Wesley The Conqueror

Chapter 1: The World

The empire that controlled the known world for two hundred generations fell due to a massive rebellion led by three of its four subordinate kingdoms. Only the Ject Kingdom didn’t rebel, as the royal family of the Royaume Empire held direct control over it.

The rebellion was indeed vast, yet the power of the Royaume Empire was formidable, causing the conflict to stretch on for three years. Alas, the Royaume Empire could not hold on and ultimately fell. Afterward, descendants of the Royaume royal family dispersed across the world, hunted down by various factions, while the Ject Kingdom fell into the hands of the Holt family—a branch of the Royaume royal line.

The Holt family’s connection to the Royaume royal family made the other three kingdoms wary of the Ject Kingdom. However, none of the kingdoms were eager to continue fighting. The Ject Kingdom, as the former heart of the Royaume Empire, held significant power and wealth, and each kingdom was preoccupied with consolidating its own rule.

The world settled into a fragile peace as the kingdoms began to heal from the prolonged conflict. Yet tensions ran high; each kingdom harbored ambitions to rise as the dominant power and perhaps even take the place of the Royaume Empire.

Seven years after the fall of the Royaume Empire, the drums of war sounded again as the Norn Kingdom from the north invaded the Ject Kingdom. This prompted the Tamin Kingdom to the east to invade the Norn Kingdom, while the western Entaf Kingdom moved to invade the Tamin Kingdom. Thus began the First War of Four.

Since each kingdom shared borders with the others, none could commit its entire force to a single front without risking invasion from another. The First War of Four quickly descended into a brutal stalemate, depleting the resources of all the kingdoms.

After a year of no significant progress, the four kingdoms’ leaders convened for a conference. This gathering marked the first official meeting of the four kingdoms since the fall of the Royaume Empire, casting a heavy atmosphere over the proceedings—especially given the presence of the Ject Kingdom’s king, who the others saw as an extension of the Royaume family.

Fortunately, all present recognized the importance of the conference. No direct altercations took place, and after four days and nights of negotiation, the conference concluded with the signing of the Blackreach Treaty.

Named for Blackreach County, a central region at the continent’s crossroads where the negotiations took place, the Blackreach Treaty established official borders and set limits on each kingdom’s military capabilities. It also included provisions such as the Norn Kingdom paying war reparations to the Ject Kingdom, along with numerous minor details regarding the peace.

One of the most critical parts of the treaty was the Balance Clause, which outlined the following terms:

1. No one king may sit on the throne of more than one of the four kingdoms.

2. No king descended from the Royaume family may rule any of the four kingdoms.

3. Blackreach County shall remain neutral and outside the control of any kingdom.

The first two points aimed to maintain a balance of power among the kingdoms, while the third created a neutral buffer zone, preventing any one kingdom from controlling the strategically valuable Blackreach County.

While this treaty did not prevent future conflicts between the four kingdoms, it significantly reduced the likelihood of a full-scale continental war. The Balance Clause maintained the delicate equilibrium among the kingdoms and ensured that no empire like the Royaume would rise again.

Chapter 2: Birthday

A thousand years had passed since the fall of the Royaume Empire.

In the heart of the Ject Kingdom, behind Castle Holt, lay hundreds of small houses reserved for visiting dignitaries, servants, and lower-ranking members of the royal court. These modest homes, with their simple and unadorned facades, rarely drew anyone’s attention.

Today, however, in the courtyard of one of these houses stood four men. While the sight of four men in a courtyard wouldn’t normally be noteworthy, what set these four apart was that they were unequivocally the most powerful men in the Ject Kingdom.

The narrow road outside the house was lined with at least two hundred knights of the royal guard, and archers occupied every rooftop in sight. The intense gathering of soldiers gave the area a charged atmosphere, almost as if it were a battlefield. Yet, the tension outside the courtyard was mild compared to the palpable, heavy silence within it.

The first man, appearing to be in his late fifties, wore a golden shirt with matching trousers. His hair was an oceanic shade of blue with a hint of green, contrasting sharply with his pale complexion and sharply defined jawline. But his eyes—jade green and deeply familiar—were his most striking feature, holding a calm yet commanding presence.

To his right stood a large, muscular man in full armor, with two massive swords crossed on his back. He was at least half a head taller than the first man, and though his eyes were also jade green, they were far sharper and more intense. While the first man’s gaze could put one at ease, this man’s stare could inspire a feeling of pure dread.

The third man stood to the left of the golden-clad man. Unlike the others, he exuded a more amiable aura, wearing a white robe that glimmered under the sun, lending him the appearance of a scholar or doctor. His long, dark hair fell almost to his shoulders, partially obscuring his face.

Lastly, the fourth man stood slightly behind the others. An older man with short gray hair and a stubbled beard, he seemed almost like a shadow. His eyes were closed, his posture slightly slouched as he leaned on a dark cane with his left hand, while his right held a thick book.

The four men stood there, motionless in the small courtyard, as if they were statues, all of them staring intently at the wooden door of the house before them, awaiting a decision from the heavens. They exuded an air of royalty that was intangible yet powerful enough to make one’s heart tremble and one’s gaze lower. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, each passing second weighed down by silence, none daring to break it.

From time to time, a scream—high-pitched and filled with agony—would echo from inside the house. Normally, such sounds might be dismissed, but in that charged silence, each scream felt like a bolt of thunder, making the men flinch despite themselves.

After half an hour of waiting in that oppressive silence, broken only by the occasional scream, the door of the house creaked open. All four men looked up immediately, and as they watched the door slowly open, it felt as if time had ground to a halt. Eventually, the door swung fully open, and a small maid stepped out.

As she approached, her bright smile became visible. The golden-clad man’s heart tightened at the sight of it, and he trembled slightly. As soon as she was within earshot, he spoke, his voice firm and melodic, carrying a weight of authority yet barely concealing his excitement.

“Speak.”

The maid walked closer until she was three feet from the man, then she finally announced, “It is a boy, Your Majesty.”

The golden man felt euphoria surge through him. How many years had he waited, hoping for this moment but finding only disappointment? Now, at last, he had a son. After forty years on the throne, three queens, and countless concubines, he finally had an heir. The relief was evident on his face as he felt the burdens of his rule lighten.

Without delay, he moved toward the house with hurried, dignified steps, his air of royalty unmistakable. As he neared the entrance, countless thoughts flooded his mind, and he couldn’t help but show a jubilant, bright smile.

This man was King Edmund Holt, the thirty-first king of the Ject Kingdom. Known throughout the realm for his fairness and kindness, he was respected not only within his own kingdom but also by the rulers of the neighboring kingdoms for his clear-minded, diplomatic approach. In the forty years of his reign, aside from minor border skirmishes, he had kept the kingdom largely at peace.

However, Edmund had often faced criticism for his inability to produce an heir. Known derisively as "the aimless king" behind his back, he watched as influential figures in the royal court began currying favor with his younger brother, Robert Holt, whom they believed was destined to be the next king. This shift caused Edmund considerable stress, but today he had finally achieved his ultimate goal: he finally had a son.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Edmund found himself standing beside a bed where a pale, exhausted woman lay. His attention, however, was captured not by her but by the tiny, crying bundle in her arms. As he looked at the infant as though gazing upon a godly treasure, a glint of emotion filled his eyes, and they began to well up with tears.

Barely managing to collect his thoughts, Edmund reached for the small gray bundle and gently, but with a certain desperation, took it from the woman’s arms. She looked ghostly pale, beads of sweat dotting her forehead, and one couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. Yet Edmund paid her no mind, his thoughts consumed entirely by the little life in his arms.

Holding his son, Edmund felt a surge of happiness unlike any he’d known. He gazed at the child, noticing the faint strands of the Holt family’s traditional blue hair. His eyes glittered, and he felt as if he could almost take flight—were it not for the fear of harming his little treasure. Behind Edmund stood the other three men. Both the armored warrior and the man in white robes wore broad smiles, while only the dark-robed old man remained stoic. It was the warrior who eventually broke the silence.

“Brother, what will you name him?”

Edmund was startled by his younger brother's question. In his overwhelming joy, he had forgotten to consider a name. After a brief pause, an idea sparked in his mind. Smiling proudly, he declared in a clear, resounding voice:

“Wesley. His name will be Wesley Holt.”

At his words, both the armored warrior and the white-robed man frowned, their once-bright expressions darkening. Only the old man in dark robes remained unchanged.

Though Wesley was not an uncommon name, it held a significant place in history. Only one Wesley had ever risen to fame beyond others with the same name: Wesley Royaume, founder of the Royaume Empire, its first emperor, and the greatest conqueror the world had ever seen.

For a child of the Holt family—a family that had spent the last thousand years distancing itself from any association with the Royaume Empire—this was, in the eyes of many, the worst possible choice of name. Just as the two were about to voice their objections, however, the old man in dark robes stepped forward.

As he moved next to Edmund, the dark book he held in his right hand floated into the air. It was a sight to behold; though mages were rare, they were not entirely unheard of. However, the rarity of mages made them account for barely a fraction of the population. This seemingly frail old man, though, was considered the most powerful mage in the Ject Kingdom—and, by some accounts, in all four kingdoms. He was known across the world as Rale the Keeper.

The old man began writing something in the dark book as it hovered in midair. After a moment, he spoke softly:

“By giving him the Holt name, you now legitimize the child.”

His words sent a shock through both the armored warrior and the man in white, but neither dared to respond. They simply shook their heads in reluctant acceptance and forced faint smiles. Seeing no objections, Edmund nodded, still smiling as he gazed at his newborn son.

[In the year 8134 of the Common Calendar, Wesley Holt was born.]

Chapter 3: Childhood

Edmund stood in the small bedroom, gazing down at his newborn son with a look that mingled paternal pride and regal dignity. Though he was motionless, his mind raced, already mapping out a future for young Wesley. After a few moments of contemplation, Edmund, having gathered his thoughts, spoke in a respectful tone:

“Old man Rale, would you test his magical affinities?” Edmund asked, looking over at the dark-robed elder.

Rale gave a simple nod, stepped forward, and placed a hand on Wesley's tiny head. He muttered an incantation under his breath. His hand briefly glowed but quickly dimmed. A faint smile appeared on Rale’s face as he spoke:

“He has an average affinity with darkness. Not enough to become a mage.”

Edmund felt a pang of disappointment but wasn’t overly concerned. After all, mages were rare. He turned next to the armored warrior standing nearby.

“Robert, check his warrior affinities.”

Robert approached Wesley, kneeling down beside him. He began a thorough examination, gently moving the infant’s arms and legs, tapping his abdomen, and feeling his muscles. After a few moments of assessment, Robert looked up at Edmund and spoke in a near-apologetic tone:

“His muscles are average, brother. He could be trained, but he won’t have the strength to compete with those who are innately gifted.”

Edmund’s disappointment deepened. He realized that Wesley might never achieve greatness. Still, he consoled himself with the thought that his line was at least secure.

After a brief silence, Edmund turned toward the exit, carrying Wesley in his arms. He didn’t so much as glance at the unconscious mother on the bed. As he reached the gates of the small courtyard, the soldiers stationed outside snapped to attention. Edmund and his companions climbed into an extravagant carriage and set off toward the Royal Palace.

Castle Holt was in a celebratory mood for days afterward. Festivities erupted throughout the castle, drawing merchants, circus performers, and entertainers from all over the kingdom. It wasn’t long before the entire castle became a lively festival. Nobles and notable figures flocked to congratulate Edmund on his new heir, showering him with gifts and marriage proposals.

For the next few years, Wesley lived the pampered life of a baby prince. Occasionally, he was shown off at royal balls to visiting dignitaries and nobles. But on his second birthday, an event occurred that would alter his future drastically.

King Edmund Holt, the thirty-first King of the Ject Kingdom, welcomed a second son. Edmund could hardly believe it; after years of childlessness, he now had two sons in two years. His joy was impossible to hide. This second son, after testing, showed a high affinity for fire and an above-average warrior affinity. Edmund was ecstatic. The contrast between his two sons was striking—like night and day.

The second son was named Delan Holt and was promptly designated as crown prince. This decision came as no surprise: Delan not only showed far greater potential than Wesley, but he was also the son of the queen, while Wesley was born to a concubine.

Wesley’s life as the second prince was not drastically different from his previous one. He continued to live a life of comfort, though now with fewer appearances and privileges. Since Edmund’s attention shifted entirely to his talented second son, Wesley was left largely in the care of maids and servants. His mother had passed away shortly after his birth, leaving him truly alone within the royal court.

----

[Five years later]

Castle Holt was in a celebratory mood, as today marked King Edmund Holt’s fiftieth year on the throne—a tremendous achievement, considering most kings reigned for thirty years or so. Nobles, notables, and dignitaries from all four kingdoms had come to pay their respects, and many were also eager to see the genius crown prince who had become the envy of the realm.

Edmund sat in his study, wearing a formal golden robe adorned with the Holt family emblem—a blue, green-eyed eagle—embroidered on the back. Beside him sat the queen, with a small child around five years old in a white robe with a matching emblem on her lap.

Edmund was about to head out to the ball when he noticed Wesley’s absence. Under most circumstances, he would have dismissed it, but tonight, Wesley’s absence at this significant celebration could easily be interpreted as an insult to the king. With a frown, Edmund turned to a nearby servant and barked:

“Find Wesley.”

The servant, as if he’d been commanded by a deity, darted out of the study. All the servants knew Wesley well, as they were the ones who had raised him, so it wasn’t difficult to guess where he might be. He spent most of his time either locked in his room or in the Royal Library. After checking the library and not finding him, the servant hurried to his room.

Upon reaching Wesley’s room, the servant opened the door and walked straight in—something he would never ordinarily dare to do. The memory of the king’s furious command had left him shaken, driving him to enter without permission.

As soon as he stepped into the room, the servant was enveloped by a profound darkness, one that seemed to stretch infinitely. Terror flooded him, and he sank to his knees, a wave of dread crashing over him. In his heart, he felt a bone-chilling certainty that his life was forfeit in this unnatural darkness.

As he knelt there, trembling and sobbing, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. Looking up, he met a pair of deep green eyes gazing down at him. His heart lurched as he heard a familiar voice say:

“You really should knock before you enter.”

The servant looked around, realizing that the darkness had vanished. Though the room was dim and unadorned, it no longer carried the oppressive weight of that initial shadow. Wesley stood beside him, a small, reassuring smile on his face. The servant felt a wave of relief wash over him, marveling at his survival when he had been so certain he wouldn’t. Even so, he couldn’t shake the fear from his expression as he asked in a shaky voice:

“Young master, what was that?”

Wesley shook his head with a self-reproaching smile, then helped the servant to his feet.

“It was nothing. Now, why were you looking for me?”

Realizing his mistakes—entering without permission and then questioning the prince—the servant felt a surge of embarrassment and regret. His voice still quivering, he answered:

“The king is waiting for you. The reception is about to begin.”

Wesley recalled that today was the celebration of his father’s fiftieth year on the throne. He gave a small snort and looked at the servant, who was still wiping his face, before saying:

“I see. Lead the way, please.”

The servant nodded with a slight bow and led Wesley back toward the study. When they arrived, the servant stood aside, gesturing for Wesley to enter. Wesley glanced at him with a small smile and said:

“Oh, and keep what you saw today to yourself.”

With that, Wesley walked into the study, not sparing a glance at the servant, whose face had turned ghostly pale.

As Wesley entered, he was immediately tackled by little Delan. Delan adored Wesley, and though Wesley had few friends, he spent most of his free time with his younger brother. Wesley hugged him back, ruffling Delan’s hair—something Delan seemed to enjoy—before moving toward Edmund without another word.

When Wesley was within four feet of the king, he knelt and said:

“Forgive my tardiness, Father.”

Edmund looked at him with an expression void of any warmth or emotion. He merely snorted and said:

“You’ve kept us waiting long enough. Let us go.”

With that, he turned and walked out, little Delan on his right and the queen on his left. Wesley allowed himself a faint smile and followed directly behind Edmund.

Chapter 4: Wesley's Teacher

After walking for a few minutes, Edmund and his procession arrived at the ballroom. He signaled his arrival to the servant by the door, who then promptly announced, in his clearest and loudest voice, the arrival of the king and queen.

The entire ballroom instantly quieted down. Once Edmund was certain all eyes were on him, he began to walk toward the throne at a slow, deliberate pace. He nodded politely to a few people as he passed, making sure to smile in a way that seemed both kind and kingly.

As Edmund walked between the assembled guests, his golden robe flickered in the ballroom’s light, giving all onlookers a sense of ease. However, as soon as people noticed the king’s shining golden robe, their attention shifted to the youth walking behind him.

Unlike the king's saintly golden attire, the youth wore a dark robe. While Edmund's robe seemed to emit light, drawing gasps of admiration at its elegance, the youth’s robe seemed to absorb light like a black hole. He emanated a faint aura of emptiness, his ice-cold green eyes unblinking and severe, instilling a quiet dread in those who looked at him.

Most of the kingdom’s nobles recognized Wesley as the second prince, but visiting dignitaries from other kingdoms, as well as those less familiar with the Holt family, immediately assumed that Wesley was the renowned genius prince.

Eventually, Edmund reached the throne. He turned elegantly, looked out at his guests, and seated himself on his throne. The queen took her seat on a smaller throne to Edmund’s right, with little Delan on her lap, while Wesley stood to Edmund’s left. Once everyone was in place, Edmund spoke in a dignified, cheerful voice:

“Welcome.”

The hall broke into applause, and many guests began moving toward the throne to pay their respects and offer congratulations. The first to approach was an elderly man. After bowing to Edmund, he spoke in a croaky voice:

“The King of Norn sends his best wishes to His Majesty, King Edmund Holt, and the crown prince.”

The old man looked directly at Wesley when he mentioned the crown prince. Though this startled Edmund, he quickly regained his composure and smiled at the old man, saying:

“We appreciate the King’s good wishes. Please, enjoy the ball.”

Wesley stood motionless, his face devoid of emotion, which impressed many in the hall. Some of the women even cast him lingering glances, with faint blushes on their cheeks; after all, Wesley’s slender frame and youthful features gave him a certain charm.

Another guest approached the throne. This time, it was a striking young man with golden-blond hair and matching golden eyes. He bowed slightly toward Edmund and spoke in a melodious, almost singsong voice:

“The King of Tamin sends his best regards and felicitations to His Majesty, King Edmund Holt, and the crown prince.”

Like the old man before him, the young man directed his bow toward Wesley as he mentioned the crown prince. Edmund was taken aback, unable to understand why people kept referring to Wesley as the crown prince. However, he kept his thoughts to himself and returned the greeting, hoping these guests were simply mistaken about Wesley’s identity, given that they came from other kingdoms.

Unfortunately for Edmund, all the other guests lined up behind the first two took their cues from them, greeting Wesley as the crown prince. Wesley didn’t mind; to him, it was merely a bother, as he’d much rather be elsewhere. But Edmund, seated next to him, was growing increasingly anxious. He couldn’t correct them now without causing embarrassment to the guests, but he also feared that false rumors might spread, proclaiming Wesley as the crown prince, which would cause him headaches later.

Once everyone had finished their greetings and congratulations, they returned to dancing, chatting, and general merrymaking. Wesley withdrew to a quiet bench in a far corner of the hall, breathing a sigh of relief—only to be immediately surrounded by numerous young ladies eager to chat or dance or find any excuse to engage with him.

- - - - - - - - - -

After nearly ten minutes of sitting in his secluded corner and fending off the advances and invitations of at least a dozen young ladies, Wesley was finally alone. After ensuring that no one was watching him, the shadows around the corner where he sat darkened. A moment later, Wesley was gone, reappearing almost a hundred feet away in a dim hallway. After confirming that he was alone, he began walking slowly.

He continued on for nearly ten minutes until he reached the west tower of the palace. At the entrance, Wesley knocked respectfully. This wasn’t unusual, as the west tower was known to be the dwelling of the most powerful mage in the Ject Kingdom: Rale the Keeper.

"Come."

Upon hearing the brief response, the shadows around Wesley deepened, and he stepped forward, only to reappear at the top of the tower. The moment he emerged from the shadows, Wesley cupped his hands respectfully and said:

"Master."

If anyone had been watching, they would see that Wesley was alone in the dark room, with nothing else visible in the pitch-black surroundings. Yet Wesley spoke as though someone were there.

"You are late."

The darkness spoke, and the room seemed to darken further. Wesley shuddered for a moment, then replied in a steady voice:

"I had to attend the king's celebration."

A small, disapproving huff sounded from the darkness, then the voice spoke again:

"Have you finished memorizing the basics?"

"Yes, Master," Wesley replied respectfully.

"Show me your dark globe."

The darkness commanded, and in response, Wesley muttered something under his breath. A mist-like shadow spread from him, expanding until it enveloped a two-hundred-foot circumference. The entire tower disappeared, leaving only darkness where it had stood.

"Good. That should be enough."

Upon hearing these words, Wesley released the dark globe, and sweat rolled down his forehead. His face was paler than usual, and his eyes flickered slightly, but his expression remained as stoic as ever.

"Your range seems to have increased again."

The room lightened as if a veil of night had been lifted, and a figure half a head taller than Wesley appeared before him, wearing a faint but proud smile. Rale looked at Wesley with eyes that were nearly closed, assessing him like a carefully crafted painting. After a small nod of approval, he said:

"You are ready for the next level of your training."

Reaching into a shadow that seemed to emerge from nowhere, he withdrew half a dozen books. After examining each one, he looked up at Wesley and said:

"Take these books. You will commit them to memory over the next three years."

He released the books, which floated toward Wesley. Wesley raised his hand and murmured something under his breath; the books became enveloped in darkness and vanished. He then bowed slightly and said:

"Yes, Master."

"Good. Now return to your room and begin refining. Your mana capacity is pathetic."

"Yes, Master."

The shadow on the wall behind Wesley darkened again, and without hesitation, he stepped into it, reappearing a hundred feet away. He immediately started toward his room to begin refining his mana—and to look over the books he’d received.

Chapter 5: Training

Wesley walked through the dark hallways of the palace toward his room. Although the royal palace always kept its corridors well-lit, with each step Wesley took, the lamps around him began to dim. As he approached, they would go out completely. If anyone had seen this spectacle, they would not have noticed Wesley himself; instead, they would only see a steady wave of darkness creeping toward them.

Wesley soon reached his room. This time, he made sure to lock the door, wanting to avoid any interruptions like the earlier incident with the servant. With the door secured, Wesley sat cross-legged on his bed and muttered something under his breath, causing a small shadow to appear in front of him. He reached into the shadow and retrieved the five or so books he had received from Rale.

The first thing he noticed was that three of the books had dark covers and emitted a faint, ominous aura, each containing about fifteen pages. The other three had plain brown covers and were slightly larger, though not by much. He opened the first of the dark-covered books, titled *Refining Darkness*. This book outlined specific refining techniques for those who use dark magic to refine mana. The second dark book, *Embracing Darkness*, contained several advanced techniques. The third was simply titled *History of Darkness*.

Wesley then examined the three brown-covered books. They all appeared to be technique books titled *The Silent Sword*, *The Silent Dagger*, and *The Silent Step*. Wesley immediately understood why Rale had given him these non-magical books: they were highly compatible with darkness magic and would also help conceal his magical abilities.

With a clear understanding of what he had received from his master, Wesley immediately started reading *Refining Darkness*. This book outlined a refining method specifically tailored for dark mages. The first technique detailed was called the "Dark Globe." Unlike the large Dark Globe he had created earlier, which covered a two-hundred-foot radius, this one only needed to cover the user’s body. While maintaining this smaller Dark Globe, the user would begin refining. This process continuously depletes their mana, but because they are refining simultaneously, they never fully exhaust their mana. This balance allows the mana pool to grow over time, and as it grows, the range of the Dark Globe also expands.

Next, Wesley read *Embracing Darkness*. This book described advanced versions of familiar techniques: *Dark Globe*, *Dark Warp* (the technique Wesley used to teleport), and *Dark Dimension* (the technique he and Rale used to store items in darkness). These techniques were complex, and Wesley realized they were too advanced for him to master on his own. He resolved to visit Rale frequently to train in these techniques under his guidance. As for the three *Silent* techniques, he knew they would only require consistent practice on his part.

- - - - - - - - - -

For the next three years, Wesley’s life became a relentless cycle of practice and training. He spent one-third of each night sleeping and the remaining hours refining his mana according to the *Refining Darkness* method. During the day, Wesley dedicated three hours to practicing his Silent techniques, a few hours reading *History of Darkness* and other books, some time with little Delan, and then attended lectures from various tutors. Each evening, he visited the West Tower to learn advanced Darkness techniques from old man Rale. These three years of constant training led to a tremendous increase in Wesley’s understanding of Darkness and the growth of his mana pool, as well as steady progress in his physical training.

His rigorous training schedule was rarely interrupted. As the second prince, Wesley was not required to attend many meetings or parties—particularly since King Edmund wanted to avoid a repeat of the embarrassment when Wesley was mistaken for the crown prince. The king also believed Wesley was too lacking to push toward royal responsibilities.

Despite being only ten years old, Wesley was already a head taller than other children his age due to the physical conditioning of his Silent techniques. Since these techniques focused on agility, his body remained slender and lean. His skin was pale from spending so much time indoors, which made his blue hair and jade-green eyes appear strikingly vibrant.

This afternoon, Wesley was in the library, listening to one of his tutors lecture about tactics and strategy. Although he had little interest in such topics, he was required to attend as the second prince. And even though he wasn’t inclined toward warfare, he paid enough attention to gain a basic understanding.

After the lecture, Wesley returned to his room to read for a while before heading to the West Tower to meet Rale. Once in his room, he locked the door—a habit since the day a servant had barged in unannounced. He invoked *Dark Dimension* to retrieve his *History of Darkness* book. Unlike the other two dark books, this one contained no techniques or methods; instead, it was filled with information about famous dark mages, myths surrounding dark magic across the ages, and various miscellaneous details about Darkness.

After three hours of reading, Wesley closed the book, set it aside, and prepared to head to the West Tower. Muttering a few words, he caused the shadow on the wall to deepen, then stepped into it, reemerging a few seconds later inside Rale’s room. Although the distance between Wesley’s room and the West Tower was at least four hundred feet, three years of practice had increased his *Dark Warp* range to a maximum of five hundred feet—though it still consumed a third of his mana, so he used it sparingly.

As usual, Rale’s room was engulfed in darkness, but Wesley was unfazed. Bowing respectfully, he said:

“Master.”

“You have come. Good, good.”

Rale, seated in a small chair, spoke without looking up from his book. Wesley’s *Dark Warp* hadn’t surprised him; as a dark mage himself, he immediately sensed the technique being used nearby. Since dark mages were rare, he knew it could only be Wesley.

Closing his book, Rale looked up with a glimmer of laughter in his eyes, which surprised Wesley slightly. His teacher was almost always impassive, but Wesley kept his own face stoic and waited for Rale to speak.

“You turned ten a short time ago, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, good. It seems you’ll be receiving news from the king soon.”

Rale’s voice carried a trace of mockery and amusement, piquing Wesley’s curiosity. Before he could ask, however, Rale continued:

“You’ll learn about it soon enough. For now, return those three dark books to me; you may keep the other three.”

“Yes, Master.”

Wesley had known he would eventually need to return the books, having already absorbed everything they offered. He invoked his *Dark Dimension* and pulled out the three dark books, then handed them respectfully to Rale, who promptly stored them in his own *Dark Dimension*.

“Good. Now I have a few things for you as well.”

Rale reached into his *Dark Dimension* and withdrew a few items: a long, thin black sword, a short black dagger, and a book. Handing them to Wesley, who regarded them curiously, Rale said:

“Now, go back to your room and begin refining. You should hear from the king soon. And also, there’s no need for you to come here for the next few weeks. Continue refining until after your meeting with the king.”

Wesley was a bit puzzled. He didn’t understand why his master wouldn’t want him to come for several weeks, but he was more intrigued by this upcoming meeting with the king, which seemed to amuse the otherwise impassive Rale. However, he didn’t question his master. Storing the items in his *Dark Dimension*, he bowed politely and said:

“Understood, Master.”

With a nod, Rale returned to his reading, and Wesley invoked *Dark Warp*, reappearing in his room a moment later.

Chapter 6: Departure

After Wesley reemerged from his *Dark Warp* into his room, he immediately sat cross-legged on his bed, closed his eyes, and began refining his mana. Having used *Dark Warp* twice within minutes, he was left with only a third of his mana.

Almost an hour passed before Wesley completed his refining. He then invoked *Dark Dimension* and withdrew the sword, dagger, and book he had received from old man Rale. Setting aside the sword and dagger, he focused on the book, which piqued his curiosity.

The book had a dark cover like the other books from Rale, though it was slightly thicker and had a more personal, journal-like appearance. Opening to the inside cover, Wesley found the handwritten title: *Record of Darkness*. This confirmed his suspicion that the book was a journal, raising the question of whether Rale or someone else had written it.

The first page contained a brief handwritten introduction: *The ways of Darkness are infinite; each child of the night has their own understanding, practice, and application. I write this book to share with others like me who train in Darkness, so they too may share it with others. You might not understand what is written here, or you may not wish to share your techniques, but this book was made by those who practice Darkness so their knowledge and names would survive the eternal darkness of time.*

Wesley’s heart shook as he read this. He instantly understood the book’s value—it contained the accumulated knowledge of countless masters from ages past. Each technique, treasured by its creator, was now within his grasp.

Excited by the prospect of gaining powerful techniques, Wesley immediately began reading. For the next few days, he rarely left his room except for meals, continuously absorbed in the book’s secrets. The techniques described were immensely powerful; some could lay waste to entire cities, while others could block out the sun itself.

Unfortunately, Wesley struggled to comprehend the workings of these techniques. Although numerous masters had recorded their methods in the book, they had only included the most basic descriptions and explanations, without delving into the mechanics or mysteries behind each technique. Wesley felt slightly dejected at possessing such a treasure without the ability to use it. But he wasn’t disheartened. Even if he couldn’t perform these techniques yet, he now understood that Dark magic was vast and diverse. Finally, after reading the book cover to cover a few times, Wesley put it away and turned his attention to the sword and dagger.

Both weapons were pitch-black, as if crafted from obsidian. Unlike typical obsidian, however, they absorbed light rather than reflecting it. The sword had a double-edged blade and a short, leather-bound hilt. What caught Wesley’s attention was the dagger’s aura: although it resembled the sword in material and design, it emitted a dark, chilling aura that inspired a deep dread in anyone who looked at it.

As Wesley examined the dagger curiously, he heard a sudden knock at his door. He quickly stored the sword and dagger in his *Dark Dimension* and dismissed his *Dark Globe*. It had become a habit to invoke his *Dark Globe* whenever he was in his room.

Wesley stood up and opened the door, finding a young servant girl standing outside, looking around in a daze.

“Yes?” he asked.

The little servant girl perked up at his voice, snapping out of her daze, and spoke in a small voice:

“Sorry, uhm, the king… he… he’s calling you to the study.”

Wesley was amused by her timid tone, almost as if she had never done this before. He was tempted to tease her but restrained himself, remembering that the meeting Rale had hinted at was finally happening.

“I see. Thank you,” he said, and he headed towards the king’s study. It wasn’t far, but Wesley deliberately walked slowly, mulling over why the king had summoned him. Several ideas crossed his mind, but he eventually abandoned his guesses and resolved to find out directly.

When Wesley reached the study, he knocked respectfully before entering. The king was seated behind a desk piled with books, letters, and documents, focused on a piece of parchment. To the side of the room, little Delan was sitting by the window, reading a book in a small chair. Noticing Wesley’s arrival, Delan’s face lit up, and he waved in a cheerful, childlike manner. Wesley gave him a quick smile and wink, then turned his attention to the king, who was now watching him.

“Come in, Wesley,” the king said.

“You called for me, father.”

“Yes, I have some news for you. Now that you’ve turned ten, you are old enough to attend the Four Moons Royal Academy.”

Wesley was taken aback. He’d heard of the Four Moons Royal Academy—a prestigious school for the nobility of the four kingdoms. However, as a prince, it was beneath his status. He instantly recognized this as a form of exile, and his confusion showed on his face. Why would his father send him so far away when he could learn everything from his current tutors? In a small voice, he asked:

“But, father, that school is…”

Before he could finish, King Edmund raised a hand, signaling him to stop, and said:

"The decision has been made, Wesley. You will leave for Blackreach City in a week."

Wesley regained his composure, realizing that his master must have anticipated this outcome, possibly even influenced it. He simply nodded and replied:

"Understood, Father."

"Excellent. Furthermore, you won't be assigned an escort to Blackreach County since it's a neutral area. You’ll have to make the journey on your own."

Wesley was surprised by this decision. The neutrality of Blackreach County wasn’t a strong reason to deny him an escort, especially since Holt Castle, one of the southernmost cities in the Ject Kingdom, lay a full four hundred miles from Blackreach’s borders. Nonetheless, Wesley kept his thoughts to himself, replying with a simple:

"Yes, Father."

"Good. Now, go and prepare what you need. You’ll depart in a week’s time. The journey shouldn’t take you more than two weeks, and the entrance examination is in a month."

"Understood, Father. I’ll take my leave."

Wesley bowed politely, then turned to leave the room. As he reached the door, he noticed the distressed look on little Delan’s face. Offering him an apologetic smile, Wesley exited the study and returned to his room.

Once back, he locked his door and resumed analyzing the strange dagger he had received from Rale, fiddling with it until evening. Finally, he invoked *Dark Warp* and appeared in the West Tower. He greeted his master immediately, but before he could ask about the day’s events, Rale spoke first.

"Have you spoken to the king yet?"

"Yes, Master," Wesley replied after a brief pause.

"Good. I assume you want to know if I had anything to do with it."

"Yes, Master."

"I was the one who requested young Edmund send you to the Four Moons Royal Academy. Do you know why?"

"No, Master." Wesley had suspected Rale’s involvement in the king’s decision but was genuinely puzzled about the reason.

"It is because you are too inexperienced. You’ve only known life here, but the world is vast, and only those who are tempered by the hardships of reality grow strong."

Wesley wasn’t too surprised; he’d always felt that his life in the palace was too sheltered. He had thought he might travel when he was older, but he replied simply:

"Understood, Master."

"Now, I want to talk to you about the *Record of Darkness*. Have you finished reading it yet?"

"I have, Master."

"Good. This book is a collection of Dark techniques. Even if you can’t yet fully understand them, you must continue studying."

"Yes, Master."

"Also, if you meet another Dark Mage during your time outside, and he’s a friend, update each other’s records. If he’s an enemy, kill him and claim his record. Though I doubt you’ll meet other Dark Mages."

"Understood, Master." Wesley considered the possibility of encountering other mages and the prospect of claiming their records.

"Finally, remember this above all else while you’re out there—no one should learn of your magic."

"Yes, Master."

"And if, by some chance, they do learn of it?"

"Then they will die," Wesley replied, his voice steady and his eyes cold.

"Good." Rale seemed satisfied with his response, turning back to his book. "Now go—you have much to prepare."

"Understood, Master, but…" Wesley hesitated, his uncertainty drawing Rale’s attention. Amused, Rale looked up.

"What is it?"

"About the dagger…"

"Ah, it seems you’ve discovered something about my gift. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you much. You’ll have to uncover its mysteries on your own," Rale replied, grinning.

Wesley instantly understood that the dagger held hidden qualities, but he didn’t press further. He simply answered:

"Yes, Master. Then I’ll take my leave."

He invoked *Dark Warp*, and seconds later, stepped out of the shadows into his room. As he stood there, he began to reorganize his thoughts on all that had transpired.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A week later, a young man stood at the northern gate of Holt Castle. He was around five feet tall, dressed in a dark shirt and pants, with a sheathed black sword hanging from his right hip. His blue, shoulder-length hair fluttered in the wind as he gazed out toward the horizon.

This was Wesley’s first time setting foot outside Holt Castle. Within him, a storm of emotions raged as he looked into the distant expanse. His eyes shone with excitement, and his body trembled at the thought of the adventures that awaited him.

[In the year 8144 of the Common Calendar, Wesley Holt left his home]

Chapter 7: First Encounter

The distance between Holt Castle and Blackreach City was about four hundred miles. Wesley knew it would take him at most four days to reach Blackreach if he stayed on the main road. However, he decided against the main route, preferring to explore more along the way rather than sticking to a safe but boring path. With a month until the Academy's entrance exam, there was no need to rush.

Veering off the main road, Wesley took a smaller, unpaved path with far less traffic and kept walking for a few hours. This was, after all, his first time traveling outside Holt Castle, and as he walked forward into the unknown, he felt a thrill rising within him. He looked around at the trees, birds, and rocks, his excitement growing. Then, something unusual caught his eye.

A small wooden building stood by the side of the road, with a sign that read *Restaurant.* Such buildings were common along the main road, where merchants and travelers needed places to eat and rest, but this was a quiet, secluded trail. Wesley wondered why anyone would open a business in such a desolate place.

Overcome by curiosity, he decided to check it out. Stepping inside, Wesley was even more surprised by what he saw. This remote restaurant, in the middle of nowhere, was packed with people, all laughing, shouting, eating, and drinking. The noise and bustle stood in stark contrast to the empty road he had walked along, and he hadn’t seen a single soul until now.

The moment Wesley entered, the lively chatter and laughter in the hall fell silent. The patrons seemed just as surprised to see him as he was to see them. Noticing their astonishment, Wesley only smiled and made his way to the counter. Although he was five feet tall and considered tall for his age, he barely reached the shoulders of the men around him.

He took a seat at the counter and, undeterred by the stares, turned to the bartender and said, “The house special, please.”

Wesley’s voice seemed to bring the bartender, who had been staring at him, back to his senses. With a quick nod and a meek smile, the bartender replied, “Yes, yes. Coming right up.”

Wesley nodded in return, then pulled a book from the small dark satchel slung over his shoulder. He knew he couldn’t use Dark Dimension in front of people, so he’d packed a few essentials—some books and some gold—in the satchel. His dark sword also hung visibly at his hip for the same reason. He was indeed intrigued by the people in this restaurant; not only was their presence in this secluded spot strange, but they also all looked like seasoned soldiers. Wesley figured they were either troops from a nearby fort or bandits, though he wasn’t sure which.

Soon, the bartender set a dish down in front of Wesley and spoke in a mild tone, “Here you go, roasted rabbit.”

“Thanks.”

Since rabbit meat was considered commoner’s food, Wesley had never had a chance to try it before, and he was eager to taste it. Just as he was about to dig in, a raspy voice sounded from behind him:

“Young man, I don’t think you can eat a whole rabbit alone. Why not let this old man help you with it?”

This remark sparked a round of laughter from the men nearby. Wesley only smiled at the gray-bearded man who stood behind him and replied, “Haha, old man, where are my manners? I was just excited, as I’ve never had rabbit before. Please, join me.”

Wesley’s words caught the room’s attention. The mention of never having tasted rabbit before made it clear to the men that Wesley was a noble, and an unusual gleam appeared in their eyes. The gray-bearded man looked at Wesley sharply but then burst into laughter, took a seat beside him, and said, “That’s the spirit, young man. You should never eat alone when your elders are standing around.”

“Haha, I’ll keep that in mind. Now, let’s eat.”

Wesley and the gray-bearded man devoured the rabbit together, and within minutes, only bones remained on the platter. Wesley sighed, savoring the taste. Despite its simple preparation, the rabbit meat had been delicious. He couldn’t understand why nobles avoided such a delicacy. Just as he was lost in thought, the gray-bearded man beside him spoke up:

“Young man, since you fed this old fella, I’ll give you a friendly tip.”

“Oh?” Wesley replied, his interest piqued.

“You see, unlike the main road, these backroads don’t have many guards patrolling, so there are plenty of bandits around. In fact, I hear there’s a bloody band operating in this area, so you should be careful when you travel.”

The old man’s words set off a round of laughter from the others in the hall, confirming Wesley’s suspicions that they were indeed bandits. Suddenly, another man approached Wesley from behind, his face twisted in an arrogant smirk, and said:

“Haha, young brat. That’s a nice sword you have there—mind if I take a look?”

Wesley turned around with a polite smile and replied, “Of course. Here you go.”

In an instant, the man’s head was severed cleanly from his neck, his face frozen in that same arrogant expression as it hit the floor. This was one of Wesley’s Silent Sword techniques, *Silent Draw.* Wesley laughed and said loudly:

“Did I mention that those who see my sword often end up without a head?”

The entire room fell into a stunned silence. All anyone had seen was Wesley reaching for his sword with a smile, and in the next moment, the man’s head had flown off. As Wesley’s mocking words sank in, the others realized he was indeed the culprit.

Ignoring their stares, Wesley turned back to the gray-bearded man and said with a faintly ominous smile, “I’ll keep that in mind, old man. Thanks for the warning.”

The gray-bearded man visibly shuddered. Without waiting for Wesley to finish, he jumped back five feet, drawing his sword. The other men followed suit, pulling out their weapons and glaring hatefully at Wesley, though none dared approach him, remembering what happened to the first man.

“What’s wrong, old man?” Wesley said calmly, looking at him. “You seem rather pale all of a sudden.”

“You… do you know who we are?” the gray-bearded man asked in a shaky voice.

“Nope. I just came here to eat.”

“You’ll pay for killing our brother!” Before the gray-bearded man could respond, another bandit shouted and charged at Wesley, followed closely by four others.

Wesley shrugged and unsheathed his sword. Since they were already on guard, he couldn’t use *Silent Draw* again, so he walked toward the oncoming group, sword at the ready. When they were close enough, the bandits swung their swords at him in unison.

Wesley simply moved forward, sidestepping each swing with minimal effort. Moments later, he stood unscathed, his dark sword in hand. Around him lay four headless men, while the fifth clutched his throat, blood streaming through his fingers.

This was Wesley’s second Silent Sword technique, *Silent Counter,* which used an enemy’s attack momentum against them. Wesley was mildly surprised to see one of the bandits still alive, as he hadn’t expected any to survive his Silent Counter. It confirmed that these men were skilled fighters, hardened by countless battles. As if acknowledging Wesley’s assessment, the remaining thirty or so bandits quickly formed a shield wall, their backs pressed to the wall.

The shield wall, a tactic usually employed in outnumbered skirmishes, was intended to make a group almost immovable. It was an odd choice to use against a single opponent, but after seeing the swift end of their comrades, it was clear they were taking no chances. Wesley smiled, impressed, and sheathed his sword as he said softly:

“My apologies, old man. It seems I’ve killed a few of your friends.”

The bandits’ eyes widened at Wesley’s words. He didn’t even consider them opponents, and even more unsettling, he seemed entirely unfazed by the killings—as if he’d even enjoyed it. A cold sweat broke out on the backs of the men in the shield wall. The gray-bearded man stepped forward, his sword drawn, his face etched with both anger and wariness as he spoke:

“Brat, we don’t care if a few hot-headed idiots died. But who the hell are you?”

“Haha, old man, I’m just a simple traveler who came here to eat.”

Hearing this, the bandits let out a small sigh of relief. Though the gray-bearded man kept his guard up, he felt a glimmer of reassurance that Wesley wasn’t here specifically for them. He sheathed his sword, gave Wesley a calculating smile, and said:

“I’m afraid, however, that we can’t let you go without paying.”

His words triggered a wave of curses among the bandits. Why provoke this monster further when they’d rather let him be? Wesley, however, was amused. He knew his sword techniques were a cover for his magic, and if the fight continued, these seasoned bandits might see through his techniques, forcing him to use his powers. Laughing, he reached into his satchel, pulled out a small pouch, and called to the bartender:

“Bartender, drinks and food for everyone!” He tossed the pouch to the bartender, who caught it with a look of surprise.

The gray-bearded man laughed heartily, turning to his men and barking orders to clean up the bodies. Then he looked back at Wesley and said, “Haha, young man, you keep surprising me. Come on, let’s eat.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hours later, the small restaurant was once again filled with laughter and merrymaking, as if nothing had happened. At the counter, Wesley and the gray-bearded man were talking while eating roasted rabbit.

"Tell me, Wesley, where did you learn how to fight? I’ve never seen such sword techniques before."

"Haha, Orion, you flatter me too much. These techniques of mine are nothing. I’m more impressed by how organized you and your friends are."

Orion noticed that Wesley wasn't comfortable talking about his sword techniques, so he simply scratched his gray beard and let it go. He then spoke again with a laugh:

"Ah, you don’t want to talk about it. But tell me, where are you headed? You can't just be going around killing random bandits."

"I’m headed to Blackreach City. I have some business there."

"Oh, Blackreach City. I haven’t been there since my mercenary days. The ladies there are worth spending all your wealth on." Orion laughed loudly at the thought.

"Old man Orion, you’re turning out to be a bad influence on me," Wesley laughed as well.

Wesley really liked this old man Orion. He was straightforward and never hid his thoughts. Wesley enjoyed talking with these common bandits more than he enjoyed chatting with the Kingdom’s nobility.

After hours of talking with Orion, Wesley learned that this restaurant was one of many scattered across the back roads of the kingdom, specifically made for bandits since they couldn't visit normal restaurants. He also learned that Orion was the leader of a troop of about three hundred bandits known as the Crimson Troop, and they were celebrating here today after raiding a caravan.

Eventually, Wesley decided it was time to leave. As he was saying his farewells to the men, Orion suddenly called out to him:

"Little Wesley, I have something for you."

Wesley instantly turned back with a look of interest as Orion approached him, holding a small parchment in his hand.

"This is a detailed map of the back roads. Unlike the main road, which runs straight, these back roads can get rather confusing. It also marks all the bandit-friendly restaurants."

As Wesley looked at the map, he noticed that it was far more detailed than the usual maps he saw at the palace. The details on this map were specifically designed for bandit use, showing bandit restaurants, hiding places, army forts, and so on.

"Haha, old man Orion, this is a rather handy map. Thank you," Wesley said with sincerity.

"Don’t mention it. Although we’re bandits, we respect strength, and you, little Wesley, are indeed strong."

"Thank you, old man Orion. I’ll come visit next time I’m in the area."

"Yes, yes. Make sure you do. Then I’ll have you treat me to some roasted rabbit."

After saying his goodbyes, Wesley immediately set off. With the map of the back roads in hand, he didn’t have to be too cautious about his route. But as he walked, a multitude of thoughts ran through his head. The biggest concern was the need to improve his Silent Sword techniques. At their current level, if he faced strong opponents, he would be forced to use magic—and he would much rather avoid that. Also, the fact that bandits like Orion's Crimson Troop were so numerous showed that the situation in the kingdom wasn’t as great as he’d been led to believe while in the palace. However, this was none of his concern.

He simply continued moving forward, feeling a surge of excitement at the marvels he might find on these back roads.

Chapter 8: The Journey

Wesley continued his exploration of the backroads with great excitement and anticipation at what he might find. He felt immense appreciation toward Orion for the map he had given him, as these backroads were a giant web of interconnected paths that went one way at first, then immediately turned another. This meant that if you didn’t know the roads well, or didn’t have a map like Wesley, you were certain to get lost.

Most people stayed away from these backroads for many reasons. First, all the major cities of the kingdom were located along the main road, making it pointless to venture into the backroads. Second, the backroads were known as hotbeds for all sorts of bandits and cutthroats, making most people reluctant to travel there.

This made Wesley even happier to be here, as the lack of constant human contact allowed the forests to prosper and the animals to roam freely. Wesley, who had rarely left the confines of the palace, was even more amazed at how beautiful nature truly was. So, Wesley continued his exploration of the treasures in this hidden world for a whole week.

However, despite his fascination with the beauties and wonders hidden in this forgotten place, Wesley was not wandering aimlessly without regard to his destination. In fact, he was slowly but steadily heading toward Blackreach City. Blackreach City was his ultimate destination, but Wesley was in no rush to get there. He marked a few spots on his map to visit along the way.

These places were naturally villages and towns located within the backroads, as not everyone could live in the major cities along the main road. Most of these towns and villages were inhabited by farmers, hunters, or miners.

Naturally, Wesley wasn’t going to miss the chance to visit some of these places. Having lived all his life in Holt Castle, a bustling metropolitan city, he longed to see how life in a small village compared to such large cities. He also wanted to enjoy some more roasted rabbit. Furthermore, he was keen to learn more about these backroads. Although his map was quite helpful, he recognized that it couldn’t show everything, so it only made sense to ask the people who actually lived in the area.

His most immediate destination was a town named Dustine. He noticed on the map that it had two rivers running through it, meaning it was likely either a fishing or farming village. Besides being the closest town to his location, Wesley was also eager to try some fish dishes.

The town was not too far away, around ten miles or so, so Wesley reached it around noon. The entire town was surrounded by a ten-foot-tall wooden barricade, with a few guard towers facing the road. The main gate was also made of wood, but it had iron bracings and spikes protruding from its top. Two guards stood to the sides of the main gate, each holding a long spear.

As Wesley approached the gate, he noticed that both guards were dozing off. This almost made him burst out laughing because, from a distance, one would think they were both dutifully doing their jobs. The fact that they were able to sleep while still managing to look like they were standing at attention meant they were well accustomed to this routine.

Seeing this spectacle made Wesley snicker. His snicker immediately startled one of the guards from his nap. The guard looked around in a daze, but then his gaze fell on Wesley, who was standing no more than five feet away, trying to suppress his laughter. The guard, who appeared to be in his early twenties, felt embarrassed by Wesley’s reaction, and that embarrassment quickly turned into anger. He pointed his spear at Wesley and shouted as loudly as he could:

"Stop right there. Who are you?"

"Haha, Mister Guard, I am just a traveler passing through," Wesley replied.

The guard’s shout woke the other guard. This one appeared to be a little older, around thirty or forty. He looked around in a daze at first, then saw Wesley laughing and the younger guard looking embarrassed. It didn’t take long for the older guard to understand the situation. He started laughing and spoke in a deep, amused voice:

"Haha, traveler, it seems you caught us in an embarrassing position."

This caused both the older guard and Wesley to laugh together.

The younger guard, feeling even more embarrassed and angry, roared:

"Captain, he must be a bandit trying to sneak into our town!"

The captain, still laughing with Wesley, replied:

"Does he really look like a bandit? Also, if he were a bandit, he would have already killed us while we were dozing. Tell me, young traveler, why have you come to our village?"

"Haha, Captain, I needed a place to rest, and I also wanted to taste some fish dishes," Wesley laughed heartily.

"Well, you’re in luck, young traveler. Our town is famous for its fish dishes. My name is Kader, and this hotheaded fellow is my junior, Sern."

"Nice to meet you, Kader and Sern. My name is Wesley," Wesley grinned, his smile widening when he mentioned Sern's name, which only made the younger guard angrier.

"Well, don’t just stand there, little Wesley. Let me take you to the inn so you can try our dishes."

"Ah, yes. Let’s go."

"Stand guard here, Sern. I’ll send someone to keep you company, so try not to fall asleep until then." This made Kader laugh even louder, while Sern’s face turned bright red.

- - - - - - - - - -

As Wesley and Kader walked along the main road, Wesley noticed that most of the shops lining the street were closed. A large number of people sat along the roadside—mostly women and children—each wearing a look of deep despair. Wesley knew these towns, far from the main road, were isolated and poor, but he hadn't expected the situation to be this dire.

The sight of the people scattered across the street, their faces twisted in agony, made Wesley’s stomach churn. He had lived his entire life without worrying about such hardships, and seeing these people sit there, dejected, filled him with a profound sense of guilt. He understood that the world was never fair—that no matter what was done, there would always be someone, somewhere, suffering. But nothing was being done for these people. While nobles and royals like him lived in their grand castles and cities, these people were starving right under their feet.

The scene in front of Wesley saddened him deeply. His smile faded instantly, replaced by a deep frown as he watched the children and women with their heads bowed or hidden between their knees. Kader noticed the change in Wesley’s expression and frowned as well. He patted Wesley's shoulder, speaking gently:

"Don’t be like that, little Wesley. This is the state of all minor towns in the Kingdom."

"Why?" Wesley spoke without even looking at Kader, his voice rough, as though he could barely force the words out.

"It’s because we’re far from the main road," Kader explained. "No merchants come through here. We manage to sustain ourselves with farming and fishing, but it’s only enough to survive."

Wesley’s voice grew sharp with anger. "What about the lord of this town? Why isn’t he doing anything?"

Kader hesitated for a moment before responding, careful not to say anything rash in front of the traveler. He sighed before speaking again.

"The lord is currently residing in Sater Castle. This town has nothing to offer him." Kader's voice was laced with frustration, though he spoke with restraint.

Wesley was left speechless. The lord of the town was enjoying his life in another place while his people starved and suffered. It was beyond comprehension. A fierce anger surged within Wesley, and his eyes flashed with a cold light as he imagined what such a person truly deserved.

Kader, sensing Wesley’s reaction, felt anger rise within him as well. What made him even angrier was that this young child—who appeared to be no older than ten—understood their suffering, while their own lord ignored them. But there was nothing they could do about it, so Kader shook his head and tried to lighten the mood.

"Come, little Wesley. You haven’t tasted our fish delicacies yet." Kader’s voice was tinged with pity, and a half-smile formed on his face as he pulled Wesley toward the inn.

Upon entering the inn, they found it nearly empty except for a few guards. Kader led Wesley to a table occupied by two of them. As Kader approached, the guards immediately stood at attention. He smiled and said:

"Mel, Set, go relieve Sern at the main gate. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep."

The two guards saluted and quickly left the inn. Kader sat down at the table and motioned for Wesley to join him.

"Mark, two of your best fish dishes, please."

The man named Mark, who was standing behind the counter, simply nodded and disappeared into the back. Kader then turned to Wesley, his expression softening.

"Tell me, little Wesley, where are you headed?"

Wesley, who seemed lost in thought, looked up at Kader.

"Uh... Blackreach City."

"Oh, Blackreach City. Now that’s a place to visit. I’ve heard they have every kind of delicacy there. What takes you there?"

"I’m planning on attending school there, though it’s a bit of a hassle."

Kader paused, considering Wesley’s words. Going to school was impressive enough, but traveling all the way to Blackreach City for it was even more remarkable, especially given how expensive everything there could be. For a moment, Kader wondered if Wesley might be the son of some noble, but he quickly dismissed the thought. No noble’s child would be traveling alone in such ragged, dirty clothes.

Kader kept talking, sharing stories of his time in the army, his little son, how he met his wife, and even the time he was chased by a bear. His conversation flowed so easily that Wesley felt as though he had known him for years. Wesley listened intently, sharing a bit about his own family—though he refrained from mentioning that he was the second prince.

After hours of eating and chatting with Kader, Wesley decided it was time to continue his journey. The sun was still a few hours from setting, but Wesley preferred to keep moving. Most travelers would stay in the town overnight, but Wesley needed to refine his skills in solitude, far from others. Kader didn’t understand why Wesley was leaving so late and tried to persuade him to stay.

"Little Wesley, are you sure you need to leave now?"

"Haha, old man Kader, Blackreach City is still far. I can’t stay in one place too long or I’ll miss my examination."

"But you might run into bandits. They often roam these parts," Kader said, hoping to scare Wesley into staying.

"Old man Kader, I made it here on my own, didn’t I? If I couldn’t avoid bandits, I would have died days ago."

"I see." Kader sighed, feeling helpless. "Well, I won’t keep you then. Just... be careful."

"I will. Thank you, old man Kader. I’ll make sure to visit again, and when I do, you’ll treat me to more of your fish. Hahaha!"

"Haha, of course. Now go."

"Goodbye then."

- - - - - - - - -

Wesley continued his journey for two more weeks. During this time, he visited around four towns after Dustine, and at every village, he saw the same scenes he had witnessed in Dustine. A multitude of people sat aimlessly on the streets while the lords of these towns, absent, enjoyed the comforts of their wealth.

This sight made his heart clench, and his opinion of the Ject Kingdom and its nobles sank to an all-time low. In fact, he felt tremendous disgust at the thought of being in any way related to these lowly beings called nobles.

While Wesley was consumed by extreme rage and anger, a few bandit groups attempted to rob him, only to find themselves minus a head. Of course, killing a few bandits wasn’t enough to settle the raging emotions in Wesley’s heart, so he would keep one bandit alive and torture him until he revealed the location of their lair. He would then proceed to wipe out any bandits he found at the site.

Fortunately, Wesley eventually reached Blackreach City.

Its giant, thirty-foot-tall walls, which seemed to shine under the sun, and its bustling streets filled with all sorts of counters and shops, were not enough to distract him.

In fact, Wesley felt that his entire outlook on life had been altered forever. He had believed that he couldn’t do anything for everyone, but that only made him more and more depressed. The fact that he, who had enough power to kill a hundred men, lacked the power to help all those children, seemed almost like a cruel joke.