When I inherited the throne of Drakseid, I thought I had prepared myself for the worst. I was wrong.
The kingdom was a rotting corpse wearing the crown of a fallen empire. The royal treasury was a hollow vault, stripped bare by years of corruption. The once-mighty army had withered to barely a thousand men, and Fort Gehena, our strongest border fortress, had fallen to bandits—along with two thousands of our best soldiers. My best soldiers.
Rescuing them was out of the question. Not yet. From the shadows, I could see the strings. The bandits were no mere raiders; they had the backing of a foreign power, likely the Distia Empire, caught in its own bloody civil war. A reckless move now would only tighten the noose around my neck.
My uncle, the former king, had run this kingdom into the ground. His only mercy was that he had left behind no debts—not out of wisdom, but because no lender had been foolish enough to trust him. I buried him with the rest of the filth—the corrupt nobles, ministers, and officials who had fed on this kingdom like leeches.
His Prime Minister, the man who had bled Drakseid's economy dry, suffered the worst fate. His execution was public, a warning to the rest. The crowd roared in approval, their fury honed from years of suffering.
His daughter, Ester, stood among them, watching the blade fall.
She did not flinch.
She shed no tears.
Later, she visited his grave and left a single white flower. "I suppose," She had murmured, "I should feel something."
And yet, it was she—not her father—who would go on to save Drakseid's economy.
Ester M. Drakseid. My wife. My queen.
She had been raised with the finest education, surpassing even scholars and nobles in wit and wisdom. If she could not bring this kingdom back from the abyss, then no one could. While I rebuilt the army, she rebuilt the economy. Her reforms were ruthless—many nobles choked on their own greed before she ever had to lift a blade—but they worked.
By my side stood Josh D. Speartact, my closest friend and now my Prime Minister. He was a soldier like me, a man who had stood in the fires of war and we escaped the Siege of Gehena together. No one wielded a spear like him, but in matters of diplomacy and governance, he was even deadlier.
And so, we fought—not on the battlefield, but in the courts, in the cities, in the very bones of this kingdom.
Years passed. The seasons changed.
Every sunrise was a battle. Every night was a war.
But in time, Drakseid rose again.
The roads ran smooth, the coffers filled, and the army—my army—stood once more, not as a remnant of the past but as a force ready to carve its own future.
Then, my son was born.
For the first time in over a decade, I allowed myself to stop. To breathe. To hold something in my arms that was not a sword, not a burden, but a life I had created.
He did not cry when he first saw the world.
Instead, he looked at me.
His eyes were not those of a newborn.
I had seen those eyes before—on battlefields, in dying warriors, in men who had already decided their fate before they took their first step forward. They were the eyes of a soldier. A warlord.
I could not read his thoughts. I did not know what future he saw when he looked at me.
But I knew one thing.
He was born in fire.
And fire only rises.
He is my son. I never doubted it. It's a fact since he resembles me in every way. Brown eyes, red hair, deep gaze. My own flesh and blood.
And yet, as I sit here, staring at the documents before me—military reforms, detailed sketches and diagrams of formations, shield walls, weapons, armor, war machines—I find myself questioning.
These are the works of a seasoned tactician, a veteran general, and a visionary warlord. But they were delivered to me by Mary J. Holst, my son's caretaker.
I had already ordered the ministers and nobles to wait outside. This was not a discussion for them. Not yet.
Passing the documents to my wife and my closest minister, I asked the question already gnawing at my mind.
"Who made these documents, Mary? Surely, it's not the work of any of my ministers or generals?"
I had an inkling. But I didn't want to accept it. These reforms would change everything. Our kingdom would rise beyond its limits. We would become an undisputed powerhouse. And yet, these ideas did not come from a seasoned warrior, a scholar, or an elder tactician.
They came from my five-year-old son.
Mary, standing tall despite the weight of her words, answered without hesitation.
"I was asked to deliver these by the Crown Prince himself, Your Highness."
I sighed, closing my eyes for a brief moment. I knew what he was after. My wife and minister understood as well.
He wanted to oversee the reforms himself.
He's becoming more and more of a stranger to me.
A Trial for My Son
The royal court had gathered. Ministers, nobles, and generals filled the grand hall. The air was heavy with curiosity and doubt.
I had already made my decision. We will adopt the reforms. We will march toward the future my son envisions.
But not blindly.
If I simply declared the reforms in his name, the court would undermine him, question his wisdom, resists his authority. I could force them into submission, but fear is a fragile leash.
No. If my son is truly ready to shape the future of this kingdom, then he must prove it himself.
I would challenge him. Test him in front of the entire court. If he is truly capable, he will defend his ideas. And if he fails…
Well. Failure is not an option for a ruler.
I took my seat on the throne as my son, Crown Prince Rhydher, stood before me.
Even as a child, his presence was undeniable. He already knew what I was doing.
Good. Let's see if you're ready, my son.
Our Debate
I glanced at the documents before me, then at the assembled court. Time to begin.
"War is not a child's game, Rhydher. You propose shifting our military from an undisciplined levy to a professional standing army. But how do you intend to fund it? We do not have the treasury for a mass conscription."
He did not hesitate.
"Indeed, we lack funds for immediate large-scale recruitment. However, I propose a phase-based integration. Start by converting existing levy forces into semi-professional units—training them during off-seasons while allowing them to maintain their trades. Simultaneously, we reintroduce a tax on merchant guilds and nobility, specifically war bonds, promising future compensation in return for immediate investment."
The court stirred. A tax on the nobility? Risky. Dangerous. But not impossible.
"You assume they will simply agree to these taxes?"
"Not without incentive, of course. The key is granting exclusive trade privileges and resource contracts to contributors. Merchants gain priority access to military trade routes, while nobles receive land incentives based on contributions. It's a calculated exchange rather than a blind demand."
Clever. He wasn't forcing them. He was buying their cooperation.
I folded my arms.
"Very well. But let's talk about training. Drakseid's soldiers rely on individual skill, not rigid formations. A structured army may be efficient, but will it break the warrior spirit of our men?"
His answer came swift and sharp.
"Far from it. The reforms do not remove individual combat prowess, they enhance it by giving it purpose. The shield wall, for example, does not make a soldier weaker—it makes him stronger with his comrades. The phalanx creates an unbreakable wall, but should it fail, we transition into flexible legion formations, ensuring that individual fighters can still excel."
"And you think they will learn this overnight?"
"Not overnight. But through a mandatory six-month rotation system. Instead of fielding raw levies when war calls, we ensure that every man is trained before war arrives. This eliminates the need for emergency conscriptions."
The generals leaned forward, murmuring among themselves.
He was winning them over.
But I wasn't done yet.
"A well-trained army is nothing without war machines. You propose siege engines, but our blacksmiths can barely produce enough arms and armor. What then?"
"A valid concern. But my plan is not just about training soldiers—it is about reshaping Drakseid as a military-industrial power. We will standardize weapons production, focusing on universal designs instead of custom-forged arms. This allows for mass production using minimal resources. As for siege weapons, I have already identified regions with high iron and timber output. A portion of their taxes will be paid in raw materials, cutting our reliance on expensive imports."
The economic ministers were silent. They were no longer questioning him.
They were calculating.
I gave him one last chance to falter.
"These are all well-crafted ideas, my son. But what makes you believe they will work? What precedent do you have?"
Then he smiled. That smile.
"History, father."
The room froze.
"The Great War of Istar was won not by superior numbers, but by the first use of organized formations in Vermanyan. The War of the Great Golden Plains saw a kingdom of 50,000 hold off an army of 200,000 using well-planned defenses and superior logistics. The Dwarves defeated the Orcs Horde by implementing structured smiting, advanced weapons of war and weapon distribution, ensuring that every soldier was armed before the battle. History is not a record of past events—it is the blueprint for our survival. And I have studied it well."
The court had no response.
He had won.
My Son, the Prince of Drakseid
I leaned back, watching the room. Watching my son.
He had countered everything.
Crushed every doubt.
He was ready.
I asked him one last question. "Why do you want to make our kingdom strong and powerful?"
He gave me the biggest smile I had ever seen and answered without hesitation.
"What man wouldn't protect his family and loved ones? I want to keep my people safe—free from terror and fear."
Silence stretched across the hall.
Then, I stood, my voice absolute. "You have answered well, my son. Let it be known to all—this is no child before you, but a prince of Drakseid. And from this day forward, his word on matters of war is to be respected."
The nobles rose in stunned silence. The ministers bowed.
And Rhydher? He simply smiled, knowing that today, he had claimed his first victory.
Not on the battlefield.
But in the halls of power.
I looked at my son, no longer seeing just a boy, but a ruler in the making—a force that would shape the very foundations of this kingdom. He had silenced every doubt, countered every argument, and stood unwavering before the might of my court. Even the most skeptical among them could see it now. The future of Drakseid burned in his eyes.
I turned to the assembled nobles and ministers, their expressions ranging from astonishment to reverence. There would be no further objections. No whispers of doubt. No resistance.
"I King Henry T. Drakseid, entitled by my people as Drakseid Phoenix King, declares this as the will of the Crown Prince, and from this day forward, it shall be the will of Drakseid."
A slow murmur spread through the court before it rose into an overwhelming chorus of agreement. I let my gaze return to my son.
As the court dispersed, I remained seated, watching my son. He had won the debate, but his battle was far from over. The weight of command is not carried by words alone—it is measured in blood, in the fire of war, in the sacrifices a ruler must make.
I saw it in his eyes. He understood that. Perhaps more than I ever did at his age.
Beside me, Ester placed a hand over mine. "He has your fire," she murmured, her gaze soft but unreadable.
I nodded, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
At the edge of the room, Prime Minister Josh—the only man in the court who had remained silent through it all—watched my son with an expression I had never seen before.
Not skepticism. Not doubt.
But recognition.
He met my gaze, his voice low. "If you let him, he will reshape this kingdom into something beyond our imagination. But make no mistake, My Friend..." His lips curled into something between a smirk and a frown. "This path will not be kind to him."
I knew that already.
Yet, as I looked at my son, standing tall despite the weight of the future pressing down on his small shoulders, I knew one thing for certain.
He would not break.
He would rise.