"Before the High Tribunal; for the crimes of treason, rebellion, and collusion with the enemy… In the name of the Exalted God of the Moon, I, Archduke Rolan, head of House Bunrean, sentence you to death, Areth, son of Oregon."
At those words, Areth's eyes flew open in shock. He stood at the center of the hall, heavy iron chains binding his wrists and ankles. His gaze found Rolan first. The first thing he noticed was the smirk beneath the man's mustache.
Then he looked around.
His brothers were the first faces he saw. Every single one of them wore crooked smiles. They were mocking him. Belittling him. Worst of all, they looked pleased.
"You all know," he said, his voice cracking though he did not retreat. "You know I am innocent!"
The vaulted ceiling magnified his cry.
"And yet… and yet you remain silent. You… you are monsters!"
His eyes filled. His throat tightened. His lips trembled. These people carried his blood. They were the ones he had once laughed with, the ones he had believed he would march beside into war.
And yet they were the very ones who had conspired to condemn him to death.
None of them showed even a trace of guilt.
None except one.
Among everyone present, the person he valued most was his own mother. In her gaze, he could see it: guilt. The moment their eyes met, she looked away. She did not even deign to look in her son's direction again. She was the center of the conspiracy.
Duchess Elizabeth.
A formidable elemental archmage. The heiress of a powerful noble house. The mother of Crown Prince Areth, blessed by the gods and gifted with immense potential at a young age.
She was the person Areth treasured above all else in this world.
Everything had begun with the death of his father, the Bloody Duke Oregon.
It had been sudden. Suspicious.
But before there was even time to mourn, the balance of the palace shifted. The guard changed hands. The Landerbern seal passed into the control of Archduke Rolan. By the time Areth realized the truth, it was too late. His mother had forged an alliance with the most powerful noble in the kingdom.
And now, the once god-blessed heir to the duchy knelt in torn garments, shackled in chains.
Areth slowly lifted his head. The tears in his eyes had not yet dried, but the look in them no longer belonged to a broken child. Something inside him had changed. Pain was giving way to a cold, cutting clarity.
Rolan raised his hand slightly. The execution guards stepped forward, black armor gleaming with the silver crest of House Bunrean.
"Your last words?" the Archduke asked.
Areth placed his chained hands upon his knees and straightened his shoulders.
"Last words…" he murmured. Then he looked at his mother. "Mother."
Elizabeth's fingers tightened around the armrest of her throne. The magic seal beneath her nails shimmered faintly. Only Areth noticed. The air trembled ever so slightly.
"You never loved me, did you?" Areth's voice was calm now. "It was all a lie. You've been planning this for years, haven't you?"
A murmur rippled through the hall.
Rolan's smirk hardened. "Enough of this nonsense."
The guards seized the chains.
As they moved to haul Areth to his feet, the massive doors of the hall trembled though there was no wind. The banners hanging beneath the high arches rustled. It was as if even the stone walls refused to accept the verdict.
Rolan's gaze sharpened.
"Finish it."
At that moment, a figure stepped forward from the nobles' gallery to the side.
A deep blue gown embroidered with silver. The crest of House Bunrean upon her shoulders. Slender and elegant, yet standing with pride.
Archduke Rolan's daughter.
Areth's fiancée.
Lysandra Bunrean.
The murmur in the hall died at once.
Areth's eyes shifted to her. They had grown up together. Trained under the same masters. Stood side by side at political assemblies. Raised as the future duke and duchess.
Lysandra's face was expressionless. No mockery. No mercy.
Only cold composure.
"Father..." she said evenly, "the trial is complete. The decree has been read. However, before the execution, no divine sign has been received indicating the withdrawal of the heir's blessing."
Her words echoed across the hall.
Areth's heart quickened. Was she helping him?
Rolan frowned. "The gods are not obliged to send signs."
Lysandra tilted her head slightly. Her voice remained calm, but calculation flickered in her eyes.
"True. Yet a divine blessing is not a transferable inheritance. If the heir is executed and the blessing is released… who can guarantee where it will flow?"
Whispers spread.
Rolan narrowed his eyes. "What are you implying?"
Lysandra paused, then turned her gaze to the other end of the gallery. There stood Areth's younger brother.
Prince Caelum.
The earlier mockery was gone from his face. In its place burned restrained ambition. Lysandra spoke more clearly this time.
"If, after Areth's execution, the blessing flows to my fiancé Caelum… that would, of course, serve the kingdom's stability."
Areth's mind went blank.
A new engagement.
Caelum.
The transfer of the blessing.
The pieces fell into place.
"But if the blessing transfers uncontrollably," Lysandra continued, "the Moon Goddess's grace might pass to an unintended child somewhere in the realm. Instead, the blessing should be transferred in a controlled manner."
Slow comprehension dawned on Rolan's face.
"You propose that before the execution, the blessing be extracted with the sacred weapon…"
"Yes, Father."
It felt as though an invisible blow struck Areth's chest.
She was not helping him.
She was not protecting him.
She was a traitor too.
"Lysandra…" His voice trembled for the first time.
She turned to him. There was neither love nor hatred in her eyes.
"Was… was it for this?" he whispered. "Not me… but the blessing?"
Her jaw tightened slightly. "The kingdom is greater than one person."
"I was your fiancé."
"And soon you will not be."
The words were sharp and absolute. Areth's heart grew heavy. His mother's betrayal had been a knife. This was something else entirely. He had truly loved her. He remembered their walks in the palace gardens, their quiet laughter at the academy, the plans they had made for the future.
Was all of it calculation?
"Caelum is strong," Lysandra went on. "The people love him. If the blessing flows to him, the kingdom will not fracture. And I will fulfill my duty."
As Areth struggled to process her words, the Archduke had already ordered the sacred weapon to be brought forth.
Amelum.
The Sacred Sword of the Moon Goddess. Any blood spilled by this weapon would sever all power from the soul and preserve it. In other words, one slain by this blade would die before their soul could pass on. Their blood would retain the entirety of their power. The person who killed someone with this sword could seize the power of the person they killed through the sword's power. But since only someone from the Landerbern lineage could wield this sword, Caelum was the best choice.
This included divine blessings etched directly into the soul.
Areth remained on his knees, but his head was no longer bowed. The chains cut into his wrists. The iron rings at his ankles scraped against the stone. He was clearly afraid. Because if he died this way, his soul would vanish without being able to migrate to the afterlife, whether it be heaven or hell. He would die without being able to live his pitiful life and would not be able to live his afterlife.
Rolan stepped closer.
"It is over, Prince," he said coldly. "The blessing will serve the kingdom. Not your weak heart."
"Was I weak?" Areth whispered, eyes fixed on the ground.
Her face did not move, though her fingers tightened briefly around the edge of her gown.
Caelum grasped Amelum with both hands and signaled the guards. The chains were pulled. Areth was forced to his feet. When the tip of the blade pressed against his chest, the air in the hall thickened. It was as if everyone held their breath at once.
Elizabeth lifted her head. For the first time, her eyes locked with her son's.
There was fear in them. And a regret that had come far too late. Areth saw it. Understood it. She had planned the betrayal. But she hadn't anticipated that the sacred sword Amelum would become involved in the matter.
Caelum thrust the blade forward.
The moment the tip touched Areth's chest, all sound in the hall ceased. When steel met flesh, the runes flared up like imprisoned moonlight straining to break free.
And then—
Light burst outward.
But not from the sword.
From Areth.
Upon his chest, directly above his heart, the crescent carved beneath his skin ignited at once. This was no mere glow. It was a birth. The symbol flared silver, then white, then blinding lunar brilliance. Sparks leapt where the chains touched him. The crescent relief at the apex of the dome cracked.
And the sky… opened.
Literally.
The ceiling did not shatter; it melted away. In its place appeared a pure, milk-white firmament. The Crescent of the Moon manifested in the heavens, larger, closer, more vivid than ever before.
The priests fell to their knees.
"Divine intervention…" one whispered, trembling.
Caelum tried to step back, but Amelum grew heavy in his hands. The blade was no longer being pushed.
It was being pulled.
The runes began to flow backwards and the sword flew towards its rightful owner, Areth.
----------------------
"This is where it all started," Ethan said, tossing the pillow from his lap. "After this point, I thought the novel would turn into a satisfying revenge story… How fool I was."
The web novel he had been reading was titled The Journey of a Rising Hero. Its opening had been genuinely compelling. The writing was solid, and when the author suddenly increased the pace and introduced intrigue and betrayal, the story had become truly engaging.
Until the chapter where Areth was sentenced to death.
After reading it, Ethan had eagerly moved on to the next chapter, only to realize it was a colossal mistake.
Not only did the protagonist, Areth, spare the rebellious Archduke, he did not even punish him.
And forgiving his mother was the final straw. In the story, he exiled them to a luxurious summer palace, and the author dramatized the scene as though sending the traitors to a lavish estate were some grave humiliation.
"But what really pissed me off was him forgiving that bitch he called his fiancée!" Ethan muttered. "Damn it! Why did I even read this garbage? As if I don't have enough problems in my life already. Now I'm so mad at this stupid story I could punch a wall!"
He stood. In the dim light of his room, his computer screen still glowed. The chapter title stared back at him: "The Power of Forgiveness."
"The power of forgiveness? More like the power of stupidity!"
He sat back down and scrolled. He reread the scene where Areth forgave his mother. The author described Elizabeth's tears, her remorseful confession, and her son embracing her in painstaking detail.
Ethan clenched his teeth.
"You survive a palace coup. Your mother betrays you with the strongest duke in the kingdom. Your fiancée conspires with your brother. They try to kill you with a sacred sword that shatters souls. And you… exile?"
For a moment, he imagined it differently.
Areth should have risen in that scene.
When the Moon Goddess's light appeared and Areth ascended as her champion, Rolan's face should have twisted in terror. Amelum had to turn back and kill those who wanted to harm his master. Every traitor should have been forced to kneel. Blood should have flowed. Every head in that hall should have rolled.
Power should have gone to the one who truly deserved it.
"Revenge," Ethan said quietly. "That's what this story needed."
At that moment, the screen flickered.
Ethan frowned. His computer was old, but this was different. The text wavered. Letters shifted. Sentences unraveled.
[The Journey of a Rising Hero faded.]
In its place appeared a single line:
[The hero was written incorrectly.]
Ethan froze.
"What?"
He moved the mouse. No response.
Another line appeared.
[Would you like to correct it?]
His heart began to race. A marketing trick? A hidden alternate ending? An interactive chapter?
"Ridiculous…" he whispered, but his eyes remained locked on the words.
Two options appeared.
[Accept] [Decline]
Ethan swallowed. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He hesitated for a moment.
Then he moved the cursor.
[Accept.]
The instant he clicked, the screen turned white. Instead of the light spilling into the room, the room itself was swallowed by the light. The floor vanished beneath his feet. A roaring filled his ears, as if thousands of whispers were speaking at once.
He tried to scream, but no sound came out.
The first thing he felt was cold.
The cold of metal against skin.