Chapter 102

Following the boy’s lead, Noyer’s soldiers surged into the palace like an unstoppable force, swiftly executing their mission without hesitation. Their eyes scanned the scene of carnage only briefly before triumphantly proclaiming, “Long live the Fifth Prince!” announcing the success of the coup.

With the ascension of the new emperor that day, the name of Rezette echoed throughout Van Yela. The emergence of the fierce and unyielding dragon, fiercely loyal to the new ruler, not only rattled the Northern Federation but also sent shockwaves through the southern reaches of Grandel.

Noyer’s contentment, finally achieving his ambitions of over a decade, peaked as he lavished rewards upon his brother, granting him official titles and vast territories.

“Let your fortress be known as Kyrstan. Your name is now complete. You stand as a true man. Hahaha!”

The boy, however, averted his gaze from the new emperor’s words, seemingly unaffected. Above the fortress shrouded in the stench of death, snowflakes danced in the frigid air.

In this unforgiving season of icy stillness, his cheeks, kissed by the biting wind, bore a stark contrast of pallor and crimson. Within his clenched fist, blood dripped, its origins unknown to all but him.

Suddenly, his own reflection felt foreign to him. He surveyed the other knights in the hall, all pristine and unblemished. There seemed to be none marked by the stain of blood like himself. The sunlight filtering through frosted windows cast a radiant glow upon the helmets of the assembled knights.

“Noyer Erdelich.”

“From now on, it’s ‘Your Majesty’ for you. As a duke, it’s fitting to pay homage to the emperor,” he declared with a hint of pride.

“Am I truly a man?”

Noyer brushed off the question with a jovial slap on his brother’s back.

“Of course! Gone is the sly, shrewd crow of yesteryears.”

“A man…”

“What’s wrong with being a man?! You’ve been granted a castle and a title, Rezette. You’re now a noble, one of those esteemed figures you once envied. Embrace your newfound status!”

Rezette hesitated, then let the severed head in his grasp fall carelessly. He wiped the blood from his trembling palm onto his clothes—an action foreign to his former self.

He, along with Noyer and the glittering assembly, attempted to cleanse himself, yet the stains of blood remained stubbornly ingrained in his attire.

Draped in the tainted cloak, Rezette made his way towards Rotiara, burdened with the spoils of his newfound station. At just fifteen winters old, he ascended to become the master of the fabled land.

***

Sixteen years had bled by since then, leaving only the faintest scar of spring. Now, the Emperor’s unwelcome gift arrived at Rotiara Castle.

Rebecca Petisson, her face a mask of disapproval, stood before a gaggle of heavily rouged women in gowns that spilled dramatically off their shoulders. She lost her breath, not from the display of flesh, but from the absurdity of it all.

“Is this some twisted jest?” she thundered, her voice cracking with barely contained fury. “Your Majesty, what in the seven hells is the meaning of this? His Highness is a mere stripling, barely sixteen! He’s just beginning to experience the world! You expect him to be shackled to a wife already? Have you lost your mind?!”

The messenger, a man with a perpetually worried expression, stammered, “Marriages of political convenience are not uncommon among the nobility, Lady Petisson.”

“But is this about convenience, or about manipulating a young man’s untamed emotions?” Rebecca spat back. “Who do you think you are treating like a horse!”

A horse, raised for its seed.

The day the young prince learned the meaning of “broodmare” was the day a naked woman had entered his chambers. Without warning, a monstrous rage had consumed him, a rage that defied explanation. It was a primal revulsion that ran deeper than mere instinct. The image of his deceased mother flashed before his eyes, fueling the fire within him. He’d acted without a single thought, and the woman lay lifeless on the floor.

The next night, another woman met the same grisly fate. By the third night, a chilling realization dawned on the prince. He had no memory of violence, only the sickening sight of a dead woman beside him, her eyes forever locked in silent accusation.

A scream tore through the air, shattering the silence of the night. Rebecca Petisson, her face drained of color, rushed into the bedroom. The boy, his gaze unnervingly blank, met her terrified eyes. A glint of gold on the floor – the remains of her spectacles, shattered by the invisible force that erupted when he heard the door open.

“Your Highness,” Rebecca stammered, her voice tight, “go to the study. I’ll clean this up, Lord Rezette.”

He didn’t respond, but at the sound of his title, Lord Rezette, a flicker of recognition crossed his features. He moved with the mechanical grace of someone emerging from a nightmare, the sound of drying blood flaking off his skin echoing in the tense silence. The metallic tang of blood filled his senses.

Leaving Rebecca to her task, the boy walked out into the quiet hallway. The flickering candlelight cast grotesque shadows that seemed to stretch longer than he remembered from his childhood.

He appeared human now, no trace of the scales that once marked him as different. Years of struggle had honed his control over the volatile power that pulsed within him. His body had matured, lean muscle building over a broadening frame. 

But the power remained a constant threat. A flicker of rage, a lapse in concentration, and the power would surge forth, manifesting around his right arm. The years had only amplified the terrifying insanity that threatened to consume him.

A cold dread settled in his stomach as he awoke to the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air.  Killing had been as natural to him as breathing for years, the tally of lives lost easily exceeding a thousand. Human, animal, insect – all were the same. But a shift began the moment a name, a gift from his brother, was bestowed upon him.

Filthy.

The word echoed in his mind as he scrubbed his hands raw under the unforgiving water.  

He scrubbed his crimson-stained hands under the unforgiving chill of running water. The coppery scent that clung to him was suddenly revolting. They said he was becoming human. But the boy had yet to find a single being similar to himself. No reflection in their eyes mirrored the monster within.

Humanity was a labyrinth compared to his past. Mastering speech and writing had opened doors, but also confusion.  Rebecca Petisson, a basin and cloth in hand, found him in the study, his face streaked with crimson.

“You’re experiencing human emotions,” she said gently, wiping his cheeks. “Being part of this world, it’s natural. Embrace it.”

“Emotions?”  The word was foreign on his tongue.

“Guilt, perhaps. The aversion to death, the stench of blood. A mix of shock, regret, fear, self-loathing…”

He stared at her, blank. Sympathy? A concept as alien as the tenderness in her touch.

“Remember this feeling,” Rebecca continued. “Show even a shred of compassion for those you take. Unnecessary killing stops now. Enemies are one thing, but protect your people.”

“My people?”

“Just as you belong to His Majesty, you have those who trust you, rely on you. Me, Alfred, Sobeul, everyone at Rotiara.”

The boy, a creature of destruction, grappled with the alien concept of belonging.  Harmony, peace, comfort –  words without meaning in his world.  Shock, remorse, self-blame… what the hell did any of it mean?

“How do you feel when you think of your mother, Rezette?”

Rezette paused, a rare hesitation settling over him. The thought of his mother stirred a tempest within him, a relentless pounding near his heart and ribs that left him bewildered.

Rebecca’s gaze softened. “That, Rezette, is sadness, longing, and love. You may not understand it yet, but it’s a truth that resides deep within you.”

With gentle hands, she cradled his, wiping away the crimson stains that marred his skin. “Live as a human, Rezette. I promise, a life filled with these emotions, however complex, will be far richer, far brighter, than the darkness you once knew.”

***

Seventeen brought a tide of knowledge for the boy. He grasped nuances of human expressions, mimicking some, forcing others down even if empathy remained elusive. A fierce yearning to truly be human bloomed within him.

Yet, the deeper he delved, the starker the contrast between him and ordinary people. Humans didn’t view each other as prey. They didn’t grapple with the constant, primal urge to procreate. No human ripped their way into the world.

Most troubling, the concept of guilt, painstakingly explained by Rebecca, remained a murky abstraction. He couldn’t grasp the emotions of compassion, empathy, or acceptance. He was fundamentally broken. It took months just to differentiate “his people” from everyone else.

Then, every few months, the dam would break. The beast clawed its way back, a tide of madness sweeping away reason. He became a whirlwind of destruction – tearing, smashing, devouring, burning. Every desire became a primal demand, satisfied through theft, plunder, anything to fulfill the ravenous need within. Morality, a fragile veneer, shattered against the ironclad grip of instinct.

The loss of control was a suffocating terror. When the carefully constructed walls of his human facade crumbled, he was left a wreck, forced to rebuild from the shattered pieces. The human rules became a constant mantra – don’t kill needlessly, don’t steal, or face the Emperor’s wrath and lose everything precious. Yet, reciting them like scripture only deepened his self-loathing.

The memories that followed each relapse were a horrific tapestry: the sight of himself, a monstrous blur, leaving a trail of death and carnage. The nest he’d meticulously built, fueled by insatiable desires and crazed frenzy, transformed into a grotesque heap of refuse upon regaining his sanity. Filthy, impure. The world recoiled, branding him a demon, a wretched spawn of humanity.

Only then did the meaning of “monster” truly sink in. It wasn’t just the lack of human speech or the absence of a human name. Rebecca’s promise of a fulfilling human life was a cruel lie. In this endless cycle of bloodshed, erratic madness, and fragile humanity, the boy learned a single, profound truth: self-hatred. Years passed, and it became the only emotion he truly understood.