Published: January 4, 2026
On a clear morning, I stepped out into the garden of the mansion.
I stood before a banyan tree, a common sight in the Almeria Province.
The banyan is a distinctive plant whose aerial roots hang down like "whiskers" from its trunk.
When these whiskers cluster and tangle, they form new trunks. However, since the original roots are thin and threadlike, even after they twist and solidify, they still look fibrous, resembling the body of an old man.
Combined with the original "whiskers," this appearance has led to the banyan being called the "tree of longevity" or "immortal tree," considered an auspicious plant.
Facing those banyan whiskers, I drew Leviathan and swung it in a sweeping slash.
The demonic sword left a trail of pale blue afterglow, and its blade struck the whiskers—but couldn’t cut through.
That was just the start; I unleashed a series of slashes.
Though the whiskers could be easily snapped by a child reaching out, no matter how many times they were struck by my sword, they showed no sign of being cut.
They were made uncuttable.
Leviathan’s swordsmanship includes techniques to control the blade’s path, allowing it to intentionally not cut through certain things even if it normally could.
I had been practicing that control as my morning routine lately.
After swinging Leviathan for about thirty minutes, I sheathed the sword and caught my breath.
I looked down at the ground.
Today, just like every day, not a single whisker was cut.
“As expected, Your Highness Noah.”
A girl’s voice and applause came from behind me.
Turning around, I saw a girl about my age—around fifteen—approaching with the maid Zoe in tow.
Her name was Audrey.
Granddaughter of Prince Lei Indra and my lawful wife.
“You showed remarkable skill again this morning.”
“Well, it’s just about the usual.”
“Until I met Your Highness Noah, I never imagined such swordsmanship could exist. As always, Your Highness is incredible.”
Audrey said as she came closer.
She then stood before me.
“How would you like to have your breakfast?”
“Let’s eat here.”
“Understood. Zoe.”
“As you command.”
At Audrey’s order, Zoe, now head maid, hurried to prepare.
After briefly retreating into the mansion, she returned with several maids.
They busily set a table and chair before me, laying out a tablecloth and dishes.
Then the dishes were brought out.
Audrey received the food from the maids and placed it before me as I sat.
“Please, Your Highness Noah.”
“Mm.”
It was the usual morning—breakfast served by Audrey.
For the royal family, once a wife is taken, the roles of the household servants change drastically.
Audrey, as my lawful wife, handled my meals; the concubines who would join later would take over similar duties.
Even Zoe, as head maid, could not serve me directly while a “lady” was present.
Additionally, except in exceptional circumstances, neither the lawful wife nor concubines ate with me.
There are two reasons for this.
One: the household head is always the royal family member—in this case, me.
It’s like a miniature version of the palace.
Therefore, Audrey, as lawful wife, serves me.
The other is to elevate the wife’s status.
Only the wife can “directly do things” for the house’s head, emphasizing that she is second-in-command.
While being served by the lawful wife Audrey, we chatted.
“By the way, you’ll turn fifteen next week.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Finally, the expulsion ceremony can be held.”
“Yes! I’ve been looking forward to it!”
Audrey’s eyes sparkled as she answered excitedly.
There’s one more difference for the wives of the royalty compared to commoners.
They lose their family name.
Currently, Audrey’s full name is Audrey Ararat.
At the “expulsion ceremony,” she will remove the surname Ararat and become simply Audrey.
An old custom.
Those who marry into the royal family are never permitted to divorce.
And the surname represents the “house they were born into.”
Removing it is an old practice signifying “having no home to return to.”