***
The Muo Continent.
For centuries, countless nations had risen and fallen across it.
But among them, the Kingdom of Syenn stood out—for its downfall was, to put it mildly, ambiguous.
According to the Annals of the Muo Continent, a historical text known for recording every dynasty to have existed on the land, the Kingdom of Syenn was described as follows:
A nation that reached its golden age about 200 years ago. Though small in scale, it bordered the largest river on the continent. With fertile lands and a location that made expansion in all directions easy, it flourished in both agriculture and commerce—a land of abundance.
The Annals praised the Syenn Kingdom highly, saying that though it never became a great power, it achieved the miracle of feeding its entire population in plenty. It was, in fact, a fair assessment.
The Kingdom of Syenn was peaceful. And since the royal bloodline was scarce, they never once suffered the usual succession disputes that plagued other nations.
But that peace came to an end at an unexpected moment…
[That’s right! I am Soria Brianne de Syenn.]
“…Hey, Orwell. Didn’t you say she was a sleeping princess?”
It was the curse of a fallen sorcerer.
That curse transformed the Syenn Kingdom into a land uninhabitable by any—but at the same time, unconquerable.
Even after towering thorny vines enveloped its borders, rendering it inaccessible, rumors persisted that the princess still slumbered somewhere within the royal castle. Thus, the royal line was never declared extinguished.
So rather than saying the Kingdom of Syenn had fallen, it would be more accurate to say it had ceased to function as a kingdom.
Just like the princess said to have slept alone inside the deserted palace for over a hundred years.
But, as they say, half of what’s passed down in old stories is made up. And in Soria’s case, half the rumors were indeed false.
“Dorwell Leon Dahlia!”
With a swift kick to the shin, Lenok silenced his closest friend and imperial archmage.
Several knights all averted their gazed, as if on cue.
They made a point of not seeing anything that might blemish the emperor’s dignity—their quick, practiced avoidance a sign of silent solidarity.
And in the center of this entire mess, Soria stared, utterly dumbfounded.
The moment Lenok kicked Orwell’s shin, she flapped with all her might and scrambled back onto the bed. Although she was still within arm’s reach.
Lenok gave her a bewildered look, but what could he do?
‘Dear heavens! That’s the emperor?’
No matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t find an ounce of dignity in the man.
Soria was in shock at the realization that such a man was the emperor of a vast empire.
But Lenok had no intention of waiting for her to recover.
“Sigh. Fine. Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore. Whether you’re a sleeping princess or a damn chicken, what matters is that a princess with Syenn royal blood is standing right here.”
Lenok gaze shifted to Soria.
He stared at the trembling white chicken with mixed emotions.
Crimson comb, yellow eyes, a slightly paler beak, and a plump body under pristine show-white feathers—clearly well-fed, perhaps even overindulged in snacks opposed to starved.
No matter how he looked at her, she did not resemble a royal princess.
Where, in that appearance, was there even a shred of tragedy? If anything, it was easier to picture her calmly pecking at bugs in a grassy field.
Lenok tried—truly tried—to picture the chicken as the portrait of a princess. But he soon gave up.
“This is madness.”
He sighed, muttering under his breath.
“…She’s still a chicken.”
At those weary words, Soria clenched her beak tightly.
He wasn’t wrong. She was a chicken. And had been for over a hundred years.
Feeling deflated, she cast her gaze downward. Her eyes landed on her feet—split into three talons, her claws sharp and firm.
[…So what do you want me to do about it?]
“…What?”
She lifted her lowered head.
One hundred forty-seven years. And three days. That’s how long she had spent cursed, fallen from grace.
So no—she wasn’t about to lose this chance, not when it was finally right in front of her, all because someone called her a chicken with a sigh.
Soria’s small, bright eyes stared directly at the emperor of the empire.
Her yellow claws gripped the edge of the blanket with the fierceness of the eagles carved into the golden buttons of his coat.
[You say you’re the Emperor of the Krosia Empire. But no matter your title, the Kingdom of Syenn is an independent nation. We are neither a vassal state nor under your protection through tribute! So you dare to treat a royal of a foreign kingdom with such disrespect?]
Her voice was low but bold, each word sharp and confident.
Even Lenok, who had assumed she was just some clueless princess, felt a flicker of admiration.
And indeed, there was nothing wrong with what she had said.
‘If you can still call a place with only thorny vines for citizens a kingdom.’
But Lenok quickly shook off his surprise.
He changed his mind. To achieve his goal, that white chicken needed to be kept alive.
He stepped forward, heading toward the bed where Soria sat, as if marking his territory like a beast. He intended to reason with her.
But the one who stopped him was none other than the imperial archmage Dorwell—the one whose shin had just been kicked.
“Your Majesty, jokes are only funny to a certain extent. At this point, it’s not even amusing anymore. Please stop.”
“What are you talking about, Orwell? What joke?”
“…You’ve been talking to a chicken this whole time, Your Majesty.”
“…What?”
“Please be mindful of the knights’ gazes as well.”
“Hang on, Dorwell. I’m not in the mood to joke right now, so if you’re just spouting nonsense—save it.”
At Lenok’s words, Dorwell’s expression turned grim.
His blue eyes sank like lead. Dorwell gently placing a hand on Lenok’s shoulder, he asked,
“Your Majesty, do I look like I’m joking to you?”
It was then that Lenok finally looked around.
Not a single knight was laughing.
In fact, most of them looked even more grave than Dorwell did.
The expressions on their faces clearly said: Our emperor—who hasn’t taken a single consort, not even a concubine, and still has no heir—has finally gone mad…
‘What the hell is going on?’
Soria also took in the knights who were starting to stir. Soria hadn’t heard anything because Dorwell had whispered to Lenox so that only he could hear.
But seeing Lenok’s expression grow increasingly serious, her heart began to pound.
‘What’s he doing…?’
She tried to act confident, but he was the first person she had seen in over a century. In other words, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Of course she was desperate.
Lenok pointed at Soria, who was inching closer and closer, afraid of missing an opportunity, and said,
“Dorwell, I’m not in the mood for jokes either. That chicken is Soria Brianne de Syenn, the only surviving royal of the Syenn Kingdom.”
Soria straightened reflexively under the sudden weight of dozens of stares. Her head lifted high with rigid pride.
Then, in her most dignified voice, she declared:
[As the Krosia Emperor said. I am Soria Brianne de Syenn.]
The knights who had all been staring at Soria slowly turned their gazes back to Lenok.
“Bawk—bawk, bawk bawk bawk!”
A wave of unspoken despair washed over the crowd.
‘His Majesty has truly gone mad.’
It was a moment when an unfounded misunderstanding deepened.
Lenok couldn’t bear the injustice of being seen as a madman and clutched the back of his neck.
And Soria, seeing the knights turn their eyes away from the Emperor with pale faces, beyond despair, tensed up and became wary.
The atmosphere was strange. An indescribable tension filled the air. She knew what it was. It was the primal fear of the unknown that made her skin tingle.
Soria instinctively stepped back. And Lenok, oblivious to Soria’s rising suspicion, scowled in annoyance and reached out his hand.
To Soria, that large shadow looming toward her was terrifying. Her eyes widened and she let out a shriek.
“Bawk-GYAAAWWWK—!”
“…Look closely. This chicken is—”
It was Dorwell who pulled Lenok back by the scruff of his neck, ignoring her cries. Dorwell, who had pulled his Emperor back, stepped forward, untying the string that held his cloak in place. The playfulness that had been on his face just moments before was long gone.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was wrong to doubt you.”
His blue eyes narrowed.
As some of the knights turned their swords towards him for his audacity in grabbing the Emperor by the scruff of his neck, Dorwell skillfully redirected the tips of their swords towards Soria.
“What are you doing! Draw your swords and be on guard! It’s an attack spell. Judging by the fact that it’s an ancient magic circle… that chicken must be Princess Soria.”
Soria was slightly surprised by Dorwell’s skill in reading the magic circle at her feet from a glance. As he said, what she used was one of the magic circles passed down only in the Syenn Royal Family.
Since ancient times, there have been two ways for a wizard to use magic.
Using a magic circle to increase the probability of success, or building up skills to use nonverbal magic.
For Soria, whose mana flow was disrupted due to the curse, there was only one way remaining.
Her sharp claws carefully tapped the end of the magic circle.
Following that end, the magic circle connected by mana began to shine with a brilliant golden light. The sound of knights staggering around, momentarily blinded, filled the room.
“Damn it!”
Dorwell, who covered his eyes with his collar, cursed lowly.
“We must capture her! If Princess Soria dies, this journey would have been in vain!”
Dorwell’s voice echoed loudly throughout the room.
Soria, avoiding the knights rushing at her all at once, soared up. The knights’ eyesight had not yet fully returned, buying her time.
She didn’t want to run away, but there was nothing she could do for now. Soria swallowed her anger and dashed towards the window.
‘To think I trusted that damn bastard, of all people!’
She had never completely trusted the sorcerer’s words. But since there was no other way to escape, she must have been relying on him without even realizing it.
On that one word he threw at her with a hint of mockery…
Perhaps that was why she had placed her hopes on the Emperor of the Krosia Empire and his party, who had unexpectedly barged in.
She was angry about that.
“KOKKIIYOOOOOOK!!”
Soria’s pure white wings spread wide. She stepped on the window frame and flew into the palace courtyard.
Lenok, who had escaped the influence of the magic thanks to the cloak Dorwell had thrown on him, stared blankly at the sight.
In a typical fairy tale, this would be the fated moment where the prince meets the princess—a first encounter filled with destiny and budding romance.
But unfortunately, this was not a fairy tale, and Lenok wasn’t the kind of man filled with dreams and ideals to fall in love with a chicken at first sight.
He simply thought as he watched Soria fly away.
‘That chicken… is flying.’
A brutally honest observation.
“Your Majesty, are you alright!!”
The light soon subsided.
Lenok waved away the knights rushing at him with one hand. Turning his gaze around, the first thing he noticed was the mess the room was in. He frowned and looked around the chaotic room.
It goes without saying that Soria was nowhere to be seen. All that remained were pure white chicken feathers scattered here and there.
“Haah…”
Lenok rubbed his forehead, wearied by the sheer absurdity of it all.
How did it come to this?
The original plan was simple. Awaken the cursed princess and remove the thorny vines surrounding the Syenn Kingdom. If all the talk about the curse was made up, then identify and eliminate the cause of the thorny vines that wouldn’t disappear even when burned.
How did that simple plan get so twisted?
Dorwell, who had finished checking if there were any more hidden magic circles, approached Lenok, who was sighing.
“So how did you know, Your Majesty? That the chicken was Princess Soria.”
“She told me herself.”
“…Pardon?”
The expressions of those looking at him were all the same. How did you talk to a chicken, that pure question and bewilderment.
“Forget it. Why ask when you don’t even believe me.”
“How could we not believe you? It’s just that… it’s such an absurd story that it’s hard to…”
Dorwell trailed off and avoided his gaze.
It was a repeat of the same old story. Lenok irritably swept back his hair and immediately turned towards the door. Dorwell and the knights shouted something behind him, but Lenok headed outside, leaving only a sharp warning not to follow him.
