The palace was in chaos. True, utter chaos for the first time since the king had ascended his throne. After that period of bloodshed, the palace had seen peace.

Blood was not spilled unnecessarily…

Especially royal blood.

That was until now.

The third prince was half dead. His body was deformed to the extent that it was clear he was tortured. Someone had undoubtedly tried to assassinate him, and they had such a grudge that they didn’t even bother doing it cleanly.

They’d tortured the prince. They’d tortured a member of the royal blood.

The king of Elen was furious.

He looked at his two sons bowing in front of him. Both the first prince, Aran, and the second prince, Rena, both did not dare to raise their heads or look him in the eye. The king could understand why. The sheer fury emanating from him had appeared in the form of mana itself, so it was understandable that the princes did not dare to make even a single misstep.

But the king did not care.

How dare they. How dare his sons do this. He wanted to end the bloodshed with his generation. He wanted to make sure at least they had a peaceful ascension to the throne, with, if not harmony amidst them, little bad blood.

He’d wanted them to work together and take the kingdom to new, greater heights. He wanted them to see themselves as actual, proper, siblings…

Not as enemies.

But these two—one of these two, or perhaps both of them—had tried to kill the third prince.

And they’d damn near succeeded. Even the royal mages and the royal healers were beyond astounded when they saw the state of the third prince. He remembered what the head of the royal healers had told him in the morning.

“There are very few times that I have seen such brutality in my life. His very mana circuits and nerves have been ripped out, Your Majesty. One by one by one. The one who tortured him truly took their time. They relished this. I cannot guarantee, even if he survives, that the third prince can ever use his mana again.” 

The old light mage’s tone had been solemn, and the king had even noticed that his hands were trembling.

A royal healer’s hands were trembling. The very thought sent a renewed burst of anger through him, and mana burst out around him. Spider veins began spreading through the ivory floor and the well decorated walls, cracks that were minute yet showed the sheer impact.

“Whoever has done this, they are a very, very skilled mage, Your Majesty. It might be one of the royal mages themselves. Please, do not let anyone go near the prince individually. Let us all, all of the royal mages and healers, try our best to help him. All of us will be present around him. Please, also take the assistance of the holy cathedral.” 

The king leaned back, his hands etching down into the throne. He could feel that he was cracking it, but he couldn't care less. Once his son is healed—He will be healed. The third prince will live, even if the king had to turn the very heavens over or summon the entire worlds’ healers over.

The third prince would survive, must. 

But will he ever be able to use his mana again? Ivor would become crippled. Let alone participating in the competition to be the king, it was questionable whether he could even lead a normal life.

That thought led the king to grit his teeth. His sons—They were tight knit. It was likely they were both in on it and had tortured, brutally, unnecessarily tortured, Ivor. It was not that they simply wanted him to not become the king. If so, they’d have directly killed him.

No, they wanted him to survive. Just barely. They wanted him to become a cripple so that whoever saw the third prince would know. Know that the first and second princes—or perhaps only one of them… This did seem like the style of brutality the second prince liked—were not to be messed with.

This was a message to the nobles, too.

If they’d done this to their own brother, what would they do to the nobles not on their side?

But the king would not let them have their victory. No, he would not. He was still the king, and he would be, at least for a few more decades. At least until he was on his deathbed. He had to pass a message. Make his sons understand that they couldn’t do whatever they wanted, or one day, they’d revolt on him and make him experience the same fate as his third son had.

The king knew exactly what to do. Now that even the third prince was out of the picture, there was no more competition.

It was decided. One of these two would become the king, eventually. So, even if he defanged these tigers, no major loss would occur. 

As soon as Ivor stabilized, he would examine every single of the royal mages personally. They would all be subject to his scrutiny. He will find the culprit who did this to his son, and he will make them regret ever living.

Then he would examine the nobles. He would remind them once more who was the king, and just how he’d become the king.

“Which one of you was it?” the king finally bit out after he made his decision, and neither of the princes answered. They only bowed lower, almost as if begging for mercy. “Oh, so it was indeed both of you?”

His royal wives—his first and second wife respectively—stepped forward from where they were previously standing. They’d come with their sons upon learning of what had happened, but they had decided to stay as far away from the king as they could upon seeing his state. But now that their sons were directly being blamed, they could no longer hide away.

“Y-Your Majesty,” Elena, the first wife, the eldest sister of the Northern Duke, said in an almost begging tone. “You know our son. There was no way Aran could have done it. He—he does not have the ability to do so.”

Normally, there was no way Elena would have said so, let alone publicly—not even privately. That was the same as her damaging her son’s chances for the throne, after all. Insulting his capabilities.

But right now, Elena had no other choice.

She had to convince her husband that it was not Aran, no matter what, no matter how.

Or, with the bloodlust her husband was emitting, he would cripple him. Let alone ascending the throne, he would not even be able to lead a normal life.

“Oh?” the king said at Elena’s words. “Do you truly think that is the case? These two mongrels—one of them bribed one of the royal mages to do this. How dare they?”

At this, Aran looked at the king in surprise and confusion. “One of the royal mages did this?”

“Yes!” the king bellowed, and Aran hurriedly bowed his head down again. “You can not fool me, Aran, by pretending! I know you two harbor intense distaste for that boy since the time his mother died!”

His second wife, Lei, protested at his words, “N-no, dear husband. Please try to understand. I won’t refute that these two do not get along with the third prince, but they would not go this far—”

“They tried to threaten him, tried to assassinate him just two days before! Two. Days. Before.” The king’s tone was gradually turning icy, filled with not his previously explosive anger, but cold, tempered, righteous hatred. “And they did it again, this time going even further by torturing him. Crippling him. I never thought they’d stoop so low. The last one I thought they’d done to scare him and would stop after I warned them, but no, no! Such immense brutality and malice. Truly, two poisonous snakes.”

Before any of them could respond, however, the king finally made a decision.

“Knights!” he ordered. “Take these two to the dungeons!”

“T-the dungeons?!” his first wife asked instantly, her expression turning immensely panicked. “H-husband, p-please, please think this through. Please reconsider—”

“They will confess. Both of them will confess and admit which one made the previous attempt at the third prince, Ivor’s life, and which one made this attempt. Or perhaps they were both united for both these attempts, but they will confess. They will beg for mercy and confess.” These words, the king addressed to the knight. “Do not give them food. Give them one glass of water, and only one glass, every week. Throw them into the deepest parts of our dungeon.” The king stood up, his tone turning vicious. “I will see how they won’t confess.”

—

Harley bowed as he stared at the Inheritor of Light’s statue, one made out of pure crystal depicting the Inheritor’s clothes and subtle features in their full glory. As the saint, it was his duty to spend at least a few hours every day praying in front of this statue, praying to the Inheritor of Light for the betterment of this world, for the betterment of the worlds’ character, fortitude, and for mercy to all the worlds’ residents.

It was also one of his duties to circulate his holy light mana as he prayed. It was believed this practice would connect them to the Inheritor of Light a lot better, and it also improved his mana capabilities, though that was secondary.

He murmured through the chants from the holy book, his eyes closed and his body low, when the sound of the door opening broke him out of his reverie.

Harley stood up, turning back and staring at the doors—the doors through which royal knights were hurriedly flowing through. This left him confused and a bit indignant. The chamber he was in was the topmost and deepest of the holy cathedral. It was not to be accessed by anyone but the most devoted, except for the day of the Festival of Light, when the common public could take a glimpse if they wished to.

“What are you doing?!” Harley barked, his eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed. “How dare you enter—”

“On the order of the king, we have come to seek your assistance,” the lead knight, donning silver armor with gold linings, showing his status as a commander, announced. “Please, help us, saint.”

“This is not the method to ask for help!” Harley said, righteously angry. “Could you not wait for an hour more until my prayer is done and I return to my chambers? Could you not ask for my help then?! Even if you represent the royal family, this is too much—”

“The third prince is on the brink of death. An assassination attempt was carried out on him, and even the royal healers are struggling to keep him alive. As a level seven holy mage, we had no choice but to consult you, saint. Please, please try to understand.” The lead knight bowed, his tone filled with pleading.

Harley paused. That… “Oh my Inheritor. I see. Lead the way.”