Chapter 4: The Forsaken Village — The Exiled Prince's New Throne
Morning arrived without beauty.
The sky was covered in a thin layer of pale gray clouds, stretching endlessly like a tired sheet over the world. Sunlight existed somewhere above, but it barely touched the earth. Cold wind swept across the empty road, lifting dry dust that danced briefly before falling again — restless, directionless, just like the fate that had brought Jay here.
The road felt endless.
Jay walked in silence.
His steps were steady, yet his body reminded him of the battle from the night before. The wound on his shoulder pulsed with a dull ache. Every deep breath carried a faint sting, but none of it showed on his face. His expression remained calm — unreadable.
Behind him, the broken carriage creaked with every turn of its wheels.
Inside, his mother rested.
Her breathing was light, fragile. Every soft cough made Jay's fingers tighten unconsciously. Last night he had fought to keep her alive, and now every step forward felt heavier because of that responsibility.
He wasn't walking alone anymore.
The road gradually changed.
Once fertile land stretched on both sides, but now it was nothing more than cracked soil and dead crops. Crooked fences leaned as if exhausted. Burned wooden frames stood in the distance, blackened and hollow — silent evidence of past violence.
Jay observed everything quietly.
This place wasn't naturally poor.
Someone had drained the life out of it.
The wind carried the faint smell of smoke and decay.
Then — the village appeared.
Jay slowed his pace.
What stood before him barely deserved to be called a settlement.
Houses leaned unevenly, their walls cracked and stained. Roofs sagged as if they might collapse at any moment. Muddy streets were littered with broken carts and scattered trash. The air felt heavy — not just physically, but emotionally, as though despair itself had settled here long ago.
People watched from shadows.
Old men with empty eyes.
Women pulling children behind them.
No one stepped forward.
No one welcomed him.
They weren't curious.
They were afraid.
But not of him.
Fear already belonged to someone else.
At the center of the road stood a faded wooden sign.
"Black Thorn Village."
Jay stopped.
This was the land granted to him.
The "responsibility" given to an exiled prince.
Earlier that morning, a royal messenger had delivered the decree. The parchment was clean, official, unquestionable. It carried the Queen's order.
And beneath it —
The Emperor's seal.
Jay's gaze lingered on that memory.
A small detail… but the most important one.
Nothing in the empire moved without the Emperor's awareness — especially not the assignment of land to a royal bloodline.
So the Emperor knew.
The Queen had chosen this place.
The Emperor had approved.
Which meant this wasn't accidental.
This wasn't mercy.
This was intentional.
Jay looked around again.
A ruined village.
Corrupt authority.
Broken people.
This wasn't a gift.
It was exile wrapped in responsibility.
Before his thoughts settled, loud laughter shattered the silence.
The door of a nearby tavern slammed open.
A group of men stepped out.
Heavy footsteps.
Weapons visible.
Confident smiles that belonged to people who feared no consequences.
Gangsters.
The true rulers of this village.
One of them looked Jay over and laughed loudly.
"So this is the new lord they sent?"
Another scoffed.
"The empire must be desperate if they send kids now."
More laughter followed.
Jay remained still.
His eyes shifted slightly — toward several royal soldiers standing nearby.
They were watching.
Not intervening.
Smiling.
Jay understood immediately.
The gangsters ruled openly because they were protected.
Law and crime had become partners.
One gangster spat near Jay's feet.
"Listen carefully, prince," he said. "Titles don't matter here. We run this village."
Another added,
"Every noble sent here learned quickly… either cooperate or disappear."
Behind him, his mother coughed weakly.
The gangsters glanced toward the carriage and smirked cruelly.
Jay's eyes darkened slightly.
But he did not react.
Not yet.
He studied them instead.
Strength, posture, confidence.
And overconfidence.
Calmly, he asked,
"Who collects the taxes?"
The question confused them.
"What?"
"The food. The money. The supplies from villagers. Who takes them?"
Silence lingered for a moment.
Then the leader grinned proudly.
"We do."
Jay nodded slowly.
"So the kingdom sends aid…"
"…and you steal it."
The laughter died instantly.
One gangster's hand moved toward his blade.
"You talk too much—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Jay's gaze met his.
Cold.
Unmoving.
Emotionless.
There was no obvious threat… yet something primal made the man hesitate.
A quiet pressure filled the air — not power, not magic, but presence.
The memory of death lingered around Jay like an invisible shadow.
The gangsters shifted uneasily.
Jay turned away calmly and walked past them.
He had learned enough.
This village wasn't merely broken.
It was infected.
And infections were not removed with impulsive violence.
They were cut out carefully.
Step by step.
He moved toward the manor standing at the edge of the village — the residence assigned to him as ruler.
The doors creaked loudly when pushed open.
Dust swirled in the air.
Inside was emptiness.
Broken chairs, shattered glass, faded curtains hanging like ghosts. Footsteps echoed through abandoned halls.
This wasn't a home.
It was a forgotten shell.
Jay climbed the stairs slowly and stepped onto the balcony.
From here, he could see everything.
The village looked smaller from above.
People moved quickly, avoiding eye contact.
Children hid behind walls.
Gangsters laughed freely in the streets.
Fear ruled openly.
Jay rested his hands on the railing.
Wind brushed past him, carrying distant voices.
Questions filled his mind.
Why this place?
Why give him something so clearly rotten?
Did the Queen intend to erase him quietly?
Or…
Was the Emperor testing him?
A prince thrown into chaos to see whether he would survive — or disappear like the others?
The wind grew stronger.
His cloak fluttered behind him.
Jay's eyes hardened.
They believed exile meant weakness.
They believed this village would bury him.
But standing there, watching the broken land below, he felt something else.
Possibility.
A place abandoned by the empire…
was a place where power could be rebuilt from nothing.
He spoke quietly, almost like a vow.
"If this village belongs to me…"
"…then its rules will change."
Below, laughter echoed again.
The gangsters celebrated their dominance, unaware that something had already shifted.
They saw a weak prince.
They didn't see the hunter.
Jay closed his eyes briefly.
In his mind, the system's blue screen flickered faintly.
First victory.
Silent Hunter.
He opened his eyes again.
Calm.
Focused.
Patient.
A ruler wasn't born through titles.
A ruler was forged in places where no one believed change was possible.
And in the shadow of Black Thorn Village —
a new power quietly began to rise.
Not just a survivor anymore… but the first breath of a ruler destined to make entire kingdoms tremble.
To be continued 🔥 👿 🔥