How far had he run? Emile never imagined he would be running around like this in his life, especially at an age well past his prime. His usual monocle had disappeared somewhere, and his meticulously combed hair was now a mess for the first time in ages. Despite the biting winter wind, sweat trickled down his forehead. Emile wiped the sweat off his brow and pushed open a creaking wooden door.

“This...should do.”

The potion’s effects, which lasted barely half a day, were starting to wear off. Emile Borden felt his face gradually returning to its original form. He had wandered the palace disguised as a servant, trying to evade pursuit. But Leon Bening’s invasion had begun far earlier than expected, forcing Emile to dodge the blind blades and move swiftly.

The place he had found was an abandoned armory tucked away in a corner of the palace. Emile sighed as he glanced at a rattling, rusted mace. His hand brushed over the old, rusty weapons. A knight his age might have lamented that his own form was no different from these corroded weapons, but Emile found no such comparison between himself and these relics.

Perhaps only their worn and rusty state could be likened to his own.

Murmuring to himself, Emile gave a bitter smile.

“This will have to do.”

Emile’s hand, which had been brushing past the weapons, stopped as he gripped a dagger. Although he was the son of a noble family, and memories of his sword training were faintly present, those memories alone didn’t give him the strength to swing a blade against knights.

Of course, this was only to buy some time.

He tapped the hardened stone object tucked inside his coat with the tip of the dagger. This is the real thing. Emile gripped the dagger in a reverse hold, pressing down on his pounding heart. He had reached his limit trying to draw the attention of the pursuing forces. Now that his disguise was gone, revealing his true face, it was only a matter of time before they captured him.

“Haa.”

Emile slumped onto one of the crates scattered around the armory. He was desperate for a smoke. If he’d known it would come to this, he would have kept his pipe with him. Closing his eyes, the noises outside the armory grew clearer. The sounds of collapsing buildings, flames roaring, and people screaming.

Marion will be safe, right?

He may not have particularly liked Maxim Apart, his son-in-law, but he was confident that Maxim would protect his daughter. This conclusion came from retracing Maxim’s actions. Despite Maxim’s face or temperament, which tended to attract other women, he had always been loyal to his fiancée.

Well, I suppose he's better than I ever was.

Emile gave a wry smile. His other family members were all safe. If he had any lingering regrets, it was simply a desire to see Marion’s face one last time. When he glimpsed her face at the ball, he’d nearly cried, foolish as it was. You grew up well. Even under this foolish and cruel father, you bloomed so beautifully.

Emile opened his eyes. The noise was getting closer.

Rattle.

It wasn’t his imagination. While he wasn’t a martial artist capable of detecting presence, he could sense that a crowd was gathering outside the cramped armory. Emile Borden turned to face the creaky, dust-laden wooden door.

Rattle.

King Louis Loire turned at the sound. Even as he made his escape through a hidden passage, the ominous rattling noises echoed constantly. The attendants and knights escorting the king swallowed nervously, keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings. By now, Leon Bening’s soldiers would undoubtedly be combing the capital in search of the king.

“We don’t have much farther, Your Majesty. Just a bit more.”

One of the attendants offered words of encouragement. The king’s face remained impassive, but it was his escorts who truly needed the morale boost. They had been in the hidden passage for quite some time, but there was still no sign of Aaron, on whom they placed so much hope.

“Aaron is taking his time.”

The king voiced the worry they all shared. His face darkened. With shadowed eyes, he looked back at the path they’d come from.

“I hope nothing unfortunate has happened.”

But he held no hope that Aaron would survive. Judging by the sounds of footsteps and shouts, at least several dozen had likely arrived. That they weren’t yet being pursued meant Aaron was still holding them off.

“It’s Sir Aaron, Your Majesty. He’ll surely overcome this and join us soon.”

The words of reassurance came from Layton, a knight of the First Guard and Aaron’s direct successor. Though resolute, Layton’s face was as pale as the king’s, as he couldn’t forget that Aaron was left behind to fight alone.

“Please keep moving, Your Majesty. Now is the time to prioritize your safety over Sir Aaron.”

Layton urged the king onward with a firm tone. The king nodded, quickening his pace. Their goal was to leave the hidden passage, then contact the scattered allies from a safe house on the outskirts of the capital.

“Your Majesty! We’ve reached the safe house.”

The lead soldier’s words brought a sigh of relief from the king and his party. This time, they hadn’t chosen a safe house disguised as a tavern but a desolate abandoned house far from the capital’s center. It was an unsettling place to reside, yet it was perfect as a discreet refuge.

With a grunt, the soldier lifted a stone door leading to the basement. A cold draft swept up from below, and the soldier squinted into the darkness. With the aid of his lantern, he swept the beam over the basement’s interior. Thankfully, there was nothing suspicious in sight.

“Please step inside, Your Majesty. Watch your step.”

“Yes, thank you all for your efforts.”

A chill rose from the stone floor of the basement, with mist forming in the breaths of the party. Layton, the last of the group, closed the heavy stone door leading to the secret passage. With a rumbling thud, the basement was swallowed in darkness.

“Um?”

The soldier’s startled voice broke the silence. The light in his lantern flickered, dimming. The others looked at him, and he began to sweat nervously as he examined the lantern.

“What’s wrong? Is the wick burned out?”

It’s new… He muttered, shaking the lantern, but like a candle in the wind, the flame sputtered and died. With their vision suddenly enveloped in darkness, the soldier’s voice grew increasingly panicked.

“I’ll light it again, Your Majesty!”

“There’s no need to rush.”

The king’s voice was weary as he reassured the soldier. In front of him, the soldier thought he saw a faint crimson light.

“…Huh?”

The last thing the soldier saw was a grin blossoming in a pool of scarlet.

Thunk.

The lantern fell to the floor, shattering and scattering shards of glass. The king’s party was frozen in place. What they saw wasn’t their eyes adjusting to the dark; it was the glow of a strange red light that now filled the basement. The king, alarmed, spoke up.

“What is…?”

Squelch, squelch.

Though there was no water in the basement, the sound of footsteps echoed as if someone were playfully splashing through puddles. The attendants, soldiers, and knights formed a protective wall in front of the king. Layton drew his sword, his instincts warning him. The basement was becoming more perilous than the battlefield above.

“Your Majesty, please step back.”

Layton’s voice was tense. The footsteps continued, but they couldn’t pinpoint where they came from. Was this basement large enough to hide the direction of footsteps?

Just as Layton’s mind swirled with confusion, he felt the space grow brighter, in a sickening shade of red. Not the red of roses but the deep red of thick blood trickling down a blade.

“Oh, you don’t need to be so wary.”

The voice was sweet. Though it seemed distant, it felt as if it was whispering directly into his ear. Layton’s face turned ashen as he caught sight of fiery red hair. The king recognized the face immediately—an alluring woman with red hair and violet eyes, often seen by Leon Bening’s side.

“Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure. This is our first formal meeting, I believe.”

Despair and emptiness washed over the king like waves, and he sighed heavily, speaking in a hollow tone.

“The Count’s dark sorceress, I presume.”

Lilia nodded. The crimson aura swirling around her was the source of the eerie red light. Her violet eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“Yes, correct. Although, I don’t plan to waste time here with trivial wordplay.”

Lilia made a sweeping gesture with her hand. Layton’s senses flared as his body reacted on instinct.

“Your Majesty, get back!”

Layton pushed the king aside, and just as the king stumbled backward, crimson tendrils wrapped around where he’d been standing. When the king looked up, he saw the others bound by the red vines, suspended from the basement ceiling.

“This… can’t be….”

“Oh my, quite a perceptive knight you have here.”

A flicker of interest appeared in Lilia’s eyes. She looked at Layton, who was bound by her vines. She lifted his chin, examining his face before losing interest and letting go, shaking her head.

“Hmm, but still, nowhere near him.”

Lilia smiled, and Layton found himself captivated by the bewitching yet chilling smile, almost forgetting their dire situation.

“Do you plan to take me prisoner?”

The king asked weakly. Lilia hadn’t bothered binding him, knowing there was no escape. She looked down at the king, who sat dejectedly, a look of disdain in her eyes.

“Prisoner? You’re quite deluded.”

Lilia’s voice was cold, devoid of the usual sweetness and allure.

“To take you prisoner, you’d need a reason to be kept alive. Here, you’ll meet a miserable end.”

“Your Majesty! Please escape! Preserve yourself!”

“You wretch! Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

Bound and enraged, Layton and the others struggled, bloodshot eyes showing their desperate resistance. Lilia’s delicate brow furrowed slightly. Her luscious lips parted, issuing a frosty command.

“Enough of the noise.”

Lilia clenched her fist. Realizing what she meant, the king’s eyes widened in horror.

“No!”

Crack.

His scream was silenced as the execution was carried out. Like prisoners dropped from a gallows, his loyal retainers hung lifeless. The king, devastated, stared at their twisted forms. Among them were longtime aides and knights with families, including the steadfast Layton.

“A…ah…”

The king’s hand grasped at empty air. Lilia’s voice broke through the silence.

“They’re almost here.”

Behind the king, approaching footsteps could be heard, a disciplined, highly trained force. Lilia turned toward the entrance, raising her hand, and the heavy stone door slowly creaked open.

The king, with dead eyes, stared at the opening door. Like figures backlit by an aura, soldiers entered the basement in dignified steps. They surrounded him, forming a path for the figure who walked through them.

His hair was a lighter shade than his siblings, with brown eyes like his mother’s. Kyle Loire, the king’s second son, entered the basement with his mentor.

The lifeless gaze of the king met the cold, mechanical eyes of Kyle in the darkened basement.

“Good health to you, Father.”

Each word Kyle spoke felt like a knife, cutting deep into the king’s soul.

“I came to pay my respects.”