Chapter 268: The First Prince

Nathan returned to the inn just before dawn.

He slipped through the window of his room, dismissing [Invisibility] and [Silent Step] with a thought. Moonlight was leaning against the wall where he’d left it. The wooden token with his number sat on the nightstand. Everything was exactly as he’d left it.

He sat on the bed and stared at the wall.

The second summoning. The cumulative instability. The Void Between. The king’s reckless greed.

He had five days until the tournament. Less than a month until the ritual that could tear the world apart.

Think, he told himself. What do you know?

He knew the tournament was his best chance to get close to the royal family. He knew the First Prince would be attending. He knew the archmage was against the second summoning.

But knowledge wasn’t a plan.

He needed more information. He needed allies. He needed a way to stop the king before it was too late.

He spent the next day gathering what he could.

The tournament, he learned, wasn’t just about combat. It was about spectacle. The crowds wanted drama—flashy moves, near-misses, dramatic comebacks. Fighters who played to the audience scored higher. Fighters who hid their power scored lower.

Nathan filed this away. He couldn’t reveal his true abilities, but he could give them a show. A carefully controlled display of skill. Enough to impress, not enough to expose.

He also learned that the First Prince would be attending the tournament. Not as a competitor—as a spectator. He rarely left the palace, but he’d made an exception for this event.

This was Nathan’s chance.

---

Across the city, in a small garden within the palace walls, Aeliana waited.

She had arranged the meeting through intermediaries—a servant who owed her a favor, a letter delivered discreetly. The garden was quiet, secluded, hidden from prying eyes by tall hedges and flowering vines.

The First Prince arrived without fanfare.

He was tall and slender, with silver hair that caught the morning light and eyes the color of pale sapphires. He moved quietly, his footsteps barely disturbing the gravel path. He didn’t seem surprised to see an elven princess waiting for him.

"You’re from Solara," he said. It wasn’t a question.

"Yes."

"You’ve come about the summoning."

"Yes."

He nodded slowly. "I suspected someone from the other kingdoms would. The dimensional readings have been... unusual."

Aeliana blinked. "You know?"

"I know many things." He gestured to a stone bench. "Sit. Tell me what you suspect."

Aeliana sat. She pulled the crystalline shards from her pouch and laid them on the bench between them. They glowed faintly, pulsing with residual mana.

"These were taken from the site of the summoning ritual," she said. "My scholar analyzed them. The dimensional rift isn’t just a hole—it’s a wound. And it’s bleeding."

The prince picked up one of the shards, turning it over in his fingers. His expression didn’t change.

"Small creatures are slipping through," Aeliana continued. "Insignificant ones, for now. But the rate is increasing. If the wound isn’t healed, larger entities will follow. Eventually, something catastrophic."

The prince set the shard down. "You’re here to warn us."

"I’m here to help. But your father—"

"Is a fool." The prince’s voice was quiet, but there was steel beneath it. "He sees only what he wants to see. Power. Glory. He doesn’t understand the cost."

"Then you’ll help us?"

"I’ll do what I can." He met her eyes. "But I am not the king. My influence is limited. My sister has more sway with the court than I do, and she—"

"She’s manipulating the hero."

The prince’s expression flickered. "You know about that?"

"It’s not difficult to see. She’s isolating him. Turning him against you."

"I know." His voice was quiet. "I’ve tried to reach him, but she’s poisoned his mind against me. He won’t listen."

Aeliana studied him. "You care about him."

"I care about what he represents. He’s a child, pulled from his world without consent. He deserves better than to be used as a pawn in petty political games."

"So do we all."

The prince almost smiled. "Indeed."

---

In the royal training yard, Kenji was struggling.

His arms ached. His legs burned. He had been drilling the same sword forms for hours, but his skills refused to level. [Sword Mastery Lv.1] was still Level 1. [Hero’s Charisma Lv.1] was still Level 1. [Divine Protection Lv.1] was still Level 1.

"Again," the instructor said.

Kenji swung. The instructor who was a a grizzled old man with a scar across his face, watched with cold, dismissive eyes.

"Pathetic. Your stance is weak. Your grip is sloppy. You call yourself a hero?"

Kenji gritted his teeth. "I’m trying—"

"Trying isn’t good enough." The instructor stepped closer, his voice dripping with contempt. "You’re a fraud. A lucky peasant with delusions of grandeur. The First Prince was right about you."

Kenji froze. "What?"

"The First Prince. He’s been telling the court you’re a fraud. That the summoning was a mistake. That you’re nothing but a—"

"Shut up."

The instructor smirked. "Did I hit a nerve?"

"I said shut up!"

Kenji swung. It wasn’t a practice swing. It was a real swing, fueled by rage and frustration and the weeks of humiliation. The blade caught the instructor across the chest, tearing through cloth and flesh and bone.

The instructor’s eyes went wide. He opened his mouth to speak, but only blood came out. He collapsed, twitching, and then went still.

Kenji stared at the body. His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding.

And then the light came.

A brilliant, blinding light erupted from his chest. It wrapped around him, lifting him off his feet, filling him with power. His status panel flickered in his vision, numbers climbing faster than he could read.

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[Sword Mastery Lv.1 → Lv.3]

[Hero’s Charisma Lv.1 → Lv.2]

[Divine Protection Lv.1 → Lv.3]

The light faded. Kenji dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. He felt stronger. Faster. More powerful than he had ever been.

He looked at the instructor’s body.

Killing him... Gave me exp?

From the balcony above, Amelia watched. Her smile was slow, deliberate, and utterly terrifying.

Killing a human empowers the hero, she thought. How... useful.

She turned and walked away, already planning her next move.

---

The First Prince sat alone in the garden long after Aeliana left.

He thought of the hero—a boy from another world, manipulated and isolated. He thought of the elves—diplomats from a kingdom that had no reason to trust Albion. He thought of the dimensional rift—a wound that was bleeding, a threat that could consume them all.

He thought of his father. The king. A man blinded by greed and pride.

He thought of his sister. Amelia. A woman who saw people as tools and power as the only currency.

He had spent years in his chambers, avoiding the court, avoiding the politics, avoiding the inevitable conflict with his family. He had told himself it wasn’t his problem. That he couldn’t make a difference. That it was better to stay silent than to speak and be ignored.

But silence was complicity.

He stood. The sun was setting, painting the garden in shades of gold and crimson. The city stretched below, its lights flickering in the gathering dusk.

He would not stand by while his kingdom destroyed itself.

He left the garden and walked toward his chambers. He had preparations to make. Alliances to forge. A tournament to attend.

And a hero to save.