Chapter 1. Prologue: Song of the Whale
No matter how tangled a knot may be, it always has a beginning and an end. A story is the same.
May, 928.
In the Empire of Ivy, a grand tale had just begun.
Only 26 hours earlier, the Emperor of the Empire, Diane Arista, had passed away. Following that, the Crown Prince Cain Arista and Crown Princess Sharon Arista also met their end.
No one believed the simultaneous deaths of the Emperor and the Crown Prince were a coincidence.
Indeed.
Diane’s younger brother, Jerome Arista, had finally seized the throne by brutal means.
The only direct descendant of Emperor Diane who remained was the crown prince’s son, Marriott Arista. Perhaps out of a shred of pity, Jerome spared the life of his great-nephew, Marriott.
But Marriott was only a twelve-year-old boy. He was still far too young to bear the weight of vengeance for his grandfather and parents.
“This way, Your Highness the Crown Grandson.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Marriott’s voice was sharp as he cut off the guard captain. He had been awake for over 32 hours.
The only way to survive now was to stay alert like prey in front of a hungry predator—his senses sharp, watching every direction.
“This is the estate of Count Wintale.”
On a rainy night, with the downpour soaking through the silence, Marriott fled the imperial palace—his home—empty-handed and as a fugitive.
The palace reeked of his loved ones’ blood, and their killer now claimed ownership of it.
Remaining there would mean neither life nor death.
“The last peace of the empire.”
That was the name Marriott whispered. It was the other name of the Wintale household.
A place of eternal neutrality, which took no sides and never used force under any circumstances.
This was the only place Marriott could escape to after fleeing the palace.
“Listen to the stars and the song of the whale.”
Standing at the gate of the Wintale estate, Marriott briefly stared at the crest of the family. Below it was the house motto.
It was a beautiful phrase.
“Quickly, inside.”
The guard captain nudged Marriott gently on his slender back, denying even a moment’s sentiment.
The boy’s weak body moved as it was pushed.
“Who comes at this hour…?”
“Apologies for the late visit, Sir Larry Wintale.”
Entering the house, Marriott greeted Count Larry Wintale, who had come out in his nightclothes.
The man’s eyes were filled with clear confusion at the sight of the effectively dethroned crown grandson.
Marriott was certain the Count already knew of the bloody tragedy at the palace.
“Surely you’re aware of the new Emperor’s whims.”
As he removed his heavy, rain-soaked hood, Marriott tried to maintain his dignity. He didn’t want to seem like a helpless child with nowhere left to turn.
“Though he’s spared me so far, who knows what might happen an hour from now. I had to find a way to live.”
But he couldn’t completely hide the fear that consumed his mind.
To Count Wintale, the boy looked less like a noble heir and more like a child thrown into water.
“May I remain here until the southern escort forces have gathered?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. However…”
The Count’s gaze shifted behind Marriott.
“You’ve already brought something bad with you.”
Marriott and his guard captain spun around at once, swords drawn.
“Damn it!”
“Your Highness!”
Of course, Jerome hadn’t let Marriott go.
The moment he learned of Marriott’s secret escape, he sent assassins after him.
Two assassins approached, hiding their presence. They were highly skilled. The guard captain managed to kill one while protecting Marriott, but suffered a deep wound in his thigh.
In that moment, Marriott feared the captain wouldn’t be able to handle the remaining assassin.
It was a cold, logical decision—just like the late Emperor Diane had once made.
Marriott quickly turned and placed his sword to Larry Wintale’s neck. Taking the Count as a hostage, he shouted at the assassin.
“You dog of a tyrant, listen to me. This house—the Wintale estate—has been a symbol of peace since the time of Emperor Noah of the Ruby Kingdom. Even sharp words are not tolerated here. If you kill me now, I will kill Count Larry Wintale without hesitation.”
Sweat ran down Larry’s face. The tip of the boy’s sword was sharp and serious. He would do anything to survive.
“If the new Emperor’s first act is to stain 928 years of peace with blood, it won’t be a joyous beginning.”
The masked assassin stood silently, listening to Marriott until the end, before responding in a voice like the depths of hell.
“I don’t care about such things.”
“……!”
Before Marriott could react, the assassin slashed his side.
Blood immediately soaked through his left waist and thigh.
“Your Highness!”
Just as the blade prepared to pierce Marriott’s heart, the guard captain drove his sword into the assassin’s back.
Marriott thought of nothing else.
Only survival.
His obsession with life made him run. Forgetting the pain in his side, he ran down the dark hall of the estate without once looking back.
Behind him, the anguished scream of the guard captain rang out. It was likely his last breath.
“Damn it! Damn you, Jerome! You cursed old man!”
Marriott cursed through lips torn from biting. It changed nothing. All that awaited him was despair.
“There must be… a room… uhg…”
Stumbling through the corridor, he found a door.
His vision blurred from blood loss. He needed to hide, fast.
He slipped inside the room.
“Hhh… it hurts…”
The tension finally eased once he had a hiding place. All at once, pain rushed in. He tried to suppress his groans, but it was no use.
“Who’s there?”
Someone had heard him. Likely the owner of the room.
“Who is it?”
A girl’s voice, soft as a breeze, barely audible.
Marriott held his breath.
“Are you… a person standing there?”
To the girl, he must have seemed terrifying—silent and hidden in the dark. She fumbled to find the servant bell.
Holding his bleeding side, Marriott rushed to her bed.
“I am of the great house of Arista…”
He began to introduce himself as usual—but stopped.
‘Idiot. What’s the point of revealing your name now?’
He was a fugitive. A noble title meant nothing. All it would do was get the girl into trouble.
“Are you… an angel?”
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
The girl, her words slurred and weak, spoke with desperate hope.
“An angel who’s come to take me to heaven?”
“Are you… waiting for one?”
“Where are your wings? The feathered ones.”
The more she spoke, the stranger it seemed.
She was talking about angels and wings to a stranger in the dark, as if she were dreaming.
Or drugged.
Marriott glanced around the room uneasily, then noticed something in the moonlight from the large window.
A pile of medicine bottles next to the bed.
‘So many pills…’
Almost involuntarily, he reached out and touched the girl’s forehead.
‘It’s hot.’
Her body burned with fever.
As he leaned closer, he could hear her shallow, wheezing breaths. They didn’t sound healthy. Marriott guessed she was seriously ill.
Then a loud voice came from the hallway.
“Wait! That’s my daughter’s room! You there!”
The assassin had chased him all the way here.
Marriott quickly dove under the girl’s blanket. The heat of her fever filled the space under the covers.
With the blanket pulled up over his head, he focused on the situation outside the door.
He heard Count Larry Wintale’s sharp warning.
“My daughter is critically ill. You’d better not make me angry.”
The door cracked open—then closed again. The assassin backed off.
Perhaps he didn’t want to anger Larry further. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to step into the girl’s room.
“Fluffy…”
As the assassin’s footsteps faded, a small hand touched Marriott’s head.
The girl had crawled under the covers as well and was gently petting his hair.
“Fluffy puppy…”
“…What kind of drugs is she even on?”
