pristine royal attire now reduced to a ragged semblance of nobility.
The faint embroidery of the Lacoste family crest on his tattered tunic felt like a cruel reminder of his fall from grace.
"Another," he muttered, slamming his empty mug on the table. The barkeep, a stout man with a permanent sneer, gave him a disapproving glare but obliged. The ale was watered down, but Marvin drank it like it was the finest mead in the kingdom.
This forgotten territory, a borderland abandoned to ruin and lawlessness was his new "kingdom," handed to him as punishment. It was his father's way of casting him out without officially renouncing him. The words of his exile echoed in his mind, cutting deeper than any blade.
"You're a disgrace, Marvin. Begone from my sight. Perhaps the wilderness will teach you what the palace could not."
He laughed bitterly, raising his mug in mock salute. "Cheers to that, Father," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Look at him, the prince of the gutter," a snide voice broke through his drunken reverie. Marvin turned to see a group of well-dressed nobles, their faces alight with cruel amusement.
"Careful, now," one of them said mockingly, swirling a goblet of wine. "You might hurt yourself lifting that mug, Your Highness."
The tavern erupted in laughter.
Marvin's blood boiled, the ale fueling his courage or perhaps his stupidity. He staggered to his feet, knocking over his chair with a clatter. "Say that again," he growled, his words slurring as he fixed them with a glassy glare.
The noble raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Oh? Does the exiled prince still have some fight left in him? I thought you'd squandered that along with your crown."
The fight was inevitable. Marvin lunged forward, fists swinging wildly. He landed a punch on one of them, but it barely fazed the man. The nobles countered with brutal efficiency, their fists and boots finding his ribs, face, and stomach. The tavern patrons looked on, some cheering, others shaking their heads in pity or amusement.
Marvin crumpled to the floor, the world spinning around him. Pain seared through his body, but it wasn't the bruises that hurt the most, it was the realization that no one would come to his aid. He was alone, a prince without a kingdom, a man without purpose.
And then, amidst the jeers and the pain, it happened.
A sharp, metallic chime echoed in his mind, cutting through the chaos like a blade. It wasn't a sound anyone else could hear -no, this was different. It vibrated within his very being, sending a strange warmth coursing through his battered body.
"System activated."
"What the…" Marvin murmured, his voice barely a whisper. He tried to lift his head, but the pain and exhaustion were too much. The world around him darkened, the ringing chime growing fainter as he slipped into unconsciousness.
When Marvin woke up, the tavern was silent. The nobles were gone, and the patrons had returned to their drinks, ignoring him like a broken piece of furniture. He groaned, pushing himself up with trembling arms, but something felt different. His limbs no longer felt weak; there was an odd clarity in his mind, as though a veil had been lifted.
Then he saw it.
Floating in the air before him, faintly glowing, was a screen of text. It wasn't real at least, not in the physical sense. No one else reacted to it, their disinterest confirming what he already knew: this was for his eyes alone.
Initializing...
•Host recognized: Marvin Lacoste.
•Status: Banished Prince
Calibrating parameters...
Marvin blinked, his head pounding. He tried to swipe at the words, but his hand passed through the display as though it were a trick of the light. The symbols shifted, their glow pulsing softly, until more lines appeared.
Welcome, Marvin. Your journey begins now.
"What… the hell?" Marvin muttered, his voice was raspy.
He tried to stand but faltered, his knees buckling beneath him. The screen of text shifted, following his line of sight no matter where he looked, as though tethered to his mind.
Current Status: Initiation phase.
Potential detected.
Marvin's breath hitched. Whatever this was, this "system"
it wasn't a dream. It wasn't natural. It was something else entirely. And as he stared at the glowing display before him, he felt something he hadn't in months: a flicker of hope.
For the first time since his exile, he allowed himself to believe. Maybe this was his chance. His chance to claw his way back, to prove them all wrong. The nobles, the kingdom, his family, his father.
This system, whatever it was, might just be the key to reclaiming everything he had lost.
Marvin pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as his body protested. He brushed the dust off his clothes, a faint grimace crossing his face. The glowing text lingered in his vision, just on the periphery, but he fought to maintain his composure. The last thing he needed was to let anyone in the tavern see his reaction or worse, catch on to whatever this strange system was.
Hiding his surprise behind a stoic mask, Marvin squared his shoulders and made his way toward the exit. The tavern's stale air seemed thicker as he moved through the crowded room, his steps unsteady but purposeful. He could feel the stares of a few patrons, their gazes either mocking or indifferent, but he paid them no mind.
He pushed the wooden door open, the creak of the hinges echoing into the night, and stepped out into the cool, desolate air.
The streets outside were dimly lit by a scattering of flickering lanterns, their weak light barely pushing back the oppressive darkness. Marvin pulled his cloak tighter around him and began walking, his boots crunching against the uneven cobblestones. His destination loomed in his mind: the so-called "mansion" that his father had bestowed upon him, the symbol of his banishment.
But as he made his way through the settlement, Marvin couldn't help but take in the stark reality of his surroundings. This wasn't a kingdom. It was a graveyard for dreams, a refuge for the desperate.
The roads were lined with crumbling shacks, some leaning so precariously that they seemed ready to collapse at the slightest breeze. Smoke rose from makeshift chimneys, carrying the acrid scent of burning scraps.
People loitered in shadows, their gaunt faces etched with mistrust and desperation. Some were former soldiers, broken by war. Others were debtors, their chains of poverty visible in their ragged clothing and hollow stares. Children darted between alleys, their eyes sharp and feral, as though survival was their only instinct.
This was Marvin's domain, the territory his father had condemned him to rule. It wasn't a kingdom. It was a wasteland.
He kept walking, the hour slipping by in silence. The system's interface still floated at the edge of his vision, its glow faint but constant, as though it were waiting for him to engage. He ignored it, for now. There were too many questions, too many unknowns. And he needed answers before he could afford to entertain the faint hope it stirred within him.
Finally, his "mansion" came into view or what was left of it.
From a distance, it had the vague silhouette of grandeur, its towering spires and sprawling grounds a faint echo of what it must have once been. But as Marvin drew closer, the illusion of splendor crumbled. The walls were cracked and weathered, ivy and moss creeping over the once-pristine stone. Several windows were shattered, their jagged remains glinting in the moonlight.
The gates hung ajar, their rusted hinges groaning faintly in the breeze. The gardens were overrun with weeds, a chaotic mess that swallowed the pathways.
And the building itself, no, it wasn't a mansion. It was a ruin, barely standing, its grandeur long forgotten.
Marvin stopped, staring at the structure that was supposed to be his home. A bitter laugh escaped his lips, dry and humorless. "Mansion, huh?" he muttered to himself. "Looks more like a tomb."
The system's glow pulsed faintly, as though reacting to his thoughts. Marvin ignored it again, his hands clenching at his sides.
He stepped forward, the gate creaking as he pushed it open, and made his way toward the hollow shell of his new reality. The night was still, but something about it felt heavy like a storm was brewing just beyond the horizon.