The Arrogant Knight Mocked This Ragged Boy, But the Sacred Blade Knew His Bloodline

The Secret of the Bloodline

The moment Arthur’s fingers tightened around the hilt, the cold mountain air seemed to shatter. A low, resonant hum vibrated through the stone, growing louder until the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. The golden light pulsing from the blade flared, casting long, dramatic shadows against the wet rock walls. Lord Borin’s arrogant smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated terror.

"Get back, you worthless stable rat!" Borin roared, his voice cracking with sudden panic. He lunged forward to grab Arthur’s shoulder, but an invisible wave of pure energy rippled outward from the stone, forcing the massive knight back. Borin stumbled, his heavy armor clanking loudly as he stared at the glowing ancient sigil on the hilt. It was the crest of the lost royal lineage—a lineage Borin believed he had successfully wiped out eighteen years ago.

Borin’s mind raced as he looked at Arthur’s face, really looking at him for the first time. The structure of the boy's jaw, the fierce determination in his eyes—it was the exact likeness of the late king. Borin had kept the boy as a humiliated, ash-smeared servant in his castle, believing that keeping his enemy close and broken would prevent the prophecy from ever coming to pass. He had been terribly wrong.

"Kill him!" Borin screamed to his remaining knights, his eyes wild with desperation. "Do not let him draw that steel! He is a traitor to the realm!"

Two of Borin’s most loyal guards drew their broadswords and charged into the narrow crevice, their blades raised to strike the unarmed boy. Arthur did not flinch. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and channeled the warmth flowing through his veins. With a deafening crack, the boulder fractured completely, releasing a blinding flash of light that threw the charging guards to the ground. Borin stood alone, drawing his own dark blade, ready to commit murder to protect his stolen crown.