In such a remote area, the knights of the royal capital had little authority, and the incompetence of the local lords only worsened the situation. Without order or consequence, thieves ran rampant, preying upon the weak.
At this moment, a group of bandits was returning to their base, their bodies stained with blood. Their carriages were loaded with stolen gold coins, fine foods, and priceless works of art—spoils from their most recent raid.
They had attacked a merchant caravan, slaughtering everyone in their path.
"Hahaha, what a great harvest tonight!"
"Damn right! We finally caught a fat sheep after waiting for so long."
"This money will last us a good while. Let's drink and find some women tonight!"
The thieves laughed among themselves, their faces twisted with glee.
One of them, a tall, scarred man, sneered. "That old hag kept begging us to let her son go. What an idiot. Did she really think we'd show mercy?"
"Hah! Like hell we would! We gutted that brat first, right in front of her."
More laughter followed, their cruelty boundless.
Another thief nudged the man at the head of the group—a broad-shouldered figure clad in dark armor. "Boss, you took out those guards like they were nothing! No wonder, considering you once fought in the Martial God Festival!"
The leader of the bandits, an illegitimate son of a great noble, flashed a vicious grin. He had inherited magical abilities from his father and, through sheer luck, managed to train himself into a formidable magic swordsman.
The Martial God Festival—an elite competition for warriors across the continent—had once seen his participation, though he had not made it far. Even so, compared to common thugs, he was an insurmountable force.
"Ordinary people are nothing more than insects before true strength," he declared. "They can struggle all they like, but in the end, it changes nothing."
However—
"Oh? So you were the ones causing trouble here. How convenient."
A voice interrupted their revelry.
"Who's there?!"
The thieves tensed, reaching for their weapons.
They had not expected anyone to stand in their way at this hour. Yet, standing before them were only two figures: a young boy and a woman, both clad in elegant attire.
The boy had dark, flowing hair and sharp golden eyes. The woman beside him had long green hair, her golden irises filled with quiet amusement as she observed the situation.
For a brief moment, the bandits hesitated.
Then, as they took in the noble clothing and delicate features of the pair, their wariness faded.
"Hah! Just a brat and a woman?"
"Look at her—damn, she's beautiful! Never seen one like her before!"
"Haha, looks like we just found another prize! As for the kid… let's take him to Lawless City. A noble brat like him will fetch a fortune in the slave market."
Their gazes turned greedy, their words filled with mockery.
However, the green-haired woman, C.C., merely smirked, as if watching an entertaining play unfold. She made no move to defend herself. Instead, she turned her expectant gaze toward the boy.
She had seen him fight before—years ago, when he was just a child. At the age of five, he had effortlessly slaughtered the cultists pursuing him.
These lowly thieves would be no different.
"Who gave you permission to look at this prince?"
BOOM.
A wave of overwhelming magical energy erupted from Alhaitham's body.
It was as if a tsunami had crashed down upon them—an invisible force that drowned everything in its path.
The thieves staggered, their mocking expressions twisting into sheer terror.
"T-this kid… he has magic!"
To the untrained eye, Alhaitham appeared nothing more than a child, but to those sensitive to mana, the truth was undeniable. His magical power was immense—far beyond anything they had expected.
In this world, those with magic and those without might as well be two different species. Magic was the great equalizer, allowing even a young child to slaughter a fully grown man.
The leader of the thieves, however, recovered from his shock and scoffed. "Hah. A noble brat with some magic? So what? Let me teach you a lesson, kid."
He drew his sword, its blade gleaming under the moonlight. "Listen up, you might have power, but you're nothing without experience. Draw your weapon, and I'll show you what real combat looks like!"
However—
Alhaitham merely raised an eyebrow, his expression filled with disdain.
"Huh? Who do you think you're talking to?"
The thief leader stiffened.
Alhaitham's golden eyes glowed with silent fury as he folded his arms across his chest.
"Who do you want to instruct?" he continued coldly. "Who do you expect to cross swords with? Me? Hah. You overestimate yourself."
His voice was filled with such arrogance that the thieves, seasoned murderers though they were, unconsciously took a step back.
Alhaitham tilted his head. "Understand this, you lowly insect—your very existence is beneath me. I would never draw my sword against something so filthy."
His words cut deeper than any blade.
To unsheathe his sword against these pathetic excuses for men would be an insult to himself.
"You will die far away from me," he declared. "If your dirty blood so much as touches my clothes, you will have earned my eternal contempt."
Silence.
The thieves stared at him in disbelief.
"W-what the hell is this brat?!"
They had seen arrogance before. They had seen pride.
But never had they encountered someone so utterly untouchable.
The sheer confidence in Alhaitham's voice sent chills down their spines.
C.C. chuckled softly, watching the scene unfold. "Oh dear. This boy is going to be an absolute tyrant in the future."
Indeed, even at his young age, Alhaitham exuded the air of a ruler—an emperor among beasts, destined to look down upon the world from the highest throne.
The bandits' hands trembled on their weapons.
Their instincts screamed at them—they had to kill this boy before it was too late!
However, before they could act—
"Time for your execution."
A crimson glow flashed in Alhaitham's left eye.
In that instant—
The thieves' expressions changed. Their fear vanished, replaced with reverence. Their bodies moved against their will.
They raised their blades… and placed them against their own throats.
Then, in unison—
"As you command, Your Highness the Prince!"
SCHLICK.
Blood sprayed into the air as dozens of throats were slit at once.
The once-lively bandits crumpled to the ground, their faces frozen in blissful submission.
Not a single scream. Not a single plea.
Only death.
Alhaitham watched, unbothered, as their corpses fell.
He blinked, allowing the glow in his eye to fade. "Hmph. As expected. Trash should dispose of itself."
C.C. let out a low whistle.
"What a terrifying ability," she mused. "No chanting, no preparation, just instant obedience… You really are a little tyrant, aren't you?"
Alhaitham turned to her, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"I prefer the term king."