Outside the palace, unrest was quietly growing, like the shadows of the coming winter, slow yet sudden.

“…It’s getting noisy outside the palace,” the King murmured, his tone detached. The servants attending him, feeling an ominous tension, kept glancing nervously toward the door. Their gaze rested on Aron, standing guard, seemingly reassured by his presence, though the sounds from beyond the door shook them again.

“…Find them! Where are they? Search thoroughly! Bring every one of them to His Highness, the Second Prince!”

In the King’s chamber, Aron, the vice-captain of the royal guard, closed his eyes, his hand steady on the hilt of his sword. In battle, one must always be conscious of the sword's weight, prepared to draw it at any moment. Listening to the distant noise, Aron had urged the King to seek safety, yet the King had refused with a quiet shake of his head.

"Your Majesty, enemies have entered the palace. You must protect yourself."

“If they truly have breached the palace, they would be surrounding it with no way out. How could I find a way to escape?”

The bitter words belied his intentions. It seemed the King genuinely had no desire to flee the palace. Aron felt a mounting frustration. He wanted nothing more than to disobey this command and escort the King to safety immediately, but the King sat unmoved, resolute as stone.

"Your Majesty, if I lead the way, who would dare block it? Even if hundreds of soldiers barred the way, I would protect you with my life."

The King’s face hardened at Aron's words, troubled by something only he understood. His intentions were as elusive now as they had been since Aron began his service to him—perhaps even as elusive as they would be on this, what might be the last day of his service. The King raised his hand, giving one final refusal.

“Enough. Sir Hugo has gone out, so it won’t take long for him to restore order.”

"Your Majesty, unforeseen situations could arise. There is no shame in retreating. There’s a hidden passage—please use it to find shelter and assess the situation from there."

“My refusal isn’t out of pride. It’s just that…”

The King trailed off, shadows deepening the lines on his face. His expression resembled that of an old man awaiting death. Aron, anxious, watched the King’s reluctance to flee, wondering how his captain would have responded in such a dire situation.

"If things take an unexpected turn, I’ll face it myself. I must at least prevent innocent blood from being spilled."

“Your Majesty, you mustn’t do that.”

"What kind of ruler cannot quell disorder within his own palace?"

Aron bit down hard. The King was determined not to move, as if it mattered little to him whether he lived or died here. Though he knew it was insubordinate, Aron raised his voice, feeling that he must make the King understand the gravity of the situation.

"Your Majesty, are you willing to make their sacrifices in vain? Those fighting down below, laying down their lives for you, believe in you!"

The King’s face cracked, as though he’d been struck to the core. For a moment, he looked ready to scold Aron, yet he remained silent, unable to say anything.

“…Sir Aron.”

"Your Majesty, even now, those who believe in and follow you are falling to Leon Bening’s blade below. If you fail to safeguard yourself, many more will bleed as I have."

The King’s anger faded, replaced by an expression of deep fatigue. When he had heard the name of the instigator—Kyle—the Second Prince who was indiscriminately slaughtering people in the palace, he had shown no anger, only sorrow. Now, the weight of guilt bound him like chains.

“Your Majesty, please protect yourself.”

The King offered no response. Aron, his gaze lingering on the King’s profile, turned to stand guard at the door. He wanted to know the state of the battle, but he could not leave the King alone in this moment.

The King was staring blankly at the floor, shadows cast by the lantern flickering ominously.

If I die…

The King gripped the edge of his bed.

If I die, wouldn’t that resolve everything? If Kyle’s wrath falls on me alone, more blood need not be spilled.

‘I swear to fight to the end.’

A voice drifted through his memory—words spoken by a knight who had sworn loyalty to him a few months ago. The King recalled the oath shared between him and Maxim Apart.

‘…Yes, I had that promise with him.’

He couldn’t give up—not yet. Even if it was undignified, he would struggle a little longer.

"I was short-sighted. I will heed your advice, Sir Aron."

After a tense silence, the King finally yielded, and the servants hurried to prepare his escape.

"Screams and clashing steel echoed from beyond the window. The sounds of footsteps and weapons grew closer, signaling a fierce battle drawing near. Aron sensed the approaching presences, grim and determined. His hand tightened on his sword hilt.

Somehow, the enemies were advancing toward the King’s chambers. Had Captain Hugo been waylaid? In the worst-case scenario, Hugo might even be dead. Aron clenched his teeth.

“Your Majesty, it seems time to truly prepare for your escape.”

There was only one way to and from the King’s chambers. By holding his ground there, he could at least buy the King time. Turning to the remaining servants and the junior members of the First Guard, Aron issued a stern command, intending to stay behind and hold off the enemy.

"Escort His Majesty!"

"Yes, understood!"

"-Sir Aron!"

The King tried to stop him, but Aron ignored his words, focusing solely on the sounds of the encroaching enemies.

“Your Majesty, I will join you shortly.”

Aron found the hidden passage door on the wall, pried it open, and led the King’s servants toward the entrance. The King’s face grew even grimmer.

“Sir Aron, survive and rejoin us.”

“Your command, Your Majesty,” Aron replied, giving the King a knightly salute. There was no time to exchange farewells with his successor. Meeting the anxious look of his junior, Aron nodded curtly. The young knight grimaced but then quickly guided the King through the passage. As the last servant entered, Aron closed the door.

He turned to face the entrance of the King’s chambers, where enemies would soon arrive. And just as he sensed them, the door creaked open. Aron stood, awaiting the intruders at the center of the room.

“His Majesty is not here.”

"Such dedication, Sir Aron."

It was Leon Bening who replied, his bloodstained sword glinting in the lantern light. Stepping aside, the Count revealed none other than the Second Prince, Kyle Loire. The Count’s voice carried a mocking tone as he reprimanded Aron.

"It is disrespectful to stand before the legitimate successor to the throne without kneeling."

Aron scoffed at the Count’s words.

"To you, perhaps, he is a legitimate successor."

Aron raised his sword, pointing it at the Count.

"But all I see are rogues, brandishing blood-soaked blades and invading the King’s chambers."

Leon Bening laughed heartily.

“I’ve long noticed that the royal guards have no shortage of admirable men."

His eyes narrowed as he regarded Aron.

"If there had been just a little more time, I wouldn’t have had to kill you."

With that, Leon Bening raised his sword, signaling the soldiers and knights behind him, who surrounded Aron, swords drawn. Aron smirked defiantly.

"I always wondered why you hadn’t acted sooner."

The Count shrugged nonchalantly.

"The Second Prince could always seize the throne by force. When the Mage Tower was still active, that was especially true. But if a throne won by force can always be lost the same way."

So, what would be the point of a throne won by force? Every noble with power would strive to seize it.

"The best way was to secure an irrefutable claim, to ease into the throne naturally. Yet as things unraveled, I had to choose a different path."

The Count had now set his mind to action, knowing that his goal was at hand.

"We already had the cause; we only needed to act."

Aron swallowed dryly. He had never cared about Leon Bening’s plans. As long as the Count kept talking, it meant the King had a little more time to escape. The Count, noticing Aron’s expression, laughed like he was enjoying himself.

"You know, your thoughts are all over your face."

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Leon Bening’s gaze flicked to the hidden passage door. Aron was taken aback, shocked to see the Count’s eyes land exactly where the passage lay.

“His Majesty will not escape, Aron. No matter what you try.”

Aron’s face twisted with fury as dozens of swords closed in on him. Gripping his sword tightly, he stood his ground.

"Leon Bening…!"

The air around Aron stirred. His title as vice-captain of the royal guard was no mere decoration. The soldiers and knights hesitated, backing away from his intense aura.

"Interesting."

"Don't think you’ll leave this palace alive either."

“Now that’s something I like to hear, Sir Aron.”

The Count, pleased, took a step forward. Though Aron could not summon an aura, he was skilled enough to take down the men surrounding him. Noticing this, the soldiers and knights braced themselves and pressed forward once again.

"Is this a spectacle to amuse you?"

Aron muttered bitterly. He knew that even without aura, he could handle the lackeys surrounding him, even if he had to sacrifice a limb. The Count’s attention was not on Aron but on those closing in on him, like moths drawn to flames.

"Kill him, and I’ll consider granting you a promotion."

With a taunting tone, he egged them on. The soldiers and knights exchanged looks, each waiting for the other to make the first move, while Aron let out a scoff.

“Raaaaaah!”

Finally, a soldier charged with a scream, and in an instant, dozens of blades slashed toward Aron. His sword pierced the throat of the first attacker, splitting his skull in two. Pivoting, he dodged another thrust aimed at him.

“Damn you…!”

Cutting down the soldier who cursed him, Aron blocked another attack, slicing down an arm as he parried. His eyes grew colder as he sank into the rhythm of combat.

He had no expectation of survival. All that mattered was reducing the number of pursuers, if only by one. Swinging his sword again, he beheaded two soldiers who charged at him together. Blood pooled around him as he moved calmly, without desperation or shouts.

"Come at me."

After downing his eighth opponent, a moment of hesitation washed over the remaining attackers. Or rather, fear took hold of them as they faced him. Aron gripped his sword tightly.

"If you won’t come, I’ll go to you."

Now, it was Aron who charged. Desperate to survive, the knights blocked his strikes with everything they had. The crowd thinned as he continued his relentless assault. Trusting his instincts, Aron fought on, hoping his blade would soon reach the Count and the Second Prince.

But then, he felt a sharp pain in his foot. The Count’s sword had pierced it, pinning him to the floor. Aron froze, his eyes on Leon Bening, who still wore a smirk, though now without a weapon in hand.

“You bastard…!”

Aron’s mana flared. He needed to unleash his aura, or he wouldn’t last much longer. But his focus faltered.

Then came the cold, stabbing pain of a sword driven into his shoulder. Glancing back, he saw a soldier who had stabbed him but then, in fear, dropped his sword and backed away. Aron yanked the sword from his foot and decapitated the soldier.

Another stab—this time to his thigh. He had no time to respond before another blade stabbed him in the back.

One by one, swords pierced his flesh, each blow colder and more final than the last. Aron collapsed forward.

A resounding thud marked the knight’s fall to his knees. Leon Bening stepped forward, retrieving his sword. The stench of blood filled the chamber. Smirking, the Count looked down at Aron, who, even as life drained from him, glared back with bloodshot eyes.

"And so ends the foolishly loyal servant of the King."

A spurt of blood spilled from Aron’s mouth as he coughed, blood flowing endlessly like water from a cracked pot. In a flat voice, the Count addressed him one last time.

"Any final words?"

“…Die.”

The knight lunged, his blade thrust toward the Count’s neck, halting just inches short.

“Impressive.”

The Count withdrew his sword, allowing blood to gush from Aron’s chest. Even as it poured from his heart, Aron strained forward, forcing his lips to form his final words.

“Your Majesty… please… remain safe…”

With that, the knight fell forward, lifeless. The soldiers waited, and only when certain he was dead did they reclaim their swords, each blade drawing fresh blood from his back as it was removed.

Silence settled over the King’s bloodstained chamber. The soldiers and knights glanced at the Count, awaiting orders, but Leon Bening simply stood there, gazing down at Aron’s body without a word.

"I’ll go ahead, Count."

Eventually, the Second Prince broke the silence. At the Count’s gesture, the soldiers rushed to open the hidden passage. As the lantern light illuminated the tunnel, the Prince’s eyes gleamed with fierce determination.

“Take your time. She will have prepared everything by now, for Your Highness.”

Ignoring the Count’s words, the Second Prince strode into the passage, followed by his knights and soldiers. As the last of them entered, Leon Bening surveyed the blood-soaked chamber one final time. Then, closing the passage behind him, he set off in pursuit of the fleeing King.