If I had my way, I’d curse my biological father for sending me to this godforsaken place the moment I landed.

“...Let’s move.”

I muttered to myself instead of grumbling, hastening my steps.

I moved quickly, knowing that wasting time grumbling would likely lead to someone else jumping out of the window just as I had.

Tonight, the sky did not welcome the moon or stars, severely limiting my vision.

But my body, honed through endless training, and my sharpened senses, allowed me to place my steps accurately even in this pitch-black darkness.

Moreover...

Thud!!

Just as I was about to take another step, I sensed a presence at the spot where I had just jumped, which only made me quicken my already hurried pace.

It seemed like the bride, who had pointed a sword at the groom upon entering the bridal chamber, was now looking for the groom who had escaped by the window.

I wanted to lift my head to confirm, but I knew that doing so would get me caught immediately.

It wasn’t a mere feeling; it was a certainty.

In the succession war waged by the emperor’s bloodline to claim the throne after his death.

Even the slightest hesitation could not be shown by someone strong enough to single-handedly make the princess they supported the emperor.

“Tsk...”

Clicking my tongue lightly, I continued my steps while keeping my presence as hidden as possible.

My eyes, which had adapted to the darkness, showed me the way, making it easy to move my body.

Despite this, memories kept flooding in and out of my mind as I moved, memories of my first night in this openly proclaimed political marriage, or rather, forced marriage.

These memories began when I, believed to be an orphan with no background, ran away from the orphanage at a young age and survived day by day in the back alleys.

After the sudden death of the emperor, who left no clear successor, and after his funeral, the succession war began, with the emperor’s bloodline, who had previously competed for succession in secret, now openly declaring themselves as the rightful ruler of the empire.

I was an orphan. An unnamed orphan abandoned in an orphanage right after birth, swaddled in a blanket.

Unlike other children brought to the orphanage, at least their names were written on a piece of paper left with them.

For someone like me, who didn’t even deserve a name, there was no evidence left in the blanket I was wrapped in to infer my identity.

The only clue was that the quality of the blanket suggested my parents were of fairly high status, but no other information was available.

That was me, an orphan with no information about my parents, living without any solace or purpose for being born.

The boy, merely an orphan, isolated himself from the world, refusing to interact with others.

By the time he grew up a bit, he had even run away from the orphanage that had raised him and started wandering the back alleys.

It was around that time that he began muttering to himself, “I’m living because I was born, and if I die, then so be it.”

Living such a careless life, thinking that if he lived, he lived, and if he died, he died, was far from a good life.

To survive each day, he begged for food or stole from others.

Sometimes, he was unlucky and got beaten nearly to death.

During those beatings, his stubbornness would kick in, and he would keep attacking his opponent over and over, barely surviving each day.

The old saying that the past gets romanticized didn’t apply to the moments he lived through; they were too harsh to ever be romanticized.

Looking back, it seems funny. I used to think I was just living because I was born and would die if I died, but in reality, I was desperately struggling to survive.

Now, remembering that time, it wasn’t romanticized at all; it was a period filled with disgust. But even if I were to relive those moments, I doubt my choices would have been different.

An orphan with nothing but a body and no skills, living in back alleys, didn’t have many options.

A major turning point in my life came about two years ago from now.

That day wasn’t different from any other.

I roamed the streets looking for food for the day, sometimes stealing from others who were also thieves.

Rebellion? Even when I was younger, kids who got hit by my fists didn’t dare rebel. They handed over their food as soon as they sensed my presence, so that day, I didn’t have to move much, making it a rather good day.

Until that incident happened.

As I finished the day and entered the shabby shack that I called my home in the back alley, everything changed.

- “I’ve finally found you.”

I was startled by a voice as soon as I stepped inside and turned towards the sound.

“Fated one.”

The man who spoke those mysterious words slowly approached me.

Although he didn’t seem much larger than me, every step he took felt like a mountain was moving towards me, exuding a powerful presence.

It was the first time I felt a life-threatening aura that I had never sensed from the thugs in the back alleys.

- “As your father who brought you into this world, I command you. Follow me.”

That was the first time I met the man who had abandoned me as an orphan but had come looking for me when he needed me—the man I called my father.

The southern sword Manor, Manor of the Fallen Sword Duke, once stood shoulder to shoulder in swordsmanship with the Northern Sword Spirit, currently the Empire’s most renowned sword family and home to the best swordsmen in the empire.

I was born as the younger twin brother, considered the most ominous curse in the history of that duke’s family.

Despite not being an illegitimate child, I was cast out immediately after birth, never knowing the faces of my parents. The man who took me in, who called himself my father, taught me this while I roamed the back alleys.

When he appeared out of nowhere, claiming me as his blood and saying he would take me, I felt nothing but anger and resisted fiercely, even trying to run away.

But it was perhaps natural for hatred to blossom toward a father who subdued me with the cold, piercing eyes that looked at me as if I were an object, swinging his sheathed sword like a club without even drawing it.

His dark hair, darker than the dimly lit shack we stood in, and golden eyes that shone so brightly they seemed to illuminate the shack, stood in stark contrast.

He looked so much like me that it was like looking into a mirror.

While my face was filled with discontent and anger that I couldn’t suppress, his golden eyes bore a cold, mechanical gaze that judged everything by its utility.

The first impression I had of my biological father, with his impassive face that gave no clues about the life he had lived, was one of confusion and fear.

At the time, I didn’t know that behind that unreadable expression lay an ambition so overwhelming it could consume him.

The man who called himself my father treated me harshly after taking me from the back alleys.

As soon as he led me to some unknown place, he tossed me a longsword and demanded that I wield it with both hands.

Even if he had taught me kindly, he wouldn’t have left a good impression. Instead, he treated me roughly, and his frequent comments during my training still ignite the embers of my inner fury.

He used to say, “Even a cursed star has its use, and I will use you accordingly.”

I didn’t understand what he meant by “cursed star” at the time, but it didn’t sound pleasant.

As I grew older and realized the true meaning of his words, “cursed star” became a symbol of the rage within me.

Gritting my teeth, I couldn’t suppress the rising anger as the chill I had summoned swept through the various parts of the Northern Sword Manor.

Thinking that my current state didn’t even feel like living made it all the worse.

“Hoo….”

I exhaled deeply, trying to calm myself down, but the memories and anger kept swirling within me.

As I continued moving swiftly, memories kept surfacing, causing a surge of heat within me that I tried to quell with a sigh. These memories led me to recall relatively recent events.

Even though I added the qualifier “relatively,” the events I was recalling were from about a year and a half ago, which wasn’t too recent. Regardless, it was a period where the most intense and significant moments of my life had unfolded, so much so that I could vividly recall them even with my eyes closed.

It was during the time when I was led by my father to an unknown place and repeatedly swung the sword for the first time.

In this dark place, where it was difficult to keep track of time, my so-called father would periodically come to evaluate my swordsmanship.

Looking back now, it wasn’t a proper education. He didn’t teach me the correct forms or even the basics. It was more of a neglectful kind of training.

Yet, as I adjusted my movements based on his cold, curt remarks while swinging the sword, I sometimes found myself performing astonishing moves.

In hindsight, the training was bizarre.

The words my father muttered to himself during those sessions still resonate in my mind.

- “The Twin Stars are indeed a curse for me. If only Endymion had half the talent or at least the health that this child has, I wouldn’t have needed to find him.”

Though it was too dark to read his expression, I could sense the mix of regret, disappointment, and a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he spoke those words, cutting through the sound of my sword slicing the air.

Reflecting on it, the fact that he found some use for me, despite abandoning me in an orphanage, was something I could grudgingly understand. However, the regret and disappointment he felt remained a mystery to me.

At least, that was the question I had back then. I came to understand it all not long after.

Time passed, and as I trained to the point where I could force my father to use both hands, the incident occurred.

It was the sudden death of the emperor, as I mentioned before.