Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 46 - : Alice’s Memory

The castle gardens echoed with the laughter of children. Eight-year-old Alice dashed across the soft grass, clutching a wooden practice sword almost too large for her. Behind her, a small boy with dark hair and wide, curious eyes struggled to keep up, his breath coming in short gasps.

"Wait for me!" Aaron huffed, panting as he stumbled after his older siblings, his tiny legs failing to match their pace.

Ahead of them, Arthur—nearly ten, brimming with confidence—stood with his own wooden sword. He watched Alice's clumsy grip and let out a chuckle. "Alice, if you hold it like that, you'll drop it before you even swing."

Alice pouted, adjusting her grip with determination. "But I want to fight like you! You're going to be the strongest knight one day, right?"

Arthur ruffled her silver hair, his smile unwavering. "Not a knight. A mage. I'll be the strongest mage, and I'll protect you and the kingdom."

Alice's emerald-green eyes sparkled. "Really? Then why are you practicing with a sword?"

Arthur smirked. "Mana doesn't form until you turn ten, so I can't use magic to practice yet. Until then, I'll train with sword so I can to get stronger."

Alice beamed. "Wow, you're amazing, big brother Arthur!"

"I wanna be strong like you too, Arthur!" Aaron chimed in eagerly, bouncing on his feet.

Their world was small back then—just the three of them, bound by love and the innocent dreams of childhood. Arthur was their hero, their protector, the big brother they adored.

But everything changed the day Arthur turned ten.

The castle buzzed with anticipation. The air was thick with excitement, the grand hall packed with nobles, scholars, and high-ranking officials, all eager to witness the momentous event. It was tradition—at the age of ten, many noble children underwent the magic aptitude test, their futures sealed by the glowing crystal that would determine their potential for becoming a mage.

And today, it was Prince Arthur Jr.'s turn.

Arthur stood before the glowing crystal, his hands steady despite the thunderous pounding of his heart. He had always believed he was destined to become a powerful mage. He had studied magic theory, dreamed of wielding its power, and longed for the moment that would define his fate.

He placed his hand on the crystal.

And nothing happened.

Silence fell. A heavy, suffocating silence.

The glow that should have illuminated the hall, that should have bathed him in proof of his power—never came. The crystal remained dull and lifeless beneath his touch.

Aaron, too young to grasp the weight of the moment, blinked in confusion. "Why isn't it glowing?" he asked, his voice innocent, unaware of the shock rippling through the hall.

Alice, standing beside him, felt a slow dread creep into her chest. Then, the whispers began.

"Impossible..." one of the royal mages murmured, his face pale with disbelief.

The official delivering the test hesitated before speaking, but when he did, his words cut like a blade. "Arthur Jr., you have no aptitude or talent for magic. The crystal confirms it—your mana capacity is zero. This means you will never be able to use magic."

A stunned hush followed.

Their father turned away without a word. Their mother let out a quiet sigh, the weight of disappointment etched into her face.

The court murmured in hushed voices, some pitying, others barely concealing their disdain. This was Prince Arthur Jr., son of two of the greatest mages of their time. He was expected to be exceptional, a prodigy, perhaps even a legend in the making.

Instead, he was nothing.

Arthur didn't move. He didn't blink. His fingers slowly curled into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. His breathing was steady, his face unreadable, but Alice knew—something inside him had just broken.

Aaron, still oblivious to the shift in the air, tugged at Alice's sleeve. "What does that mean? Why is everyone acting weird?"

Alice couldn't answer.

Because deep down, she already knew—Arthur would never be the same again.

Arthur changed after that day.

The bright, eager boy who once trained with relentless determination, who smiled with an unshakable confidence, who used to ruffle Alice's hair and promised to always protect her—he disappeared.

At first, Alice refused to believe it. She told herself he was just upset, that he needed time. She snuck into his room, bringing his favorite sweets, coaxing him to come outside, to play like they used to. But every time, he pushed her away. His eyes, once filled with warmth, were empty now—hollow, distant, like he was no longer truly there.

Aaron, too young to understand what had happened, clung to him even more. "Arthur, let's play! You promised to teach me sword fighting!" he'd say, his small hands tugging at Arthur's sleeve. But Arthur barely acknowledged him. Some days, he didn't acknowledge him at all.

Then, the drinking started.

There was no official drinking age in Keldoria, but everyone knew Arthur was far too young. Yet, no one dared stop him. He was still a prince, and the weight of his title shielded him from consequences. Their parents didn't punish him, didn't even try to stop his descent. They didn't educate him, didn't guide him. They simply let him be, as if he was already a lost cause.

And left to his own devices, Arthur only got worse.

He skipped lessons, vanished from the palace for hours—sometimes days. He used his status to do as he pleased, drowning himself in alcohol, gambling recklessly, throwing his weight around just because he could. Servants whispered about him in hushed voices. Nobles scoffed and sneered behind his back.

And worst of all—he lashed out at whoever he thought was talking behind his back. Sometimes, he would even lashed out at Alice and Aaron.

One evening, unable to bear it any longer, Alice confronted him. She found him slumped in one of the palace corridors, an empty bottle at his side, his once-proud posture now reduced to a careless sprawl.

"Arthur, why are you acting like this?" she demanded, her voice sharp, her hands clenched into fists.

Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her. His eyes, dull and lifeless, met hers, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw something—pain, regret, something buried deep beneath the haze of alcohol.

Then, he scoffed. "Because none of it matters," he muttered, his voice hoarse, bitter. "Without magic, I'm nothing."

Alice felt something inside her break.

This wasn't her brother. Not the Arthur who had once been her hero. Not the boy who had sworn to protect her, who had held her hand when she was scared, who had always been so strong, so unwavering.

That Arthur was gone.

And in his place was a broken, selfish, pathetic shell of a person.

Two years later, when Alice turned ten, it was finally her turn to take the test.

She stepped forward, her heart pounding, hands trembling ever so slightly as she reached out to touch the crystal—just as Arthur had done two years ago. The memory of that day still lingered in her mind, the way the room had fallen silent, the way their father had turned his back without a word, the way Arthur's face had crumbled in a way she had never seen before.

But when her fingers met the cool surface of the crystal, the reaction was instant. A brilliant golden light erupted from within, filling the grand hall with a radiance so intense that some had to shield their eyes. Gasps echoed through the chamber, whispers of astonishment rippling through the gathered nobles and scholars.

"A prodigy..." one murmured in awe.

"A genius," another agreed.

Alice stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. The warmth of the magic surged through her veins, powerful, exhilarating, undeniable. At only ten years old, she had already surpassed expectations, already secured a place among the gifted.

From the crowd, Aaron, now eight, jumped excitedly, his face glowing with pride. "Big sister, Alice is amazing!" he cheered, his voice high with childlike admiration.

But Alice barely heard him. Because as she stood there, basking in the light of her own power, something inside her shifted. She looked around at the awed expressions, the way even their father nodded with approval, the way the court—who had once pitied Arthur—now looked at her with something close to reverence.

And in that moment, a realization took root in her heart, cold and absolute.

Arthur had failed because he was talentless. And because he was talentless, he had become worthless—weak, bitter, unfit to stand beside greatness.

Power determined everything. Without it, one was nothing.

She clenched her fists, feeling the magic hum beneath her skin, feeling the certainty solidify within her. She would never be weak. She would never allow herself to fall into despair like he did. She would never, ever become like Arthur.

And from that day forward, she would never trust him—or anyone without talent—ever again.

...

Alice tightened her grip on the fireball, her gaze locked onto the man before her.

The Arthur she had known was a disgrace—a failure who had squandered himself and drowned himself in bitterness. She had accepted that, moved on, and left him behind in the past.

But the man standing before her now was different. There was confidence in his stance, calculation in his gaze. He carried himself not with the reckless arrogance of a spoiled prince but with the quiet certainty of someone who had faced the abyss and climbed back out. It unsettled her. The fire in his eyes reminded her of the brother she had once admired—the one who had worked hard, who had dreamed, who had believed in himself before the world had shattered him.

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And that terrified her.

She had spent years convincing herself that Arthur was nothing. That without magic, he would never amount to anything. Yet here he was, proving her wrong, and every person she spoke to only confirmed it. The servants, the knights, even the officials—none of them spoke of a drunken failure anymore. They spoke of a man determined to rebuild himself. A man determined to make Keldoria stronger.

She didn't have the patience to wait and observe him through the winter like Arthur told them to. She needed answers now. So she did what she knew best—she tested him.

If he had truly changed, if he was truly strong, then he wouldn't flinch. He wouldn't crumble beneath her magic like the broken boy she had once pitied.

The fireball in her hand burned hotter.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

---

Not part of the story

I'm not sure how to add an image in WN yet, so I'll just post the map in the comments section. Fair warning—I have no idea how to draw maps! I even tried using AI, but it was completely useless. Even when I provided my "amazing sketch" and asked it to make it look more like a real map but instead, it gave me a map worst than my drawing so I could not use it.

That said, I'll try to learn and look up on how to make a map using AI or on a website and upload a better version later. (If you know how please give me a tip or you will have to just accept with the poorly draw map until I learn how to make a better map 🤣🤣) But for now, please enjoy my hand-drawn map(with a little bit of AI) ! (Warning: It's really bad! but consider it as good.🤣🤣)