The Royal Banquet was a sea of shimmering gold and deep sapphires, a gaudy display of the wealth and unyielding pride of the Fenric line. For the high nobility of Oakhaven, the miraculous recovery of Arthur—the infamous "Glass Prince"—was merely a footnote in the evening's gossip. It was a minor social curiosity to be idly discussed over goblets of vintage spiced wine and plates of roasted pheasant before being forgotten entirely.
Arthur sat at the far end of the high table, literally and figuratively marginalized. He was tucked safely behind a massive, towering floral arrangement that smelled cloyingly of lilies. He wanted to be a ghost. In truth, he needed to be. Every time he blinked, the world before him dissolved into a chaotic, vibrating storm of red static. It was the ambient, atmospheric ether—a jagged, raw energy that only his eyes could perceive.
[Skill: World-Mana Manipulation (Lvl 4) Active.]
[Observation: Ambient mana density is 40% higher near the King's throne.]
Arthur took a slow, deliberate sip of water, focusing entirely on keeping his hand perfectly steady. He forced his shoulders back, matching the rigid, suffocating decorum of the court simply to blend into the background.
[Skill Acquired: Refined Etiquette (Lvl 2)]
Across the sprawling, vaulted hall, a cluster of young squires and disgraced knights watched him intently. These were the "Leavings" of the military academy—men and women cast aside by a system that valued noble bloodlines over actual merit. They had heard the mocking rumors of the fragile Prince who wouldn't stop falling down, but what they saw tonight did not match the rumors.
"Look at him," whispered Elara. She was a disgraced knight-captain, recently stripped of her rank for "insubordination" after refusing to let a high lord's incompetent son lead her vanguard into a literal death trap. "He's sitting there completely ignored by his own father, yet he hasn't touched a drop of wine. Look at his posture. That isn't the posture of a broken boy."
[Skill Acquired: Unconscious Command (Lvl 1)]
[Effect: Your movements possess a silent gravity that draws the eyes of the disenfranchised.]
Arthur remained entirely oblivious to their intense stares. His focus was narrowed down to his own pale hands resting beneath the heavy velvet tablecloth. He was subtly snapping his fingers in a precise, rhythmic cadence, attempting to cycle the oppressive red mist pooling around his fingertips.
Snap. A tiny, jagged spark of crimson materialized and vanished.
Snap. A slightly larger, burning ember crackled against his skin.
[Skill: Rhythmic Focusing (Lvl 1) Acquired.]
[World-Mana Manipulation has leveled up to Lvl 6.]
The Unintended Audience
"Prince Arthur," a voice boomed, cutting through the symphonic music and aristocratic laughter.
The entire hall went dead silent. King Alaric Fenric stood at the center of the high table, his sapphire-studded crown catching the brilliant light of the chandeliers. When the King looked down at Arthur, there was no warmth, no fatherly affection; he stared at his son as if he were a glaring smudge on a priceless masterpiece.
"I am told you have been... uncharacteristically active in the training grounds lately," the King said, his rich voice dripping with a tired, performative condescension. "Our esteemed guests wish to see the true 'resilience' of the Fenric bloodline. Perhaps a small demonstration of your mana? A simple light spell to delight the ladies?"
A collective snicker rippled through the court. The nobility knew Arthur possessed zero internal mana circuits. This wasn't an invitation; it was a calculated public shaming masquerading as royal favor.
Arthur stood up slowly, the floral arrangement no longer hiding him. He hated this. He didn't want the spotlight. He desperately wanted to return to the quiet sanctuary of the library and grind his [Tactical Analysis] skill to Level 10. But the translucent blue screens of the System suddenly flashed before his eyes, overriding his desires.
[Quest: The Lion's Den]
[Objective: Do not be humiliated.]
[Reward: Skill Evolution.]
"I have no spells to show, Father," Arthur said clearly, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
The King sneered, leaning forward. "Then what exactly have you been doing with those wooden swords? Playing pretend like a common child?"
Arthur stepped out from behind the table and walked deliberately into the center of the ballroom. The "Leavings"—Elara and her band of outcasts—leaned forward in their seats, their hearts suddenly racing. They saw what the arrogant high lords completely missed: the way Arthur's feet moved in perfect, silent synchronicity, balancing his weight with flawless martial precision.
"I have not been practicing spells," Arthur said, stopping in the middle of the floor. "I have been learning to listen."
He raised his right hand toward the ceiling. He didn't reach inside himself for power. He didn't tap into internal veins of refined, royal blue mana. Instead, he reached outward. He violently grabbed the ambient, atmospheric mana—the red, jagged, and bleeding energy that saturated the room.
[Skill: World-Mana Manipulation (Lvl 10) Maxed!]
[Evolution: Crimson Command (Lvl 1)]
Suddenly, the air in the ballroom grew impossibly heavy, dropping the atmospheric pressure in an instant. The thousands of white candles illuminating the hall didn't just flicker; their flames instantly turned a violent, bleeding crimson. A terrifying halo of red lightning crackled and hissed violently around Arthur's fingertips. It wasn't the soft, comforting glow of a standard "light spell." It felt like the oppressive, suffocating roar of a dying star.
[Skill Acquired: Atmosphere Suppression (Lvl 1)]
Noblewomen gasped, dropping their fans and pulling back in sheer terror. The smug smile vanished from the King's face, replaced by a sudden, pale rigidness. This wasn't the elegant, controlled Fenric gift. This was something ancient. Something primal and utterly raw.
Recognizing the escalating danger, Arthur quickly closed his fist, snuffing out the bleeding red light before the sheer pressure could shatter the glass chandeliers above. He offered a slight, mocking bow to the throne.
"As I said. A simple light."
The First Shadows
Arthur retreated from the hall immediately, slipping through a set of heavy side doors before the stunned silence could break into a frenzy of questions. He made his way quickly into the darkened, moonlit palace gardens, breathing heavily. Drawing directly from the world's raw mana was exhilarating, but it was profoundly exhausting to contain.
"Your Highness."
Arthur spun around on his heel, his hand instinctively dropping to his left hip where a sword hilt should have been.
[Skill: Danger Sense (Lvl 3) Triggered.]
Four figures emerged slowly from the deep shadows of the hedges. Elara was at the front. Without hesitation, she dropped to one knee and pressed her fist tightly against her heart in a formal knight's salute—a sacred vow reserved exclusively for a sovereign ruler. Behind her stood three young squires, their eyes wide with an intense mixture of terror and absolute devotion.
"What do you want?" Arthur asked, his voice cutting through the cool night air like ice.
"We saw it," Elara said, her voice trembling with uncharacteristic emotion. "The red. The high lords call it an anomaly, a disgrace to your bloodline. But we felt it. That wasn't the 'refined' mana of the lords who sit on silk pillows while others die for them. That was the mana of the world itself. The mana of those of us who have to fight for every single breath we take."
[Skill Acquired: Accidental Charisma (Lvl 1)]
"I am not looking for followers, Knight-Captain," Arthur said coldly, turning his back to them. "I am trying to survive."
"We aren't looking for a traditional Prince," Elara replied, stepping closer, her armor clinking softly. "We are looking for a teacher. You possess no internal circuits, yet you commanded the very air around us. Teach us how to be 'disgraces' just like you."
Arthur stared blankly at the bright system notifications popping up rapidly in his peripheral vision, a collective pit forming in his stomach.
[Follower Gained: Elara of the Broken Shield.]
[Follower Gained: Kael the Unfinished.]
[Sub-System Unlocked: The Crimson Guard (0/10 Slots).]
Arthur sighed heavily, aggressively rubbing his temples to stave off an impending headache. He just wanted to grind levels in peace and avoid execution. Now, he suddenly had a small army of heavily armed outcasts looking at him as if he were a divine messiah.
"I am going to the Western Woods at dawn to practice," Arthur said, walking away into the darkness without looking back. "If you are there, you are there. But if you get in my way, I am using you for target practice."
[Skill: Intimidation has leveled up to Lvl 5.]
As his boots clicked away down the stone path, the quiet whispers of the squires drifted through the trees behind him.
"He is so intensely focused," one squire breathed in awe.
"The Crimson Prince," Elara whispered back, her voice fiercely loyal. "The world is going to bleed for him."
Arthur groaned aloud to himself. He desperately needed to find a passive skill that lowered his "Coolness" rating before he accidentally started a full-scale revolution.