"Thinking you've become a master swordsman after learning a pitiful bit of swordsmanship, Louis Loire."

A voice laced with scorn echoed. Louis exhaled raggedly, using his sword like a cane to push himself upright. The battle was one-sided. Kyle's blade relentlessly overwhelmed Louis’s. All Louis could do was block and evade, barely keeping himself alive. Blood seeped from shallow cuts etched across his body. Though none of the wounds were deep, the pain—unlike anything Louis had felt before—left him trembling. His limbs quivered uncontrollably, and saliva mixed with something unrecognizable dripped from his lips.

"Did you think finding a proper swordsmanship master and receiving some flattering compliments in training would make you a Sword Master?"

Kyle, on the other hand, showed no sign of fatigue. His twisted face radiated a sinister fury. Unlike the gasping Louis, Kyle’s breathing was steady, controlled. He looked down at his older brother with disdain before quickening his pace toward him.

"For someone like you, so consumed by pride, it might’ve been better to just order your lackeys to attack us from the start."

Kyle glanced briefly at Dennis and Charlotte standing behind Louis. They flinched, ready to rush to his aid, but each time, Louis’s sharp command kept them rooted in place.

"Isn’t that right, Dennis, Charlotte? How does it feel to serve a master who drags you helplessly closer to death with every step?"

Dennis’s teeth ground audibly. His grip on his sword hilt was so tight his knuckles turned white, but he couldn’t draw it. Louis raised his hand again, signaling for them to stay back.

"This is our fight."

Louis straightened his posture as he spoke, his voice resolute. He steadied his breathing, replacing the stale air in his lungs with something fresh. Wiping away the fluid streaming down his face, he gripped his sword with both hands and pointed its tip toward Kyle. Kyle’s brow furrowed at the sight of Louis's unwavering gaze, still burning with determination.

"They have nothing to do with this."

"Hah."

Kyle let out a scoff, almost amused.

"So that’s why you provoked me into this duel. Let me guess, you thought you could beg for their lives after your inevitable death? ‘They’re innocent, let them go.’ Is that it?"

Kyle, now close enough for their blades to clash, sneered as he raised his sword high. Sunlight glinted sharply off its edge.

"You’re such a hypocrite, even to the bitter end."

Crash!

Kyle’s merciless strike came crashing down toward Louis’s head. Louis barely managed to block the blow, but his legs buckled under the sheer weight of the attack, forcing him to his knees.

"Pathetic!"

Crash! Crash!

The strikes rained down again and again, each one filled with raw power rather than technique or precision. It was more of a tantrum than a duel.

"I’ve always despised that sanctimonious look of yours! No matter how many times I tell you, it’s never enough!"

Crash!

Their blades locked. Kyle pressed his sword downward, forcing Louis’s upward. The difference in strength was evident; the blade inched closer to Louis's head with every passing moment.

"Your swordsmanship is atrocious, unlike your oh-so-precious studies in governance."

Kyle's mockery didn’t seem to reach Louis, who exhaled heavily. Words strained through his gritted teeth.

“…That’s why you let yourself be consumed by jealousy and fell for that snake’s schemes.”

Kyle’s eyebrows twitched. He raised his sword high again, but Louis seized the opportunity to lunge forward, disrupting Kyle’s stance.

"You bastard!"

Kyle roared, resuming his relentless assault. Louis, who had momentarily gained ground, was forced back onto the defensive. Kyle’s attacks, though powerful, lacked finesse, and Louis narrowly evaded them. While Louis couldn’t overcome Kyle’s strength head-on, Kyle’s skill wasn’t enough to decisively break through Louis’s defense either.

Crash!

Louis remained standing. Though battered and bleeding, he didn’t crumble. Seeing this, Kyle withdrew his blade in frustration and, with a furious expression, kicked Louis’s sword.

“Gah!”

Louis was sent sprawling, dust and dirt clinging to his torn wounds. The sting of sand mixing with his cuts intensified his pain.

"Fine. I promise you this: after I make sure you can’t move, I’ll kill those two knights right in front of you. Let’s see that holier-than-thou expression of yours shatter!"

Louis glared at Kyle, though his strength was rapidly dwindling. All that remained was his grip on the sword and the faint will to hold himself upright.

He tightened his grip on the hilt, loosening his body just enough to conserve energy. His blurred vision fixed solely on Kyle, each movement sharp and clear despite the haze around him. The familiar scent of dust and sweat filled his senses.

If only…

A memory surfaced—after a grueling day of training, Louis had sat with Maxim in the back courtyard, chatting idly. The cold winter air bit at his reddened nose as he breathed deeply, trying to recover.

“If I were to face a real battle right now…”

“Your Highness, it’s better not to entertain such thoughts,” Maxim had interrupted sharply. Louis chuckled at Maxim’s stern tone.

“I’m not saying I’d actually fight right now. It’s just hypothetical.”

Maxim sighed, casting a skeptical glance at the practice sword Louis held.

“So? How much of what I’ve learned could I actually use in a real fight?”

Maxim had been brutally honest. “None of it, Your Highness. Right now, you’re merely learning what a sword is. You’re far from ready to wield it as a weapon.”

The memory faded as Kyle’s heavy footsteps approached. Louis blinked away the remnants of the past and focused on the grains of sand falling from the air. They struck the ground softly, bouncing back up.

“If your opponent cannot wield aura, there’s always one guaranteed moment of vulnerability,” Maxim’s voice echoed in his mind.

As Kyle stepped closer, Louis gripped the dirt in his left hand.

"And that moment?" Louis had asked.

"Vision. Everyone relies on their sight."

Whoosh!

A curtain of sand erupted between them. It wasn’t as grand as Maxim’s demonstration, but it was enough to blind Kyle. The younger prince instinctively shut his eyes, flinching as particles invaded his vision.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Louis kicked at Kyle’s sword hilt. It slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground.

Kyle stumbled backward, disoriented. Louis surged forward, driving his knee into Kyle’s abdomen before swinging the blunt end of his sword’s hilt into Kyle’s head.

Thud!

For the first time, blood sprayed from Kyle. He crumpled to the ground, dazed. Louis wasted no time, stepping forward and pressing the blade of his sword against Kyle’s throat.

"Don’t move."

Kyle froze, blinking through the stinging sand to see the sharp edge resting against his skin. The battlefield fell silent as the knights on both sides watched tensely, hands on their weapons.

"You, Kyle," Louis began, his voice steady but cold, "are so consumed by your inferiority complex that you can’t see the world beyond it."

Kyle let out a deranged laugh. "And do you know why I feel that way? You wouldn’t understand. No matter how hard I tried, Father always looked at you."

"You’re pathetic, Kyle," Louis retorted. "Father never truly looked at any of us. Not at you, not at me, not even at Michelle."

Louis’s gaze hardened. The pity he once held for Kyle was gone, replaced by the piercing stare of a knight.

"The attention you’re talking about—it wasn’t just Father’s, was it?"

Kyle’s face froze, pale and stiff. Louis sighed heavily.

"You can’t even admit the truth."

Kyle’s voice quivered. "Shut your mouth."

"Your jealousy is revolting. You lash out at everyone else, never once looking at yourself."

"Shut up!" Kyle bellowed, the ground around him trembling. His aura flared, and the knights on both sides moved simultaneously, their weapons drawn. Chaos erupted as steel clashed in an instant.

"I never hated my brother from the start."

Kyle Loire's thoughts wavered as he recalled his past. There had even been moments of admiration. His brother’s occasional displays of intellect were something Kyle himself lacked. Watching Louis converse effortlessly with Michelle often evoked an image of the ideal royal family in his mind.

“Louis isn’t truly your blood brother.”

The king’s revelation didn’t change much on the surface, but it planted a seed within Kyle—a realization that Louis and Michelle shared a bond stronger than anything he had with either of them. From there, doubt began to take root.

Why can’t I ever be that close to them? Why is he in that position, and not me?

As these questions snowballed, Kyle found himself drifting further away from his siblings. He poured himself into his swordsmanship, obsessing over building his own power and influence.

"Your Highness, Count Leon Benning has come to see you."

It was during this time that Leon Benning approached him. Sitting before Kyle, the count's words were like daggers aimed directly at his insecurities.

“You must have wondered,” Leon had said, his voice cold and cutting, “why the one who should rightfully sit in that place is not Your Highness, but the child of a concubine. Why should the bastard son enjoy what is yours by birthright?”

Leon’s words were like dry branches added to the faint embers of Kyle’s doubt, stoking them into a roaring blaze. Though Kyle was too clouded by his turmoil to see through Leon’s schemes, the count spoke with a cunning precision that Kyle lacked the clarity to resist.

“If things continue as they are, the throne, and even your sister, will fall into the hands of that bastard,” Leon warned. “And do you think he would let the true heir survive once he ascends? No, it would be no different than the dirty games they play. So why hesitate to stain your hands with blood first, Your Highness? Why not take up your sword and claim what is rightfully yours?”

What must I do, Count? Kyle had asked.

“Simple,” Leon had replied, leaning forward. “Repeat this to yourself.”

I hate my father. I vent that hatred through my sword, and one day, I will claim this kingdom’s throne with that sword.

From that moment, Kyle latched onto Leon Benning. The count's words became his gospel, a roadmap to fulfilling his deepest desires.

Kyle stood now, his broken muttering echoing hollowly in the desolate hall. His limbs flailed aimlessly as though he were a marionette with its strings cut. The blood-red sword in his hand gleamed, soaked in the lives of countless knights. The cursed energy embedded within it twisted Kyle’s mind, turning everyone around him into an enemy. Yet, ironically, even in his frenzy, his blade never reached Louis.

“Count Leon Benning... if I only listen to him….”

Kyle’s eyes were lifeless, clouded like a corpse. His gaze trembled, unfocused, but ultimately fixed on Louis.

“Your Highness,” Dennis’s voice cut through, though it barely registered to Louis. His expression was grim as he stared at Kyle, who was spilling his own blood along with his entrails. The knights loyal to Leon Benning lay dead around him, their lifeblood pooling on the cold stone floor. It was only when the last remaining knight drove his sword into Kyle’s abdomen that his rampage ended. However, the knight’s head was severed mere moments later by Kyle's final act.

“I will finish this.”

Louis stepped forward, sword in hand. Though Kyle was already at death’s door, Louis chose to personally end it. Perhaps it was to ensure the kingdom’s survival or to lighten the burden Michelle would carry in the days to come.

“This way, neither of us will stand by Michelle’s side again.”

Louis's voice was heavy with bitterness. A faint light glimmered at the back of his neck—the mark left by Leon Benning’s curse. Was it the result of one moment's mistake, or the unavoidable price of the royal family’s sins, bound by their father’s transgressions?

Raising his sword high, Louis forced his exhausted body to move, driven only by sheer willpower.

“I will not ask for forgiveness, Kyle. Your sins are far too grave for that.”

“I will... with my blade, someday….”

Kyle’s muttering continued as Louis’s sword came down.

“...This kingdom, Father, Michelle….”

Swish.

Under the pale winter sky, the head of the second prince soared through the air.