Prologue
As the crowd in the colosseum roared with the highest of anticipation, the two fighters stood in the ring, fatigued from the countless blows they had exchanged to one another, while also struggling to stay upright. At last, amidst this dire situation one of them finally spoke:
"This is it, Prince. You and I both know that only one of us can leave this place as the champion."
In return, the Prince scoffed and retorted, "Silence, you commoner."
With a smirk, the Prince's opponent shouted, "Well– this commoner will be the one to humble your smug royal ass."
Both of them raised their fighting stances. Then, without warning, one of them lunged forward, closing the distance between them, and then…
POW!
The crowd erupted with an even greater roar at the end of the final showdown, the arena seeming to quake with the raw adrenaline of what had just unfolded.
WE HAVE A WINNER!
BEHOLD! THE WINNER OF THIS YEAR'S DEVIL'S DOMAINE CHAMPIONSHIP IS…
CHAPTER 1 : A Prince's Daily Routine
"Prince Tyfon… Prince Tyfon… wake up."
On his bed, his Royal Highness yawned aloud while making an exaggerated sound as he stretched his arms up to the ceiling.
"Morning Sinclair." The drowsy prince replied back to his morning call.
Sinclair is the Prince's Royal Caretaker since the prince was still a newborn, the King himself is the one who appointed her to be his caretaker fourteen years ago. She is a Gorgon, however unlike typical gorgons her upper body is more keenly resembling a human and from the middle abdomen downward her features became serpentine. Her hair is not made up of snakes but with ordinary strands, Her face is that of a peerless maiden, her long green hair complements her bright blue eyes, her scales is also a similar color to her hair but with a darker undertone. She is adorned with a pair of golden bracelets and also a golden choker, her attire is that of a typical maid which exaggerates her bosoms which seems to be spilling out of her clothes.
"Prince Tyfon, you can go to the bathhouse before me. I am almost done cleaning your room." Sinclair spoke with a gentle motherly tone beside the prince's bed, it seems to be a daily routine for her to do this since she is cleaning Prince Tyfon's room with such gracefulness.
"Alright, see you there." the Prince nodded with an affirmative and got off his bed. When the Prince reached his door, the door suddenly opened wide as if someone had anticipated the Prince's action.
"GOOD MORNING, PRINCE!" an energetic voice called as the doors swung open.
The Prince stepped out of his chamber and glanced at them for a brief moment. An Elf and an Orc stood on each side, holding the chamber doors wide open for the prince to enter the hallway. Both wore the standard kingdom guard attire: full plate armor with the Kingdom's crest engraved at the center. A red textile armband was wrapped around each of their arms, embroidered with golden thread in the shape of the same crest seen on their armor. Their individual ranks were stitched beneath it—in this case, the markings of fresh recruits.
The Prince silently nods towards the guards to let them know that he acknowledges their greetings and thus, the prince walks to the direction of the bathhouse…
The kingdom of Yunisiya lies at the heart of the Middle-World continent, home to a wide range of diverse denizens: Elves, Gorgons, Orcs, Goblins, Werewolves, and many others. Though the kingdom was founded only twenty years ago, its ruler has already raised it into a thriving and prosperous Kingdom.
In the hallway, Tyfon scurries his way to the bathhouse and ponders: "How will I ever hope to match my father's brilliance." As the only child and heir to the throne, Prince Tyfon always seeks greater knowledge and strength whenever the opportunity arises, so that when the time comes for his ascension; he can be an excellent king which even surpasses his father.
Lost in thought, Tyfon accidentally bumped into someone and fell on the cool marble floor of the hallway.
"Ugh—That hurts!" the Prince exclaimed.
"Oh—Sorry Prince, didn't see ya there." said by a young man with a lively, energetic voice.
The man extended his arm toward the Prince, who was still sitting on the floor. The Prince accepted the gesture and grabbed his hand. The man's hands were cold—too cold, in fact. He wore the kingdom's sigil on his armor, but unlike the guards Tyfon had seen earlier outside his chambers, his armor was custom-made. Its design resembled medieval winter armor crafted from buffalo hide dyed red. The vest was held together with belt buckles instead of conventional buttons, and the top-left chest area bore the kingdom's sigil. His long pants were black and had a simple finish.
after the Prince raised himself with the help of the man he boldly spoke.
"Wolfmon! shouldn't you be by my father's side?"
Wolfmon joyfully responded to the Prince's retort:
"Oh–no, no. The king suddenly requested Mr. Ruben instead. He is the one now accompanying his highness to the Eastern Empire; given that he is skilled in diplomacy I'm not surprised. So–since I have nothing better to do, I'm just loitering around, haha!"
"I guess there won't be training today…" The Prince had said to himself, while also feeling a deep relief knowing that he could have more leisure time to himself today.
Before making a nonchalantly "huh" sound, showing his disinterest with his father's expedition.
"I have an idea, how about you play with Maya. To help you cure your boredom."
Wolfmon's eyes sparkled as if he had received the greatest gift the world had to offer.
"yes–Yes! LET ME PLAY WITH H–"
Abrupt total silence
Wolfmon suddenly stopped talking, flushed red in embarrassment as everyone in the hallway stopped whatever they were doing just to stare at him; as if all of the bystanders were thinking to say the same thing, "How dare a mere commoner act in such childish behavior in front of royalty."
"Cough–cough. It would be an honor, Prince Tyfon, for me to entertain Maya."
Wolfmon knelt until one of his knees touched the floor as he spoke those words. Tyfon himself had a second hand embarrassment from Wolfmon's previous action, but a promise is a promise so…
"Maya, Come out"
While Tyfon snapped his finger
Suddenly a dark circle appeared on the floor of the hallway; it is the size of a melon, the hue it emits is that of the deepest part in the abyss. A creature slowly crawls its way out of the shape; the creature itself resembles that of a canine, the only notable feature is that its stubby legs are not proportional to its head. Its fur is primarily black with a glowing oceanic blue accent on all its orifices.
Bark! Bark!
Maya playfully circles around Tyfon's legs while simultaneously rubbing her head; as if to spread her scent to her beloved master.
"Maya, you can go ahead and play with Wolfmon." Tyfon said with a tired tone.
Bark! Bark! As to say that she understands her duty.
Maya drooped her tongue while wagging her tail to convey her excitement.
Wolfmon picked Maya off the floor; and carried her in a baby cradle right before saying their farewell to the Prince.
Tyfon resumed walking toward the bathhouse, his mind drifting to the prestige of the Royal Guard. This title is bestowed only to exceptionally talented and loyal subordinates by the king himself; military personnel could not hope to achieve this title by climbing their rank up in the army. Without the king's acknowledgement, the title remains forever out of reach.
There are cool perks when becoming a Royal Guard. For one, they live in the castle and they have their own personal chambers. Secondly, if needed, they have a higher authority over the army than the Army General. Lastly, all of them have the honor to wield the kingdom's sacred treasure and custom-made armour.
There are a total of four Royal Guards in Yunisya. First is Wolfmon—his race is known as the Wolfman. Although he appears to be in his early thirties, he is actually the youngest among the four. At only twenty years old, he has already achieved the coveted rank of Royal Guard. He stands at 180 cm tall, with hair the color of a blue wolf pup. Despite the name of his race suggesting a connection to werewolves, Wolfmen are far more humanoid than wolf-like; however, he can transform into a werewolf if provoked enough. His grooming is always neat, and he has begun growing his sideburns—a tradition among his people. His blue eyes complement his innate ability to conjure ice.
He is known to his enemies by the moniker "The Thousand-Year Winter." Wolfmon wields one of the kingdom's sacred treasures: a pair of twin swords equal in length and weight. These are far from the typical, run-of-the-mill weapons issued to soldiers. Each blade has a curved edge like a cutlass and a flat tip reminiscent of a cleaver—perfect for slicing, though not ideal for stabbing. The swords widen toward the end of the blade and are adorned with engravings depicting a primordial spirit reaching for something beyond its grasp. Each pommel holds an elemental gem—one of ice and one of wind—crafted to amplify Wolfmon's natural ice powers. It is said that if he were to unleash his full strength, he could freeze an entire country, plunging it into a thousand-year winter. That is how he earned his fearsome moniker.
Next is Mr. Ruben. He is the only human in the entire kingdom and the commander of the Royal Guards—and, regrettably, my combat training master. He is the eldest and most experienced of the four and is currently accompanying Father on his travels. He is also known as the "Walking Death"; anyone unfortunate enough to be on his hit list will never live to see the light of day.
Following him is Ebony Jane, the Dead Shot. She is a Dark Elf—a rare minority among the elven race. She is an exceptional marksman, one of the greatest in the kingdom, for whenever she draws a bowstring, her arrow never misses its mark.
Lastly, there is Grukin Copperbeard, the Mountain Splitter. He is a Dwarf, though unlike most of his kind, he was born with a rare form of gigantism, giving him a more human-like stature while retaining the distinct features of a dwarf. He is the strongest of the Royal Guards in terms of physical power, and it is said he can split a mountain in half using nothing but his fists.
All of them share one trait: in their respective specialties—talent, leadership, accuracy, or raw strength—they stand above all others. They are the pinnacle of their fields.
After walking for several minutes at this point, Tyfon finally reached the bath house where several maids approached him to undress his royal highness of his sleeping gown, which they then picked up and all began to leave.
When all the maids had left the bathhouse, Tyfon entered the caldarium; a pool of hot bath water in the center of the bathhouse, since the prince preferred bathing in a warmer temperature after waking up.
sssslip… sssslip…
Not long after, a soft slithering sound entered the bathhouse. But since the floor was already quite wet, the noise resembled a finger sliding across a pane of wet glass. Without turning around to see who had entered, the Prince spoke:
"Sinclair, what is the agenda for today?"
As if she had anticipated the question, Sinclair immediately responded:
"For today's schedule, you will have the following:
At 10 a.m., your lesson with your royal tutor.
Next—at 2 p.m., after you have lunch—you will be making your monthly royal progress through the capital, so that shouldn't take too long like last month's.
And finally, at 4 p.m., since Mr. Ruben isn't here to conduct training, it seems you are free for the rest of the day."
Tyfon, already resting both his arms on the edge of the caldarium, lifted his head toward the ceiling—only for the pair of his black eyes to meet Sinclair's, who was looking down right at him.
"Alright, Sinclair. You can start cleaning me now."
Sinclair smiled. She had already brought the prince's bathing kit, held neatly in one hand, and replied,
"Let's proceed."
She began by washing Tyfon's hair with shampoo. His hair, silky and smooth, reflected the warm light of the bathhouse as she rinsed it, making it appear as though a faint halo shimmered above his head. As she continued cleaning his body, she remarked,
"Prince Tyfon, I've noticed that your birthmark has grown longer."
Tyfon had been born with two birthmarks resembling that of his father's. One rested at the corners of his eyes—red, sharp, and shaped like a sharp teardrop about three centimeters long. The second lay at the center of his chest, a four-pointed star, also colored red. Recently, the marks had begun to lengthen. Not so quickly that anyone would notice at a glance, but not slow enough that those closest to him would fail to see the change.
"Yeah I noticed it too." said the prince, eyes still shut after his hair was rinsed.
"I'll move on cleaning your body now." Sinclair stated, while beginning to add soap to the sponge that she is holding. She began to squeeze the sponge multiple times until the sponge began to foam up, before scrubbing the prince's body with it.
The prince's pale, waxy skin glowed even brighter after Sinclair had finished scrubbing that area; "okay Prince– please step out of the bath, I want to wipe your body dry." Tyfon obliged and stepped out of the water; he stood still while Sinclair grabbed a towel and started to dry the prince beginning with his wings. Sinclair's hands near the Prince's wings however, before she could dry off his soaked black wings he said; "Don't bother–" as soon he spoke those words he violently fluttered his wings so much in fact that the bucket Sinclair placed on the floor launched back until it hit a wall. This action the prince did also manage to dry off his entire body completely.
A shock was not seen on Sinclair's face as if she had seen him done the exact same actions before. After thoroughly checking and verifying that the prince is completely dry, she then brought a change of clothes for the prince, it is his usual royal attire; a simple white vest, black pants and leather sandals, Sinclair also brought the Prince's accessories, a pair of golden arm bracelets that has an intricate design to it, and a red scarf which has an ornate golden design that was dropped over the prince's neck.
After Sinclair finished dressing Prince Tyfon, he began walking back to his chambers as his first agenda of the day was about to begin.
Somewhere in a rundown building on the outskirts of Yunisiya, a group of men—though "thugs" would be a far more fitting term—were arguing amongst themselves, until one of the grunts finally spoke:
"I've heard that the pompous Prince will be showing himself off again."
"Where!?" one of them demanded furiously.
Quivering in fear, the man who had brought up the topic stuttered, "T-Tomorrow… a-at noon… if I-I'm not w-wrong, it s-should be… in the capital."
"The capital, you say? Hahaha—well boys, I guess we know where to find tomorrow's paycheck."
A low, menacing voice cut through the room, accompanied by a wide, predatory grin.
"B–but boss…" one of the thugs stammered, his voice trembling with fear.
In an instant, the man's skull was crushed by a clawed hand before he could utter another word.
"Anyone else!?" the Boss roared, his voice echoing through the room as the lifeless body hit the floor.
"That's what you get for defying Lord Scar-Face!" another thug shouted, forcing confidence into his voice as if trying to mask his own terror.
"Good! Hahaha—" Scar-Face burst into laughter, the sound deep, violent, and far from sane.
Scar-Face was the leader of the Lion Outlaws. His species, the Lionmen, were a subhuman race known for their humanoid bodies paired with the head and tail of a lion. Among the subhuman races, they were considered one of the most savage, their instincts still far more animalistic than most. Yet even by those standards, Scar-Face was notorious—his violent tendencies surpassed those of his brethren.
He took great pride in the scars that covered his muscular body. To him, each mark was a badge of honor, a testament to the countless battles he had survived. He called them his "war medals," proof of his strength and ruthlessness.
"I can't wait for tomorrow."