The body of the royal sibling struck by Muria's uppercut soared into the air, tracing a graceful arc before descending rapidly toward the ground. Unconscious from the impact, he was unable to halt his fall and crashed into the earth with a sickening thud, raising dust and eliciting winces from onlookers at the sheer force of his landing.
Whoosh—
A slender, athletic leg descended like a battle axe, aiming for Muria's head with a sharp whistling sound as it cut through the air. But Muria dodged the strike by a hair's breadth, sidestepping fluidly.
Without missing a beat, Muria grabbed the ankle of the attacking figure—a girl who was the oldest among the combatants. Using her momentum against her, he swung her in a wide arc through the air, completing a half-circle before hurling her away with incredible force.
The princess's body became a blur as she hurtled through the air, crashing into the stone ground with an impact that carved a shallow trench into the pavement.
"You—" The lead princess, who had orchestrated the confrontation, was left speechless. Her shock had reached a point where words failed her.
Five years old and already awakened to royal blood—she could accept that as a rare, prodigious talent. But what was happening now?
Despite being outnumbered four to one by siblings older than him, this younger brother was dispatching them as though they were mere children. It was unfair. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
The plan had been simple: corner Arnold with overwhelming numbers, pressure him into submission, and then humiliate him in a one-on-one fight to teach him a lesson about hierarchy and respect for elders. He was supposed to learn the consequences of rejecting her brother's offer of allegiance.
Instead, everything had gone catastrophically awry. Not only had Arnold resisted, but he was also thrashing them one by one with shocking ease.
"Losing focus during a fight is a fatal mistake. Did you forget everything the instructors taught us?" A calm, slightly raspy voice interrupted the princess's thoughts.
Only then did the lead princess realize that another of her allies had been taken down without her noticing. Now it was just her and Arnold in the air.
"You can't hit me!" the princess exclaimed, panic creeping into her voice as she weaved through the air, trying to evade Arnold.
No matter how she dodged, she couldn't shake him. For all her maneuvering, he stayed within five meters of her, his movements steady and deliberate.
"Why not?" Arnold asked, his tone mild yet carrying a hint of amusement.
"Because I'm your elder sister!" she blurted out, grasping at straws to avoid the humiliation of defeat.
"Oh," Arnold replied, nodding as though considering her words seriously. Then, his tone turned light. "Don't worry. I won't kill you."
"Wait—" She tried again to appeal to him, panic rising as she saw his hand lift for another strike. "Arnold, think carefully. If you hit me, you'll completely sever ties with my brother!"
"Hmm." Arnold's expression remained unmoved as he brought his hand down in a decisive blow. The princess's body streaked through the air like a comet, leaving faint trails of black smoke and sparks before slamming into the ground. She landed hard, sprawled and battered, her form twitching slightly. Her injuries, though not life-threatening, left her incapacitated.
And just like that, the impromptu battle, which had begun with four older siblings ganging up on Arnold, ended in a swift and resounding victory for the youngest participant.
The repercussions of this fight, however, were only beginning.
Royal combat was technically forbidden within the palace grounds. The fact that this confrontation involved a four-on-one scenario made it even more egregious.
Yet the outcome defied expectations: the lone, younger sibling not only held his ground but triumphed without so much as a scratch. This display of strength and skill drew significant attention from within the palace walls.
Though all five participants were punished, the penalties reflected the surprising results. Arnold received a symbolic slap on the wrist: three days of confinement to his quarters. In contrast, his defeated siblings were subjected to harsher penalties, ranging from one to three months of house arrest, followed by additional unspecified consequences.
For Arnold, this disparity in punishment was no surprise. The Kingdom of Gayle revered martial prowess. His ability to overcome overwhelming odds with such skill earned him both leniency and admiration, signaling his potential for greater opportunities.
Sure enough, on the second day of his confinement, Arnold received an unexpected visitor in his quarters.
"Father," Arnold greeted the man standing before him with a calm expression, addressing him with the respect his position demanded.
"Arnold, you're even more remarkable than I had imagined," King Fernand said, his gaze sweeping over his young son with evident approval. "However, this does not justify engaging in brawls with your elder siblings. Do you know how long your brothers and sisters have been confined?"
"I've heard some details," Arnold replied honestly. His mother's influence within the palace ensured he had access to such information.
"Do you understand what their confinement signifies?" Fernand asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Arnold.
"No," Arnold admitted bluntly.
"It represents the time required for their injuries to heal," the king explained, his tone carrying a mix of gravity and intrigue. His piercing gaze lingered on Arnold.
"Oh," Arnold replied nonchalantly.
"Those injuries were inflicted by you," Fernand continued. "No matter the circumstances, they are still your family. You should not have struck them so heavily."
"They were four," Arnold countered, meeting his father's gaze directly. "And I was alone. If I hadn't hit them hard, it would be me lying bedridden now."
"Fair enough," Fernand conceded with a nod. He hadn't come to reprimand his son but to assess him further. "But what I find more intriguing is how you managed to win so decisively."
"My royal blood has already awakened," Arnold stated simply.
"Show me," Fernand instructed, curiosity flickering in his golden eyes.
Arnold complied without hesitation. As before, his body underwent a striking transformation. His frame elongated, becoming more refined and powerful. Fiery patterns appeared on his skin, glowing faintly, and the air around him grew noticeably hotter.
"Impressive," Fernand remarked, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he observed the manifestation of Arnold's awakened bloodline. The very air seemed to ripple with heat, a testament to the power coursing through his son.
"But even with awakened royal blood, defeating four siblings older than you without injury is extraordinary. How did you achieve this?"
"I possess the world's strongest combat talent," Arnold replied, his tone as steady as ever.
Fernand chuckled at his son's bold claim, interpreting it as youthful arrogance. Nonetheless, the results spoke for themselves—Arnold's combat prowess was undeniably exceptional, even if his words seemed exaggerated.
"How old are you now?" Fernand asked, betraying his lack of familiarity with his own offspring.
"Almost five," Arnold replied.
"Excellent." The king nodded, visibly pleased. Though he didn't know his son's exact birth date, Arnold's early awakening placed him well ahead of his peers. Among the royal family, even the most gifted typically awakened their bloodline around the age of ten.
Reaching into his robes, Fernand produced a small black metal box and handed it to Arnold.
Arnold glanced at the box, then at his father, before accepting it. Without hesitation, he opened it, revealing a black-and-red crystalline orb that hovered inside, exuding an oppressive energy.
"What is this?" Arnold asked, feeling the power within him stir in response to the orb. His body yearned to absorb it, but he suppressed the urge effortlessly.
"This is a crystallized essence left behind by a royal who awakened their bloodline three times before passing," Fernand explained, his expression tinged with surprise at Arnold's composure.
Even Fernand himself would have struggled to resist the allure of such a powerful relic. Yet here his young son stood, calm and unshaken.
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