In the early hours, still close to dawn, when the east was just faintly brightening, Zion Aleph, the legitimate heir of Aleph Margrave, slowly opened his eyes.
Rising from the bed, Zion lightly washed his hands, feet, face, and neck with the clean water set in one corner of the room.
Then, without any unnecessary adornment, he took out practical clothes from the wardrobe and changed.
These were tasks usually done by servants, yet Zion’s movements were so practiced it seemed as if he had done them countless times.
“Hah.”
Adjusting his posture, Zion exhaled softly as he glanced around the room once more.
The Aleph Margrave’s family held tremendous power and military strength, rivaling even the Royal Family, overseeing the entire western border of the Illium Kingdom.
Yet the room allotted to Zion was narrow and modest, utterly unworthy of such renown.
Though the routine was ingrained to the point of natural movement even half-awake, whenever Zion was reminded of his situation, a hollow emptiness gnawed at his chest.
“Get a grip. I’m the only son of Pergio Aleph and Naia Aleph, the sole legitimate heir of the family, and the man who will inherit the Margrave’s Domain…”
Murmuring to steady himself, Zion picked up the training sword placed by his bedside and left the room.
The corridor was quiet, no servants in sight.
Only upon stepping outside the annex did he finally see people.
Soldiers, knights, and servants passed by, and upon spotting him, some flinched and quickly averted their gazes.
A few even sneered openly.
Zion paid them no mind and headed toward the Knights’ Training Ground.
Though it was far too early for training to begin, Zion started practicing alone.
About an hour remained before the knights’ muster call—a rare time when Zion could swing his sword freely.
“Hoo…!”
He controlled his breath and focused his mind.
Before his eyes stood a colossal enemy, impossible to bring down.
Taking his stance, Zion froze momentarily, as if caught in time, then suddenly began to move.
A silver streak traced elegant curves, striking incessantly.
Sometimes fierce as a storm, sometimes gentle as a breeze.
Like a hawk swooping on prey, the blade pierced sharp weaknesses, then shifted seamlessly to parry like flower petals dancing on the wind.
Each motion revealed a mastery unthinkable for someone so young in appearance.
“Huff…! Ugh!”
But as time passed, Zion’s movements began to falter.
The sword tip wavered weakly like an old man’s step, and his breathing grew heavy as if he had been sprinting for hours.
His knee suddenly buckled, and Zion collapsed forward with a thud.
Less than ten minutes into swinging his sword, he lay face-down, clenching his teeth in frustration and pounding the dirt with his fists repeatedly.
“Huff… huff… ha…”
After five agonizing minutes, Zion managed to steady his breathing, then shakily pushed himself up by the ground.
Brushing sweat and dirt off his soiled body, he let out a deep sigh.
His swordsmanship had reached a terrifyingly high level, yet his frail physique was entirely incompatible.
This contradiction stemmed from the mysterious wasting disease he inherited from his mother, Naia Aleph.
It wasn’t simply a matter of weak stamina.
His everyday actions posed no problem, but certain exertions—such as using magic, a fundamental skill for nobles, or performing martial arts expected of the Margrave—would suddenly sap his strength.
It was as if a massive, rigid shell enclosed him, preventing his talents from flourishing.
The kingdom’s most distinguished doctors and priests had neither found a cure nor identified the cause.
Naia’s mysterious illness worsened until, eight years ago, when Zion was eight, she passed away.
“Still… I am…”
With trembling hands, Zion picked up his sword and took stance once again.
But pushing himself too hard in this condition risked collapsing again, making it impossible to rise before the knights’ training resumed.
As the family’s legitimate heir, he could not afford to show such pitiful weakness.
Gazing at the blade with lingering regret, Zion finally shut his eyes and left the training ground.
Back in his room at the annex, breakfast awaited.
No servants were present.
The meal consisted solely of a piece of bread, a bowl of stew, two fruits, and a cup of water—less than what a well-off commoner might eat.
Zion placed the tray on the worn table and silently began to eat, his motions well practiced.
***
For seven years, Zion had been marginalized within the family.
It all began with his mother, Naia Aleph.
Naia was not a noblewoman—not even a commoner.
Pergio Aleph, the Margrave, had met her in a forest while on a mission to exterminate monsters.
At the time, the Margrave had been stranded deep within the woods, gravely injured, when he found Naia unconscious and tended to her.
She remembered nothing except her name.
Unable to leave her alone in such a dangerous place, the Margrave stayed with her for about ten days until rescue arrived.
Naia had jet-black eyes and hair, an appearance rare even within the Illium Kingdom.
She was thoughtful and gentle yet possessed a strong sense of justice—qualities that made even the Margrave, proud of his noble education, take notice.
The extraordinary circumstance of mutual reliance in a perilous forest quickly blossomed into love.
After safely returning, the Margrave, newly instated, announced their marriage.
Some initially doubted the union due to Naia’s unclear origins, but her devoted care for the family and her husband soon quelled those concerns.
However, not all problems were resolved.
Naia suffered from the mysterious wasting disease, which had already begun to claim her health when she met the Margrave.
When Zion was six, Naia collapsed and spent two years bedridden, fulfilling her duties as Margravine.
Before her quiet passing, she left Zion an old pendant as her final memento.
A month later, another tragedy took root.
Zion himself developed the wasting disease.
The entire Margrave’s Domain was engulfed in grief, and news reached even the royal capital.
“It is foolish to appoint as heir one afflicted with a disease that could claim him at any moment. The Margrave must take a new wife to secure succession.”
This was a recommendation—or rather, a command—from the Royal Family.
The Margrave had no grounds to refuse, especially given Naia’s fate.
Whether through remarriage or adoption, precautions had to be made in case Zion followed his mother’s path.
The Royal Family introduced their third princess, Mione, as the bride.
In the series of seemingly generous gestures to persuade the hesitant Margrave, he understood the true intention behind the Royal Family’s proposal.
The Aleph Margrave wielded power unmatched by other nobles.
Simultaneously, to swiftly respond to border incidents, the Margrave maintained a degree of independence even from the Royal Family’s influence.
The Royal Family sought to control that power directly.
For a noble swearing loyalty to the crown, rejecting a Royal Family offer disguised as kindness was tantamount to disloyalty—and could even be seen as rebellion.
The Margrave accepted and held a grand wedding with Princess Mione in the capital.
“Is it really true that this sickly-looking boy carries His Excellency’s blood? Unbelievable. This is why mixing with commoner blood is forbidden.”
Mione’s first act as Margravine was to isolate Zion in the annex.
Next, she retired the loyal staff of the household under various pretexts, ensuring those who left were given ample severance to prevent any rumors.
She replaced them with her own people, who prioritized her commands—agents of the ‘Mione Faction’ backed by the Royal Family’s influence, quickly making up the majority of the mansion’s occupants.
To make matters worse, Mione bore the Margrave a son, Barand, a healthy child with golden hair and red eyes—the unmistakable bloodline of the Royal Family.
From that day, Zion had no reason to remain in the family.
Though he was never physically threatened, the Mione Faction simply ignored him, treating him as if he did not exist and mentally pushing him to the edge.
‘They’re not sending assassins or openly driving me out. It’s still okay. There’ll be a chance.’
After finishing his meal, Zion lightly grasped the pendant hidden inside his clothes, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again.
When his heart weakened and everything felt unbearably cruel, Zion didn’t succumb to despair.
Instead, clutching the pendant—his mother’s last gift—he recalled her teachings.
Naia had been kind but strong.
“Never let your spirit break. No matter how uncertain the future, never lose hope.”
Each lesson upheld Zion’s resolve.
A sharp knock suddenly echoed.
“…Young Master? Are you there?”
The voice belonged to a servant.
How long had it been since a servant came to his room?
Swallowing a bitter smile, Zion opened the door.
“What is it?”
“Uh… His Excellency, the Margrave, commands that you come with him.”
The servant’s eyes met Zion’s, then quickly averted, voice trembling with fear.
Why was he afraid?
Zion pondered briefly before realizing the answer.
He slowly reached out his hand.
The servant shrank back, closing his eyes tightly.
“Thank you. It must have been difficult sneaking all the way here.”
Zion gently patted the servant’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to be scared. I know you’re not at fault.”
“Yo-young Maste…r…”
“Well, if we talk too long, you might get scolded. Don’t worry too much. Thank you for coming, Yunir.”
Zion knew all the household staff by name and face—he had been taught it was a noble’s duty to show such respect.
He also knew that Yunir, who had risked fear to visit, was one of the few servants not aligned with the Mione Faction.
From behind, a muffled sob could be heard.
Truth be told, Zion longed to pour out his emotions—to scream like a child, curse the unfairness, and weep until everything was emptied.
But what would change by doing that?
Steeling his expression, Zion stepped forward.
***
“Oh… Zion, my son. Are you feeling any better?”
The Margrave’s room was dimly lit, matching the bleakness of Zion’s situation.
After a brief, light embrace, Zion quickly pulled away.
The Margrave looked disappointed.
“You should avoid actions that might get you blamed by Lady Mione, Father.”
“Yes, yes. Hah…”
The Margrave sighed and sat down, gazing out the window with distant eyes.
After hesitating, he spoke cautiously.
“I’m sorry, Zion. For a while… you’ll have to leave the family.”
“W-what?”
The absurdity of the words made Zion realize, ‘This must be when people start to rebel against their fate.’
Seeing Zion’s expression, the Margrave quickly added, “It seems Mione is planning something serious.”
“Use proper honorifics. Father. She is your wife, but originally a princess.”
“You still act like this even in such a situation… Fine. It seems your wife is up to something. Is that enough?”
Sighing at his stubborn son, the Margrave explained.
Barand, Mione’s son and Zion’s half-brother, was soon to celebrate his sixth birthday.
The grand feast would be held at the royal palace, but Zion’s name was not on the guest list.
“Mione will likely use this opportunity to secure royal approval. She’ll ask His Majesty to remove you from the line of succession and recognize Barand as the new heir, and His Majesty will reluctantly agree.”
Zion’s life wouldn’t change much.
He had already been excluded for some time.
The real problem was that while everyone remained in the capital, Zion would be left alone in the Margrave’s mansion.
“Perhaps I’m worrying too much. But… I can’t say there’s no chance they’ll use your solitude to kill you and stage an accident.”
Zion was speechless, swallowing a groan.
It wouldn’t be hard to orchestrate.
Since he suffered the same wasting disease as Naia, a little poison slipped into his food, and a few testimonies from Mione’s faction servants about his sudden collapse would be enough.
But what shocked Zion most was what his father said next.
“Even if nothing happens this time… just your presence in the family is a problem. That woman will look for any chance to assassinate you and won’t hesitate to use any means. She’ll exploit anything she can. The family… the foundation of our house could be shaken. Zion, you would become the cause of its ruin.”
This was the best solution the Margrave could offer: protect his beloved son’s life, prevent the family from fracturing, and demonstrate loyalty to the Royal Family.
“So just for a few years… it won’t be long. About ten years, maybe. Hide yourself away in a foreign villa. By then, Barand will be grown, and Mione won’t see you as a thorn anymore.”
Yet it was a cruel solution that crushed the hope Zion had harbored.
The Margrave was a poor liar—especially with family.
Even if it hurt those around him, he always chose to be honest and share the truth.
Zion respected that honesty.
But today, at this moment…
“I understand.” Zion slowly nodded.
“I’m sorry, Zion.”
“That’s no reason for you to apologize, Father.”
Shaking his head, Zion stood.
The Margrave, looking at his son with sad eyes, reached out as if to stop him.
“If there’s anything you want, say it. I’ll make sure it happens, no matter what.”
Turning back just as he was about to leave, Zion thought for a moment, then smiled weakly.
“Then may I say one thing to you, Father?”
“Oh? Of course. Say whatever you like. I’ll listen.”
“You were a noble to be respected… but honestly, you weren’t much of a father.”
The Margrave’s eyes widened.
After a moment, he sagged in his chair, covering his face with one hand, and chuckled bitterly through tears.
“I’m sorry.”
Zion bowed deeply and left the room.