Muria stepped forward, raised his small hand, and swung it down with force—a crisp slap aimed at the face of the child standing before him.
The boy, prepared for such an attack, reacted swiftly. He wasn't here by accident; he'd come specifically to provoke Muria and had mentally braced himself for retaliation after hearing of Muria's previous feats.
But no amount of mental preparation could have readied him for what came next.
As Muria's palm descended, the boy raised his arm to block it, confident in his ability to deflect the strike and counterattack. Yet, as Muria's hand made contact with his forearm, a sharp, sickening crack echoed in the air.
The boy's forearm snapped like a dry twig, and his now-broken arm smashed into his own face with the force of Muria's blow. His entire body was lifted off the ground, spinning once midair before crashing back to earth and skidding several meters across the stone floor of the tower, leaving him sprawled in an undignified heap.
On the arrow tower, the four other royal siblings, who had been feigning interest in the army's departure ceremony while actually observing the scuffle, were finally forced to turn around.
"Arnold, you're impressive," said a girl who looked around ten years old. She glanced at her younger brother, who lay groaning on the ground with his arm bent at an unnatural angle, and then turned her gaze to Muria. A rare glimmer of admiration flashed across her face.
Her compliment carried no ulterior motive. It was a straightforward acknowledgment of Muria's prowess. After all, she had come here specifically to test him.
The boy she had chosen to provoke Muria was no prodigy—merely average by royal standards. Yet for Muria to defeat him so decisively, despite being nearly three years younger, was beyond her expectations. Muria's performance had significantly raised her evaluation of him, and she now considered him a talent worth recruiting.
"I'm impressed. Name your terms—what would it take for you to join me?" the young princess asked, her tone direct and confident.
Muria raised an eyebrow at her proposition but didn't show any sign of anger. He'd heard similar offers far too often.
His father, King Fernand, was a prolific patriarch with over a hundred children. Many of Muria's older siblings had already begun building their own factions, laying the groundwork for their bids for the throne.
Despite Muria's exceptional talents, his late birth placed him at a significant disadvantage. Most of his siblings dismissed his chances of ever claiming the crown, viewing him instead as a valuable asset to be recruited into their factions.
However, Muria had no intention of serving under anyone. Regardless of the lavish offers and enticing promises his siblings dangled before him, he always refused. What he wanted was nothing less than the throne itself—and no one would offer him that as a reward.
The young princess standing before him was no exception. She was a representative of her older, full-blooded brother, who was a prominent contender for the throne. Her presence here was part of her brother's strategy to win over the talented younger royals who had not yet chosen sides.
The fact that she had gathered four other siblings to accompany her today was a testament to her brother's influence. Clearly, many in the court believed her brother had a strong shot at the throne and were eager to align themselves with his cause.
But none of this mattered to Muria. In his eyes, none of his siblings were worthy of his allegiance. Not a single one of them caught his attention—except perhaps for Oprano, the chubby little boy who had insisted on calling him "big brother" since they were toddlers.
Muria respected Oprano's keen eye. Even at such a young age, the boy had recognized his potential and clung to him unwaveringly. That kind of insight was rare—even King Fernand didn't possess it.
"Name my terms?" Muria repeated, his tone tinged with amusement as he scrutinized the young princess. "What I want, you can't give me. And frankly, there's nothing you could offer that would make me follow you."
"If you were born twenty years earlier, I wouldn't argue with you. But unfortunately, you were born too late," the princess replied, shaking her head. Her voice carried the weight of experience, belying her young age.
"In this world, only the king owes allegiance to no one. Everyone else, regardless of their status or birthright, exists to serve the throne."
"Impossible? For you, maybe. Not for me," Muria retorted confidently, his golden eyes narrowing. His father, Fernand, was still in good health and likely had decades left to live. Muria had plenty of time to prove himself.
As he spoke, Muria took a deliberate step forward, his body exuding an aura of quiet menace.
"What are you doing?" the princess asked, her brows furrowing slightly.
"I told you all to leave. Since you refused, I'll have to throw you out myself," Muria replied calmly, his tone devoid of doubt or hesitation.
"You're quite arrogant for someone so young. Do you think we're as weak as him?" Another girl, slightly older than the princess, sneered at Muria. She admitted he was talented—more so than she had been at his age—but the significant age gap between them meant she still held the upper hand in strength.
"You've all awakened your royal bloodline, haven't you? Stop wasting time. Let's get started," Muria said, his voice steady.
As he spoke, Muria's body began to change. He grew taller and more muscular, his youthful frame stretching into one that radiated raw power. A black-red aura surrounded him, coiling and writhing like living flame.
Two sharp horns on his forehead extended further, their tips gleaming menacingly. Crimson lines resembling molten cracks appeared on his face, glowing faintly as heat radiated from his body.
The four royal siblings froze, their expressions shifting to varying degrees of disbelief and caution.
"You've awakened your royal bloodline already? How is that possible?" one of them blurted out, her voice tinged with shock.
The princess who had come to recruit Muria shot her companion a sharp glare, silently reprimanding her for losing composure. Regardless of how unbelievable the situation seemed, the evidence was right before their eyes.
Gritting her teeth, the eldest among them activated her own royal bloodline. Her body underwent subtle changes—her posture grew more elegant and refined, and a fiery aura enveloped her.
"Let's take this outside," Muria said, gesturing for them to follow. Without waiting for a response, he leapt from the tower, his black-red aura propelling him effortlessly through the air.
The four siblings exchanged uneasy glances before reluctantly following.
Bang!
Before they could reach him, Muria spun midair and delivered a powerful kick to one of his pursuers. His foot connected squarely with the boy's face, sending him hurtling backward into the tower wall. The impact left a crater in the stone, and the boy crumpled to the ground in a daze.
"You're dead, Arnold!" the boy roared, his pride and dignity as a royal shattered. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth as he staggered to his feet.
"You'll have to do better than that," Muria said coldly, catching the boy's clumsy punch with ease. With a single fluid motion, he delivered an uppercut to his opponent's jaw, sparks flying as the blow connected.
The clash between Muria and his four older siblings quickly drew the attention of the other royals gathered below. The grand military procession was momentarily forgotten as dozens of siblings turned their eyes skyward, captivated by the spectacle.
Royal infighting was nothing new, but a four-versus-one brawl involving such a young contender was rare enough to steal the show. Yet none of the onlookers moved to intervene. In the royal family of Gayle, combat was a way of life, and disputes were often settled through strength.
For Muria, this was just the beginning.
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/INNIT
For every 50 Power Stones, one extra chapter will be released on Saturday.