Today, I took my revenge.
All of them — those who once mocked me, who dismissed me as a failure, who whispered behind closed doors that I was a burden to the house of Raelthorn — they have paid the price. Every last one of them. Villages burned, cities reduced to ash. More than twenty villages, ten cities — all swallowed by the flames of my wrath. They thought they could cast me aside, that they could pretend I was nothing. They were wrong.
Let them curse me now, if they dare. Curse me all you like, for the sins I committed today are but reflections of the sins you sowed in me. You forged this monster — every blade turned against me, every cruel word, every moment of scorn. And now, I have returned your hatred a hundredfold.
---
It feels strange, remembering where it all began — in the grand halls of the Raelthorn estate, where once I was a young master, the heir to Duke Caldras Raelthorn himself. I was born into privilege, yes, but not love — not truly. My father, the Duke, was a man of iron, once a knight of the realm, feared across the kingdom as the strongest warrior of his age. My mother, a gentle soul, passed when I was young, and so I was raised alongside Alice — the girl everyone thought was my sister. We shared the same name, the same house, the same future. No one ever knew the truth: that we shared no blood at all.
Alice… she was everything I wasn't. At just twelve years old, she already carried the strength of our father in her veins, a prodigy destined for greatness. And me? I was nearly fifteen, yet a shadow of my former self, a failure, the disappointment of the Raelthorn name.
That morning, I awoke earlier than usual — the sun barely peeking through the curtains, its light soft and golden. I stood in the training hall, staring at the wooden practice swords, lost in thought. My hands hovered over them, trembling. The memories of that day, so long ago, surged up, unbidden.
"Big brother?" Alice's voice rang out, bright as ever. She skipped into the hall, her long silver hair swaying behind her, a soft smile playing on her lips. "This is unusual for you. Waking up without me dragging you out of bed? What's gotten into you?" Her eyes sparkled with playful curiosity, though there was a hint of worry beneath it.
I forced a smile, awkward and strained. "Oh, nothing... just... looking for something."
Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head. "Looking for what?"
I hesitated, glancing at the practice swords again. "Some... wooden swords," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Alice followed my gaze, then her face lit up. "Ah! There they are!" She darted forward, picking them up and holding them out to me. "Here, big brother. Take as many as you like. But... why do you need three?" Her eyes sparkled with innocent curiosity, but a flicker of excitement bloomed in her voice. "Wait... are you going to train with me today?"
I paused, the weight of her words settling like a stone in my chest. For a fleeting moment, I wanted to say yes. To pick up the swords and train beside her like we used to. But no... that wasn't why I was here.
With a heavy sigh, I ruffled her hair, a soft, bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. "Not today, little one. I have... other things to do. You keep training hard, okay? You're the strong one in this family."
Her smile faltered. She clutched the swords tightly, her knuckles white. "Brother... you never train with me anymore. Not since that day..." Her voice trailed off, barely a whisper.
For a moment, she stood there in the dim light, her face shadowed by sorrow. Then, as if a switch flipped, she forced a bright smile and said, "Never mind, it's nothing! Just a silly thought." She laughed softly, but I could hear the tremble in her voice.
How could I explain it to her? How could I tell her that ever since that day... I wasn't the same?
---
That day... when I stood in the grand tournament arena, before the eyes of the kingdom. I was twelve, standing tall with a wooden sword in my hand, a boy destined for greatness. The competition was fierce — a rite of passage for the noble children of the realm, a test of skill, honor, and strength. Every noble child, whether they willed it or not, was required to stand in that arena and fight.
I remember the cheers — the roar of the crowd as I bested opponent after opponent. Even the twin princesses, daughters of the king himself, fell before me. They were gifted, yes, but they hadn't trained as I had. From the time I could hold a sword, I had trained. Since I was two years old, I had devoured tales of heroes and legends, driven by an obsession to prove myself. Ten years of relentless effort, day after day, until I became... invincible.
I remember the faces — my father, Duke Caldras, seated in the stands, his arms crossed, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That's my son," he had said proudly, loud enough for all to hear. My mother, radiant with joy. Alice, cheering louder than anyone, her voice rising above the crowd, "That's my big brother!"
And the people… my people. They called me their savior, their future. The young master of House Raelthorn — their hope.
That was the happiest day of my life.
But happiness is fleeting. Just four months after that tournament, something changed. It began slowly — a strange weakness seeping into my bones. My sword felt heavier in my hands. My mana, once abundant and wild, no longer surged at my command. Day after day, I trained, desperate to regain what I had lost, but it was as if the world itself had turned its back on me. My strength plateaued, then withered. No matter how hard I tried, I could not break through. I could not grow stronger.
It began subtly, a creeping decay I could neither understand nor stop. Every time I reached for my mana, something felt wrong. As if the very core of my being, the wellspring of my power, had turned against me. I tried to train, to push through the weakness — but each time I connected with that core, it was as if a bottomless abyss opened within me, draining everything I had. My mana would vanish into nothingness, swallowed by a force I could not comprehend. Days would pass before I could even feel a trickle of it return.
I tried again. And again. I poured my heart into it — spending countless treasures, elixirs, rare artifacts, even sacred items that others could have used to cultivate power for a lifetime. Yet, for me... nothing. Where others would have soared, I sank deeper into the void.
I remember the words of the great archmage who examined me, his face grim as stone. "What you face, young master... it is a curse without end. Your core... it is like a cave with no bottom, a void that devours all. No matter how much you pour into it, it will never fill. Your efforts... they are in vain."
Those words shattered something within me.
---
And when that truth could no longer be hidden, when the news escaped the walls of our estate — that the young master, the shining prodigy of Raelthorn, had become a cripple, a failure — the people turned on me like a storm.
Crowds gathered outside the palace gates, their faces twisted with scorn, their voices sharp as blades. They shouted for answers, demanded to know if the rumors were true. And when my father confirmed it, when he admitted that I had lost my power, their cheers turned to whispers, their admiration to disgust.
I had thought they loved me. I had thought they saw me as their savior. But now... they looked at me as if I were a disease, a burden, something to be cast aside.
Even the servants, once so eager to please, could barely hide their disdain. Their bows grew shallow. Their eyes, once filled with respect, now held only pity... or worse, indifference.
It was as if the boy who had once been the pride of the Raelthorn name had never existed.
The whispers followed me like shadows, curling through the grand halls of the estate. They spoke in hushed tones, as if their words could not reach me—yet they did. "How far the mighty have fallen," they murmured. "A shame, truly… but such is the way of things."
I had once basked in their praise, their admiration. They had called me a prodigy, a beacon for the family's future, the heir who would restore the Raelthorn name to its former glory. But now, that same family looked upon me with cold, measured glances, as if weighing the cost of keeping me in their midst.
Even my mother's smile, once warm and proud, had become strained—an echo of what it had been.
And so, I fell. From the heights of glory, I plummeted into a pit of obscurity and shame, abandoned by the very people who had once celebrated me.
But in the hollow of that fall, a bitter resolve began to bloom. If they would cast me aside, let them. I would rise—not for them, but in spite of them. Let their cold gazes be fuel for the fire that burned within me.
I would not remain in the pit forever.
Not while I still drew breath.