Rory

  From the first moment he was born, Rory lived under the shadows of his older brother, Aidan. The Crown Prince of Ardair was a remarkable talent. The jewel and treasure of the royal family. Meanwhile, Rory, the Second Prince, was just a mere accessory.

  Greatness could only be measured relative to a standard. If, for some reason, an ignorant bystander was unsure that Aidan von Astrea was an outstanding person, then they would only need to compare him to Rory to understand.

  Swordsmanship? Aidan was swifter, stronger, and more precise in his strikes.

  Physique? Aidan was taller and more imposing—with an appearance that rivaled only the best amongst the kingdom.

  Diplomacy? Aidan’s charisma was magnetic. The Crown Prince possessed an intuitive understanding of social dynamics from a young age. He knew, at a glance or after a few seconds of conversation, when to apply a firm push and when to pull gently in order navigate the dissonant clusters of egos, ambitions, and fears along the elites of Airdairan society.

  Intelligence? Aidan was capable of reading the scholarly texts of the Consortium at the tender age of three. By seven years old, he was already pointing out mistakes and flaws in the methodologies used by the researchers within the Academy.

  Then, how about their potential as an Exalted?

  It didn’t even need to be asked. While Rory was a talented Exalted in his own right, his might cannot be compared to Aidan, who was widely regarded as the top of his generation. He was the previous holder of the title of prodigy before it was seized by the emergence of Liesel von Belle.

  No matter where he looked, Rory only found himself to be an inferior version of his older brother. In this wretched kingdom where a person’s value was everything, he couldn’t help but see his existence as redundant.

  Why was he born? The question often came to mind whenever the overwhelming greatness of his brother was thrown into his face.

  “You’re a backup,” his father said one day. Plainly. Without an ounce of sugarcoating or frivolous lead-up, his father uttered those despicable words right to his face.

  Suddenly, everything made sense. The sole purpose of his birth was to ensure the continued existence of the royal family. If one day tragedy befell Aidan and he ceased to be, then it would be Rory who would take the mantle in his place.

  He was a contingency plan. A spare. A replacement—in case things went awry.

  Rory quickly realized that contingency plans were one of those fickle things that had no inherent value—unless something went terribly, terribly wrong. In the other words, his redundant existence could only have meaning if the person he was met to replace no longer existed.

  So, one day, in the deep recesses of night, he crept into his older brother’s room. Aidan was a man of consistency and routine—always retreating to bed at a precise hour of the night.

  Being consistent meant he was predictable.

  With a sword in hand, Rory stalked towards Aidan’s bed. Beneath the moonlight’s glare, he could see the faint rise and dip of his brother’s chest as he slept—blissfully unaware of the ugly thoughts dwelling in his younger brother’s head.

  He stood by his bedside. The sword in his right hand felt eerily light. This was the weapon he was going to use to slay his brother. To rid himself of the suffocating presence that lingered in his shadows. To unlock the chains that shackled his freedom and value. To fulfill the purpose that he was burdened with at birth. He was going to free himself. By committing murder. By committing an atrocity. By committing a sin that would condemn him to hell if discovered.

  So why was the sword so easy to lift?

  His hands trembled as he held the sword above his brother’s head. Moonlight danced off the blade—showing him his disgusting expression. Fear. Excitement. Insanity. Rory was sure he looked like a madman.

  Just do it.

  One strike and you’ll obtain everything that you’ve ever wanted.

  Temptation overpowered fear as he let the sword descend. The weapon that should have been heavy fell so easily as he plunged the blade into his brother’s throat.

  Or at least, that’s what should have happened.

  “To think you would actually go through with something as a ridiculous as fratricide. Honestly, I’m shocked!”

  Aidan was suddenly wide wake. His eyes shone with a cold, detached glare. His mouth curved into a venomous sneer. Rory’s sword hovered right above his neck—its descent narrowly stopped by Aidan’s hands. His brother’s blood steadily flowed, cascading down the length of the blade and dripping onto the bedsheets.

  W-Why is he awake?!

  Panic rippled through Rory’s chest. He immediately tried to raise his sword and attempt another attack, but Aidan’s blood-stained hands seized the blade in an ironclad grip. Unrelenting, his brother’s maddening glare bored into his skull. Rory froze—petrified.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Such a joyous night. My pathetic excuse of a little brother finally grew a pair of balls! I’m impressed! You actually tried to do something to change your fate, Rory!” Aidan cackled with a maniac fervor, “Good! That means you aren’t completely worthless like our beloved little sister.”

  Without warning, Aidan pulled—instantly prying the sword out of Rory’s grasp. The weapon was tossed uselessly against the wall with a loud clank. Rory stepped back in disbelief as his brother rose from the bed. Blood continued to drip from his blood-stained palms, smearing the lavish carpets on the floor in red.

  “Despite what you might think, I’m not particularly angry. In fact, I welcome it. I knew, Rory, about what you felt towards me. About that seething fire boiling inside your chest each time your name is brought up against mine. You think I couldn’t sense the bloodlust in your gaze every time you glare at me from the shadows? I’m aware. I’m the Crown Prince after all. Hostility follows me like a curse. I would be a fool to not realize it coming from my own little brother,” Aidan hissed, revealing his inner thoughts, “Even though we’re siblings, we can never have a normal relationship. Only one of us can ascend to the throne. The other will be left to rot. Our relationship is destined to be twisted. For the longest time, I thought about what I should do with you. Eventually, I arrived at a compelling solution that suits both of us. And so, I eagerly awaited the day when you finally snapped. It finally gives me the justification I need to do this.”

  Agony exploded in Rory’s guts. He reeled, struggling to breathe as he slumped over holding his abdomen. Aidan had delivered a vicious kick out of nowhere. So fast was the attack that Rory didn’t even register his brother’s movements.

  Before he could get his bearings, another attack arrived. This time it collided against his jaws. Rory’s head slammed against the floor, concussed. He was suddenly pulled up. Nauseous, he nearly puked, until the sight of his brother’s eyes forced him still.

  “Now that your attempt to change your fate has failed, you only have one choice—serve me. Fear me. Obey me. I will carve a path for you, Rory. One that will bring the royal family to new heights. And while you might not be in the spotlight, you will undoubtedly reap a portion of the rewards. All you have to do is listen.”

  Squelch!

  Rory’s nose was suddenly smashed. Aidan was relentless, continuously raining down punches in a constant cadence. The strength of his strikes was deliberate, controlled—optimized to maximize his suffering without causing him to fall unconscious. Over and over, pain scalded his face until his nerves were numbed such that he could no longer feel a thing.

  Thud!

  His head dropped against the floor once more. Aidan’s voice rang ominously above.

  “Follow my orders. Execute my commands to perfection. Only then, will your pathetic existence have some semblance of meaning.”

  Another devastating punch filled his vision.

  Thwack!

  Rory grimaced. His head rattled, screaming in pain as he felt the jagged ground jolt against his skull. He laid there, seeing stars—his vision blurring out of focus as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

  For a moment, he was confused, unsure of where he was after escaping the painful recollection of his confrontation with Aidan. That incident was the start of everything. Since then, he tiptoed in fear of his older brother’s prowess and obeyed his orders without fail. His attempt to murder Aidan in his sleep was never revealed to the public—snuffed into silence as a dark secret known only between the two of them. In truth, it was blackmail, a trump card that Aidan could pull out at any moment if Rory dared to overstep his boundaries.

  Right, I was fighting in the Clash of Dawn.

  Slowly, he pulled himself out of his stupor. The memories flooded back.

  Liesel had broken off their engagement. She gave him a chance to win her back. His prerequisite was to make it to the finals of the Clash of Dawn and face her in a riveting fight. Their engagement, of course, was originally Aidan’s idea.

  I can’t afford to fail.

  Only then did he realize he was on the floor of the Nautilus. The dull ring in his ears eventually dissipated, revealing the thunderous applause of the audience. Perplexed, Rory glanced up. The figure of his opponent was standing with their back against him, fists raised to the crowd, reveling in the attention and love pouring from the stands.

  Emil? Why is he—

  “What a shocking twist of events! With complete and utter domination, Emil overpowers Rory von Astrea to advance into the final round of the Clash of Dawn! The protagonist of the preliminaries continues to astound us at every turn with his savagery, brutality, and absolute brilliance! Will he defy the odds once more tomorrow? There’s only one way to find out, ladies and gentlemen!”

  The announcer’s words rang across the Nautilus. Rory stood there, jaws dropped, trembling at the startling realization.

  Wait? Huh?

  He looked down, finding his body over the line marking the edge of the stage. The rules of the knockout rounds echoed in his head. One of the ways to lose was to be driven out of bounds.

  A rush of pain suddenly jolted down the length of his body. Rory folded, heaving as he stared at the floor in disbelief. The edges of his fingers were radiating a bluish tint. The fight against Emil replayed in his head.

  I-I lost?!

  He shook his head, refusing to believe the cold, callous reality. He must have been in another nightmare of sorts. He can’t lose. Not when his marriage with Liesel was on the line. He was supposed to win her back. He was supposed to prove himself worthy of the new prodigy of Ardair. Through him, the royal family was supposed to gain a powerful alliance in House Belle, along with the prowess and reputation of the Ice Maiden. His value. His existence. Everything was predicated on this marriage.

  Aidan’s presence loomed over his shoulders like a cursed spectre. Rory could feel Aidan’s hands clawing along the length of his neck. The ironclad grip coiled around his throat. A slight squeeze. The tiniest of pressure. With just a bit of excursion and his life would be forfeit.

  N-No!

  Aidan’s haunting visage sneered before his eyes.

  NoNoNoNoNoNo!

  He lost. But he can’t fail. Unable to reconcile these two opposing outcomes, the strings inside his mind snapped. Desperate, Rory devolved to his primal urges. If the wretched person in front of him ceased to exist, then they would have no choice but allow him to pass. Right?

  He shot up to his feet.

  A sword manifested in his hand.

  His opponent was mid-turn as he thrusted the sword into their back.

  Rory’s ears perked at the audible shock rippling through the crowd. Emil was holding onto his side, clenching the blade of his sword with his bare hands, trying to pry the weapon out of his body. Rory refused to relent, fighting to push the blade deeper.

  Thud!

  He suddenly found himself on the ground. Several hands pressed against the back of his head, forcing his face into the floor. Instinctively, he tried to conjure his Gift—until the mana within his body suddenly spluttered. The Azurite brooch on his chest was seized. A loud voice rang in his head.

  “Rory von Astrea! Cease your resistance!”