I Became the First Prince: Legend of Sword's Song

Once you face a wonder, you can never go back to the past (1)

All the soldiers were upon the walls, shocked at the spear that had torn through our defenses like a hot knife through butter. Arwen did not focus upon the breach, though; rather, she searched for the prince.

It was under a small heap of snow that she chanced upon him, his legs sticking out, one of them twitching slightly. My hands were numbed from the battle, yet I moved toward her as she singled out the prince’s position. Arwen did not wait upon me, rushing towards the young lord who had clearly been wounded in the battle. The boy’s hand was reaching out as if grasping for his mother. The skin upon his hand was peeling off in shreds.

“My prince!” Arwen shouted, grabbing his hand and freeing him from the snow. I came to them, immediately assessing the boy’s condition. His entire jaw was covered in blood, as well as his upper torso. It seemed as if he had vomited blood in the battle.

His right hand, still grasping his sword, was twisted at a bizarre angle that could only be described as painful.

“Your Majesty, are you still with us?” I gently asked as I tapped his forehead. He sputtered, bloody foam throwing through my fingers as I cupped his cheeks.

I made way for Arwen, who began breathing into the prince’s mouth, waiting for him to catch his breath, then once more artificially filling his lungs with air.

‘Bleuegh,’ went the prince as he vomited bloody bile. My fingers were upon his pulse, which, to my relief, had started beating at a regular rate once more.

Arwen slouched down onto the ground, her relief plain. I held onto the prince’s hand, hoping to comfort him. His gloves were torn to shreds, and great gouges were cut into his calloused hands.

The poor boy had gone through hard times. As I released his hand, Arwen grasped it. Her hands were small and soft, at first glance not suited to wielding a sword. The prince was breathing steadily, his eyes still closed. As I looked upon his face, I saw no sign of the arrogant young whelp who had looked down upon everyone. Here was simply a boy, who had given all in the battle against the Orcs.

Had he always been this short and young? Such thoughts flashed through my head as I looked upon his ravaged form. These musings of mine were reflected upon Arwen’s face, for she realized he had yet to have a coming of age ceremony.

A knight approached us. “How is His Majesty?” he asked, in a manner that seemed cold to me. The other knights who had fought with us also approached, some holding helmets in their hands as a sign of respect. I did not appreciate the attitude of the knight who had spoken, yet I kept my silence. It was then that the prince awoke, wiping his mouth.

“Your Majesty! Arwen is here for you,” I said as he slowly sat up.

He tried to say something, yet only a mere sigh escaped his lips. Arwen placed her ear next to his mouth, listening to his whispered words.

“What did he say?” the eldest son of Winter Castle, Seongju, asked.

Arwen stood, adjusting her sword.

“His Majesty told me that… that we should end this fight.”

“T… The orc wishes to eat… kill… orc! Honor… shit, motherfucker, only orc dead… shit dead good orc.” the prince finally managed to blurt out.

Although his words made little sense, Arwen understood his intended meaning. Through great profanity and pain, the prince had expressed his wish to end this duel as fast as possible.

“The prince commands us to kills the Orcs!” she shouted at the gathered men.

Knights readied their swords and charged at the gaggle of confused Orcs. Having lost their chief, they simply turned tail and ran. These lowly beasts were no match for the knights of Winter Castle, and they knew that much. However, it was then that the Orcs who had retreated rallied into a charge, their war cry ringing out against castle walls and mountain cliffs.

“Take your charges inside! Take care of the Rangers!” I bellowed out, the need for retreat plain to even the most naive student of the battlefield.

The gate ground open, Rangers rushing outside to load the wounded onto stretchers. We all made haste in our retreat, the gates finally slamming shut with a satisfying thud.

The entire courtyard was filled with jubilant noise as the Rangers gathered around us.

“Hey, you motherfuckers, we are alive because of you! That Orc boss would’ve torn through the walls with its spells!”

“Your cheers aided us in battle,” I told a group of veteran rangers. More applause and congratulations enveloped our group after I spoke those words.

Winter Castle was a truly strange place, for many had died, yet the unbounded joy of the soldiery echoed against the walls.

I knew that some celebrated the return of captured and wounded Rangers thought lost to the wolves, and others reveled in the victory we had attained against the Orc boss.

The prince was borne through the gates upon his stretcher.

“He is precious! Hurry up and take him to the healers!” Arwen commanded those that carried him.

She stared at the pitiful appearance of the prince, his one arm already bandaged into a splint.

I chanced to hear his whispered words.

“Fuck Orc cubs… no honor in their bones… the only good Orc is a dead Orc.”

His voice held great anger within it, despite the pain. I wished to ask him about his experiences in the battle, yet he had once more slipped into unconsciousness. His last whispered word had been: “Arwen…”

The eldest son of Winter Castle, Seongju, walked along with the stretcher, his single statement curt and rational:

“They celebrate too early. This battle is far from over.”

He offered the bloody flag that the Orc boss had worn to Vincent.

“I believe this is yours.”

“Will he survive after losing that much blood?” Arwen asked, her concern reaching an almost hysteric tone.

“Calm down,” I said to her. Her overreaction was plain upon her face.

The effects of the battle now caught up to me as I tasted the blood within my mouth, with dizziness enveloping my mind and almost forcing me to the ground.

I washed my face in a nearby trough, seeing my red eyes in the reflected water. Winter Castle had a breach in its walls. This was not the time to be vulnerable.

* * *

The very instant that I had plunged my sword into the Orc boss’s chest was scorched into my mind. Our gazes had met, his probing my essence to the core.

It had been a very different experience when compared to the mysterious attentions of the Elder High Elf, who was a Quan Yin. No, his stare had been brutal, his savage spirit knowing no defeat even in death. It was as if he was a giant, staring down upon a majestic yet minuscule world. In him was a fragment of a greater being, this I knew, and this being was the same one that Arwen had warned me about.

His last words, only heard by myself, had been in praise of the King of the Orcs, rather than being a lament against humanity or a plea for mercy.

Somehow I knew that the Warlord had watched through the eyes of his Orc noble as I ended its life. I had sensed its malevolent anger at the impudence of a mere man slaying one of its toys.

And now I was in bed, my wounds having taken their toll.

I could have acted without honor, ordering a Ranger to end the Orc boss from afar before I fought with it.

My wounds were the results of my own miscalculation, and the reason why I now lay in my bed like some weakling.

“Fucking Orcs!” I swore aloud, yet saying this did little to improve my mood.

The one comfort I had was the fact that my performance in the battle had been at an extraordinary level.

“How’re you feeling now?” Vincent asked as he appeared at my bedside.

“My entire body hurts. However, what hurts the most is the fact that the battle isn’t finished yet, and I’m already in this state.” The anger in my tone was palpable, yet Vincent still managed to crack a smile. It slowly faded from his face as he began to blush.

“Thanks to your brave stand, we were able to save lives we thought we would have lost. The entire castle is grateful.”

His voice was sincere, not a fragment of his previous dislike of me to be heard. His honesty embarrassed me, so I simply rubbed my nose and nodded.

Vincent gave me his latest report, stating a legion of Orcs had set up camp about a kilometer from the castle. It was divided into two corps, each containing twenty squads.

“Despite the speed at which they encamped, we can defeat them.” The doubt showed on his face as he spoke. He hesitated. “What was that spear, and the energy that flowed from the mountains?” As he asked this, my uncle and other lords of Winter Castle entered the room. I could see that they shared his question.

As I explained things to them, I realized that they thought that the Orc boss I had killed was the King and not a mere noble. I tried to simplify the situation for them.

“The Orcish King of the mountains had been awakened. Winter Castle is now the border between our kingdom, and the kingdom of the Orcs. Those beasts gathered before our walls are a mere vanguard, many more will pour from their mountains.”

I saw many dubious faces gathered around my sickbed.

“Even if what Your Majesty says is true, why would the Orcs follow a king who had just awakened? Wouldn’t they follow their chieftains instead?”

At Vincent’s words, the commanders nodded, obviously sharing his belief.

I patiently formed my response.

“Tell me, what Orc will challenge a being that can thrust a mighty spear from such an impossible distance? The fact that this King has just woken up does not matter. What matters is how powerful he is.”

The commanders clearly still held their doubts, yet respected my observations without arguing. This was new.

“What is this king of the Orcs named?” Vincent asked me. I sat up, racking my brain for the required piece of lore.

“Warlord,” I said, uttering a name that was four hundred years old.

Hearing the tension in my tone, some of the lords’ faces grew pale. I caught my uncle eyes. “You believe this to be true, the awakening of this Orc?’

I nodded somberly.

“We have to create a defense strategy, then,” he plainly stated.

“We need to call for help as fast as possible,” a young commander added.

The lords and commanders now unfurled a map on a table next to me, these veterans of Winter Castle showcasing their experience as they formulated battle plans. My input was asked for from time to time and greatly appreciated. My uncle had a kindly smile as he observed the proceedings, which went on for many hours.

Only

It was when only Arwen and Adelia were left that my uncle asked the one question that had been burning him up inside.

“Was that blue flame the power of Muhunshi you talked about?”

Arwen glanced at me while Adelia showed her confusion.

I nodded in response.

My uncle closed his eyes tightly, entering a thoughtful silence.

After a while, they fluttered open. They were not the same dull old eyes I had grown used to, and his voice was now low and powerful.

“Is such power allowed for the Knights of Gori?”

I laughed heartily, for this had been a long-awaited question.

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