MDL | Chapter 1.9

With his newfound resolve, the wizard swung his quill. Black ink flowed from the tip and seeped into the solid ground between the Prince and the monsters, causing giant thorny vines to sprout suddenly. Several monsters, stomping toward the Prince, tripped over the vines and fell.

A faint smile appeared on the Prince’s pale, exhausted face.

“I’ve got quite the impressive wizard.”

Though the remark was somewhat mocking, the wizard didn’t respond. The fallen monsters were already using their comrades’ bodies as stepping stones to charge forward. The Prince wiped the smile from his face and pointed his sword straight at them.

The black monsters swarmed toward the Prince. Crack, crack—they opened their maws as if to tear him apart.

The Prince thrust his sword into the dark void visible beyond their throats, again and again. His pure white magic sword shone like a devil’s horn amidst the black monsters. The moon, like a silver plate, watched the scene below as it slowly, ever so slowly, hid behind a curtain of clouds.

Time passed.

Finally.

The second night arrived.

The true night of this world, where the moon and stars had disappeared.

As light vanished from the world, the monsters born from shadows also disappeared. It was as if they had been sucked into the air. Only the white cracks in the air, the shattered pieces of the sky underfoot, proved that this calamity had truly happened.

The Prince bent down and touched a fragment of the sky at his feet with his finger. The moment his hand touched it, it turned to ash and scattered like embers from a fire. The Prince paid no further attention to the remnants of the disaster and headed toward the palace basement with the wizard.

The survivors huddled like rats in the darkness, without a single candle. The citizens, the knights—all were too exhausted to even welcome the Prince. The only one who seemed to have any energy left was the red-haired Princess. She was busy organizing the treatment of the wounded and boiling thin porridge to distribute. Knight Zig was running around helping her.

And the King and Queen were safe.

Well, if you could call it “safe.”

“It’s punishment! Punishment! The wrath of the gods!”

A small old man with a disheveled white beard sat on a golden chair, shouting repeatedly. Beside him sat an old woman with white hair and a hunched back, dozing off and startling awake every time the old man shouted, only to doze off again.

“It’s punishment! Ahahaha! Punishment! We’re all going to die! Finally! Finally! The time has come for us all to fall into the slimy stomach of the gods!”

What kind of mad rambling was this? But no one stopped the bearded old man. They just covered their ears with grim expressions.

Then the old man noticed the Prince and suddenly jumped to his feet.

“Prince! My son!”

The wizard’s mouth fell open as he looked back and forth between the old man and the Prince.

Yes, that madman and the dozing woman beside him were the Prince’s father and mother—the King and Queen of this land.

“Where have you been until now! You are the precious lamb marked by the gods, a body too noble to be placed on the altar… Didn’t I tell you not to wander outside the castle? No, no, it’s not your fault. It’s the fault of those who failed to stop you. Hey, you there! Cut off the heads of the gate guards! Is no one listening? Cut off their heads right now!”

Of course… no one obeyed the King’s orders. In his rage, the King stomped his feet, and his shining golden crown slipped off his head. A young attendant picked it up and tried to put it back on, but the King continued to rant and rave, shouting, “Cut off this one’s head too!”

…Now the wizard understood why the Captain of the Guards had been so desperate to keep the Prince close. Forget the danger of the Prince being pricked by a needle and falling asleep—if the King was such a lunatic, even the Prince would need to stay in the castle.

“Still the same, I see.”

The Prince muttered. His tone was heavy with resignation and exhaustion, as if this were a routine occurrence. The wizard looked at the Prince in surprise. Sensing the gaze, the Prince turned to the wizard, startled as if he’d just realized someone was standing beside him.

The wizard’s lips twitched. He wanted to call out, “Your Highness.” He wanted to call the Prince in a voice full of pity and affection, to close the Prince’s dry, tired eyes, to whisper in his ear: This is all a dream. A terrible nightmare. So rest easy. Fall into a deep, sweet sleep, and when you wake up, everything tormenting you will be gone. Only happiness will await you.

……

……

But he couldn’t.

A painful sense of failure gripped the wizard. In the end, he said nothing, only biting at the rough skin of his lips with his front teeth.

The Prince, perhaps misinterpreting the wizard’s hesitation, blushed slightly. The mad King continued to shout loudly. My son, my Prince, the destined one who will cover this despairing world with thorns…!

Unable to bear the mad rambling any longer, the Prince strode away. The King, the Queen, the nobles, the knights, the farmers, the tailors, the dung carriers, the beggars… All the survivors of this small, beautiful Kingdom were huddled together in the wine cellar, each emitting their own distinct odor.

“Your Highness, it’s dangerous outside…!”

A knight tried to stop the Prince with those words, but the Prince ignored him and climbed the stairs.

“Shh.”

The wizard, following the Prince, glared at the knight and said, “Who are you to say it’s dangerous? You’re the one who ran away while His Highness was outside.”

That’s right. You ran away first. You survived by clinging to the Prince’s strength.

Perhaps it was the dark malice in the wizard’s words. The knight flinched and retreated into the shadowy darkness where no light reached.

“Hmph. Parasite.”

The wizard snorted and ran after the Prince.

Leaving the cellar, it felt easier to breathe. The second night of the day, with no moon or stars. Though there were no candles, their eyes had adjusted to the darkness like bats, so they didn’t miss a step on the stairs.

In the darkness, the Prince’s figure appeared faintly.

The Prince stood before a small, narrow window on the landing, looking up at the sky. The torn, hole-ridden, cracked sky. Without realizing it, the wizard held his breath and approached the Prince.

“People often say the night is like a black curtain.”

The Prince spoke. It was unclear whether he was talking to himself or not.

“Looking at it now, it really does seem like a tough piece of fabric. We just didn’t realize it. The world beneath this thick, durable cloth. Pathetic.”

“But it’s infinitely vast.”

 Though the wizard knew the Prince wasn’t expecting a response to his muttering, he replied anyway.

“It’s vast enough to cover Your Highness’s world and the world beyond. Who would dare leap up to pierce the curtain of night? It’s not the least bit insignificant.”

After saying this, the wizard climbed a few more steps and stood beside the Prince. Though the Prince noticed his presence, he continued to gaze out the window indifferently. The wizard also turned his gaze. He saw what the Prince was looking at—the tattered night sky, the world riddled with white, worm-eaten holes.

It did seem insignificant, just as the Prince had said.

Overwhelmed by the contradictory emotions rising within him, the wizard lowered his head.

“Have you ever regretted being born?”

The Prince asked then.

“What?”

Feeling as if he’d been struck on the head, the wizard asked in return. It wasn’t the kind of question he expected from the perfect Prince. But the Prince didn’t seem to be joking.

“Exactly what I said. Have you ever regretted being born?”

“Your Highness… do you regret it?”

The Prince chuckled dryly.

“In my memories, my father… His Majesty the King has always been like that. Hmm, I wonder exactly when it started. I don’t know. My memories are like they were cut off—starting from when I was a baby, then skipping to around my twenty-seventh birthday.”

The wizard fell silent.

“Anyway, in my memories, His Majesty has always been like that. Ever since his son was cursed to fall into a hundred-year slumber from a needle prick, though the severity varied… always. Needles. Things like needles. Anything sharp. Anything that could pierce the skin. He banned all such things to decorate his reign. This country has always been a mess. Poor souls were executed for using sharp objects, the people grew poorer, strange religions worshiping needles emerged, nothing worked properly… Compared to that, the world falling apart isn’t something to make such a fuss about.”

“I… didn’t know.”

That was all the wizard could manage to say.

“I… really, truly didn’t know, Your Highness. I had no idea it would turn out like this, really…”

What is a story, after all?

What are the few lines casually written in a story, the memories of its characters, really?

Are we thinking as we write (or speak), or are we writing (or speaking) as we think?

……

……

Let’s return to our story. I don’t want to trouble you with unsolved human dilemmas that have plagued us since ancient times.

“It’s not your fault.”

The Prince said this as he quietly watched the wizard, who was on the verge of tears, stumbling over his words.

“If anything, it’s mine.”

…The wizard felt his breath catch.

The one who cast the curse on the Prince was the wizard himself.

“But the King, deeply despairing over the unfortunate fate of his hard-won son, could not rely solely on the words of the twelfth wizard. He tried desperately to prevent the predetermined misfortune. The kind, wise, and generous King became a half-madman who would have a fit at the sight of a needle. How tragic!

The King even issued a decree forbidding the people of his small, happy kingdom from using needles. People could no longer spin thread with a spindle, mend torn clothes, embroider beautiful patterns, or even fish from the sea. Those who dared to keep a needle hidden in their drawers were subjected to a gruesome punishment—skinned alive and tied to a stake until they breathed their last.

A needle—such a small, everyday object. Something you could easily replace if lost. But after this insignificant object was banned, the kingdom fell into chaos. Just because of one little needle, nothing worked properly!

The days when the people praised the King and Queen for their kindness and benevolence were long gone.

The days when everyone, rich or poor, was equally happy were long gone.

The small, beautiful, peaceful days—all of them, every single one, were long gone.

All of it, a thing of the past!”

Who wrote this description in the first 10,000 words of this story?

…Yes, of course, it was me, dear readers.

It seems clear that I, the narrator, and the evil wizard who cast the curse have ruined the Prince’s life.

Could it be that the Prince’s unroyal sense of responsibility is also because of this? Did I and the wizard truly change the Prince’s life irreversibly?

“I’ve been thinking about what you said in the forest.”

The Prince spoke.

“That I must fall asleep. That if I don’t, everything will be ruined.”

“Your Highness, that’s…”

“About the possibility that you were right. That this disaster happened because I deviated from the set path and refused to sleep. In the many lives where I woke up on my twenty-seventh birthday, pricked by a needle, and was awakened by the Princess’s kiss… I’ve often imagined what would happen if I rejected this fate, but, well, this future wasn’t among them.”

Though self-deprecating, the Prince’s voice was calm. It was fortunate that it was a night without light. If the wizard had seen the Prince’s face under the bright moonlight or the faint glow of a candle, he might have burst into tears like a child.

Something soft brushed against the wizard’s nose and cheek. Thin, smooth strands, like silk thread… Ah, it was the Prince’s hair. The wind was blowing. It caressed the Prince as if comforting him, coming through the narrow window. The wizard closed his eyes and let the Prince’s hair tickle his face.

After a moment, he opened his eyes, as if having made a decision.

“I don’t know what will happen next, either.”

Not just the wizard, but honestly, I don’t know either. What will happen to this story? I haven’t decided. But it’s not entirely my fault. It’s not every day that the protagonist suddenly deviates from the plot. Even if the great masters rose from their graves, they would shake their heads, saying there’s no way to salvage this story. They’d tell me to scrap the manuscript and use it as kindling. Ah, anyway, this story is no longer The Sleeping Prince of the Thorn Castle. It seems I’ll have to find a more suitable title. Haha, what a tedious task.

“But I do know this. These cracks will never disappear. Neither will the monsters. As long as light and shadow exist in this world, they will keep forcing their way through the cracks. This is like a plague. Right now, it’s only this kingdom, but soon it will spread to every corner of the world. And everything will collapse. The world will fall apart without a trace.”

The Prince turned toward him.

“Is there a way to stop it? Do you know?”

The wizard moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue.

“I do know.”

A short, sharp cry, like the scream of a dying bird, echoed. Both the wizard and the Prince flinched and fell silent. The sound came from below, from the wine cellar where the refugees were gathered. The shrill cry soon turned into soft sobs, mingling with the other noises from the cellar. The wizard shook his head violently to shake off the lingering sound.

“…There’s only one way, Your Highness. Something only you can do.”

As he spoke, the wizard’s gaze fell to the Prince’s waist. Where the evil white sword hung.

Responding to the wizard’s gaze, the sword hummed faintly. A pale light began to emanate from the worn scabbard.

Let there be light. Then there will be shadow. Then the monsters from another world will come… In such a world, the only light that doesn’t summon shadows or monsters.

How sinister.

“We must go to the center of the world, the world’s navel, Omphalos. If you plunge the sword there, the shattered world will be restored.”

The world will return to normal.

The Prince gripped the hilt of the sword tightly. The sword, as if submitting, stopped its hum and dimmed its radiant light.

“See? Only you can wield this sword. So only you can do this.”

Then the wizard quickly added,

“But you don’t have to do it.”

“You said only I can do it.”

“But if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“You said the entire world will collapse.”

“Let it collapse.”

As if to say, So what? the wizard shrugged one shoulder. His casual attitude only spurred the Prince on. As if infected by the wizard, the Prince laughed shortly. In the face of the misfortune, bad luck, and all the tragedies that had befallen him.

“I’ll go. To the center of the world. As you said, I’ll plunge this sword there and restore the cracks in the world.”

The Prince likely had no other choice.

Countless old tales, epics, heroic stories, myths, and legends define it in one word: fate.

The Prince wiped the smile from his face and said,

“We’ll leave right now.”

There was no reason to delay.