Fairy Tail Destiny

( From First person POV )

Death—this word was never unfamiliar to me as a child.

I was born in the borderlands between two powerful nations locked in deep hatred, each trying to swallow the other.

The fighting here never ceased.

There was no law, no morality, no trust—only two choices: kill to survive or be killed.

Some said that the corpses here outnumbered the grains of sand.

Every time one stepped outside, a single glance could take in countless bodies strewn across the ground.

In this brutal world, I was abandoned by my parents mere months after my birth.

If not for an old man who found me and took me in, I would have died long ago.

From the moment I could remember, I called him "Father."

Though we shared no blood, he was my family.

The first time I called him that, he held me tightly, his body trembling.

I could feel his tears soaking my shoulder.

That day, he gave me a name—Reign.

He raised me until I was five.

Then, one day, while out on the streets, he accidentally crossed paths with a general's carriage.

Without hesitation, they cut him down on the spot.

That day, I cried.

I can never forget his final words to me:

"Live. One day, you will find the meaning of your existence."

That's what he told me.

But… is that meaning real?

At five years old, I had no choice but to steal to survive, constantly risking death.

In such an environment, I quickly learned how to kill—to eliminate anyone who tried to deceive or harm me.

Only by doing so could I protect myself.

Here, powerful weapons were more precious than gold, and a magic-infused weapon was something beyond my wildest reach.

I risked my life searching for one on the battlefield and finally found a rusted, magic-infused iron sword.

The price? My right arm was broken while I fled.

That iron sword became my most prized possession.

Every day, I would wipe it clean with a cloth because I knew—it could kill my enemies and protect me.

I lived like this.

Not for anything. Just to keep living.

Until one day…

Someone appeared before me.

I lurked in the shadows, observing.

Judging by that person clothes, that person were likely a noble.

Even if not, that person were at least the child of a wealthy family.

If I killed this person and took this person wealth, I could survive for a long time.

That was my thought.

That was my plan.

But things did not go as I expected.

With just one move—just a single strike—I was knocked to the ground.

It was laughable, like an ant trying to fight an elephant.

Am I going to die?

That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I lay there.

Strangely, I felt no fear.

Only a faint sadness… and relief.

"What an impressive look in your eyes. An interesting child."

That person did not kill me.

Instead, spoke with a light chuckle.

The voice was like music, carrying a mysterious rhythm.

"If you're going to kill me, do it quickly. Are you trying to humiliate me?"

"Kill you? That would be boring. No, I won't kill you. But from today onward, you belong to me."

"You want me to be your slave?"

"Slave? No, hehe… you'll be my tool."

That person extended a hand toward me, the voice carrying an odd emotion.

"Tool?"

It was strange.

Clearly, it was a cruel word.

But when it came from this person's lips, it gave me an inexplicable warmth.

"Yes, my tool. Mine alone. Existing for me, belonging only to me, a tool that will never betray me."

The tone was calm, yet cold.

"Can I… really?"

For some reason, I asked that question.

"Of course. Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked you. I will give you a reason to live. You will swear loyalty to me. It's that simple."

"A reason… to live."

I hesitated for a moment before, for the first time, reaching out my own hand and placing it in this person.

This person hand was cold, yet I felt a long-lost warmth—because this person acknowledged my existence.

It gave me meaning.

Perhaps, to others, it would seem foolish.

But in that moment, I made my decision—my purpose was to become the blade in this person's hand, cutting down all enemies.

From then on, I lived only for that person, becoming their tool.

"I have no need for useless tools. Useless tools will be discarded."

That was what that person told me on the very first day.

To earn their recognition, I trained relentlessly, pushing myself to become stronger.

Just catching a glimpse of that person faint smile was the greatest reward I could ever receive.

I kept training, but due to my age and natural limitations, surpassing the seven closest to that person—taking their place—was still a distant goal.

However, fate shifted unexpectedly.

The defection of the Fifth Throne presented an opportunity.

I defeated my rivals and claimed a position among the Seven Thrones under that person's command.

Even though I was at the very bottom among the seven…

I had never felt this close to happiness.

However, at times, that person would show a sorrowful expression and often mention a name—Nord Rutherford.

Why?

Why would that person reveal such an expression when speaking of someone named Nord?

An unfamiliar emotion took root in my mind—jealousy.

That person often spoke in cryptic phrases.

I didn't understand what they meant, but I could sense a deep longing in that person words.

I was unwilling—deeply unwilling.

Why? Why was it like this? I didn't understand.

And so, I wanted to prove it.

I wanted to prove that I was stronger than that Nord.

That only I was worthy of being that person's tool.

That was what I thought at the time.

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"I... can't lose... Absolutely can't lose..."

Leaning against the wall, Reign struggled to remain standing.

Just the act of getting up filled him with unbearable pain, as if every cell in his body were screaming in protest.

"Take this… the strongest form of my magic!" Reign forced out each word.

The purple gate once again formed behind him.

From within, a weapon exuding overwhelming majesty—yet appearing strangely indistinct—slowly emerged.

As it appeared, even the magical gate itself began to show signs of collapse.

"[Infinite Armament: Blade of Judgment]"

Immediately, Noel felt an undeniable sense of mortal danger.

His instincts screamed at him—if he didn't stop Reign from using this magic, his own body could very well be torn apart.

A soft glow gathered in Noel's hands.

"Fall."

With that single word, a chain of light formed in his grasp and shot toward Reign, aiming to bind him.

Boom!

The white chain shattered.

A brown silhouette appeared in front of Noel.

"...Am I late?"

The newcomer spoke indifferently, standing with his back to Noel before took Reign into his arms.

"Garlos... Why are you here?" Reign muttered, revealing the man's identity.

As soon as Reign spoke his name, the indistinct weapon and the purple gate slowly faded into nothingness.

With one arm, Garlos tucked Reign under his side.

In front of Garlos' imposing 182 cm frame, the 11- to 12-year-old Reign—standing barely 130 cm tall—looked completely powerless.

Garlos turned around and locked eyes with Noel.

"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty Nord. It seems our Seventh Throne has caused you quite some trouble. I will see to it that he is properly punished."

Noel remained silent, staring at Garlos.

Then, his gaze shifted to Reign's right arm, where a shining black Roman numeral VII gleamed.

VII (Seven).

With a blurry flicker, Garlos' figure wavered.

"Now then, if you'll excuse us, Your Majesty Nord."

Noel quietly watched as their figures disappeared from the room.

Only after they were completely gone did he let out a sigh—one filled with complex emotions.

"…Only the seventh?"

---------------

"Garlos..."

As they traveled across the vast ocean, Reign, who was tucked under Garlos' arm, suddenly spoke.

"Hm?"

"How did Master react?"

Reign's voice was somewhat subdued.

Garlos glanced at him.

"Quite unhappy. But it shouldn't be a death sentence. Unlike that former Fifth Throne who fled, you did not betray Master."

Reign fell silent.

The former Fifth Throne...

That comparison was particularly unpleasant to him.

Even though that person had not harmed their Master, he had defected.

And while that defection had given Reign the opportunity to ascend to the Seven Thrones, he felt no gratitude for it.

To him, the Fifth Throne was exactly the kind of person he most wanted to kill.

But the fact remained—he had disobeyed Master's orders.

He had no right to complain.

"Prepare to face your punishment when we return," Garlos said in a calm tone.

"Understood."

"Did you gain anything from this battle?"

Reign hesitated before replying.

"I'm still not strong enough."

A pause.

"I still can't fully wield the power of [Infinite Armament]. If I could summon an S-rank weapon, I wouldn't have lost. Also… this battle exposed many of my weaknesses."

Garlos nodded.

"It seems you've learned a lot. Even though you hold the title of a Seven Throne, you're well aware that your strength is still somewhat below the standard."

Then, after a brief pause, he asked:

"So, how did it feel to fight against His Majesty, Nord?"

Reign was silent for a moment before answering.

"...His insight and analytical ability are terrifying. He's incredibly strong."

Garlos chuckled softly.

"It's rare to hear you give such an evaluation. That level of praise is almost on par with how you describe the Second Throne."

Reign shook his head.

"If what he showed in our fight was already his limit, then against the Second Throne, he wouldn't last more than ten moves."

His tone was firm.

"There's no comparison between their strengths. You should know this, Garlos… The Second Throne and the First Throne… they're monsters."

Garlos let out a quiet laugh.

"That's true. Right now, His Majesty Nord isn't strong enough. But…"

A pause.

"That may not be the case in the future."

"Mm."

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