An envoy bearing the Royal Family Seals is seen leaving the capital. Such a movement of this magnitude is bound to stir the very heart of the kingdom. Whispers echo through the streets, rumors swirling like a tempest as merchants speculate wildly about the purpose of the journey—yet none know the true reason behind the Crown Prince's departure.
Leading the expedition is none other than The Crown Prince, Ian, the weight of the royal bloodline heavy on his shoulders, and at his side are more than thirty elite knights—the Dragon's Calvary, each of them a force unto themselves. Their mission is clear: to wipe out the fallen world, the dragons that threaten to unmake their empire.
The journey west will take two weeks, a trek so far from the heart of the empire that it feels as though they are venturing into the unknown. On the first day, nothing unusual happens. By nightfall, they arrive at the town of Leonok—a place as renowned for its brothels as it is for its history. It is said that no other town can boast such a collection of beautiful courtesans. And, being a young, curious Prince, Ian
cannot resist the temptation to explore this side of the town.
Under the cover of darkness, he slips away from his retinue, disguised as a nobleman. His identity hidden, he enters the most famous brothel in the area, a lavish establishment fit for kings.
The moment he steps inside, a courtesan greets him with practiced grace. "My good sir, would you prefer a room for yourself?" she asks, her voice soft but dripping with an air of practiced allure.
Ian, with a casual air of command, replies, "Yes, the finest room, the best wine, and bring me that woman—there, in the corner." He points to a courtesan, far from the most beautiful, but there is something about her that stirs him.
The courtesan is taken aback. Why would such a distinguished nobleman choose the least of their lot? But she does not question him. "Of course, sir. As you wish," she replies, before scurrying off to fulfill his request.
The room is grand—golden Tiffany lamps cast a warm glow over a luxurious space, a private bath filled with soft steam, and a bed fit for royalty. Ian sinks into the decadence, a slight smile curling his
lips as the courtesan brings in the Azure Wine—a delicate drink brewed from sour grapes and lime, stored in bamboo barrels to make it light and refreshing.
She pours him a glass, which he drinks in one go, savoring the sharpness. The wine tingles on his tongue, but as the final drop fades, something strange begins to happen. A golden aura emanates from Ian's body, radiating like sunlight breaking through a storm. The courtesan steps back, eyes wide with shock.
Ian remains silent for a moment, he focuses his aura to allows the wine to settle in his veins. His aura, trained to perfection, now detoxifies the alcohol with ease.
He stands, moving slowly toward the courtesan, his steps deliberate, as if he is the hunter and she is the prey. He leans close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin, and in a voice dripping with unspoken power, he whispers, "Who are you? Why do you bear the noble symbol on your hand? And why do you smell of mother?"
The courtesan's breath catches in her throat. She freezes, her hand instinctively moving to cover the
symbol on her wrist, a mark of royal lineage that she had long hidden.
Fear flickers in her eyes, but she forces herself to respond, "My lord, I do not know what you mean. I am but a humble woman, here to serve."
Ian's gaze hardens, the weight of his words slicing through the air like a blade. "You are not what you claim. You are no mere courtesan. You are something else. Something far more dangerous."