I Became the First Prince

n while the other knights despaired after hearing of the prince’s situation, being sick all alone, the king spoke on.

“My son has seen all those who have departed, now.
Since he has been distant and cut off for seven years straight, how can he not feel it? But since he has forcibly removed such accumulated feelings and burned them on the fire… Will his suffering be less?” the king wondered, affirming that it was not chunks of wood that the Crown Prince had carved over the past month, but a part of his own heart—and that which he had burned today was surely that sliver of his heart, not statuettes.

“No wonder he said goodbye with a bright smile.
It could have been no different—he couldn’t even shed tears because he never learned to cry.”

The king stopped talking.
Then he suddenly bowed his head to the knights.

“Hwa- Your Majesty?”

“Why does your Majesty lower your head!”

The knights exclaimed their surprise with great terror.
The king did not raise his head, however.
He just stated, “You will lead the effort.
Help me so that my son can fill the void in his heart, which he has cut open, pulled out, and emptied.”

The remorseful father said he could only watch and that they were the only ones who could soothe the prince’s empty heart.
One by one, the king made eye contact with the knights.

“It is not just my sword that I have dedicated to his Highness, so I will do this with all my heart.”

“Is there any man that would pretend not to know the brother who shares his blood? Need I say more?”

“There is no right for us to lead from the front, but with bright eyes and strong legs, we will guard and follow from behind.”

Meeting the king’s gaze, Arwen, Vincent, and Carls each responded respectively with a strong, friendly, or determined expression.
Adelia said nothing, clutching the prince’s hand tightly as she shed tears.
But even if she didn’t answer, her resolve was as clear as day, and everyone knew of her faithfulness in keeping close to the prince.
The king now looked at his son with a more comfortable face.

“Please have a good dream.”

**

I was dreaming.
In my dream, I was a little boy.
There was nothing special about me, and even though I was of royal birth, my qualities could be seen in any child.
But unfortunately, this child was a person who should not be ordinary.
The world compelled me to be bold and extraordinary, and people have always demanded more than I was able to be.

This child tried, but the fruit people wanted him to pluck were always high, out of his reach.

Still, he tried.
And the effort shrunk him.

“This country, founded by our ancestors through blood and sweat, is on the verge of becoming a windy wasteland.
You have to keep your mind sharp and make greater efforts.”

The only things that came from my father’s mouth, when I needed warmth, were words of rebuke and not of comfort.

“Ian, I’m sorry, but mommy is busy now.
Let’s talk again later.”

My mother, who was always the only element that could appease my loneliness, always pledged that we would talk at another time.
There was no place for this child to find rest anywhere in the vast world; there was no single person to take care of him among multitudes of people.

Then some things happened.

“Yes! What are you doing?!”

His father’s anger was like an inferno.
This child, not knowing what was going on, was simply terrified as he waited for his father’s wroth to abate.
However, even after some time passed, his father remained angered.

“You don’t deserve to lead this country!”

In the face of anger that increased with every passing day, the child one day walked, then ran to the edge of a cliff.

“Ian!”

His mother came then and reached out her hand, but the already terrified child ran away, not for a second thinking of grasping her hand.
At the end of his flight, the place he stopped at was covered in shade.

“Your Highness… You’re a man who’s got it hard, but for you, the world will become a flower garden.
All the troubles and ills of the word will disappear, far away.”

The child’s mind was so crowded with tormenting thoughts that he could not resist these cunning whispers.

And so, he placed his hand on a substance he shouldn’t have touched.
He got through that day with a hazy spirit, made drunk by the strange gift.

“It’s not your Highness’s fault… What is wrong is the world.”

He endured every day, comforted by the wicked whispers he heard in the midst of his confused dreams.
Meanwhile, more contempt and ridicule than ever before began to fill the child’s world.
It was then that a man who others called a foreigner, his uncle, came to him, a man whose face he could not even remember.

“This boy can never be a king of men.”

Seeing the child scatterbrained, drunk on something, this man left the palace in fiery anger.
After he left, dozens of heads were mounted on stakes on the plain outside the capital.
These were the severed heads of the gang who had provided the child with his only succor.

“Well, that’s it.
Count Balahard has announced that those who ever again offer something to obscure his Highness’s spirit will have their limbs severed and their eyes dug out by crows,” the boy heard the king declare.

He began wandering through the alleys in search of a new group of suppliers but couldn’t get what he wanted.
All that came to his hands was a strange poison.
This poison the child sent north, guided by his hatred.
Over time, the confusion that had dominated his mind faded away.
And in front of the reality he faced, the boy was sorrowful.

Hatred, contempt; contempt, anger—what could a child do in the face of such suffocating evil?

“Do you dare look at me with your eyes!”

He simply yelled, swinging his hands and feet while treating everyone with an evil spirit.
Like a wounded beast, he roared while concealing his weakness and turning away from his fears.
But he already knew: the truth was that he was very wrong.
Yet the shouts that he had begun shouting in horror hardened into a habit; he became depraved and violent.
His spasms and screams that hid his weakness and fear morphed into violence done against the weak.

By the time the boy realized this, he was, unfortunately, too far gone.

He couldn’t go back; he could not return.

“Don’t you want to set everything back to normal?”

It was then that the Empire’s ambassador came to him with slick words.

“Get the Dragon Slayer.”

Ian could not ignore the possibility of everything returning to as it was if only he obtained the founding king’s sword.
And finally, he got his hands on the royal sword.
Now he could get everything back; he could correct his past mistakes!

The child believed this, and he died believing it.
And after his demise, he wandered through the endless void, ultimately consumed by darkness.
All that remained of him were his memories imprinted within my mind, the thoughts of his life before he had forgotten his very existence.

b I didn’t mean to… I never wanted to live like this}

Thoughts of regret and despair.

b I want to live- But I don’t want to live}

Remorse and fear.

b You are better than me}

Envy and admiration.

b I’d rather be you}

Jealousy.

b Rather, if I were you…}

Craving.

b If I can’t…}

Determination

b Through you I can-}

Hope.

b I will exist in the world}

Expectation.

{I request…}

Desperation.

{Adrian Leonberger-}

These were the thoughts that overflowed within my mind.

{Live well}

And finally, they returned to nothingness.
Another person’s thoughts arose in their place.

b Past and present—I chose one of them when the vague boundary came to an end}

It was a greeting left for me at the last minute by the mage who had given me her source of life.

b The long and deep dreams are finally over}

b There are still things that are lacking, things that need to be learned… things that need to be recovered, but you will do well}

I was so glad to hear the voice I had so missed, filled with the same love and concern as when she had been alive.

b It could become confusing}

I was hoping her words would last for a long time.

b But ease your thoughts}

b You were merely born again}

But, ferociously, Ophelia’s thoughts quickly faded.

b Happy birthday to you, Ian}

Then, when I finally stopped hearing her voice-

‘Fshwa!’

I woke up from my dreams.

‘Bka! Bka!’

I felt an ear-splitting sound, and at that moment-

‘Pwoo!’

Light burst from my body—from my left chest, where my heart was.