Long ago, Astreya—the world known for being bestowed with the gods' protection—fell into war with the evil harbingers of demons. The tales relate that the great hero King Arthur and his loyal companions, the Twelve Great Warriors equipped with their sacred treasures, defeated the Overlord's army and thus peace was brought back to Astreya.
But time passed, and King Arthur and the Round Table disappeared from sight. No one knows their whereabouts or when the next Overlord army will invade Astreya again.
In hope of defending their world should King Arthur fail to return, the King of Liselotte—the royal capital—created an elite class of warriors for protecting the world and the royal palace, bestowing upon them special treasures forged from mythical magical items.
For expanding the knowledge and craft of magical prowess, an academy was established: The Celestial Arcanum Institute—a prestigious institution where the most promising individuals from across Astreya would gather to master the arts of magic, combat, and strategy in preparation for the darkness that might one day return to threaten their world
The bustling city of Liselotte sprawled beneath the afternoon sun like a living tapestry of commerce and life. Merchants from distant kingdoms haggled over exotic spices and enchanted trinkets in the crowded marketplaces, their voices creating a symphony of negotiation that echoed through cobblestone streets. Children darted between the legs of passersby, their laughter mixing with the clip-clop of horse hooves and the occasional bleating of goats being herded to market. Beastkin traders with their distinctive animal features mingled freely with humans, dwarven craftsmen, and the occasional elf, each person absorbed in their own daily pursuits. Street performers juggled balls of magical fire while pickpockets worked the crowds, and vendors called out their wares from colorful stalls that lined every major thoroughfare.
The Royal Palace rose majestically above this commercial chaos, its towering spires and gleaming walls a testament to divine authority. Approaching from the main thoroughfare, visitors first encountered the imposing Front Gate—a masterwork of enchanted steel and marble, flanked by two colossal statues of ancient guardian spirits. Beyond the gate, a grand courtyard paved with luminescent stones led to the Palace Proper, where intricate flying buttresses and stained glass windows depicted the legendary battles of King Arthur and his Round Table.
Within the palace, corridors lined with portraits of past monarchs led deeper into the heart of royal power. The path to the throne room wound through the Hall of Mirrors, where polished surfaces reflected not just images but glimpses of magical auras, past the Royal Gardens visible through crystal windows, and finally to the massive oak doors of the King's Throne Room—a cavernous chamber dominated by the Seat of Liselotte, carved from a single piece of sacred dragonbone and elevated on a dais of pure white marble.
"Did you hear?" whispered one of the women attendants who worked at the royal palace, her voice barely audible as she folded linens in the servants' quarters. "The Queen is pregnant again."
"The King has such vigor, even in his old age! Isn't that the third time?" replied another attendant, glancing nervously around to ensure they weren't overheard.
Indeed, Queen Seraphina Celestine Aurelia Evangeline de Astreya, born of the highest royal bloodline, possessed the purest and rarest kind of blood that held immense magical potential. The King, aspiring for strong descendants, had copulated with the Queen countless times, and as a result, the Queen had given birth to ten children through two miraculous pregnancies. It was said that women of exceptional magical power could bear three children at once, but the Queen had given birth to five in each pregnancy—the first occurring ten years ago, the second five years past.
"And now she's pregnant with just two," continued the first attendant. "The King doesn't seem pleased that it's only twins this time."
"For a King who values strength above everything, he must think the Queen's magical blessing is fading away," one attendant said, her voice heavy with sympathy for their sovereign's plight.
Just as the woman was about to express her pity for the Queen being used in such a manner, the stern voice of Chief Attendant Maria cut through their conversation like a blade.
"Gossiping about royalty is a capital sin! Do you girls want to lose your heads?"
The attendant women felt a chill run down their spines before quickly bowing and apologizing for their indiscretion
Chief Attendant Maria was a woman of formidable presence—her short black hair cropped in a practical style that framed her stern features, while her muscular build spoke of years of rigorous training that seemed more suited to a warrior than a palace servant. Her broad shoulders and calloused hands told stories of combat preparation that many of the other attendants whispered about in hushed tones. Some even wondered aloud why someone with her obvious physical prowess had chosen to be an attendant when she could easily have been a knight in the King's elite guard.
In the Queen's private chambers, a different kind of strength was on display. Queen Seraphina sat gracefully in her ornate chair, her personal attendant Marie standing dutifully nearby. The contrast between the two women named Maria and Marie was striking—where the Chief Attendant was built like a fortress, Marie possessed a gentler demeanor that complemented her role as the Queen's closest confidante.
"Your Majesty, how are you feeling today?" Marie asked with genuine concern, her eyes taking in the Queen's condition.
The Queen felt the familiar drain of her magical powers being siphoned away by the developing twins, leaving her perpetually exhausted. She wanted to confess that she was tired, that carrying children with such potent magical potential was slowly depleting her own life force. But she was the Queen—such weakness could never be admitted aloud.
"I'm alright," she replied instead, slowly caressing her considerably swollen belly with tender hands. Her long golden hair, lustrous as spun gold, cascaded over her shoulders as she looked down. Her deep blue eyes, though masked by a warm smile, couldn't entirely hide the exhaustion that had become her constant companion.
"Marie," the Queen said softly, "would it be alright if you stayed with me through the night?"
"It is my duty as your attendant, Your Majesty," Marie replied professionally.
The Queen's smile grew more genuine. "We've known each other for such a long time. I've always thought of you as a very special friend."
Marie smiled in return, though her posture remained respectfully formal. "Thank you, Your Majesty, but I chose to be an attendant to watch over you properly."
With a voice filled with maternal warmth, the Queen placed both hands on her belly and spoke to the lives growing within her. "Arthur... Ciel... please grow strong and healthy, my precious ones."
The unborn twins seemed to respond to their mother's voice, shifting gently within their magical cocoon…
The court magician, Valdris, placed the crystalline orb upon the Dragon Stone Pedestal—an ancient artifact carved from the petrified palm of a legendary dragon. The orb floated at its center, pulsating with ethereal energy as if communicating with the dragon hand statue beneath it.
She shifted slightly, adjusting her flowing robes. "It is ready, Your Majesty."
"Prince Arthur, step forward," she called. "This is the Egg of Revelation, forged from a dragon's essence. It holds the capacity to detect one's latent magical potential. Please place your hand on the orb and infuse a small amount of mana."
Arthur executed the command almost immediately. The orb pulsated, greedily absorbing Arthur's mana, then a brilliant light manifested above his head. The light coalesced, taking the shape of glowing letters: "C-1".
The court remained in stunned silence. The King violently swept away his golden cup, wine splashing across the marble floor in a crimson arc. Arthur jolted in surprise at his father's sudden outburst.
"Try again," the magician instructed Arthur, though her voice had lost some of its confidence.
Arthur concentrated harder, pouring more of his essence into the orb. The same result appeared: "C-1".
Arthur didn't understand what was happening when he heard the King's cold, cutting words: "Another failure."
Arthur jolted as if struck. The only word that escaped his lips was a whispered, "Father..."
Valdris turned toward the King, her expression grave. "Your Majesty, his mana potency is extremely low compared to the previous children."
The King answered with ice in his voice, "Proceed with Ciel."
As commanded, Ciel stepped forward and infused her mana into the orb. It pulsated with red light, and the number above her head read: "B-2".
The magician turned to the King. "She possesses normal mage mana reserves, Your Majesty."
"Nothing exceptional," the King said heartlessly. "It seems my wife's divine blessing has completely faded away."
Arthur approached the throne, his voice trembling. "Father—"
But when the King looked at him, Arthur saw something that made his blood run cold. Those eyes... they were the same eyes he remembered from his previous life as Satoru—the eyes of that robber, filled with hatred and deception.
"Arthur," the King said with deliberate slowness, "do you know how I created this kingdom?"
He didn't allow Arthur to answer, continuing with cruel certainty: "Through strength and dominance."
"The heroes that once protected this world... their whereabouts are unknown," the King declared, his voice echoing through the throne room. "It is our duty to forge future strength to win against the Demon Lord."
Arthur, despite being only five years old, couldn't grasp the full meaning of the King's words—if it weren't for Satoru's accumulated experience dwelling within him. The boy's face flushed with anger as he stepped forward.
"Justice isn't all about power and dominance!" Arthur shouted, his small voice carrying a conviction that seemed far beyond his years.
The King's expression hardened. "By royal decree," he announced coldly, "I hereby dismiss Arthur and Ciel from their royal status. They will be transferred to an orphanage amongst the commoners."
The words struck Arthur like a physical blow. Rage exploded within him, and without thinking, he lunged at his father. Before he could reach the throne, one of the royal guards intervened, striking Arthur across the back with the flat of his blade. The boy crumpled to the marble floor, gasping.
The guard tossed a sword at Arthur's feet with a contemptuous clatter. "The royal family doesn't care about commoners," he sneered. "If you want to prove your worth, then fight."
Arthur struggled to his feet, his thin hands wrapping around the sword's grip. But the blade was far too long, far too heavy for his small frame. It took every ounce of his strength just to lift it, and even then, he couldn't take a single step forward. Sweat beaded on his forehead—not from the sword's weight, but from the burning frustration that consumed him.
Suddenly, Ciel stepped forward. Without Arthur even realizing it, she had disarmed him, taking the massive sword from his trembling hands. With a single, fluid swing, she sent the blade flying at incredible speed. It whistled through the air, passing mere centimeters above the King's cheek before embedding itself deep into the stone wall behind the throne.
For the first time since entering the throne room, Ciel spoke.
"I don't care about royalty," she said, her voice quiet but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut steel. "I don't care about saving the world. I don't care about this castle, either. All I want is to be with Arthur. And since the King has denied us..." Her eyes, once shy and reserved, now burned with deadly intent. "I would feel no remorse for killing all of you."
Arthur stared at his sister in shock. This wasn't the gentle, reserved Ciel he knew. Where was the girl who had always hidden behind him, who spoke in whispers and avoided confrontation? This person before him radiated a cold, terrifying power.
The royal army, after a moment of stunned hesitation, drew their swords in unison. But the King raised his hand, stopping them.
"Ah," he said, a strange smile playing at his lips. "This is the value of strength." His gaze fixed on Ciel. "Do you want to become even stronger?"
"Yes," Ciel replied without hesitation. "But not with your methods. You drained Mother's mana by forcing her to bear children until she passed away. And you expect me to draw my sword to protect you?"
The King's expression remained unmoved. "No one can change their fate."
"If it's the two of us," Ciel retorted, her hand moving instinctively toward Arthur, "we can change fate itself."
"I am your father," the King said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority, "and your King."
Ciel's response was immediate and unwavering. "I don't see you as a father. And you're not my King anymore."
The court magician began weaving a spell, magical energy crackling around his fingertips in preparation to punish their blasphemy. But the King interrupted with a raised hand.
"That's not necessary," he said calmly. "I value strength above all else. And if that strength isn't on my side when the calamity that threatens this world arises... well, everyone will eventually reunite to fight. That is our destiny." He gestured toward the great doors. "Go, Arthur and Ciel. Go where I will not be able to find you."
As they turned to leave, Ciel paused at the threshold. Without looking back, she delivered one final promise:
"If the King lets us live, we will come to claim his head when the time comes."
The King's laughter echoed through the throne room. "Then you must become stronger than an Apostle."