As the crimson dusk slipped beyond the horizon, giving way to a deep violet shroud, an ominous shadow stretched over the mountain ridges. Leon Bening's estate was a flurry of activity, not with the usual evening bustle but with a foreboding intensity. The sounds of weapons being moved, quiet commands, and the dragging of heavy objects filled the air from all directions.

"Bernardo Lennon, Commander of the Crescent Knights, here to report to the Count."

Clad in attire bearing the Bening family crest, Bernardo Lennon stood before Leon Bening. His "first puppet" had fully donned his battle armor, exuding an intense aura. Something unfamiliar stirred in Leon’s heart. It had been so long that he’d forgotten this feeling might be nostalgia.

"Report."

"The Crescent Knights, thirty strong, and an additional three hundred soldiers are fully prepared. Count, please give your orders."

Bernardo bowed with knightly decorum. Leon clicked his tongue as he looked at him. He had intended to seize the kingdom using the cleanest possible methods, but too many unforeseen complications had arisen. In the quest for power, a coup was, in the end, nothing but a dirty tool—a course of action against the Count's principles.

"When the plan begins, I will head to the Second Prince's palace to join him. Bernardo, you are to go to the Raven Knights and merge forces with them."

Leon paused, as if struck by a sudden thought, studying Bernardo carefully.

"As I mentioned, if Teodora resists, subdue her and bring her before me. If it drags on too long, you may join me first."

"Understood."

Leon’s gaze shifted to the other puppets assembled behind Bernardo.

"You will each lead your troops and split into two groups—one to secure the First Prince’s quarters and another for the Princess's chambers. Bring them alive if possible, but if necessary, no one will hold you accountable should they fall."

"We follow the Count's orders."

"The operation must conclude by the first crow of the morning rooster. Do you understand?"

"Yes, we understand."

The tension grew thicker. Leon glanced around. The one person who should be as busy as he was nowhere in sight. Was this a final act of defiance, or something else entirely?

He had his suspicions, but nothing concrete. Tightening his mouth, Leon called over one of his puppets.

"You called for me, Count."

"Take a few soldiers and find Emil Borden."

Passing Emil Borden during the earlier evaluations when he’d planned to handle Arsen Vern and Maxim Apart had been a mistake. Had he kept Emil too long, dulling his instincts? Leon’s eyes grew cold, devoid of emotion.

"Find him and bring him before me—alive."

Leon knew well the cost of betrayal. A thin, bitter smile crept onto his lips, chilling in its subdued rage.

Emil Borden would soon find himself begging for death in excruciating agony.

==

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

The sound of galloping hooves reverberated across the capital city, breaking the evening calm. This wasn’t the leisurely clatter of carriage horses but a desperate pounding that shattered the night’s tranquility.

Damn it.

Following the sound, a blue-eyed man rode with urgency. Emil Borden drove his horse with a desperation he had never felt before. By now, Leon Bening must have realized everything and likely ordered either his capture or death. Emil knew his time was running short.

He had to arrive in time. Before they unleashed a bloodbath upon the palace, slaughtered everyone who wasn’t on their side, or failed to save his daughter.

At the palace gates, Emil dismounted, rushing forward. The royal guards recognized him, eyeing him curiously.

"Deputy Chancellor Emil, what brings you to the palace at this hour?"

Emil considered the guards. Perhaps he should warn them that Leon Bening planned to invade the palace with armed forces. If he raised an alarm, the news might reach the King in time, allowing the palace to prepare, giving Princess Marion, whom his daughter served, a chance to—

No.

Emil quickly dismissed the thought. He couldn’t trust anyone. There was no way to know who was loyal to the Count and who wasn’t. The Count’s pursuers, sent to kill him, could be approaching any minute.

"Deputy Chancellor?"

Emil snapped out of his thoughts as the guard called him again.

"I forgot some documents in my office."

The guard tilted his head in puzzlement but allowed Emil to pass. Emil moved swiftly, taking out the vial. He would have to consider everyone within the palace an enemy now; anyone could betray the royal family or stab him in the back.

Tsk.

Emil looked at the vial with displeasure. There was only a small amount, supposedly enough to last for half a day at most. During that time, he would have to defend the palace—and his daughter—from their assault.

He didn’t drink it all. He needed to prove himself to the person he was about to seek out. Enduring the nauseating twist of his muscles and skin as the drug took effect, he made his way, searching the palace for the one place he could be certain wasn’t loyal to the Count.

It was galling to have to rely on him.

Emil sighed. He was in no position to be picky. Before long, he had transformed into a middle-aged man with graying hair. Changing into a servant’s outfit, he moved forward.

==

In the training yard of the Second Guard, exhausted soldiers groaned as they cleaned up after their evening drills. Maxim was there, assisting with the cleanup, as he often did. The weary guards didn’t refuse his help.

"Thank you as always, Sir Maxim."

"No thanks necessary. I can’t often attend the regular training, so it’s the least I can do."

Though his primary role in the palace was to teach swordsmanship to the First Prince, Maxim’s reputation among the knights and soldiers was high. As the winner of the martial arts tournament and a hidden hero of the borderlands, admired by both soldiers and the King, he was mostly looked upon with respect rather than jealousy.

As Maxim looked around the bustling training yard, he frowned. When had this sense of unease first settled in? Perhaps it had begun on the day he made that promise to Louis. Maxim pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Sir Maxim, is something wrong?"

The nearby knights noticed his expression and asked him, but he could give no answer. He couldn’t simply say he felt uneasy.

"...It’s nothing. You’ve all worked hard today."

Perhaps he had been too relaxed recently. Maxim gripped the hilt of his sword, shaking his head. He’d heard rumors of commotion in the royal court, but it had only been verbal spats and arguments so far.

A part of him felt reassured that there was no war, that the palace hadn’t been drenched in blood. It felt as though he were on the verge of reclaiming what he’d been seeking.

“Such complacency…”

The war had not yet begun. He might have found comfort in this ominous feeling if not for the unexpected visitor who approached him then.

"Maxim? Ah, there you are. Maxim!"

He recognized the voice of the Deputy Commander of the Second Guard.

"Yes, Deputy Commander. What is it?"

"Someone’s here to see you. Apparently, they’re a servant from the Princess’s quarters—not your fiancée, but someone unfamiliar."

A servant?

Maxim tilted his head in confusion as he followed the Deputy Commander’s gaze. He saw a stranger waiting at the entrance, looking urgent. Maxim found himself hastening his steps toward the servant, feeling the unease within him grow.

"Yes, how may I help you?"

As he approached, the servant grabbed his coat and pulled him to the secluded back of the training yard. Surprised, Maxim followed without resistance. Once out of sight, the middle-aged man dressed as a servant glanced around before speaking in a low voice.

"Maxim Apart. Listen closely."

Maxim recognized the voice from somewhere. Before he could place it, the man shook him, urging him to focus. When Maxim’s gaze met the man’s, the man finally spoke his purpose.

"Soon, Leon Bening will lead his forces into the palace."

Maxim’s eyes widened, his unease reaching its peak.

"What… what are you saying?"

"Just as I said. There’s no time. The Count’s troops will split into three to assault His Majesty, the First Prince, and the Princess. The Second Prince’s forces will coordinate from within."

It felt as if a hammer had struck him. Maxim could only stare, stunned, struggling to process the servant’s words. The servant sighed, frustrated by Maxim’s hesitation.

"And why should I believe you?"

"Perhaps it was my mistake to consider you for my son-in-law."

Maxim’s brow furrowed at the familiar sarcastic tone. The man produced a small vial. Maxim immediately recognized the substance inside—a rare body-altering elixir that only the King could provide. The sight and implications left Maxim reeling.

"That vial… you… it can’t be."

Seeing Maxim’s shock, the man—Emil Borden—gritted his teeth.

"There’s no time for explanations. Gather those you trust and move quickly."

Maxim hesitated, still processing the revelation. Emil let out a long, weary sigh.

"Dammit. You must get the royal family to safety. There’s little I can do. If we move conspicuously, those coordinating from within will strike. You must act quickly to counter them."

Gripping Maxim’s collar, Emil’s voice became desperate.

"Please. Protect my daughter from the storm of blood about to descend."

Maxim stared into his eyes. The mocking glint that Emil usually bore had been replaced by desperation. Maxim clenched his teeth and pushed Emil’s hands away. Whatever had happened between them in the past, now wasn’t the time to hold grudges. Maxim replied in a heavy tone.

"This time, I’ll believe you."

Relief flickered in Emil’s expression. As Maxim turned to head to the First Prince’s quarters, he glanced back.

"And what will you do?"

Emil let out a dry laugh.

"Since when do you worry about your father-in-law? How touching."

The mocking tone was the same, but Maxim showed no sign of irritation. Emil shook his head.

"Buy time."

Maxim frowned, prompting another bitter laugh from Emil.

"The Count will surely send men after me. I’ll lead them on a chase to split their forces."

I left traces and witnesses for a reason, Emil explained, giving a thin, bitter smile. Maxim thought it looked profoundly sorrowful.

"I’ll find a way to survive. You must hurry and get the royal family to safety. We’re out of time…."

Thud.

Both Emil and Maxim turned. It could have been any ordinary sound, but Maxim’s face paled. This ominous feeling had never been so accurate.

"...Hurry."

Emil’s voice trembled. Maxim could only nod and move swiftly.