The city buzzed with anticipation, a hum that clung to stone walls and ceremonial banners fluttering in the wind. Citizens of the capital leaned out of balconies and rooftop gardens, nobles huddled in silken boxes overlooking the imperial square, and warriors lined in ranks awaited the final royal entourage. Today marked the beginning of the Grand Trial—a test of valor, strength, and legacy. Yet all eyes were drawn to the shadow beyond the horizon.
Then, it appeared.
A carriage unlike any other rolled slowly into view, shrouded in black lacquered wood veined with violet accents. Its curtains rippled like velvet shadows, studded with black pearls and gems that shimmered with the color of bruises. The mere sight hushed the crowd. Everyone knew who rode within—none other than the Crown Prince.
Only he wore robes of black and violet, defying the golden flair of his siblings and court. His tastes were as cold and enigmatic as the man himself. Rumors followed him like whispers in the wind: unreadable expressions, silent rejections, his infamous lack of romantic interest. Even the Empress, his mother, had tried to convince him to take a concubine, only to receive a death glare that could freeze blood. The court had learned that when dealing with a dragon, it was best not to provoke the flames.
But today, the flames arrived on four legs.
The crowd gasped. Pulling the carriage were three colossal demon wolves. Jet black, their fur shimmered in the light with ancient red runes etched into their skin, running from forehead to tail like cursed markings. Their blood-red eyes scanned the crowd with quiet menace.
"Are those demon wolves?" one noble whispered in disbelief.
"They're high-breed..." said another. "That means... the Crown Prince is at least saint-level."
And not just high-breed—tamed. That alone made him a legend. Demon wolves were sovereign creatures of the Snowdemon Mountains. Capturing one was near impossible; taming three could only be done by someone who had stared death in the eye—and made it bow.
Within the royal compound, the other princes waited in their respective carriages, each a portrait of their dominion.
The Second Prince was elegance incarnate. Wrapped in white robes spun from divine silk, his long hair flowed behind him like snow melting under moonlight. A white fox lay curled in his lap, breathing softly as he stroked its fur with slender fingers. His eyes, long-lashed and gentle, gazed into the distance.
"Will that person appear or not..." he murmured, voice barely audible over the wind.
The Third Prince was the storm. His maroon and gold robes billowed with flair. A golden crown sat arrogantly upon his brow as he sneered outside the window. His fingers crushed a chess piece he'd snatched from a servant mid-match.
"Pah. These pathetic people will belong to me. Only I will rule them," he spat.
Then came silence. A different kind of silence. Heavy. Cold.
The Crown Prince stepped out from his carriage, robes fluttering like shadows given life. His black hair, tied with a rare violet jade crown, seemed to defy gravity in the breeze. A silver mask covered half his face, emblazoned with a black dragon whose ruby eyes mirrored his own. His aura shifted the air itself, like the underworld's sovereign stepping onto mortal ground.
And yet, for a flicker of a moment, something stirred in his crimson gaze. An emotion, perhaps. Or a memory. But like candlelight in a tempest, it vanished.
Most of the generals had already gathered on the imperial square—except one. The lowest-ranked army had yet to arrive, triggering smirks and sneers from seasoned warriors.
"That girly-faced general isn't here yet! Coward!"
"To think he's the son of the strongest general in the kingdom... what a disgrace!"
"He should quit and become a scholar!"
But within the shadows of judgment, four of the kingdom's top pillars remained silent. Tao Tong raised a brow.
Mu Qing whispered, "The cute bunny?"
"..." - Shu Wei and Wen Ping exchanged unreadable glances.
Bronze General Rou Shufen had always stood out—not through strength, but through intellect. Many wondered why she chose battle over court. Her speech, posture, and strategy echoed royalty, not war.
Suddenly, the earth trembled.
A beast's roar tore through the golden gates of the capital. Dust swept across the square, forcing people to turn their heads. The sun painted the sky in radiant hues, but at the center of the gate stood one shadow—and behind it, many.
Two hundred warriors emerged.
Draped in black armor with red inner robes, their expressions unreadable, their eyes alight with fire. They moved with discipline, not a single movement wasted. At the front stood six—five commanders at attention behind one central figure.
General Rou Shufen.
Her face was masked—the upper half concealed by a fox design, mysterious and playful, though her crimson lips betrayed something else. A devilish grin curled upon them as whispers rippled through the crowd.
"Look at me and my army! Surprised?! Burn our faces into your memory—because they're about to stomp your pride so deep you'll be crawling back to your grandma's porch, wailing for mercy and clutching your shattered dignity! "
From the top of the royal platform, the nobles stared in stunned silence. The Empress looked down with narrowed eyes, the Emperor leaned forward in intrigue, and the Second Prince raised his teacup without sipping.
The Third Prince sneered, crushing another chess piece.
But the Crown Prince...
He stood still.
His gaze burned through the mask, locking onto Rou Shufen (Rou Hua Heng); his crimson eyes glowed.
Doubt
Calculation
And... something else.
His fingers twitched slightly beneath his robes as his lips parted—but said nothing.
The wind howled, and the demon wolves growled lowly.
Rou Shufen tilted her head toward him, eyes unreadable behind her fox mask.
A flicker passed between them.
A shared secret.
And then, the trumpets blew.
The Grand Trial was about to begin.