I Became the Youngest Prince in the Novel
Chapter 1

Prologue

The room was expansive enough to be a banquet hall, yet it only contained the bare minimum of furnishings required for habitation. A man was seated in the room, perched on an antique ebony chair as he scoured a book. His eyes chased the letters while the pages fluttered past without rest.

“The First Grand Emperor”

“The Monarch of Iron Blood”

“Ruler of the World, Imperial Conqueror”

“The Demonic Emperor, Sovereign of the Dark Star”

All of these titles referred to this man.

From the Fae Glade in the west

to the Sea of the Beast People in the east

and the vast colony of giants to the north,

he had swallowed all kingdoms on this earth

with overwhelming power and astonishing charisma,

save for the Demonic Lands.

He’d founded a great empire named Agnes,
making him, in every sense of the word,
the sovereign of the entire world.

All beings worshipped and feared him.

“Terrible.”

The man pronounced it quietly, having turned the final page in the book.

The Chronicles of Plocimaar the’s Warrior.

He’d found it by chance in the bookcase of his study. It was one of many commonplace heroic tales that circulated among the people.

He had no idea how the book had made it into the imperial palace in the first place. But the story was based on a time hundreds of years in the future, and it featured his empire, Agnes. That had piqued his interest.

What was more, the descriptions were oddly detailed and realistic, as though they were based on actual future events. In particular, the accounts of the imperial palace and various other regions were so believable it made one think the author had actually been there.

The emperor didn’t like the ending, however.

Novels chronicling the life of a warrior usually ended with a fateful victory against a demon lord. Yet this one described the defeat of the warrior, rather than their his success. Having failed to kill the demon lord, the warrior met a grisly end. The world became the demon lord’s, after which it was destroyed by his armies.

The biggest reason the world fell was because Agnes did. In the book, the empire, and humanity at large, were eager to serve only their own interests as the world came to ruin.

Ultimately, the warrior received no support whatsoever from the divided and fallen empire before he left for the Demonic Lands.

“What a waste of my time.”

The fact that Agnes’ downfall was described in the book made the tome, in the emperor’s eyes, so inferior that it wasn’t even worth comparing to a tavern tale. In fact, he was starting to resent his own brain, which never forgot anything it saw.

He shut the book instantly, as if he didn’t even want to take a moment to think about what he’d read.

Intense boredom and ennui filled the emperor’s eyes. These had been his constant companions ever since he’d become the master of the world and everything in it.

There was nothing more to seek, no further heights to achieve.

“......”

He stared for a moment with disinterest at the book in front of him. Then, slowly, his eyes began to close.

* * *

It was quiet inside the palace, which was lit only by subtle moonlight.

An old knight,

with principled eyes and pursed lips,
ran down the corridor.

He was gasping for breath,

apparently having reached his limit.

Despite his age, he could have continued to run for even an hour longer if he’d been on his own. But there was a limp man on his back, seemingly unconscious.

“Why... Why?”

The old knight’s gaze wavered violently, as if he couldn’t make sense of the situation.

Night had fallen in the palace as usual, and it was extremely quiet.

But this wasn’t supposed to be the case—not now, at least.

The man on his back, breathing in weak gasps, was the master of this palace and the prince of the Great Agnes Empire.

“Does no one care about the safety of His Highness?”

The prince had been ambushed by assassins in the palace and was now being chased, but there was no sign of the knights who should have been guarding him.

And that wasn’t all. The magical barrier and traps that should have activated at the first sign of trespassers had failed to materialize.

“Sir Fredo? Who’s that on your—”

A lady-in-waiting was out in front, inspecting the magical lamps that had suddenly gone out. She stared in confusion at the old knight running toward her, and her eyes widened when she noticed the prince on his back.

The knight said nothing, just ran quickly past her as if he didn’t even have time to respond. A look of pity flitted across his eyes.

As the knight’s figure vanished, there was a gleam of metal in the darkness.

The lady-in-waiting’s head fell to the ground, severed from her body.

Prince Sion...

The knight’s vision was fading as his stamina waned, and the face of a faintly smiling man floated to his mind’s eye instead—the face of his liege, who’d been confined to this palace after losing the battle for succession early on due to a weak constitution and meek nature.

As if that were not enough, those who’d locked the prince up in his palace were now trying to take his life.

The prince’s existence had been one of abject misery, no better than a commoner’s. The old knight didn’t want his liege to meet his end in this way. He needed to protect the prince at any cost.

I can’t let him be killed like this.

He bit his lip, suddenly skidded to a halt, and then heaved a mighty kick at the door of the reception room nearby, forcing it open. After putting the prince down on a long sofa in the room, he went to stand in the doorway and block the threshold.

He would stand his ground here and fight before he depleted more of his strength.

The assassins on his tail rushed in to attack without even a word.

Flashes of metal filled the air.

Despite his determination, he was unable to stop the attackers with his blade. Two of them marked the old knight and pushed him back while the rest passed through the open doorway and lunged for the prince.

“Your Highness!”

Without care for his own life, the knight turned his back on the assailants and leaped toward his prince.

The assassins were faster.

One of them reached the prince in a heartbeat,

his nimble feet making barely any noise.

He raised his sword into the air,

eyes cold and emotionless.

He didn’t care why the man in front of him had to die. He was simply... doing his job.

His blade dropped, headed straight for the prince’s heart.

“No!”

Fredo, the old knight, cried out the word.

Everyone present saw it.

The sword nearly touched the prince’s chest,

but there it stopped in midair.

There was a screeching noise as the weapon met some sort of resistance. Had it been glued to the space around it? The killer pushed down with all his might, a vein in his temple standing out from the effort, but the weapon didn’t budge.

“Huh?!”

The other assassins, betraying their emotions for the first time, were shocked at the sight.

Then...

The prince’s eyes slowly opened.

His eyes were peaceful and indolent, reminiscent of a calm lake unaffected by the slightest of breezes.

The prince had never looked this way before in his life.

Slowly, he pushed the tip of the sword away with a finger and sat up, looking around him. He seemed to be taking stock of the situation.

“Prince Sion... Your Highness?” the old knight murmured. This wasn’t at all like the prince he’d always served.

“Kill him.”

Once the assassins recovered from their shock, they dashed at their target again.

The prince continued to look on lazily, as if none of this concerned him.

However, as multiple blades rushed at his throat,

the darkness around them suddenly rippled.

At the same instant,

the attackers’ heads exploded all at once.

Their headless bodies soon collapsed, slack,

and bright red blood soaked the floor.

What was going on?

“.....”

The old knight gazed at his liege, blank confusion on his features.

Sion—that is, the Monarch of Iron Blood who’d entered the body of Prince Sion—smiled

quietly to himself.

“Interesting.”