Even though they were both sons of Marquess Arvale, Raoul, the son of his father’s mistress, was always treated completely differently from Luke, the legitimate heir.
Luke’s birthday parties were extravagant, with lavish feasts and expensive gifts. All of the territory’s most powerful people attended to toast his brilliant future.
Raoul’s, on the other hand, were always quiet and low-key. At best, they might’ve thrown in a small cake to accompany the usual meal. He didn’t receive even a tenth of the presents Luke did.
“Oh, my poor Raoul. You should’ve been the next head of the family...” his mother always told him.
When the marquess’s wife had trouble conceiving a child, Raoul’s mother—only a maid—was chosen to become Marquess Arvale’s mistress and bear his child. A year later, Raoul was born.
She came from a minor noble family, so she didn’t have a Gift. But once her pregnancy was confirmed, the entire castle celebrated the new heir.
But the joy didn’t last long. Just a few days later, the marquess’s wife discovered she was pregnant, and Luke was born several months later, ending Raoul’s chances of ever succeeding the marquess. To make matters even worse, Luke was declared the older brother, even though Raoul had been born first.
“I’m sorry, Raoul...” his mother often said. “If only I’d been born into a better family or with a Gift... Maybe then, no one would’ve stolen your birthright...”
Raoul always fell silent when his mother said something like that. He didn’t know what to say.
But that was why he worked so hard. Each morning, he got up with the servants at the crack of dawn to practice his swordsmanship alone. He wasn’t given a teacher like Luke, so he just swung his sword, day in and day out, with determination.
He truly believed that if he became strong enough, his father or the other adults in the castle would recognize him, and then he could reclaim his place as the rightful heir.
Even as a young boy, he stubbornly clung to that conviction.
And eventually, all his effort paid off. Even with Luke receiving guidance from a personal instructor, one day, Raoul beat him easily in a sparring match. Thrilled, he ran off to tell his father.
But his father didn’t even look at him. To make matters worse, he completely dismissed Raoul’s efforts as pointless.
“It doesn’t matter how strong you become if you do not receive the Sword Mastery Gift,” he said. “And once Luke receives the Blessing, the difference in strength between you two will reverse immediately.”
Raoul’s young heart filled with fury and jealousy toward Luke. “Why?!” he yelled. “Why is it always him? Everything’s all his fault!”
Maybe his resentment even reached the gods, because everything changed when they turned twelve, the day of the Blessing ceremony.
The day the priest said, “Lord Luke Arvale, your Gift is... Village-Making.”
Instead of inheriting the Sword Mastery Gift, Luke got something that sounded like a total dud.
Then the unthinkable happened.
“Lord Raoul Arvale, your Gift is... O-Oh, my! Sword Mastery!”
No one had ever expected Raoul to receive the Sword Mastery Gift instead of Luke.
Marquess Arvale had always favored Luke, but at that moment, he ran over to Raoul and smiled in a way Luke had never seen before. Raoul’s mother sobbed with joy.
After that day, everyone’s attitude toward Raoul changed completely.
His mother had been kept in the shadows, but she suddenly rose to prominence as the mother of the next heir. Eventually, Raoul succeeded in driving Luke out and began rapidly mastering his new Gift. He took part in a crucial battle that decided the fate of Arvale on his very first campaign and won an overwhelming victory.
That performance earned the full trust of the marquess, and he was handed over control of the territory.
And people stopped questioning whether Raoul was the next head of House Arvale.
Then Raoul heard the rumors that Luke, who had been banished to the wasteland, had built an unbelievable city in a matter of months.
“Double walls stronger than those in the royal capital? A population nearing ten thousand, and a dungeon too? Ridiculous!”
Raoul refused to believe it. But bit by bit, reports started piling up until it seemed like it could actually be real.
“Luke, how dare you try to get in my way again!”
He’d finally reclaimed the title that had been ripped away from him at birth, but now it was in danger of slipping through his fingers again. That fear drove Raoul to make a decision. He gathered five thousand troops and marched out to destroy Luke.
But what awaited him was a string of nightmares. First, they ran into a labyrinth of massive walls that claimed one soldier after another. Then a moat appeared out of nowhere. After that, a tree dragon attacked them.
And once they made it through all that, a band of refugee soldiers awaited them—yet a single boy managed to knock Raoul off his feet.
Desperate, he unleashed his hidden power to try to take Luke down, only to be blocked by a wall that appeared out of thin air. Then, unbelievably, the wall transformed into a massive golem before his eyes.
He built those walls in an instant! It’s not Earth magic... Don’t tell me this is all from that damn Village-Making Gift?!
If Luke’s father ever discovered that the supposedly useless Village-Making came with such power, and that Raoul had challenged him and lost, Luke might reclaim his place as heir.
“N-No, I can’t lose...not to you...”
Even getting smashed under the golem’s fist, Raoul didn’t lose the will to fight. But he was quickly losing consciousness, and soon everything grew dark.
“I won’t lose to youuu!” he screamed as he jolted awake.
“Huh? It was a dream?” He let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness it had just been a long, terrible nightmare. As if he’d really get crushed despite leading five thousand troops. There was no way that could’ve been anything but a dream. The first indication should’ve been the ridiculous labyrinth that popped up in the middle of the wilderness.
He was probably still camped out there, waiting to begin the march. But as Raoul looked around, he realized he wasn’t in his tent at all.
Instead, he saw stone walls, iron bars, and a lone bed in the corner, where he was lying.
“A jail cell?”
He was startled by a sudden familiar, cheerful voice.
“Morning, Raoul. How are you feeling?”
Raoul looked over at the bars. “Luke!” he said through gritted teeth. He glared at his brother, who only smiled in response.
“Are you hungry?” Luke asked.
“Are you mocking me?”
“Not at all. The food here in the village is really amazing.” Luke slid a tray through a slot in the bars. It had a meal on it.
“What the hell are you playing at?!”
“Go ahead and eat. Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned.”
“You bastard!”
Raoul was about to kick the tray over in a rage when a rich, savory aroma wafted past his nostrils. He instinctively looked down at the tray and saw a thick cut of steak, its quality so obvious that Raoul knew it would be delicious even at a glance. It sizzled on a hot iron plate.
Gulp...
Growl...
His throat and stomach made noises simultaneously, his pride and hunger battling internally.
Then Luke twisted the knife even deeper.
“It’s minotaur meat we got from our dungeon.”
“Minotaur?! A dungeon, out here in this wilderness?!”
“Yep. I can explain all that later. But you should really eat.”
Raoul had only ever tasted minotaur meat once, at the banquet after the Blessing ceremony. He’d never forgotten the flavor. Just thinking about it made his mouth water uncontrollably.
It wasn’t like he had much choice in the matter. They’d taken all his gear and locked him up in jail. He’d only get weaker if he didn’t eat. He tried to rationalize his decision by thinking it would be smarter to take advantage of his enemy’s foolish generosity, but his body had already betrayed him.
He reached for the meat.
The second he bit into it, flavor exploded in his mouth, the juices of the meat overflowing. “What the hell?! This is amazing!”
He’d had minotaur meat before, but this was on an entirely different level. After the first bite, he couldn’t contain himself. Hunger took over, and before he knew it, he’d eaten the whole steak without leaving a single morsel. All that was left now were the side vegetables.
He’d never been the biggest fan of vegetables, but he took a bite anyway, hoping to distract himself from the fact that the meat was gone...and then he froze.
“Huh? It’s actually good!”
Even the carrots were as sweet as fruit, and he usually hated carrots. He devoured them at once. And before he knew it, the plate was clean.
“Want seconds?” Luke asked.
“Yes! More!” he blurted, forgetting who he was talking to—and that he was begging for another plate from the guy he hated the most.
He finally started to calm down after stuffing himself silly, but by then, he could no longer deny reality.
“I lost...didn’t I...” he muttered.
It hadn’t been a dream. That whole crazy battle had actually happened. He must’ve passed out and ended up in this cell.
“Huh? What are you talking about?” Luke tipped his head to the side like he didn’t understand.
“What?” Raoul blinked in confusion.
“You really saved us back there! If it weren’t for you, we never would’ve taken down that tree dragon. You passed out after one hit, but I guess it took you off guard!”
“Wh-What the hell are you talking about?” Raoul asked, baffled.
“Didn’t a tree dragon show up from the Forsaken Zone? You led your troops to help us fend it off, right? Did you hit your head or something?”
“Huh?”
That’s when it hit Raoul. Luke was trying to spin the whole incident. Did he seriously intend to pin everything on a monster attack and let it slide?
“You bastard! How far are you gonna go to make me look like a joke?!”
“I’m not trying to make fun of you. We both got something out of this, didn’t we?”
“What?”
“I told you already. I have no interest in inheriting House Arvale. I just want to live quietly here in this village. That’s enough for me.”
Luke said it firmly, his gaze clear and unshakable, and Raoul realized he was serious.