Reborn as the Empire's Blind Prince

10. The Ordeal

[Dear readers, this chapter is deliberately slow for a reason, feel free to skim, Love author.]

Cipher's face shifted. For a fraction of a second, the red aura around him flickered, replaced by a brief, genuine wave of bewilderment. He clearly had no idea what Lucian was talking about.

"Don't get over your head," Cipher sneered, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hiss. "Your life is still on the line, little brother. Remember that. If you fail tomorrow, my mother would be so incredibly disappointed. Though, I suppose she's used to it by now."

Lucian felt a sharp retort rise in his throat, but he deliberately clamped his jaw shut. Through his False Sight, he could see the volatile nature of Cipher's energy. His brother was like a powder keg. One wrong word, one slight push, and Cipher would spark into an erratic fury right here in the courtyard. Lucian didn't have the physical strength to deal with an unhinged royal prince throwing a tantrum on the eve of the Ordeal.

He chose silence, staring blankly ahead through his closed, cloth-bound eyes.

"Trust me, I hate looking at your pathetic face as much as you hate looking at mine," Cipher spat, placing his hands on his waist and letting out a heavy, irritated sigh. "If it weren't for that stupid imperial law preventing us from hitting each other, things would be very different right now. Keep hiding those freakish eyes of yours, Lucian. I never liked seeing them."

With a dramatic swirl of his unbuttoned blue coat, Cipher turned on his heel and began to swagger away.

But as his brother turned, Lucian shifted his internal focus, sweeping his False Sight down toward Cipher's retreating hands. What he saw left him entirely frozen in disbelief.

Gleaming on Cipher's right hand, on his finger, was a heavy, ornate gold ring—the official Everstar signet ring. Lucian zoomed his vision in, pushing past the stinging pressure in his temples just long enough to read the precise, elegant engraving etched into the metal.

It was the number four.

Wha— Lucian's breath hitched. A wave of profound shock rippled through his mind, shattering his previous deductions. Just a moment ago, he had been entirely convinced that Cipher was the culprit behind his assassination attempt. The red aura, the hostile tone, the sheer arrogance, it all fit. But looking at Cipher's genuine cluelessness, and now seeing the actual ring on his hand, the pieces of the puzzle violently rearranged themselves.

Cipher hadn't done it. He was completely oblivious to the fact that someone had slit his younger brother's throat a week ago.

"Young Master," Garrett said softly, his hands returning to the handles of the wheelchair to break the heavy silence. "You do not have to listen to a single word the Fourth Prince says. You will do just fine tomorrow, I assure you."

It took Lucian a long moment to drag himself out of his thoughts. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice tight. "I will."

"Let us continue our walk, then," Garrett said, gently pushing the chair forward along the stone path.

As the wheels turned, Lucian's mind worked at a furious pace.

'If it really was Cipher, would he be stupid enough to replicate his own royal ring and leave it behind at the scene of the crime just for me to find? It could be a double-bluff to make me think he was framed... but his aura didn't lie. His emotional intent remained a flat, consistent line of arrogant dislike. There was no spike of panic, no shift of hidden guilt. He doesn't know I can read emotions, so if he were hiding a murder attempt, his aura would have flared when I mentioned abdication. He truly knows nothing.'

Lucian held a moment, his thoughts arranged.

'If it isn't Cipher, why was his number on the ring left by the killer? Lucian mused darkly. Are they trying to mislead me? Throwing a false scent to cover their own tracks while they hide in the shadows? Or did I somehow misread the number? No, I'm certain of what I saw. It's a four.'

He pulled the ring out just a fraction, tilting it within his pocket to double-check it with a passive sweep of his mind. It was still a four. He shoved it back down.

Well, I knew surviving this family wasn't going to be an easy game. If Cipher is out, that leaves the Third Prince and the Fifth Prince.

Lucian recalled the heavy, deliberate tap Cassian, the Third Prince, had given him on the shoulder during their brief encounter. It had felt like a warning, or perhaps a silent mockery. As for the Fifth Prince? Lucian hadn't even met him yet. He had no idea what kind of monster his fifth brother was, or his intent.

'No matter,' Lucian thought, his lips thinning into a cold, determined line. I will get to the bottom of this. Every single one of them will show their cards eventually.

The next day finally arrived. The morning of the Ordeal.

Lucian lay perfectly flat on his bed, the silence of the morning weighing heavily on his chest. The waiting was over. Today, the system, his bloodline, and his ultimate fate would collide.

A sharp knock echoed through the silence of his chamber.

"Come in," Lucian ordered calmly.

The door creaked open, and the familiar, light footsteps of Isabel entered the room. In her arms, she carefully carried a set of pristine, folded vestments, Lucian's official dress for the Ordeal ceremony.

Lucian's False Sight scanned the fabrics as she approached. Even without physical color, the sheer quality of the material radiated a dense, expensive weight.

It was a masterpiece of tailoring: an obsidian-black tunic constructed from reinforced silk, heavily embroidered with stark white patterns, and lined with brilliant, shimmering gold trim along the high collar and lapels.

It was an outfit meant for a true prince of the empire.

"Good morning, Master," Isabel said, her voice carrying a nervous undertone as she set the clothes down by the basin. "How are you feeling today?"

"I don't really know," Lucian replied honestly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "It's just… a lot."

Through his closed eyes, he saw Isabel's silhouette stiffen slightly. Her aura shifted into a confused, swirling pattern.

She wasn't entirely lost, but she clearly didn't understand the strange, detached calm radiating from her master on a day most people were in terror.

Lucian let out a soft sigh. "I feel like today is going to be good, bad, and ugly all at the same time. Does that make any sense to you?"

"No, Master," Isabel admitted, letting out a soft, genuine chuckle that dispelled some of the room's suffocating tension.

Lucian laughed along with her, but internally, his mind drifted back to his past life as Ming Ho.

To him, this feeling was exactly like facing a massive, life-altering exam back on Earth. Think of those hyper-important entrance exams that completely dictate your future career, your status, and your wealth. Even the students who have studied for years, who are perfectly prepared and completely ready, still enter the testing hall with trembling hands and nervous sweat.

But now, imagine an exam you never even knew existed. You find yourself dropped into a desk, completely blind to the subject, with only two weeks' notice to prepare for a test you didn't ask to take. And to top it off, if you fail this exam, you don't just get a bad grade...you literally die.

Does a situation like that make you nervous? No. It doesn't. Because you never bargained for it in the first place. You didn't choose to be here. The absurdity of the predicament leaves you with a numb, surreal mix of emotions rather than simple anxiety. That was exactly how Lucian felt. 

With practiced efficiency, Isabel helped him dress, smoothing out the gold-trimmed lapels and fastening the intricate silver buckles across his chest.

Once the final layers were secured, Lucian smoothed down his tunic and tilted his head. "How do I look?"

Isabel took a step back, her aura flaring with a warm, bright hue of deep admiration. "You look as handsome as ever, Master. Truly."

"Thank you," Lucian said, offering a small, composed smile. "All that's remaining now is for Garrett to wheel me down to the doom hall."

Isabel nodded silently, though she kept her eyes anchored to him. A brief, heavy silence stretched between them in the center of the sunlit room.

"Master," Isabel began, her voice dropping to a hesitant whisper. She clutched her hands together tightly. "I know this might be entirely out of line for a maid to say… but I would like to wish you all the luck in the world today."

Lucian paused, genuinely touched by the raw sincerity vibrating in her white-and-green aura. "Thank you, Isabel. I appreciate it more than you know."

Right on cue, a heavy knock rattled the doorframe. Garrett stood at the entrance, dressed in his formal retainer attire.

"Good morning, Young Master," Garrett greeted, bowing deeply.

"Good morning, Garrett," Lucian replied, adjusting the dark fabric over his eyes. "Shall we?"

"Yes, we shall," Garrett responded, stepping forward to assist him into the specialized wheelchair.

The journey through the cold, winding corridors of the Starlight Castle was silent. When they finally entered the grand ritual chamber, Lucian braced himself for a suffocating crowd.

To his surprise, the hall was remarkably sparse. The empire's lower nobility and common citizens hadn't been invited; only the most critical, heavyweight figures of the realm occupied the high stone benches.

His five older brothers, princes one through five, were all present. Yet, true to their fractured nature, they didn't sit together. Each occupied a completely separate section of the chamber, surrounded by their own loyal factions and guards like independent warlords awaiting a summit.

Beyond them sat the gray bearded Elders, the Great Elders of the royal court, and a handful of distant relatives and cousins whose names Lucian couldn't care less about.

But the most important observation of all? The central, towering throne at the apex of the chamber remained entirely empty. The Emperor was not present.

A massive, invisible weight lifted from Lucian's chest. The absence of his terrifying father allowed him to breathe a genuine sigh of relief. Dealing with the predators on the benches was dangerous enough; dealing with the dragon on the throne would have been catastrophic.

As Garrett wheeled him deeper into the room, Lucian opened his False Sight fully. Deliberately tearing his focus away from his brothers, Lucian locked his mental vision entirely onto the front of the chamber. There stood the High Elder, clad in ceremonial robes, positioned directly beside a massive, pedestal-mounted crystal orb. His fate. His awakening.

Garrett wheeled the chair to a halt directly in front of the raised dais. As the wheels stopped, a wave of low, hostile murmuring rippled through the gathered nobles. The whispers bounced off the high stone arches, carrying a palpable sense of disdain.

But one specific whisper broke through the ambient noise, cutting through the air with absolute clarity.

"...Pathetic."

The word hung in the air. Lucian didn't flinch. He didn't feel hurt, nor did he feel the sting of humiliation. Instead, a dark, incredibly cynical amusement bloomed within his mind.

'Pathetic,' he thought, internalizing the insult with a silent, mocking laugh. 'Yes. This entire farce is pathetic. You people sitting on your high benches, plotting against a crippled boy, are pathetic. This corrupt empire is pathetic. I am pathetic for being stuck in this body. Everything about this room is absolutely pathetic.'

He leaned into the dark absurdity of it all, his mind reaching a state of absolute, icy calm.

The High Elder stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Lucian's blindfold. Without a word of greeting, the old man raised his hands and began to mutter a sequence of incantations. The language was ancient, completely foreign to Lucian's ears.

After a long, agonizing minute of chanting, the Elder ceased his speaking and looked down.

"Place your hands upon the Orb of Awakening, Sixth Prince," the Elder commanded.

Lucian calmly stretched his arms forward. He expected the surface of the orb to feel freezing cold, or perhaps to vibrate with raw, volatile magic the moment his flesh made contact.

Instead, he felt absolutely nothing.

When his palms pressed against the polished surface, it was as if he had plunged his hands into nothing. There was no texture, no temperature, no resistance.

The longer his hands remained resting against the sphere, the more he felt a strange pulling sensation, as if his consciousness were slowly sinking into an endless, bottomless abyss. Yet outwardly, his physical hands remained perfectly still.

Ten seconds passed. Then twenty.

The orb remained completely silent. No glow emerged from its depths. It remained entirely dark.

Behind him, the tension in the chamber spiked to a suffocating degree. Lucian could practically feel the smug, victorious smirks forming on his brothers' faces. The whispers started up again, louder this time, preparing to celebrate the final failure of the blind prince.

But then...

Deep within the absolute nothingness of the orb, a spark caught. And a blinding, cataclysmic light erupted.