Reborn as the Empire's Blind Prince

9. Birthday Eve

The days went by slow. It was an agonizing crawl toward the inevitable and finally it was the eve of his birthday.

For the better part of the week, Lucian had confined himself to the sprawling expanse of his bedroom, spending hours simply lying flat on his silk-sheeted bed, waiting for the dawn that would decide his fate.

He raised his hands into the air, holding them up against the backdrop of the vaulted ceiling.

His physical eyes were closed, sealed in their perpetual, useless darkness, but his False Sight was wide open.

He focused his mind, zooming in on his own hands. He was still learning to control the intricacies of this strange, system-like ability.

Beneath his pale skin, he could see the network of his veins, not as blood vessels, but as colored lines of light carrying a faint, sluggish stream of weak essence.

It was mesmerizing, tracing the pathways of his own limited power.

But his physical vessel was still far too frail to handle the sensory overload.

The moment he pushed the False Sight deeper, a sharp, searing sting pierced through his temples. He immediately released the focus.

"Tch," he muttered, dropping his hands back onto the mattress. He stared sightlessly up at the ceiling.

Just thinking about it, Even my old, overworked student body back on Earth was sturdier than this. I might have been exhausted, but at least I wasn't this weak. Still, I can't entirely blame the original Lucian for having such a pathetic build.

He turned his face toward the long, arched windows of his room. He couldn't see the glass, but through False Sight, he could perceive the shifting outlines of the ancient trees and the towering spires of the Starlight Castle outside.

It was an isolated fortress, nestled in a secluded domain entirely separated from the rest of the Valerian Empire. It was a world he had yet to truly see.

A sudden, weighty thought anchored itself in his mind.

What if I awaken tomorrow? What's next for me?

He turned his head away from the window, staring blankly upward once more.

Who do I become if I actually survive this Ordeal?

He held the thought for a long moment, weighing the politics, the assassins, and the empire waiting to swallow him whole.

Then, he let out a quiet scoff.

Well, one thing is for sure. I'm going to start by getting this frail body stronger. Then whatever comes next.

The isolation of the week had only been broken by his meals. On some of those days, he had spent time talking with Isabel, his personal maid.

The conversations always started out stiff and weird, and somehow ended even weirder.

He recalled the afternoon she had come to clear his table. He had just finished eating another excessively rich, decadent meal, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Another lovely meal," Lucian praised, leaning back in his chair.

Isabel chuckled, a soft, polite sound.

"Do you cook it?" he asked casually.

Isabel smiled, keeping her head bowed low in deference, the empty silver tray clutched tightly in her hands.

"No, I don't, Master. The meals are prepared exclusively by the castle chefs."

Of course they are, Lucian thought. God forbid a royal eats something made by a common maid.

"Can you cook at all?" he pressed.

Isabel flushed. Even with his eyes closed, False Sight picked up the sudden shift in her aura. A pale pink hue flared around her silhouette, broadcasting her sheer embarrassment.

"It's… it's not as good as this, Master."

"So, you can't cook," Lucian concluded bluntly.

Isabel didn't answer. The pink aura thickened, vibrating with deeper mortification. Lucian couldn't help himself; he let out a genuine laugh at her expense.

"Master, please, permit me to return the dishes," Isabel stammered, clearly desperate to escape the room. Through his Sight, Lucian noticed the subtle tremor in her hands against the tray and the nervous, shifting movements of her legs.

He stopped laughing, his tone shifting into something sharper, more curious. "If you can't cook, what can you do, aside from being a maid to your master?"

Isabel raised her head, startled. The old Lucian, the fragile, broken boy who occupied this body before Ming Ho took over never asked questions about her. They never had conversations like this. Did any master in this rigid empire ever casually interrogate their maid about her life goals?

She clearly found the entire exchange deeply unnerving.

"Come on, don't leave me hanging," Lucian urged, resting his chin on his knuckles.

Isabel hesitated. The nervous shuffling of her feet continued. Is she just uncomfortable, or is she hiding something? Lucian wondered.

Finally, Isabel turned her gaze away from him, looking toward the open window. "I know I am meant to be just a maid," she said, her voice dropping to a soft, wistful whisper.

"But sometimes… I wish I could do more. Like travel on adventures with a proper team. An adventure squad."

"Can you fight?" Lucian asked, raising a brow.

"Fight? No. I can't," she admitted quickly.

"Then what would be your use to a team?"

Isabel turned back to him, her eyes wide. At that exact moment, the heavy oak windows blew wide open.

A sudden, violent gust of wind swept into the bedroom, catching her hair and sending it billowing around her shoulders. It felt as though a storm was rolling in.

But Lucian wasn't paying attention to the weather. His False Sight flared. From the center of Isabel's chest, a brilliant, pulsating green glow erupted, shaped like a pristine white cross.

Essence? Lucian thought, his mental gears grinding to a halt.

Emotions emitted outside the body, forming the colored auras he read constantly. But essence—true, awakening power—flowed strictly inside the body.

Right now, Isabel's chest was glowing like a beacon of pure restorative energy.

Isabel didn't move to shut the window. She stood perfectly still, letting the wind whip around her.

"I come from a family of healers," she confessed, her voice barely carrying over the rushing wind. "My grandfather, my father… they were esteemed healers in the Valerian Empire. They served the Emperor himself. It is a generational gift within our bloodline."

Lucian frowned. "So why aren't you one?"

Isabel bowed her head again, the wistful energy draining from her posture as if she had suddenly remembered her station.

Lucian noticed her knuckles turning white as her grip tightened on the tray.

The brilliant green aura in her chest dimmed, returning to a dull, neutral white.

"Unfortunately, it is strictly forbidden for a lady in my family to become a healer," she said bitterly. "So, we are trained to serve. We are made to be maids."

She turned abruptly, setting the tray on a nearby stool before marching over to wrestle the heavy windows shut.

Not only is my family cruel, but it seems like this entire world is deeply fundamentally flawed, Lucian sighed internally. If this had been my old world on Earth, there would have been a massive women rights movement tearing the capital down by now.

Isabel returned, picking up the tray once more, her face an unreadable mask. "Is there anything else I should do for you, Master?"

"No. That's all," Lucian dismissed her quietly. She bowed and walked out, leaving him to the silence of his room.

The days that followed were filled with equally quiet moments and heavy, unspoken tension.

As his birthday arrived, all the Princes of the Everstar bloodline had finally gathered within the Starlight Castle. The Emperor's grand arrival was eagerly awaited.

On the surface, the castle bustled with the illusion that they were all here to support the youngest son during his Ordeal.

But Lucian knew the truth. It was the exact opposite. When the polite chatter should have been about The Sixth Son's Ordeal, the silent, suffocating question echoing in the halls was actually: What is the fate of the Sixth Son?

Later that afternoon, Garrett wheeled Lucian out into the expansive royal gardens.

Lucian had requested the walk simply because the walls of his bedroom were beginning to feel like a tomb.

Being wheeled around like this really doesn't seem that bad, Lucian mused, feeling the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun against his face. But after tomorrow, this charade ends. I better enjoy the free rides while I still can.

"Young Master," Garrett called out softly from behind the chair.

"What is it, Garrett?" Lucian asked, keeping his tone perfectly polite.

"I hope you do not feel pressured about tomorrow," the older man said, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Lucian paused. Did he feel pressured? He sifted through the complex web of his own emotions. He was surrounded by preys, sitting in a crippled body, about to undergo a magical trial that had a high chance of being the end of him.

"No, I don't feel pressured," Lucian answered smoothly.

But internally, he corrected himself. I don't feel pressured about the ceremony or the politics. The real pressure is what happens if I survive.

He turned his face slightly toward his retainer. "What do you think, Garrett?"

He could hear the smile in Garrett's voice. "You are a very strong prince," Garrett commended warmly.

"The absolute truth is, the chances of you not awakening tomorrow are incredibly low. You possess the Everstar bloodline. For you to have survived this long, made it through your childhood, and reached this eve… it means tomorrow will be fine."

Lucian chuckled aloud, but his blood ran completely cold.

Garrett had just said something meant to be comforting, but to Lucian's transmigrated, analytical mind, it was the final piece of a terrifying puzzle. It made perfect, chilling sense.

That is why I was assassinated, Lucian realized.

Whoever had ordered the hit on him last week didn't do it because he was a weak blind embarrassment.

They did it because they knew he would survive the Ordeal. They knew his Everstar blood was potent enough to awaken. So, they decided to cut his throat a week before he could ever claim that power.

The "Why" was finally solved. He was a threat.

As for the 'Who'?

Through his False Sight, Lucian caught the shifting of an aura approaching them from down the garden path.

The figure walked with a reckless, swaggering gait.

He was dressed in deep shades of blue, his silk shirt half-unbuttoned to reveal his chest.

He had the same dark hair as Lucian, and though Lucian couldn't see the physical colors with his normal eyes, he knew those eyes were a piercing, identical silver.

During a previous walk, Lucian had interrogated Garrett about his mother, Kestrel.

He learned that she wasn't the Emperor's only wife, she was actually divorced from the Emperor, yet still maintained a powerful, precarious position in the palace. She had born two sons: Lucian, the blind Sixth Prince, and Cipher Everstar, the volatile Fourth Prince.

His full-blooded brother.

"If it isn't the birthday boy," Cipher called out, his voice dripping with mock affection. He stopped a few paces away. "It's good to see you... Alive."

Lucian tilted his head, looking directly at his brother. His False Sight flared to life. Cipher was completely engulfed in a violent, roiling red aura.

Red meant intent. It meant rage. It meant severe, imminent danger.

"The punishment for harming a fellow Everstar is forced abdication," Lucian let out smoothly, his voice completely devoid of fear.

"You must not have known that. Well, I wonder what you even know at all, considering how reckless you are."

Lucian kept his physical eyes closed, but through his False Sight, he watched Cipher's reaction perfectly.

Cipher stared at him, the red aura shifting into a cold, hardened intent...an intent Lucian couldn't fully decipher yet. Was it the guilt of a failed assassin, or the rage of a humiliated brother?

"Greetings, my Prince," Garrett interjected nervously, bowing deep.

Cipher completely ignored the retainer. His face had hardened into stone. He looked down at the blind boy in the wheelchair with an icy, calculating gaze.

Where the old Lucian would have cowered in absolute terror, Ming Ho felt nothing but a quiet, thrilling calm.

If whoever had tried to kill him was standing right here, they wouldn't make the game easy. It still didn't make sense or was he wrong?

But as he sat there, bathed in his brother's murderous red aura, Lucian knew one thing for certain: his true Ordeal hadn't even started yet, and the board was already set.