The legends of the spar between the "Cold King" of Earth and the "Golden Scourge" of Aetheleon did not stay within the courtyard walls. By sunset, the news of the draw had rippled through the Human Kingdom like a tidal wave. In the taverns of the lower districts and the gilded parlors of the High Nobility, the narrative was the same: the "Normal" grandson of Beatrice was not merely a political pawn—he was a martial anomaly.
For Rayn and Jai, however, the glory was secondary to the physical toll. Both were admitted to the Royal Infirmary, where high-tier healers used concentrated Life-Essence and celestial salves to knit bone and muscle back together. A full day of recovery followed, a forced period of stillness that felt like a lifetime to men built for motion.
By the afternoon of the second day, the "Company of Heroes" had reunited. To escape the stifling heat of the palace and the prying eyes of the ministers, they retreated to the Grove of Perpetual Frost. This was a hidden sanctuary at the very border where the Human and Elf Kingdoms bled into one another and it was right beside palace.
They sat around a massive, circular bench carved from Aetheleon White-Oak—a rare, semi-sentient timber found only in the deep forests. The wood was cold to the touch, possessing a unique biological property that allowed it to reflect 99% of solar radiation, ensuring that even under the twin suns, the grove remained as cool as a spring morning.
A series of red, silk-weave umbrellas blossomed above them, casting a ruby glow over the white wood table. For the first time since Rayn's arrival, the atmosphere was genuinely peaceful.
"Wait, so you're telling me," Brokk said, his massive dwarf hands cradling a flagon of chilled nectar, "that on Earth, you don't have magic, but you have 'internet'? A web that connects every mind on the planet?"
Rayn nodded, leaning back, the cool wood of the bench soothing his aching spine. "In a way. It's a repository of all human knowledge. You don't need a scroll or a master; you just need a screen. We built our own 'Omniscience' out of silicon and electricity."
Jai laughed, his blue eyes bright as he leaned forward. "That sounds more terrifying than a High-class spell. A world where everyone knows everything? No wonder you're so cynical, Rayn."
The group shared stories for hours. Rayn listened with a quiet, corporate intensity as they described the geography of Aetheleon—the floating islands of the Elf Kingdom, the subterranean forges of the Dwarves, and the terrifying "Void-Gates" that bordered the world. For a moment, they weren't warriors or princes; they were just young men trying to understand the vastness of the universe.
The laughter died in an instant.
A sudden, crushing pressure descended upon the grove. It wasn't the refined, kingly pressure of Beatrice; it was a jagged, suffocating weight that smelled of stale wine and old resentment. The birds in the White-Oak trees fell silent, and even the Star-Flowers seemed to wilt.
They turned their heads in unison. Walking down the stone path was Edward, Jai's father. He was a man who looked like a decayed version of Jai—his features were sharp and handsome, but his eyes were bloodshot and filled with a bitter, simmering rage. He moved with a stiff, military gait, his presence a dark blot on the serene landscape.
Jai's expression went from joy to a mask of practiced, hollow obedience. He stood up slowly, his movements robotic.
"Hey, Jai, where are you going?" Rayn asked, his "Cold King" instincts screaming that something was wrong. "Stay with us. You're the only one who can translate the technical terms of the vortex for me. Don't leave yet."
"Please, man," Winston added, though his voice lacked conviction. He, like James, had seen this shadow before.
Jai didn't look back. "Sorry, guys. Please... enjoy the time without me."
Edward didn't wait for Jai to reach him. He stormed forward and seized Jai's arm with a grip that made the boy's knuckles turn white. With a violent jerk, he pulled Jai away from the table. The force was so great that Jai's training shirt caught on a splinter of the White-Oak, tearing a jagged hole in the fabric.
As Jai was dragged away, the tear revealed a glimpse of his back. Rayn's red eyes narrowed. He saw them—not the fresh bruises from their spar, but old, yellowing welts and jagged scars that looked like they had been made by shards of glass or magic-infused whips.
Rayn stood up, his gaze fixed on the retreating figures. He turned to James. James was staring at his feet, his jaw tight.
Rayn didn't have the words in the local tongue, so he used the universal language of intent. He grabbed Maksood, turned the boy around, and used his fingers to point out the exact locations on Maksood's back where he had seen the scars on Jai. He looked at James with a questioning, lethal intensity.
James sighed, his voice a low whisper. "It's Edward. He... he is a broken man, Rayn. He was the youngest son, but Beatrice saw that he lacked the 'Heart of the Sovereign.' She passed the mantle to your mother, Rena, and then to Alaric. Edward spent his life in the shadow of greatness, and now, he sees Jai as his only way to reclaim the crown. He thinks pain is the only way to forge a King. He's jealous of Alaric's strength, and he's terrified of yours."
Rayn didn't wait for the rest of the explanation. His mind, trained in the brutal efficiency of Earth's corporate wars, reached a singular conclusion: A tool that is broken by its master cannot be used to build a kingdom.
"Alaric," Rayn muttered. He turned and began to sprint toward the palace, the "Company of Heroes" following in his wake.
Rayn didn't go to Jai's room first. He knew he lacked the political and physical standing to stop a father from "disciplining" his son in this world. He needed a bigger hammer.
He reached Alaric's study and kicked the door open without ceremony. Alaric, the Commander of the Royal Guard, looked up from his maps, his hand instinctively flying to his sword. Rayn didn't speak; he grabbed James by the tunic and shoved him forward.
"Tell him," Rayn commanded in English, his voice like cracking ice.
James, trembling, explained the situation—the torn shirt, the old scars, and the direction Edward had taken Jai.
Alaric's face didn't just turn angry; it turned into a mask of divine retribution. He didn't say a word. He stood up, and the air in the room seemed to ignite. He walked past them, his cape billowing like a funeral shroud.
Meanwhile, inside Jai's private quarters, the air was thick with the scent of copper and spilled coffee.
Edward stood over Jai, who was kneeling on the floor. A shattered ceramic cup lay in pieces around him; Edward had thrown it with enough force to split the skin on Jai's forehead. Blood was tracking down Jai's face, dripping onto his golden tunic.
"Why are you so weak?" Edward spat, his voice a ragged snarl. He raised his hand, and a lash of golden Qi erupted, striking Jai across the chest. "In my father's era, my aunt Beatrice took the crown because my father was 'unfit.' Then she offered the line of succession to Alaric, that my father's first wife son. And now? Now that bitch Rena—a woman with no power, a 'Normal' who should have been exiled—gives birth to a menace like Rayn!"
Edward kicked Jai in the ribs, the sound of a crack echoing in the room. Jai didn't scream. He simply stared at the floor, his blue eyes vacant.
"Rayn is a monster!" Edward screamed. "When he understands his full power, he will take everything! Our lineage will be nothing but a footnote in the history of the Chenwongo! You were supposed to be my vindication, Jai! But you fought him to a draw?"
Outside the door, Mable stood with her back to the wall. Her hands were trembling, but her face was set in a grim, delusional mask. Endure it, Jai, she thought. This is for your growth. This is how you become the King. Power is baptized in blood.
A sudden shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Alaric, Rayn, and the entire team standing in the hallway.
"What do you want, Alaric?" Mable asked, trying to steady her voice. "This is a family matter. My husband is... training our son."
Alaric didn't even look at her. He reached for the door handle. Mable stepped in front of him, her own golden Qi flickering. "Don't worry, Alaric. Nothing is going to happen to him. Please leave."
Alaric's eyes met hers. For twenty years, he had played the role of the loyal brother-in-law. But as he looked at Mable's complicit face, something in him snapped. A wave of killing intent—pure, unadulterated rage—hit Mable like a physical blow. Her knees buckled, and she instinctively scrambled out of the way.
Alaric kicked the door. It didn't just open; it was ripped from its hinges and sent flying across the room.
The scene inside was a nightmare. Jai was a mess of lacerations and internal bruising, his golden aura flickering like a dying candle.
Alaric didn't hesitate. He drew his sword—a blade of white steel that hummed with the resonance of a thousand battles. With a roar of fury, he swung at Edward's neck.
Edward, fueled by his own madness and desperate magic, managed to conjure a shield of jagged golden light. The impact of the sword against the shield created a shockwave that shattered every window in the room.
"You would kill your own brother for this... this failure?" Edward screamed. He surged forward, his magic lashing out in chaotic, unrefined bursts.
One of Edward's energy bolts clipped Alaric across the cheek and chest, drawing blood. Alaric ignored the pain. He moved like a whirlwind, his blade a blur of silver. Rayn, James, and the others tried to move in to help, but the sheer volume of Qi being released by the two men created a barrier they couldn't penetrate.
"I'm not killing a brother," Alaric growled, his voice vibrating with the power of his Vortex. "I'm putting down a rabid dog."
With a sudden, blinding flash, Alaric's sword bypassed Edward's guard. A sickening shink filled the room, followed by a scream that tore through the entire palace. Alaric had sliced through the tendons and bone of Edward's right arm, the limb hanging uselessly at his side.
Edward fell to his knees, his face twisted in agony. Alaric raised his sword for the final blow.
"STAY YOUR HANDS!"
The voice didn't come from the hallway. It came from the very foundations of the world.
A pressure ten times greater than Alaric's descended upon the room. It was so intense that Maksood, Little Arthur, and Morisa were instantly forced to their knees, their faces pressed against the floor. Rayn felt his bones creaking, his "Crimson Mark" on his neck start burning in protest.
Beatrice stepped into the room.
She didn't look like a grandmother. She looked like an elemental force. Her silver hair was floating in the air, and her eyes were glowing with a white light that surpassed the suns. With a simple wave of her hand, the combatants were separated by an invisible wall of force.
"Enough," she said. The word carried the weight of a mountain. "Medics! Now! Tend to the boy. And take Edward to the Iron Spire. He will answer for this in the morning."
She looked at the bloody, broken Jai, and for a fleeting second, a look of profound sorrow crossed her face before the mask of the Queen returned. "The day is done. Everyone... leave."
The night that followed was cold. The palace was silent, the usual sounds of revelry replaced by the hushed whispers of servants scrubbing blood from marble.
Rayn sat in his room, staring at his hands. He had seen the "magic" of this world today, and it wasn't just spells and fire—it was a poison that corrupted families and broke children.
A knock came at his door. A royal messenger stood there. "The Queen Mother requests your presence, Prince Rayn."
Rayn stood up and followed the messenger to the highest tower, to the private sanctum of Beatrice. The room was dark, lit only by a single bowl of white fire in the center. Beatrice stood by the window, looking out over the sleeping kingdom.
She didn't turn when he entered. Rayn walked forward, stopping a respectful distance away.
For a long time, there was only the sound of the wind. Then, Beatrice turned. She didn't look at his face; she looked at his neck, at the crimson mark that sat hidden beneath his collar.
She stepped closer, touch Rayn's neck in her hands. Her touch was surprisingly warm, but her grip was firm. She looked into his deep red eyes, her own white eyes searching for something deep within his soul.
"Rayn," she whispered, her voice carrying a tremor he had never heard before. "I have watched you fight. I have seen the way the air bends around you. I have seen the way the ancient runes on the palace walls react to your shadow."
She leaned in closer, her face inches from his.
"I am wondering... are you truly just a man from Earth? Or are you a Dragon born in a human's skin?"
Rayn's heart hammered against his ribs. The Red Dragon's whisper in his mind grew loud, a roar of recognition. He stared back at the Queen of Aetheleon, the "Cold King" and the "Sovereign" meeting in the dark.