The word "promotion" echoed incessantly in Viktor's mind, each repetition a sharp reminder of his father's expectations. He grappled with a vague understanding of what lay ahead, a murky path paved with manipulation and deceit. Yet, amidst the turmoil, one word lingered like a bittersweet refrain: "son". It struck a chord within him, a painful reminder of his tenuous place in his father's world—a son cherished solely for his proficiency in the art of death.
It was a bitter realization, but Viktor found solace in Werner's cold logic. In this world, proficiency warranted praise, and if his skill lay in the realm of murder, then so be it. As long as his father bestowed upon him the coveted accolades, Viktor was willing to embrace his role as an instrument of destruction, no matter the cost.
Restless, Viktor paced the confines of his room, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind. Through the slightly ajar window, the dying embers of the setting sun cast shards of fiery light into the dimly lit chamber. Amidst the shadows, the glow of twilight held a peculiar allure—a fleeting reminder of beauty in an otherwise bleak existence. The soft evening breeze carried with it the scent of blooming flowers and distant laughter from the streets below.
Viktor couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing for a simpler life—one free from the burden of his father's expectations and the constant weight of blood on his hands. But he pushed those thoughts aside, knowing that in this world, there was no room for sentimentality or weakness. As night fell and enveloped the city in darkness, Viktor steeled himself for another night as an enforcer for his family—the very thought sending shivers down his spine yet also igniting a sense of twisted excitement within him.
A gentle rap on the door pulled Viktor out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. With a resigned sigh, he straightened his posture and rubbed his temples, preparing himself for whatever lay beyond the door.
"I'll be right there!" Viktor called out, walking towards the door with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. He expected to see Emeline waiting outside, but instead found his eldest brother, Charles.
"Charles? Is everything alright?" Viktor's surprise was evident in his voice, as their interactions were rare.
"Yes, hello brother." Charles' tone remained composed and steady. "Father told me about your promotion. Congratulations."
"Uh... thanks," Viktor replied, uncertainty laced in his words. He looked up at Charles, noticing the softness in his brother's usually stern expression.
With a reassuring hand on Viktor's shoulder, Charles knelt down in front of him, an uncommon display of warmth. "Go clean up and get ready. We're going to get you the necessary equipment later today." He stood up and gestured towards something outside the door before stepping aside to make room for another person.
From the hallway, Charles called out to Viktor, reminding him of someone he needed to apologize to. Viktor's heart sank as Charles' voice faded away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He knew he owed Emeline an apology, and it had been weighing heavily on him for the past two weeks. Despite their calm facade, there was a deep tension between them that remained unresolved.
Over the years, Viktor and Emeline had developed a strong bond that now left him feeling vulnerable without her presence. As he looked at her, a single tear welled up in his eye, a testament to the depth of his emotions. Unable to hold back any longer, Viktor closed the distance between them and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry," they both whispered simultaneously, their voices blending together in a chorus of regret. They held onto each other for what felt like an eternity, finding comfort in the warmth of their embrace.
Charles finally interrupted their reunion, playfully ruffling Viktor's hair and urging them to get going. "We have things to do," he reminded them, gently nudging them back towards the house.
Charles instructed Viktor to meet him at the front gate in about three hours, mentally noting the time. Viktor responded eagerly with a thumbs up and a smile.
With a softened expression and sincerity lacing his voice, Viktor turned to Emeline. He apologized for his previous behavior, admitting that he was afraid of her judgment and didn't want her to look at him. A tear fell down his already stained cheeks, silently asking for forgiveness.
Emeline quickly reassured him, saying she would take him back no matter what, even if he disappeared for a year. She joked with him to stop apologizing because it was making her uncomfortable, giving him a warm smile as she looked down at the young child.
The same beams of light that had flooded into Viktor's room now illuminated Emeline, casting an otherworldly glow around her that seemed to elevate her to a divine level. As Viktor lifted his gaze to meet hers, he couldn't help but be enchanted by how the light accentuated her captivating features, making her even more mesmerizing in his eyes.
"Now let's get you in the tub. You smell like an animal," Emeline declared playfully, scrunching up her nose as she ruffled Viktor's oily hair. "Yuck."
***
As Viktor approached the front gate, a loud, unfamiliar voice called out, "Greetings, Sir Kirchner."
"Huh?" Viktor was taken aback by the sudden attention and turned to see a striking woman with dark skin, fiery red hair, and intense eyes.
"It's short notice, but the old driver got replaced. Name's Helgarth. Nice to meet you," she introduced herself with a strong grip as she extended her muscular arm towards Viktor. Their handshake was brief, but he couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling that flashed across Helgarth's face before she regained her smile.
"Same... pleasure," Viktor responded, quickly wiping his sweaty hand on his pants.
"Viktor! Come on, hurry up and get in," Charles shouted from the back of the carriage and waved his arm impatiently.
Nodding, Viktor hurried to follow his brother's command and climbed into the rear compartment of the carriage.
Viktor idly probed at his nose, his tone casual as he broke the silence. "So, what are we looking for, huh?"
Charles reclined in his seat, a satisfied smile playing across his features as the carriage rumbled steadily towards their destination in town.
The journey stretched on for three long hours, the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the dirt road accompanying their progress. Their final stop was to a renowned blacksmith—a clear indication of Werner's intent to prepare Viktor for what lay ahead.
"We need to find you the right weapons," Charles mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "And don't forget, you're also a mage."
A glimmer of excitement shone in Viktor's eyes. "Yes, I am. But I don't need a wand like other mages do. I'm a chantless mage, just like Alyssa." Despite his nonchalance, there was a hint of pride in his voice.
As they continued down the road, the warmth of the sun on their faces and the soft rustling of leaves filled the air. In this moment of tranquility, Viktor found solace and purpose. He knew that soon his days would be consumed by the chaos of bloodshed in the name of his father, but he was resolute in his acceptance of his fate. If it meant receiving the praise and recognition he so desperately craved from Werner, then nothing else mattered.
Charles' reply was filled with warmth as he placed a reassuring hand on Viktor's head, locking eyes with him in a moment of seriousness.
"Viktor, you must understand... You, Alyssa, and I are the only ones who hold potential for succeeding the throne. With my skill in swordsmanship, her exceptional abilities in magic, and your intellect, we have a legacy to uphold. The name Kirchner is not something to be taken lightly; it requires strength and power to back it up. And that, Viktor, is the strength needed to conquer and emerge victorious."
Viktor's eyes widened at Charles' words. The power to win – that was what he desired above all else. A formidable force to dominate those who dared challenge him. In the name of Kirchner, it was justice. After all, Father always said he got rid of bad people, and Big Sis firmly believed that bad people deserved punishment. So anyone who opposed the Kirchner name must be deemed as bad, right?
But wasn't murder also a heinous act? Why was he following his father's orders? Couldn't Werner handle it himself? Did Werner see him as nothing more than a pawn, a mere tool to be used for his own gain?
"Viktor... Are you okay?" Charles' tone softened, his voice filled with concern as he reached out to comfort his younger brother. "I didn't mean to frighten you or anything, haha. I was simply reminding you of the responsibility that comes with being a Kirchner. But don't worry; you probably won't become King anyway, so just focus on getting stronger for yourself."
Viktor blinked and snapped out of his thoughts, brought back to reality by Charles' words. "Y-yes, brother. I understand. Thank you," he replied with a faint smile.
As the carriage approached the blacksmith, Viktor's attention was drawn to the lively scene in front of them. His eyes lit up with excitement at the sight of people coming out of the shop wearing shining armor and wielding new weapons.
Viktor nodded his head in understanding, his voice fading into quietness.
Charles' face relaxed, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks as he looked over at his little brother. "You can count on me... I'll always be here."
***
"Hey! Whether you're a prince or not, show some respect for my swords!" The blacksmith's booming voice echoed throughout the crowded shop as Viktor spun around, brandishing a short sword with wild abandon.
"Kurt, please ignore him. I'll cover any damages. And besides, he's just a kid; let him be," Charles interjected, rubbing his temples in frustration at Viktor's unintentional destruction of a nearby vase.
"Yeah, you better watch yourself. So, how's life been since your graduation? It's been four years now, right? You were always one of my top students in appraisal class. Even the teachers still talk about you," Kurt remarked, smugly folding his arms across his chest.
Kurt's presence in the shop was imposing, standing tall at an impressive height of seven feet six inches. Even among the High Orcs, known for their formidable stature, Kurt's height was notable. But what set him apart even more was his unique lineage, a mix of dwarf and human ancestry that intrigued many.
Despite his towering size, Kurt had a warm personality that endeared him to those around him. His tanned skin stretched over bulging muscles, barely contained by his leather tunic. Soft brown eyes glinted from beneath a furrowed brow, framed by a matching beard and gleaming bald head.
Charles and Kurt had formed a strong bond nearly a decade ago when Charles first joined Kurt's class for appraisal and blacksmithing. Since then, Kurt took pride in claiming Charles as his protégé and prodigy, and Charles reciprocated the sentiment with equal fondness.
"I've been keeping busy with my princely duties and responsibilities as a big brother. Nowadays, it feels like my hands are always full," Charles replied with a tired sigh.
Kurt chuckled, a low, deep sound that rumbled through the air like thunder. He leaned casually against the smooth wooden counter of his shop, temporarily closed for the visit of his former student and two heirs to the Empire.
Viktor flitted around the shop like an overexcited bird, his tiny form darting between shelves and displays with a sword clutched tightly in his hand. His small frame moved with surprising speed and agility, but his movements lacked finesse as he resembled more of a headless chicken than a skilled warrior.
"So what's his deal, huh? Is he also a future prospect for the academy?" Kurt inquired, twirling a finger through his thick brown beard.
"Hell if I know... I don't even know if he'll make it there," Charles admitted, his breath heavy with uncertainty.
"What do you mean? You wrote to me in a letter a while ago, claiming that he was a phenomenal mage. And to add to that, he's only ten. Imagine what it will be like when he reaches the registration age," Kurt countered, glancing at Charles with a curious expression. However, instead of bright enthusiasm, Charles wore an uncharacteristically somber look. The usual sparkle in his eyes was dimmed by a hint of melancholy.
"Even though he has an incredible intellect, impressive mana manipulation skills, and above-average sword abilities, he often allows himself to be used," Charles lamented, his voice heavy with frustration. "He tricks his mind into thinking he's getting a good deal when, in reality, he's being scammed and used by those in power. It's despicable."
As Charles spoke, his previously sorrowful eyes and expression contorted into a mask of anger. His brows furrowed and his jaw clenched, his voice filled with a simmering rage.
"And I know I'll have to shield him even as he grows older because..." He paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a heavy cloud. His determination to protect his brother was palpable.
"I had originally planned on removing our father from the throne so that I could take his place... But now, I have an even greater motive – to safeguard Viktor and all others from our father's increasing madness... Because it is a brother's duty." Charles' tone was resolute, tinged with both pain and fierce love for his younger sibling. The fire in his eyes burned bright with a sense of responsibility and loyalty.