PFBE 04

Chapter 04

“Rodolfo, escort the Crown Prince back to the inner keep.”
“I will return immediately, Your Grace, the Viscount.”
“No. That won’t be necessary. You will stay by the Crown Prince’s side in the inner keep.”

The Canosa Fortress was backed by a massive cliff at the rear, while all major gates faced the advancing enemy in the front. This positioning had made the fortress easy to defend and had been the reason why Cain Felberg, the Third Prince, had been exiled here. Yet now, with the situation unfolding like this, the fortress’s location felt as if it had been deliberately chosen to force a desperate stand.

“Understood.”

Heinrich Denver, Viscount, who had lost his family in the noble power struggles and had lived quietly as a former rascal, now revealed a firm will unlike his usual lighthearted self. His subordinate knight, Rodolfo, gave a small nod in response and escorted Cain to the inner keep with a few other knights.

Bang!

But as soon as they reached the inner keep, a loud crash echoed, shaking the fortress. As Cain had predicted, the army of Count Elang was not the loyal imperial troops that had come to meet them—they were the enemy’s forces.

Bang! Boom! Crash!

Explosions and collisions heralded the start of a full-scale battle.

“High-level magic,” whispered Rodolfo, a nearby chevalier-level knight, so that Cain could recognize the gravity of the situation. The continuous manifestation of high-level magic meant that several high-ranking mages above the chevalier level were present on the battlefield. From this rank onwards, a single mage could sway the outcome of a battle with ‘war magic’.

“This is… not good,” Cain muttered.

Hiding in a tall tower next to the mansion in the inner keep, Cain focused on the sounds of battle.

The ground trembled, the tower shook.
The cries of the dying and the clashing of weapons drew nearer.

The battlefield’s sounds were approaching. This meant that the allied forces defending the outer fortress had been pushed back to this area.

In the silence, Cain spoke with a composed expression.

“Sir Rodolfo.”

Was it because of the overwhelming disparity in strength that the allies had been pushed back here so easily? Even the strongest knights remained silently shaken. Though they tried not to show it, Cain—possessed by the rascal temperament—could sense the anxiety eating away at them.

“Let’s go outside.”
“Your Highness, there is no retreat.”
“I do not mean to flee, Sir Rodolfo. I mean we should leave this cramped tower and face the enemy alongside our allies.”
“Your Highness, if you go out now, you will die.”

Rodolfo dared to speak frankly to a royal. It wasn’t just his blunt nature; the battlefield situation was dire. But Cain replied:

“Sir Rodolfo, I have lived as a rascal, but I am still a member of the Felberg Imperial family, heirs to the Stellar Throne. My father and brothers have been slaughtered. If I am to die, I do not wish for a coward’s end. I would rather die on the battlefield.”

Cain’s willingness to charge into a hopeless fight impressed Rodolfo. This was not just reckless bravado—the resolute tone suggested a prince ready to face death. Even though Rodolfo had been ordered to keep his distance, he, too, was a chevalier who valued honor. Cain’s unwavering resolve moved him.

Yet Cain was not acting out of some heroic desire for a noble death. He had a plan.

“I need to use the power of the Stellar Throne.”

Long ago, countless Stellar Thrones existed across the continent, each with its own emblem known as a Stigmata. If one of the throne’s heirs drew the Stigmata and infused it with the breath of the Stellar Throne, the power within would awaken temporarily.

The Felberg Imperial family, heirs of the ancient Stellar Thrones, possessed the inherited ability to manifest this power. All the historical miracles wrought by the Felbergs were based on these Stigmata.

However…

After the Terminal War ended the age of advanced magical civilization, most Stigmata were lost, and the bloodlines of the Thrones disappeared. The powers of the Thrones could no longer be found in this world.

But that was within the game’s narrative.

Cain’s body was possessed by the soul of the game’s creator. Naturally, he remembered the concept art for Stigmata, including some that could reverse the current situation.

Of course, simply inheriting the bloodline and drawing a Stigmata did not guarantee results. To fully manifest its power required vast amounts of magical or divine energy, as well as intensive training. Cain planned to bypass most of these preparations and awaken the Stigmata through a shortcut, aware that it could have side effects.

“I might die.”

But he could no longer delay. If the fortress fell and the enemy captured him, they would hardly spare his life.

Using the Stigmata might kill him,
but failing to reverse the situation would definitely kill him.

There was only one choice left.

“Let’s go to the battlefield.”

After Cain decided, Rodolfo’s eyes hardened.

“Long live the Third Prince! Long live the name of Felberg!”

As Cain took the sword, Rodolfo too displayed the resolve of a knight.

“Knights of the Crown, lay down your lives to protect the Third Prince. Uphold Felberg’s will to the very end.”

There was no verbal response, yet the dozen or so knights’ eyes shone with unwavering resolve. They were ready to die defending Cain.

“Open it.”

The knight opened the heavy door of the tower. Beyond it lay the blood-soaked battlefield.

“Forward!”

No one could remain calm in the face of death. Yet Cain maintained his composure and gave orders. Moving through the formation of fully armored knights, he joined the battlefield.

“Damn it, Your Highness! Why are you out here?!”

Viscount Denver’s shocked voice echoed. Seeing the “rascal prince” in the midst of soldiers risking their lives was enough to loosen even his habitual swearing.

The battle had left the Viscount’s body covered in blood, and his sword’s aura had dimmed—but he still gripped it firmly.

Though depicted as a mere rascal in Cain’s entourage, he was in fact one of the few knights in the empire who had reached the rank of Grand Chevalier.

Yet even he struggled against the overwhelming enemy forces. Looking at the allies fighting near the tower, it seemed fewer than fifty remained.

“What are you doing! Protect the prince immediately!”

The Viscount shouted, ordering the remaining knights to safeguard Cain. Scattered knights and mages hurried to form the final defense.

But behind their hurried movements, Cain quietly drew a Stigmata in the dirt with his greatsword.

A Stigmata representing Flame. As soon as he completed it, Cain felt the pulse of the Stellar Throne’s bloodline awaken within him.

Now he needed to use the Throne’s Breath, but unfortunately, he had not yet awakened it. He knew how, but it was impossible at the moment.

“But there’s a shortcut.”

Without hesitation, Cain cut deeply into his own forearm with his greatsword. Blood gushed out, and Rodolfo, standing nearby, was aghast.

“Y-Your Highness! What in the world are you…”

Before Rodolfo could finish, the Stigmata, now fully infused with the prince’s blood, shone brightly. For the first time in five hundred years, the power of the Stellar Thrones descended upon this land.

Cain raised his head to the sky.

If the Stigmata functioned properly, the Thrones would answer the call. Following his gaze, the knights saw with shock and exclaimed:

“Th-there’s writing in the sky!”

Flames gathered to form letters in the air. Though in the ancient mythic script, Cain could read it.

But…

“The Stellar Throne is intervening directly?”

In the world’s rules, letters appearing in the sky signaled direct intervention by a Throne. Cain had only intended to borrow a bit of power from the Flame Throne. Why it had responded directly, he could not say.

Yet Cain remained calm.

“On the contrary, this works in our favor.”

Typically, hastily drawn Stigmata could only unleash a strong elemental spell at best, even with severe side effects. Direct Throne intervention, however, would manifest far greater power—though the backlash might also be stronger. Cain had already accounted for such risks.

With the enemy caught off guard, the letters in the sky were complete. Cain smiled.

“Lucky.”

The ancient runic letters revealed the Throne’s name:

[Crimson Archduke Rydel]

Unfortunately for the enemy, this Throne was known as one of the cruelest. The moment for a decisive turnaround had arrived.