While the prince conversed with the king inside the palace, the dragon arrived.

With a sweep of its wings, it summoned a hurricane, shaking every palace structure to its core. The defenses woven throughout the palace crumbled before it like fragile foam—shattered by the slightest touch.

Without even unleashing its most devastating forbidden spell, the dragon tore through the capital’s barrier with draconic magic. Its claws sheared the tower clean, and it roared away with the little princess trapped inside.

The Fairy Tale Kingdom had lost its most radiant gem—as if the West had lost Jerusalem.

The prince watched the king let out a high-pitched shriek, duck beneath the table, and tremble violently.

He found the reaction almost laughable… yet somehow, entirely expected.

Ever since their meeting, he’d disliked this pot-bellied middle-aged man. No clear reason—just a soul-deep revulsion.

Still, the prince forced a gentle smile. After the dragon vanished, he reached down, pulled the king up, and murmured:

“Your Majesty, fear not. The beast has retreated.”

The king exhaled sharply, steadied himself on the prince’s shoulder, then snapped upright, voice booming:

“This is provocation! A direct insult to our Fairy Tale Kingdom! That dragon will pay!”

The prince lowered his gaze and nodded.

“Indeed, Your Majesty.”

Seemingly pleased, the king gave a firm nod, summoned a servant, and demanded:

“How fares the palace? Why did the dragon attack?”

The servant knelt, forehead pressed to the floor.

“Your Majesty… the palace stands. Only the tower…”

“The tower?” Sweat beaded on the king’s brow. “What of it?”

“The upper half—and the little princess within—were taken.”

“I see…” The king wiped his brow, waving dismissively. “No matter. There’s the prophecy! It said my daughter would be stolen by a dragon… and a prince would come. Yes—a prince!”

He turned to the prince, forcing a smile slick with flattery.

“Nephew,” he patted the prince’s shoulder, “the moment you set foot in my Fairy Tale Kingdom, the dragon struck and took my daughter. Can this be mere coincidence? Could… you be the prophesied prince?”

His tone and expression oddly evoked the phrase: *After thorough review by the organization, you have been unanimously selected to be the prince.*

Was this… a vibe of being handpicked?

…For some reason, the prince found his demeanor strangely slimy.

Yet he swallowed the instinctive nausea, nodded, and replied noncommittally, like a true prince:

“Perhaps.”

The king grew flustered, sweat streaming. “‘Perhaps’? Nephew—you *are* the prince! No one in this world fits the prophecy better! Uncle begs you—please, save my little princess!”

“…”

The prince stared, emotions twisting strangely.

*He calls me the prince… the most suitable prince… Yet years ago, I was merely his scolded servant.*

When did the lowliest servant earn the king’s own endorsement as the rightful prince?

Or… if he was a fake prince, was this king an impostor too?

Unthinkable thoughts swirled inward—but outwardly, he knelt smoothly on one knee. He drew the Sword of Virtue, gripped it tight before his chest, closed his eyes, and vowed:

“Here, before Your Majesty, I swear: I will bring the little princess home… on my life.”

A wave of unexpected ecstasy flooded the king’s face.

“Good!” He seized the prince’s hand, hauling him up. “She’s in your hands!”

Only then did he seem a genuine father, trembling with paternal worry.

The prince fell silent.

Something felt… off. Yet a deeper, unshakable rule silenced his doubts.

So he abandoned thought, bowed his head respectfully.

“Yes.”

…

Adventurers—ubiquitous as flies—always hunted the dragon’s trail first.

After the king posted the bounty to slay the beast and rescue the princess, they swarmed the Fairy Tale Kingdom like rabid hounds, scouring for the lair.

Human wave tactics never fail.

Soon, they pinpointed the dragon’s location.

Under cover of night, while the dragon hunted, they stormed the lair—only to find the princess gone. Enraged, they cursed its cunning: *Taking her even while foraging? Utterly unscrupulous!*

They burned the lair to ash.

The dragon, with the princess, fled to the primordial forest at the kingdom’s edge. Waiting adventurers witnessed its departure and cast an undetectable tracking spell.

All part of the plan.

Dragon lairs brim with defensive wards. Even the prince doubted he could defeat it on home ground.

Force it to relocate with fire. Strike before new defenses rise.

That was the plan.

The dragon-slaying force—adventurers, soldiers, the prince—marched forth.

Then, silently, the dragon unleashed a forbidden spell from above.

In an instant, nearly all were vaporized.

Only the prince remained.

The blessing from the Lady of the Lake absorbed the blast completely. He stood unharmed.

But the others… gone. Suddenly. Silently.

Though he held little affection for them, rage surged through him. Negative emotions flooded his veins. He raised the Sword of Virtue and glared up at the descending dragon.

*Unforgivable.*

The dragon sneered.

“You came under the banner of ‘righteousness.’ Why shouldn’t I fight back?”

He should have stayed silent. Some will had seized his voice.

But… another will intervened. Opposing forces canceled. His voice returned.

He met the dragon’s gaze, paused, then shook his head.

“No. I didn’t come for righteousness. Not to kill you. I came… for the girl I love.”

He raised the Sword of Virtue, his small human frame facing the colossal beast.

“Return the little princess to me.”

His grip tightened on the blade.

“…”

The dragon fell silent, a trace of surprise in its eyes. Then it exhaled a plume of dragonfire.

“For *her*?” A cold laugh. “The prophesied prince, fighting for love? How poetic.”

“Pity…”

It lowered its head, tore a scale from its chest with sharp teeth, and summoned the Dragon God’s power. Countless blessings surged over it.

In this moment, the dragon—destined by prophecy to fall to the righteous prince—now stood as his equal.

No longer about races, prophecies, or good versus evil.

It was love.

A story born of love would end through love.

Mist descended. Fangs bared. Claws gleamed. The Sword of Virtue rose.

Battle hung by a thread.

The prince struck first. He vanished like a phantom, reappeared before the dragon, and slashed toward its neck with both hands.

The dragon blocked effortlessly with a claw—then unleashed the black dragonfire it had long gathered.

The blessing from the Lady of the Lake’s trial flickered, weakened, shattered like glass.

But his strike landed.

*Love.*

Fueled by the princess. Amplified by the Sword of Virtue. Yet carrying death’s chill.

Blinding light erupted, scouring the forest. Even the dragon’s impervious scales shattered, melted, erased.

The Sword of Virtue sliced through scaled flesh like a red-hot butter knife. With a roar, the prince dragged it upward—severing the forelimb, driving deep into the chest, nearly grazing the heart.

But no further.

The dragon’s other claw had silently pierced his chest, clutching his heart.

Eyes wide, the prince pushed with his last strength. The dragon, wracked with pain, tightened its grip.

The dragon collapsed first—life source broken, body limp.

The prince followed—but did not fall. He knelt toward the empty lair’s direction, leaning on the Sword of Virtue, clinging to fading blessing.

Futile. Dragon blood blinded him. Numbness stole his limbs. Thoughts froze like ice.

Yet… he smiled silently.

Ah.

Little princess.

I’ve given you freedom…

Though I die, it is meaningful. So when you hear… please don’t grieve too deeply, alright?

Smile. I’ve always loved your smile.

I loved you all along. Never had the courage to say it. Never will.

What a pity.

I’m dying.

Sorry… I can’t stay to tell you stories, or show you the world as promised… and…

His trembling hand fumbled into his pocket, closing around the ring prepared long ago.

Head bowed in quiet regret.

So…

Farewell.

My little princess.

…

The heartless prince closed his eyes, standing like a solemn statue.

He died without a sound.

[To be continued]

—