The wind howled along the border fortress, carrying the scent of iron, dust, and old blood.
Lián Hào stood at the very edge of the battlements, gazing across the vast stretch of land that divided Azure River from Vermillion River.
The first prince's presence was a storm contained in human form—broad shoulders straight as a spear, a warrior's stance that demanded attention, his chiseled face set in perpetual seriousness.
His black hair, tied back neatly, fluttered slightly in the breeze, framing the angular, battle-hardened features that had seen countless skirmishes along the Azure-Vermillion border.
Dark amethyst eyes, sharp as blades, scanned the courtyard below, missing nothing.
Below him lay scarred plains—fields that had swallowed corpses, shattered armor, and broken ambitions. He knew every ridge and ravine by heart. He had bled for this border. Killed for it. Defended it time and time again.
This was not the face of a prince.
It was the face of a general.
A sudden clatter of boots echoed behind him.
"Your Highness!"
A soldier rushed forward, armor rattling, breath uneven. He dropped to one knee, fist thudding against his chest in a hurried salute.
Lián Hào didn't turn. "Report."
"Your Highness," the soldier said urgently, "we've received intelligence—enemy scouts have been sighted. They appear to be… watching the Emperor."
The words hit like a spark in dry grass.
Watching… the Emperor?
The temperature around Lián Hào seemed to plunge.
Slowly, he turned.
"What did you just say?" His voice was low, heavy—like a blade being drawn inch by inch from its sheath. "Explain what you mean by 'watching'."
The soldier swallowed hard. "W-We're not yet certain, Your Highness. Our informants are still investigating their intent, but the scouts are confirmed to be observing His Majesty's movements—"
That was as far as he got.
"Hmph!"
A violent surge of killing intent exploded outward, rippling through the air like an invisible shockwave. Nearby soldiers stiffened, some instinctively stepping back.
"How dare they," Lián Hào growled, fists clenching. "How dare they set their filthy eyes on my little brother."
His eyes burned, sharp and merciless.
"Do they think that just because the Emperor has no cultivation, he stands alone?" His lips curled into a cold, dangerous smile. "Do they truly believe there is no one backing him?"
Fools.
Absolute fools.
To the outside world, Lián Hào was the Azure River Kingdom's war god—feared by enemies, respected by allies, and whispered about in hushed tones by soldiers who had seen him on the battlefield.
Ruthless. Efficient. Unyielding.
But there was a side of him no one ever spoke of.
A side only one man truly knew.
Lián Hào had an older-brother syndrome.
Ever since Lián Xù had been small—thin, pale, mocked for his fragile body—Lián Hào had watched from the shadows. Anyone who sneered at his little brother. Anyone who dared ridicule him.
Even today… anyone who whispered that Lián Xù was unfit for the throne…
They never ended well.
No trials. No warnings.
Just quiet erasure.
The Regent had spoiled and sheltered Lián Xù openly.
Lián Hào had done it differently.
He protected him with blood and silence.
His gaze hardened as he looked toward the distant heart of the empire.
"Watching the Emperor…" he repeated softly, voice laced with murderous intent.
A pity.
It seemed someone had grown tired of living.
His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, as the wind carried the faint scent of palace blossoms to the border fortress.
For a fleeting moment, the raging battlefield and the scouts' intrusion faded.
A memory stirred—sharp, fragile, and relentless.
Fourteen years ago…
Lián Hào stood in the shadowed corner of the royal garden's pavilion, the delicate latticework casting a pattern of light and darkness across his grim face.
From afar, he watched.
On the soft grass of the royal garden, his three-year-old little brother Lián Xù sat huddled, thin shoulders trembling, tears streaking his pale cheeks.
Palace maids circled him, their hands rough and careless as they pushed and prodded him like he were nothing more than a discarded trinket.
"How useless," one sneered, shoving him roughly. "Crying like that won't make anyone care! The Emperor doesn't even notice you—nobody does. You're weak. You're only good for being laughed at and thrown aside!"
Another laughed, pointing at him. "Just look at him! So fragile. Honestly, it's a miracle he survived this long in the palace."
The words pierced deeper than any lash. Lian Xù tried to shrink into himself, but the laughter only grew louder, sharper. He sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve, his small frame trembling with a mixture of fear and humiliation.
The words stabbed Lián Hào sharper than any sword. Rage burned in his chest, spreading to his fingers, curling into tight fists. His knuckles whitened.
No one else saw it—the reason the Emperor rarely visited Lián Xù. Outsiders, eunuchs, even these lowly maids, thought it neglect. But only a select few knew the truth.
His little brother was fragile, delicate as porcelain, and the Emperor would not risk him in the world outside the palace walls, where even a slip could become disaster. Lián Xù's safety had always been paramount.
But the ignorance, the cruelty, the laughter—it was unbearable.
Lián Hào's eyes darkened as he motioned sharply to the guard at his side. The man dropped to a knee instantly, armor clinking softly.
"Your Highness," the guard said, wary.
"How dare they touch him," he muttered under his breath, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
Every shove, every cruel word, ignited a fire in him. He could feel it in his bones—the instinct to protect, to strike before harm could reach the boy who carried so little weight in the eyes of the court, yet so much in Lián Hào's own heart.
He flicked his gaze toward the kneeling guard.
"Make sure those palace maids never appear here again," he commanded, his voice calm but as sharp and lethal as a drawn sword. "Permanently."
The guard's knees scraped against the stone in swift acknowledgment, his head bowed low.
"Yes, Your Highness," the guard murmured, voice tight with obedience.
Without another word, Lián Hào swept from the pavilion, his cloak brushing the stone floor like a shadow sliding through night.
He paused at the edge of the garden, gazing once more at Lián Xù. The boy's tears glistened in the sunlight, his tiny form trembling from both fear and shame.
How dare they mock him? How dare they treat my cute little brother like a worthless toy, to be laughed at and cursed? They all must pay for this.
Lián Hào's jaw clenched. He swore silently, a vow sharper than any blade. Anyone who dared raise a hand—or a word—against this fragile, quiet boy would regret it. Deeply. He would ensure that no one ever dared.
Not now. Not ever.
The memories fading like morning mist, Lián Hào returned to the present.
The banners of Azure River flapped violently in the cold air, the distant mountains painted with the first streaks of dawn. His black hair, damp from the night's chill, clung slightly to his forehead, and his armored shoulders ached from the long vigil along the border.
He turned to the soldier kneeling faithfully at his side, the man's eyes wary but respectful. Lián Hào's dark gaze swept over the encampment one last time, noting the worn tents, the scattered weapons, the quiet readiness of men who had seen too many battles.
Lián Hào exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease for the briefest moment. He glanced toward the horizon, where the faint glimmer of the city's spires caught the sunlight.
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a rare expression,
fleeting,
reserved only for the thought of what awaited back home.
"Prepare to return to the Imperial City," Lián Hào commanded, his voice low but carrying the weight of authority that brooked no argument.
The soldier's head dipped further in acknowledgment. "At once, Your Highness."
"We have some cleaning to do at the palace," he added, his tone cold but precise, the words carrying more meaning than the soldier could guess.
The soldier nodded again, careful to match the silent fury in the prince's eyes with his own disciplined composure.
There would be no mercy for those who dared harm his family.