The Forgotten Boy Who Pulled the Sacred Blade and Shook the Empire

A Secret Revealed

The moment Arthur’s fingers closed around the hilt, a violent tremor shook the foundation of the ravine. The ancient runes carved along the flat of the blade flared with a brilliant, golden light that pierced through the thick mist. Borin gasped, drawing his dagger as he watched in sheer disbelief. Before any of the guards could react, Arthur pulled. The massive broadsword slid from the fractured monolith as effortlessly as a hand sliding from a silk glove. A blinding flash of light engulfed the canyon, forcing the knights to shield their eyes.

When the light faded, Arthur stood holding the heavy weapon with perfect balance. It felt as light as a feather in his hands. But the magic of the blade was not yet finished. As the golden light receded, a burning heat seared Arthur's right forearm. He pulled back his sleeve to reveal a glowing, intricate mark etched into his skin—the royal crest of the Sunken Throne. It was the symbol of the royal family that had been brutally betrayed and slaughtered fifteen years ago.

Borin’s face drained of color. He stared at the glowing mark, his mind racing as he connected the dots. The orphan boy he had beaten and humiliated for years was not a nameless stray. He was the sole surviving heir of the true king.

"You..." Borin whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and sudden, murderous rage. "The boy from the ashes. I thought my men killed you in the cradle!"

Realizing that his stolen power was now in jeopardy, Borin drew his own massive broadsword. He pointed it directly at Arthur's chest, his eyes burning with malice.

"I slaughtered your father, boy, and I will gladly finish the job today! Guards, kill him! Do not let him leave this ravine alive!"

The knights hesitated, torn between their fear of the legendary blade and their loyalty to their brutal commander. But as Borin roared again, three of his most loyal guards lunged forward, their spears aimed at the young boy's heart.