One month slipped past** like water through my fingers — there one moment, gone the next. The days bled into each other, quiet and unremarkable, and yet… I found myself counting them anyway.
And now, here it was.
My birthday.
Not just *any* birthday. In this world, such celebrations came only once every six years. A strange custom to me at first, but one that lent an almost sacred weight to the day. The tradition began with the founding of the Sanctus Empire itself, when the first Emperor was born in the **sixth year** of the Holy Calendar. Since then, the number six had been woven into the Empire's rituals — a symbol of divine blessing.
The Holy Calendar, Father always said, began even earlier, when the *Messenger of Light* descended from the heavens. In the stories, the Messenger united the warring kingdoms, founded the Empire, and lit the first Eternal Flame that still burns in the capital's Great Temple. Whether that was truth or legend, I never really cared. History here felt… alive, the way old stories cling to the air and make you wonder.
Father, of course, believed every word.
> "Boy," he told me once, leaning forward like he was revealing a great military secret, "the sixth year isn't just a date — it's destiny. The Emperor was blessed, and so are you. Remember that."
I wasn't sure if he expected me to bow in gratitude or just nod, so I chose the latter. But… I admit, it was nice to pretend it might be true.
---
The dining hall glowed with the soft light of a hundred candles, their flicker reflected in the polished surface of the long wooden table. The smell of roasted pheasant — brushed with honey glaze — mingled with the scent of fresh bread still steaming from the oven. Bowls of stewed root vegetables sat between plates of golden pastries stacked like miniature towers.
Mother's voice cut through my thoughts, warm and bright.
"Happy birthday, Art-chan!"
---
**Ezra's POV**
I smiled at my precious boy. My Arthur.
Even now, I couldn't agree with Richard's insistence on making him a swordsman. How could such a gentle, clever child be steered toward a life of steel and blood? I would have rather seen him in the robes of a scholar, a priest, anything but a soldier.
But today was not the day for such arguments.
"Now, Art-chan," I said, "we have **two gifts** for you. The first is from me — a ring of *Atherem*. It bears our family name: *Shadowheart*. The second… is from your father — a longsword, forged from mithril."
Arthur's eyes lit up. "Wow…"
He opened the small velvet box in front of him. Inside, a transparent ring shimmered faintly in the candlelight, the black lettering of *Shadowheart* rippling ever so slightly — an enchantment to mark true ownership.
Then Richard passed him a cloth-wrapped shape. Arthur pulled it free to reveal a **matte black bastard sword**, longer than his torso, etched with curling runes in an ancient script. The grip, the guard, even the diamond-shaped pommel shared the same deep black sheen.
"Mother… this sword is as tall as me," Arthur said with a frown. "And it's *incredibly* heavy. How am I supposed to use it?"
I smiled faintly. "It's not meant to be used *yet*, dear."
We lingered at the table until the candles burned low. But when I sent him to bed, I couldn't help but whisper under my breath:
"I hope you'll be alright, my darling…"
---
**Arthur's POV**
I tossed my boots into the corner and flopped onto my bed.
*Today was… nice.*
The sword leaned in its scabbard against the wall, its runes hidden in the shadows. But my eyes kept drifting toward it. There was… something about it. A weight that wasn't just physical.
Eventually, curiosity won.
I unsheathed it slowly, the steel whispering against the scabbard, and rested it across my lap. The metal was flawless, and the runes seemed almost alive — glowing faintly for a heartbeat before dimming again.
A shiver crept down my spine.
I traced one rune with my finger. A low hum vibrated through the blade, faint but steady, like a distant note at the edge of hearing. I froze, half expecting it to burst into flames or speak in some ancient tongue.
Nothing happened.
I let out a quiet laugh at my own paranoia, slid it back into the scabbard, and lay down. But as soon as my eyes closed, a dream took me — a vast black plain beneath a crimson sky, and a figure of shadow holding the same sword… except now its runes blazed white-hot.
When I tried to step closer, the figure turned toward me.
I woke to the first rays of dawn spilling across my room… and found the sword warm to the touch.
---
It was then I realized something depressing: I didn't have any friends.
And I wasn't going to be a loner in *this* life.
I got out of bed and began dressing. Today, I decided, I would explore the city. Maybe even meet someone worth calling a friend.
---
**Ezra's POV**
"Dear… are you *sure* about this?" I asked, unable to hide the worry in my voice.
Since the day he was born, Arthur had never gone far from home. The world beyond these walls could be cruel — especially to someone so unused to it. What if he was bullied? Or worse?
He met my gaze with a grin. "Sure as hell, Mother. Don't worry — it's time I made some friends."
I sighed but smiled faintly. "Alright. Just… don't come back late. And be careful."
"Ah — before you go, take this," I added, pressing six silver coins into his hand.
And then he was gone.
---
**Arthur's POV**
The city's market was alive with noise and color. Merchants shouted their wares, hawking everything from roasted chestnuts to enchanted daggers. The air smelled of spice, smoke, and freshly baked bread.
I pulled out my notebook and began recording prices.
Elves, beastmen, dwarves — even pale-skinned vampires — wove through the crowd.
The Empire's currency system ran from bronze all the way to the impossibly rare adamantite coins:
* **1 adamantite coin** = 1,000 platinum coins
* **1 platinum coin** = 1,000 gold coins
* **1 gold coin** = 100 silver coins
* **1 silver coin** = 100 bronze coins
Adamantite coins were so rare, most common folk never even saw one.
I stopped at a fruit stall. "Excuse me, how much for this apple?"
The vendor looked me over. "One bronze coin for a single apple, or three bronze for a kilo."
I nodded and moved on, checking the prices of bread, clothes, and other necessities. Doing the math, I realized:
One bronze coin was worth about **0.55 US dollars**.
That meant an adamantite coin was worth **5.5 billion dollars**.
I stopped in my tracks. *Is this world really that rich…?*
---
My next stop was the inn. The place smelled of ale and woodsmoke, and the crowd was a lively mix of knights, adventurers — and what looked suspiciously like bandits.
"Hello," I said to the innkeeper, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes. "Could you answer a few questions for me?"
She smirked. "Sure. But it'll cost you a drink."
"Water, then," I replied, sliding a bronze coin across the counter.
She blinked, then laughed. "You're a funny little one." But she answered my questions all the same.
When I left, the sun was high. I started toward the blacksmith — only to spot a boy about my age, with messy brown hair and wide eyes, staring up at the blacksmith's sign as if he'd never seen one before.
And for some reason… I slowed my steps