As for **Julius**, he lived in **silent gloom** for an entire year.
He trained, smiled in public—but inside... something had shattered.
The loss wasn't the most painful part.
It was the realization that **a mind had surpassed his—without even trying hard**.
And that alone was enough...
To plant a dangerous doubt deep within him:
"Had I always been just a pawn?"
Once a **disciplined prince**, Julius had become something entirely different.
Gone were the days of early morning study, sword training at dawn, quiet moments of meditation.
Now, he **lingered in clubs**, night after night, surrounded by noise, wine, and hollow laughter.
He wasn't seeking joy—he was **running from something**.
Or perhaps, from **himself**.
Though he still carried the dignity of royalty in his bearing and eyes, **he no longer cared who noticed it**.
The prince who once saw every move as a calculation had become a man **who had stopped counting**.
One evening, in a dim, smoke-filled lounge buzzing with jazz, a man approached him.
Tall, cloaked, exuding an air of tension and steel.
He didn't speak—he simply struck.
A dagger flashed.
But Julius was no prey.
In the blink of an eye, **he drew his sword**, arced it smoothly, and **cut the attacker to pieces**.
---
**No hesitation.**
**No mercy.**
**As the club's music stopped and gasps of shock rose, he walked to the rooftop, dragging the killer's corpse behind him, and threw the severed head onto the street below.**
**Then he left in silence, his sword dripping red.**
**The next day, he never returned to that club.**
**Instead, he wandered to a different corner of the city, a quieter place, almost forgotten by time.**
**There, in the shadows of old music and whispered secrets, he saw her.**
**A young woman with eyes like forgotten stars, hair flowing in waves, and a smile that didn't seek admiration.**
---
She was **ordinary to most**, but something about her pierced the indifference Julius had worn like armor.
He didn't believe in love.
He **mocked it**, even.
But when she sat beside him at the chessboard and watched him **lose again**, for the second time in his life—
This time with dignity—he looked into her eyes and confessed:
"I don't know who I am anymore. But I don't want to be alone in that."
Her name was **Laira**.
An orphan, a woman with nothing to prove.
They grew close. Slowly.
Not through poetry or passion—but through **shared silence** and nights that healed something inside him.
**For months, Julius found a version of himself he had forgotten.**
**Not the prince. Not the warrior. Just... a man.**
**But peace does not last in royal blood.**
**On a stormy evening, they broke into Laira's room.**
**Three men, masked, well-dressed, armed—not with swords, but with threats.**
**They didn't touch her. They didn't shout.**
**They simply said:**
**"Leave the prince. Or don't leave at all."**
**The next day, she vanished without a word.**
**Julius broke.**
**His already fragile heart cracked completely.**
But the pain of loss wasn't the most searing.
It was **the truth** he uncovered:
**It had come from Prince Oren.**
His own father.
Not out of hatred—but strategy.
The royal council had said: "She's a distraction."
The father had agreed: "She's not of noble blood."
And so, she was erased.
That night, Julius stood before the royal portrait hall, his eyes fixed on the image of Neval's future king—
The father who had once been his hero.
The man he no longer knew.
"You took the last good thing I had."
He whispered these words to the empty throne room.
Then he vowed to himself:
"I will take everything from you. Piece by piece."
And so, the **path of vengeance** was carved—
Not with hatred alone...
But **with the betrayal of love**.
At twenty-three, King Oren III passed away, and his son, Oren IV—Julius's father—ascended the throne.
The kingdom celebrated the coronation, the capital's streets bustling with cheers, but Julius was absent from the ceremony, having left the palace alone, far from the spotlight.
The next day, King Oren IV issued a decree appointing a permanent companion for Julius—someone to accompany him, watch over him, and protect him.
The newly appointed companion was a pale-faced young man, talkative and confident in his knowledge of the capital, unaware he had made a grave mistake.
One day, as Julius wandered with his companion, they bumped into a ragged little boy who fell to the ground.
The companion shouted angrily:
"Apologize, you wretch!"
The boy didn't move or speak; he remained silent.
Julius approached quietly and gently opened the boy's mouth to find **his tongue had been cut out**.
At that moment, the companion reached for Julius's pocket, where he carried **a white embroidered cloth**, a cherished memento he wore with every outfit.
The companion said smugly:
"Your cloth is worn. Let me mend it."
But Julius didn't allow it.
In a flash, **Julius severed the companion's fingers before they could touch the fabric**.
The companion screamed in pain, but Julius didn't stop.
He stepped closer and, with cold precision, **cut the companion's vocal cords**.
Then he said icily:
"This cloth... is not to be touched."
He turned to the guards and pointed at the silent boy:
"Take him. Train him. He will be my companion. At least... he won't speak."
The guards nodded in agreement.
Years passed under the rule of Oren IV, Julius's father,
and an era of peace spread across the kingdom.
Not a single war occurred during his long reign.
Julius was forty-three, and his aging father, the king, was seventy-five.
One day, Julius approached his father in the grand palace, his eyes filled with questions, and asked:
"What is the meaning of this peace?"
The father smiled slightly and replied calmly:
"Happiness, my son."
Julius sighed and said:
"I don't mean the illusion of happiness. A man needs excitement in his life."
The father answered wisely:
"Excitement turns to ruin."
Julius looked into his father's eyes and said bluntly:
"But now we are in ruin—the ruin of strength, the ruin of human nature.
Man fears absolute peace and fears absolute destruction. He seeks balance between them."
The father fell silent for a moment, then said with a knowing smile:
"When you become a true king, you can unleash your thoughts without limits.
But for now, this is my era… my time."
Julius left his father's chamber with steady steps and headed to his private study.
He sat at the large table and gazed at the map of the continent spread before him, its lines and territories telling tales of old and new kingdoms and conflicts.
He placed his finger on the Phantom Forest in the west, a place shrouded in mystery and shadows.
That night, Julius rode his black steed through the darkness until he reached the edge of the forest.
There, at the forest's border, he met a girl with strange features; her face wasn't beautiful like a princess's from tales, but unforgettable in its ugliness.
They spoke at length and struck a magnificent agreement, a pact that elevated them both and bound them to change the course of history together.
Two years passed.
One morning, King Oren IV was found dead in his chambers, an apparent suicide—yet strangely, a chess piece was carved into his back: the pawn.
Julius did not investigate the matter.
After the funeral, the next morning, the entire populace was summoned to the grand square.
Everyone was stunned to see Julius standing at the hall's pinnacle, and behind him, a woman of breathtaking beauty
**dressed in a shimmering violet fabric, unlike anything anyone had ever seen.**
Julius began his speech, his voice filling the space, declaring that this era was one of rising from years of stagnation.
He proclaimed that he would restore the kingdom of Nevall to its true glory and that heroes would return to their rightful place.
He said:
**"All those without trade and those who wish to write history with me will be voluntarily recruited into the army."**
The people erupted in joy and happiness,
while Julius stretched his arms toward the sky and declared:
**"I will be the greatest king."**