This place ain’t for the weak.

At the break of dawn, the sun cast a rosy hue across the morning sky. The golden fingers of sunlight that peeked through the pink clouds lit up the palace walls, making it look even more majestic.

The drowsy atmosphere lulled the birds that perched on a marble statue. It was the same statue as the one on the fountain—a handsome spearman riding a stallion. It stood at the center of the rose garden like a lone warrior amid a bloody battlefield.

Like him, another spearman was about to enter a different kind of battlefield—it was Deon. Wearing his full armor and holding his spear, he had the wretched expression of a youngster forced to enlist in the military, and his father, the cruel general who had ordered him to become cannon fodder, stood in front of him.

"All you need to do is to survive the hunt." The king said as if it was the easiest thing in the world, "you have the blood of Hensworth. you should be able to manage this much."

"I will uphold our royal dignity, your majesty." Deon mechanically replied.

Everyone knew. No one returns from the hunt unharmed. For three days, participants must kill, day and night, in a monster-infested mountain. A moment of rest might lead to death and all sorts of accidents happen whether it is a trained knight, a talented Almagus, or a mercenary.

But Deon had no choice but to obey the will of the king.

Two carriages were waiting for them.

The royal crest was carved on the side of the larger carriage, which was made of polished black wood with gold embellishments. Pulling it was two adult stallions with gleaming black coats and silver horseshoes, their long, thick manes billowing gracefully in the morning breeze.

Behind the luxurious carriage was a shabby wagon pulled by a young mixed breed horse with a dull gray coat peppered with white spots.

Deon curtly bowed to the king before boarding the wagon commissioned to hide his identity.

"Aaah… I really wanted to ride that royal carriage." Mikael sulked from inside the medium.

"Me too… I had no idea riding in a commoner's wagon was so unpleasant." Deon replied as his bum smacked against the hard seat whenever they encountered a bump on the road.

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the capitol plaza.

The once wide, open space was now crowded with hundreds of men and women in various get-ups.

Deon stood agape at the sheer number of participants. This campaign must be the largest he had ever seen—or maybe he was so used to looking at them from above the platform reserved for royalty that standing among them intimidated him.

Bam!

A six-foot-tall man, with bulky arms webbed with veins, bumped into Deon. The man's brows twitched in annoyance as he looked at the young prince from head to foot.

"Stand aside, lad. You're blocking the way—or better yet just go home. This place ain't for the weak." The man spat before walking away.

Now that he was unrecognizable for wearing his iron helmet, the people treated him with disrespect. Although it was expected, their cold attitude still shocked Deon.

He swept his gaze on the crowd, trying to get his bearing.

Knights in shining armor stood rigidly with their peers, Almagi checked their blood ink supply while mercenaries busily sharpened their weapons and polished their shields.

A few moments later, the royal carriage arrived. Tides of people moved closer to the elevated platform as the royal family and other nobles appeared.

As the king walked to the podium, Deon felt his father's gaze on him. It was a stern look that seemingly meant 'Do not disappoint me.'

'Nah… there are so many people here. I must have imagined it.' Deon thought, dismissing the silent pressure that weighed on his shoulders.

"Citizens! Today we shall officially start the 376th hunting competition." The king said in a booming voice that was magically amplified by the microphone-shaped artifact held in his hand.

"The participants will march to the site, like in the previous years, and hunt for three days. The area will be cordoned off by the royal knights to prevent outbreaks triggered by the massive purge. Any game* that the competitors bring after the hunt will be rewarded with a prize corresponding to their threat level. Participants who find themselves in danger may use the provided flare to summon the knights on standby, however, this will result in them forfeiting any rewards. Finally, competitors may choose to retire early if they believe they have hunted enough, but be aware that retiring players are not permitted to return to the field under any circumstances." The king explained, skipping the pleasantries.

It seemed like these rules were already ingrained in the minds of the majority as they always participated in the event. All of them knew, what was really important were the king's next words—the announcement of the playing field.

"This year's competition will be held at Wesnar Mountain ranges in the northern border of the kingdom. There have been reports of increased monster activity at the foot of the mountain thus it is advised that the participants take utmost caution in hunting. Those who do not have the courage to risk their lives may go home while the brave may register at the designated areas." The king waved his hand to bring their attention to the small booths set up to the left of the plaza.

"May the Goddess bless us with another year of peace and prosperity! Good hunting!"

At this, the king ended his speech and a jovial chant from the crowd followed,

"FOR PEACE AND PROSPERITY!! GOOD HUNTING!"

The king left the podium and returned to chat with the attending nobles.

Looking at the scene, Mikael was able to infer the power structure of nobility. The queen elegantly smiled as she stood at the center of the older noble women's circle while the princes have their own factions that naturally centered on them. He then wondered whether Deon also had such a force.

"Hey kid, do you also have that?" Mikael asked Deon through direct messaging as they made their way to the registration booth.

"What's 'that'?"

"A faction."

Deon paused. Heat rose to his cheeks as he embarrassedly replied, "I don't."

"Why not? You're also a prince. Just like them."

"don't you remember my title?" Deon asked back through gritted teeth.

"The cowardly prince?" Mikael recalled Deon's status window.

"Yes. that."

"Huh? What does that have to do with my question?" Mikael tilted his head at Deon's roundabout answer.

"No one wants to ally with me. Because I'm useless and a coward." Deon's self-deprecating comment continued, "When the fight for the throne starts, all noble families must choose a successor to support because the power structure changes depending on who sits on the throne. Obviously, no one wants to bet on me."

Mikael thought his partner was excessively naïve, but it turns out that he was at least aware of his situation.

--Chapter end--