“Where are the physis?!”

  Gahad and Percival paled, being two specters of arm. Burn’s abrupt demand for every physi ience felt like calling for the cavalry in an already crowded battlefield.

  “Yhness, His Majesty is a remarkably strong man. Though it appears grim, he’s merely—”

  Burn shut his eyes, his fists trembling with a cocktail of fury and worry. Percival wisely fell silent.

  “Where is my brother?” Burn demanded, his voice ced with barely cealed urgency.

  “He mentioned he reoccupied with state affairs and couldn’t return just yet, sir. After your return, he immediately strode back to his principality,” Gahad replied, his tone almost apologetic. “There have been uing storms in his principality.”

  “Call him. Make him return, no excuses, Gahad,” Burn insisted, a king amidst chaos. “I’m departing for a day. Percival, you’re in charge of His Majesty.”

  The two exged gnces, engaging in a silent versation steeped in and resignation. His Highness, that stoitinel, usually remained a bea of posure. This moment was aion—a rare glimpse into panic overshadowing his usually unfppable demeanor.

  No, nothing was truly amiss; His Majesty simply had a slight cough—not the kind that warranted a royal summons of every doctor this side of the realm.

  Their physis were already the best, and although they seemed puzzled, there must’ve been something they could do before something fatal actually happened.

  That man was Arthur Pendragon, for heavens’ sake!

  Yet here they stood, caught in the uow of Burn’s tempestuous ay. Leaving just a cough under Percival's vigint gaze felt like using a castle door to hold a si.

  After all, what could possibly g with a bit of illness? Storms, the prince, and a cold—surely, nothing needed immediate attention, except, it seemed, Burn himself.

  “Drag my brother home!” Burn bellowed before s into the sky.

  Gahad didn’t dare dilly-dally. Just as he was about to dash off, Percival grasped his arm, as if anch him. “Something’s definitely off, but don’t go pying the martyr just to retrieve His Highness Prince t against His Highhe Prince’s whims.”

  With a somber nod, Gahad replied, “I’m quite aware of the Eldest Priemperament. He might detest the notion of being ordered around, but duty calls, doesn’t it?”

  “Alright. Perhaps we should summon Young Duke Leodegrance. You secure an audieh him,” Percival suggested.

  “Sure, let me just speak with Landevale,” Gahad responded.

  Burn arrived at his hidden refuge deep in the mountains, opening the dently. He scrambled through his ste room, as if searg for the Holy Grail among odds and ends.

  Eight years had passed since he first indulged in the peculiar delicaerfolk and unieat.

  The merfolk, as, offered only a small portion; he feasted only the lower half, the fishy tail, and discarded the humanoid part like a picky diossing aside limp greens. The uni, however, was a feast fit for a king, with its ample equine body—a menerous , if you will.

  Of course, even ‘ary adventurers’ like himself couldn’t devour aire uni and merfolk tail iting.

  So, he resorted to a method straight from a high fantasy handbook: treating the meat with blessed salt harvested from the tiny sea washed by both the Luminus Kingdom and Wintersin Empire. Nothing says “gourmet” quite like a sprinkle of blessed salt, right?

  Maintaining the temperature of his ste room was no small feat, either. He had sourced aernal ice crystal from Wintersin, a task that required both patiend a small fortuer all, preserving unusual meats requires a touagic.

  With the cold emanating from the crystal, his colle remained pristine, remi of a cold-hearted bard preserving the fi balds.

  But leaving that aside, what remained of the merfolk and the uni were their bones and distinct body parts: the merfolk’s fins and the uni’s horn.

  With the utmost care, he packaged them in a box that looked suspiciously like a reli a long-fotten garage sale and sealed it shut as if it taihe secrets of the universe—or at least a very niche museum exhibit.

  And as if that weren’t enough, he proceeded to gather every medie and poison ingredient he had hoarded over his lifetime, making it aravaganza that took over half a day.

  Not a single vial was marred; it was as if he were preparing for an eborate cooking show instead of a morbid colle.

  Surely, just one of them could do something for his father, right? Preferably something to help him get better?

  Bur all together as if it were a gift for a particurly dreary holiday a off in search of a big box and cushions—a truly riveting adventure, indeed.

  After a day’s toil, he returned home, only to find Landevale and Gahad poised at the door, ready to embark on whatever this misadventure might involve.

  “Why are you still here?” Burn inquired of Gahad, who promptly bowed deeply, as if the very ground were deserving of his reverence.

  “Sir, we’ve just located Sir Leodegrance,” Gahad replied. “Landevale and I will soon persuade His Highhe Eldest Prio return home.”

  “Yes, Yhness, I’ll get my brother to summon His Highness Prince t,” Landevale said, bowing with Gahad.

  “Why the roundabout route? Just summo back!” Burn excimed, nearly losing his grip on the box strapped to his back.

  Percival emerged from the pace, raising his voi caution. “Sir, let’s not provoke His Highness Prince t too hastily. After you barged into his principality to front the cyclopian dungeon break, his mood hasly been rose-tinted.”

  “What? As if he could ha alone!” Bured sharply. “Is this truly the moment for sensitivities? Tell him Father is unwell—”

  “Caliburn!” boomed a voice that reverberated through the air, slig through Burn's irritation like a sword. A figure emerged from the pace, and every inch of Arthur radiated authority, a stark trast to his bedridden state.

  Burn’s frown deepened when he saw Arthur out of his sickbed, a sight so rare it might have warranted ary in the kingdom’s history books. “You raise quite the ruckus for an old man like me… cough, cough!”

  “Why ’t I?! I am the Prince of the Great Soulnaught, and I will stir chaos whe pleases me!” Burn shot back, the defiance eg in the marble corridors. “Return to your chamber, Father. This is my final request. After this, I’ll assume and and decree your house arrest.”

  “Presumptuous bastard!” Arthur thundered.

  “Yes, I am!” Burn challenged, log eyes with his father, bloodshot. “I am your bastard. Return to your chamber.”

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  ------------------------------------------

  Join my discord server! Here!

  We hang out, maybe?

  sider supp this novel by giving it ratings, reviews, and ents, and if you want to, chey Patreon! You be notified for important annous by being a free member too! Link down below.

  For only 5/month, you get 7 advanced chapters and bonuses!

  (The other tiers are 3/month for 4 chapters in advance, and 10/month for every chapters in advance I had, usually 20, and could be more when I'm pnning a mass release!)