Blade of Wrath & Shield of the Crimson Line

The palace air felt heavier with each passing hour. Every corridor Arthur walked seemed to whisper of old betrayals and new dangers. Servants averted their eyes; guards watched with cold suspicion. The words spoken in the grand audience chamber had not faded—they had spread like fire on dry grass.

Arthur felt it in the way the courtiers stepped aside just a little too quickly, and in the way Fenrix kept his hackles raised, growling at shadows that seemed closer than before.

But it was in the eyes of the Second Prince where the true danger burned.

---

The confrontation came sooner than Arthur had expected.

He was training alone in the palace's outer yard at dawn, practicing control over his Anti-Heal magic, when the Second Prince appeared flanked by two guards clad in crimson-trimmed armor—the royal elite, the Crimson Line.

The prince's gaze was cold iron. "Boy," he called, voice echoing off stone, "you carry yourself like a royal mutt but speak like a son of Caledonia. Tell me—why do you look so familiar?"

Arthur's chest tightened. "Perhaps you see ghosts where none stand."

The prince took slow steps forward. "Or perhaps I see the spawn of my sister's betrayal."

Arthur's fingers curled. "Your sister's only crime was love."

The words cut deeper than steel. The prince's face twisted with rage. "She damned our family! Cost us alliances! And now, a bastard dares lecture me on loyalty?"

Arthur's breath came hard, anger bubbling in his blood. "Say what you will about me—but if you dishonor her memory again, I will not stand by."

The prince laughed—a short, sharp sound. "And what will you do, boy? Strike me?"

Arthur felt mana surge in his veins, hot and wild. Fenrix barked, Umbra hissed in the rafters above, shadow shifting.

The prince stepped closer, sneering. "I should have killed you the day you were born."

Something inside Arthur snapped.

---

In a single motion, his hand lifted, and violet-black mana ignited around his arm. The yard fell silent except for the hiss of raw Anti-Heal magic. The energy coiled and lashed outward—a strike aimed for the prince's heart.

The world seemed to slow.

The prince's eyes widened—not in fear, but fury. His guards moved, blades half-drawn.

But Arthur's magic was already unleashed.

A wall of crimson light flared to life before the prince—a shimmering barrier of runes traced in the air by a single motion of the prince's hand. The Shield of the Crimson Line—a spell taught only to royals of the blood.

Arthur's curse struck the barrier. Mana cracked like thunder; air rippled. The force was enough to stagger the guards, send dust and loose stones skittering across the yard.

When the smoke cleared, the prince still stood, arm outstretched, barrier fractured but unbroken.

"You dare raise your hand against me," he snarled. "In my father's palace. In my presence."

The words rolled over Arthur like waves, but the reality came sharp and cold: he had attacked the Second Prince.

And worse—he had done so with forbidden magic.

---

The prince's eyes narrowed to slits. "Guards. Seize him."

The Crimson Line stepped forward, blades drawn.

Arthur's mind raced. If he fought, he would spill royal blood. If he fled, he would be a hunted traitor.

Fenrix growled low, hackles high. Umbra dropped from above, cloak of shadows bristling.

But before the guards could close the gap, Lilith appeared at the courtyard's edge, her voice sharp as a whip. "Stop!"

Her gaze flickered from Arthur to the prince. "Brother, you would arrest the one who saved my life?"

The prince's lip curled. "He tried to murder me, Lilith."

"He reacted to your provocation," she shot back. "What words did you speak to him?"

The prince's silence spoke volumes.

Lilith turned to Arthur, voice softer but firm. "Arthur, lower your magic. Now."

Arthur's chest heaved. The mana flickered at his fingertips, wild and eager, but he forced it back—breath by breath—until only silence and the cold wind remained.

Lilith faced the prince again. "He is no ordinary traveler," she said, voice quivering yet resolute. "He is Cecilia's son. My nephew."

The words echoed through the courtyard.

Arthur felt time freeze around him. The guards hesitated, eyes darting between the prince, Lilith, and Arthur himself.

The prince's expression turned from rage to something darker—realization.

"You should have stayed hidden," he spat, his voice low, dangerous. "Now you've signed your death warrant."

---

Arthur felt the weight of truth settle on his shoulders. The mask he had tried to wear had shattered beyond repair. His identity stood exposed before the royal court, the guards, and the walls that once bore witness to his mother's disgrace.

Yet a strange calm came with it.

He no longer had to pretend.

"I am Arthur," he said, voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. "Son of Cecilia, First Princess of Caledonia—and I will not kneel before the lies that killed her."

Lilith stepped closer, her hand brushing his arm, silent support in the face of the prince's wrath.

The prince drew a breath, words coiled like a serpent ready to strike. "You've revealed yourself, bastard. And you have no place in this kingdom."

Arthur met his gaze unflinching. "Then I'll carve my place. Or die trying."

The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of Fenrix's low growl and the distant toll of a morning bell.

---

Later, alone in the garden cloister, Arthur felt the tremors in his limbs, the weight of what had been done.

He had nearly killed his uncle. His mother's brother.

Yet for the first time, he felt free of secrets.

Umbra settled beside him, silent shadow. Fenrix pressed his massive head against Arthur's shoulder.

Lilith's words returned, soft but unyielding: "Now that they know, they must decide if you are threat or ally. And you must decide what you truly fight for."

Arthur closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of autumn leaves and ancient stone.

"I fight," he whispered, "for the truth. For her. And for me."

In the depths of his heart, the blade of wrath still burned—but so did the resolve not to become what he hated.

And as the sun rose beyond the palace walls, Arthur knew this was only the first cut in a battle yet to come.

---

To be continued...