My hands shook as I washed the blood from my skin. The dark red swirled down the sinkhole, mixing with the cold water. The sight of it—thick and dark—dragged my mind back to the battlefield. I had held my composure through the entire battle. Not a flicker of hesitation, not a single misstep. But now…
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
I scrubbed harder, the scent of metal lingering beneath the soap. Taking lives isn't as easy as I thought. If I were weak-willed, I wouldn't have been able to execute and endure the events of today. But even strength comes with a cost.
The bathwater was scalding, but it cooled my nerves. My breathing evened out. My pulse steadied. Yet my mind remained sharp—too sharp. I had fought two battles in one day, but I wasn't exhausted. Not mentally, not physically.
That's what troubled me.
My morals whispered questions I didn't want to face. Was I right to crucify them? Was it necessary to drive the nail so deep? My mind offered no answers—only silence. But what's done is done. I banged my head softly on the bathroom walls to kill the thoughts.
I have to be strong.
My parents are attending the Round Table of Vermanyan. Until they return, Drakseid stands under my rule and Prime Minister Josh's care. I can't afford weakness. There's no room for hesitation.
No room for doubt.
Even with the stench of blood still lingering in my mind, my stomach growled. Strange how hunger persists even after a day soaked in steel and blood.
I trailed behind the butler, his polished steps echoing against the marble floor as we approached the dining hall. The quiet click of his heels felt almost unnerving after the chaos of the battlefield. My eyes flicked toward the tall, gilded doors as they creaked open.
The dining hall was fitting for a duke—grand and elegant, though it paled in comparison to Tender Castle's own. High arched ceilings, polished silver chandeliers, and crimson velvet drapes framed the room. The long mahogany table stretched toward the far end of the hall, adorned with silverware that reflected the soft candlelight.
Yet, a quiet sense of achievement and pride settled in my chest. This place was mine—conquered in blood and bronze. It stood as a symbol of my first true victory. Even though I knew it would eventually pass to whoever Uncle Josh deems worthy of ruling Verdune, for now… it was mine.
I inhaled deeply. The faint scent of roasted meat and spiced wine drifted through the hall.
My steps slowed as I approached the seat at the head of the table. A servant pulled the chair back, and I sat, my hand resting lightly on the carved armrest. My fingers brushed against the polished edge of the table. My hand had been steady on the battlefield, but now a slight tremor ran through my fingertips.
Steady.
I tightened my grip, feeling the hard press of wood beneath my palm. My knuckles whitened as the tremor stopped. Even in peace, the battlefield lingers beneath my skin.
The butler approached, a silver tray balanced perfectly in his gloved hands.
"Your Highness," he said, bowing low. "Shall I serve the first course?"
I gave a short nod.
A second servant approached with a crystal goblet filled with dark red wine. His hands were steady as he set it beside my plate. My gaze lingered on the deep crimson surface. Blood red.
My hand hovered above the glass for a moment before I pulled away.
"Just water," I said.
The servant hesitated. "But Your Highness, it's tradition to—"
"Just water."
The servant bowed and stepped away.
My gaze sharpened as I picked up the knife beside my plate, the polished silver catching the light. My reflection stared back at me—calm, cold, and composed. My hand curled around the hilt with practiced ease.
I crucified them.
The thought cut through my mind like a knife. Not just defeated—executed. Humiliated. Their screams still echoed beneath my skull.
But it had to be done.
I had to make the statement.
A butler approached with a silver tray, setting down a crystal goblet filled with warm spiced wine steeped with honey and cloves. The faint sweetness mixed with the deep warmth of the cloves lingered on my tongue as I drank. The taste was smooth but sharp—a fitting prelude to the conversation I was about to have.
I lowered the goblet, my gaze steady. "Summon the old duke's daughter to my table," I said, my tone cool but firm. "I have matters to discuss with her."
The butler gave a short bow and withdrew.
I took another sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest. My fingers curled around the goblet's stem, tapping lightly as I studied the polished mahogany table before me. The flicker of the candlelight reflected off the gleaming surface, casting fractured patterns across the room's dark walls.
Then the doors opened.
A dark-haired woman entered the hall. She was in her early twenties—tall, slender, and composed. Her black hair was pinned into a neat updo, and she wore a formal dress of dark blue velvet with silver embroidery. The gown clung to her figure with the precision only noble tailoring could provide.
Her face was a mask of indifference. Pale skin, sharp features, and dark eyes that refused to meet mine. Not a flicker of grief. Not a trace of anger. Her father had died earlier today—crucified on my orders—and yet, her expression remained cold.
Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she approached. She stood a few steps from the table, hands clasped before her waist. Her posture was perfect—almost unnervingly so.
She dipped into a shallow curtsey, her gaze still fixed on the floor. "Your Highness," she said evenly.
I studied her. "Raise your head."
Her dark eyes flicked toward me, empty and detached. But her composure was too perfect. Too measured.
I swirled the wine in my goblet, the liquid catching the candlelight.
"You don't seem… affected."
Her lips pressed together faintly. "I have accepted the consequences of my father's actions," she said. "Verdune belongs to Drakseid now."
No anger. No resentment. Not even bitterness. Just quiet resignation. That's not normal.
I leaned back in my chair, the goblet resting lightly against my fingers. "You speak as though you expected this outcome."
She hesitated, but only for a moment. "My father's ambitions outweighed his ability," she replied carefully. "Failure was inevitable."
My eyes narrowed slightly. "You call his death failure?"
Her lips tighten and a flicker of emotion passed through her gaze—so faint I nearly missed it. She hesitated, then said, "A man who leads his people into ruin deserves his fate."
Cold. Calculated. Not the words of a grieving daughter—but of someone who had already processed her loss long before it happened.
Interesting.
I set the goblet down with a quiet clink. "What is your name?"
"Lynda," she replied. "Lynda L. Verdune. I have no title my lord."
"Lynda," I repeated, letting the name settle on my tongue. "You have lost your family title and your lands. Your family's name is tarnished. So tell me—what value do you hold now?"
Her gaze sharpened. "I hold knowledge," she said. "And I understand how Verdune works better than anyone."
"And?"
"And," she continued, "I am willing to offer that knowledge… in exchange for protection."
Bold. Calculated. But not desperate.
I smiled faintly. "I don't recall offering you a choice."
Her eyes didn't waver. "You didn't," she replied. "But you're a ruler, Your Highness. I assume you see the value of a pawn that understands the game."
My gaze darkened. "I don't keep pawns. Only assets."
Her lips curled faintly at the corner. "Then perhaps you should consider me an investment."
My hand brushed the edge of the goblet. "You have ambition," I said. "Ambition breeds either strength or betrayal."
"Then I suppose time will reveal which outcome I intend."
She was dangerous. I knew that already. But dangerous tools, when properly controlled, are the most valuable.
"You may sit," I said.
She hesitated for half a second before stepping toward the table. She lowered herself gracefully into the seat opposite me, her hands resting lightly on her lap.
A butler approached with the next course—a roasted venison with blackberry reduction. The scent of seared meat and dark fruit filled the air.
Lynda didn't look at the food. She looked at me. Waiting. Calculating.
I picked up my knife. "Let's see how valuable you really are."
Her lips curled faintly. "I look forward to proving myself… Your Highness."
The knife cut through the meat with a clean stroke.
And the game began.
***
The moon hung high above Verdune, casting pale silver light through the tall windows of the mansion. The cold breeze slipped through the cracks in the ancient stone, brushing against the heavy velvet curtains. The room was dark, save for the faint flicker of the dying embers in the fireplace.
I sat at the edge of the large canopy bed, my crimson cape folded neatly on the chair beside me. My sword rested against the nightstand—within reach. My fingers grazed the hilt absentmindedly as my gaze lingered on the faint moonlight filtering through the glass.
My eyes sharpened.
A soft shift beneath the bed. A breath that didn't belong.
Normally, I would've drawn my sword. But I knew the only ones capable of pulling stunts like this on me.
I said in a low voice, "You and your men did well today, Zero."
A reply came from under the bed—a female voice, soft and shy, "It was nothing compared to what you did on the battlefield, my lord. I apologize for not knowing Verdune had a mage for combat."
"The Ninja Order performed well this battle. Take my praise—I don't give it easily." My tone was sharp but steady. "As for the mage, Lynda told me he was a passing mercenary hired this afternoon by the duke. I don't fault the Shadows for not knowing. All your other intelligence was spot on."
"Thank you, my Liege," she replied softly. "What's next?"
I leaned back slightly. My gaze darkened. "You already silenced Verdune's nobles who could cause problems?"
"We finished them off," Zero answered without hesitation. "Made it look natural. Suicide or illness. No traces left."
"Good. Panic breeds resistance. Quiet deaths breed obedience."
A flicker of guilt stirred beneath my composed exterior. My mind whispered that I had gone too far.
I silenced it.
"Any complaints from my uncle and parents?"
"None, my Liege. We've also kept every information about the Ninja Order well hidden from the army and nobles."
My lips curled faintly. "Excellent work as always, Zero. Rest for now, along with the other numbers. I may have a big project coming up for you all. Give my regards to the others."
"Will do, Your Highness. Have a good night."
A faint rustle of fabric. A whisper of wind. And then silence.
Zero was gone.
I laid my small body down against the cool silk sheets. My body may be ten years old, but my mind was that of a teenager. The weight of the day pressed down on my chest—victory, blood, death.
But sleep was already pulling me under.
Good night.