Fall
"The hunter who stalks in darkness... becomes prey when the light finds him."
Atop the wall, Saya had been watching the chaos unfold below when something brushed against her neck.
"Sister, what's wrong?"
Neril glanced over with mild concern.
"Just some fuzz on my collar."
"Ah."
Saya turned back to the battlefield, her attention fixed once more on the rebels below.
The sudden appearance of the young man who had beheaded the rebel leader had plunged both camps into pandemonium.
"He murdered the chieftain! Theo, you treacherous dog—you were the Crown's puppet all along!"
The mercenaries Horrols had hired surged forward to cut Theo down, but others intercepted them.
"Theo has bled for our cause! He would never slay the chieftain without reason, nor cry out that this was a fabricated rebellion!"
"Did you not hear his words? Horrols was in the Regent's pocket! We must uncover the truth before we act!"
The rebel forces fractured cleanly in two—half baying for Theo's blood, half defending him.
Upon the walls, confusion reigned no less fiercely.
"Your Grace, what did that rebel just proclaim?"
"A staged rebellion? Orchestrated by you?"
The assembled ministers turned accusatory gazes upon the Regent.
A rebel had publicly accused Duke Claudio—had murdered his own leader while naming the Regent as conspirator. The implications were damning.
"You... you seek to... to slander me—"
The Regent's mouth worked uselessly, his thoughts scattering like startled birds.
Before he could muster a coherent defense, a distant thunder shattered the momentary lull.
Hoofbeats. Hundreds of them. The earth itself trembled.
"What—what now?!"
Soldiers erupted from a village not far from the rebel encampment—armored warriors driven into the open by a sudden, devastating assault.
Jason's hidden forces, flushed from their concealment like rats from a burning granary.
Then Gilliforth's thunderous voice rolled across the battlefield:
"Take them! Take every last one! Let none escape!"
He and D'Angel's Agemas drove the imperial troops toward the rebel lines like shepherds herding panicked sheep—as though Jason's soldiers and the insurgents were one and the same enemy.
"More reinforcements? Hidden reserves? And they appear to be elite soldiers!"
The castle's defenders gaped at the apparent depth of rebel preparation.
But the rebels themselves stared at the fleeing soldiers with blank incomprehension.
"Who are they? I've never seen those men before!"
Bewildered glances passed between them.
"Could this be an ambush the royals prepared to crush us?"
"Those are imperial troops! The enemy!"
Speculation bloomed into certainty.
Gilliforth swung his hammer in a devastating arc, his voice carrying like a war horn:
"Corpses will suffice! Slay every villain who dares defile Valdina's soil!"
He meant Jason's forces—but the rebels, already reeling from their chieftain's death, believed the words were meant for them.
Panic became rout. Men scattered in every direction.
"What are you doing?! Stand and fight! Will you die whimpering like curs?!"
The mercenaries screamed at their disintegrating ranks, but it was futile. The rebellion was collapsing before their eyes.
The cacophony pierced even unconsciousness.
"Nngh..."
Birna's eyes fluttered open. Cold air bit at the back of her neck; dust and smoke hazed her vision.
Her last memory: emerging from the palace's secret passage into blinding white light...
"What—what is this?!"
Horror crashed over her as she registered her surroundings.
Enemy territory. Armed soldiers on every side. Her wrists bound. And before her—a trail of fresh blood leading to a severed head.
"AAAAAHHHH!"
The chieftain's lifeless eyes stared up at nothing. Birna's shriek tore across the battlefield.
"Where is everyone?! Mother! Father! Someone save me! These people are insane!"
Tears carved tracks through the grime on her face. She thrashed and wailed, unable to comprehend how she had been abandoned in the heart of a rebel army.
Then understanding struck like a blade.
Father revealed the secret passage only to Medea. He meant to deliver her to the rebels.
Medea should be standing here—not me!
"Medea—I'll kill you for this!"
The curse spilled from her lips, venomous and impotent. She had neither time nor means to make good on the threat.
No one remained at her side. No protector. No salvation.
"The knight! Where is my family's knight?!"
She searched frantically, but the man had vanished entirely.
Despair threatened to swallow her whole—until her gaze caught a familiar silhouette in the chaos.
"Your Highness! Grand Duke of Castullo!"
Jason, riding toward her. She recognized his mount, his armor, despite the helmet concealing his face.
"Your Highness! Save me!"
She waved her bound hands desperately. Whether from her frantic movements or because Theo had weakened the knots, the rope snapped free.
Birna flung off her bonds and plunged into the maelstrom of combat.
❧Moments Earlier — Jason's Perspective
The standoff between royal defenders and rebel forces had reached its peak when Horrols' proclamation echoed across the field:
"I have captured the false Princess!"
Jason emerged from concealment, satisfaction warming his chest.
The moment has arrived.
Gilliforth's unexpected intervention had delayed the rebel advance, but Jason understood that plans rarely survived contact with reality.
The hooded Princess was dragged onto the makeshift stage. Jason's lip curled at the crude treatment.
How dare they handle her so carelessly. A former pirate with neither manners nor shame.
"Stand ready. The moment they present her, move in and extract the Princess. Sweep aside those rabble."
"Understood, Your Highness."
His shadows waited in the wings.
But when the sacking fell away, Jason's composure shattered.
Wide eyes. Slack jaw. Pink hair dancing in the wind.
"Why... How... That isn't the Princess—that's the Duke's daughter..."
Before he could process this impossibility, something far worse occurred.
"The rebellion is finished! Regent Claudio—your conspiracy stands exposed! This false uprising ends here!"
Jason's eyes threatened to burst from their sockets.
What is happening? Who is that boy? Weren't all the rebels firmly under the Regent's control?
A subordinate sprinted toward him, face ashen.
"Your Highness—catastrophe! Our position has been discovered!"
"What? That's imposs—"
"ARGH!"
Jason whirled.
A massive cavalry force had descended upon the village where his men lay hidden, methodically destroying everything in their path. His soldiers, flushed from cover, had no choice but to fight or die.
How did they know we were here?!
The attackers moved with terrifying precision—as though they had been waiting for exactly this moment.
"Evade them, Your Highness. These are no ordinary soldiers."
Nord—one of the four secret guards who had protected Jason since birth—issued the warning through gritted teeth. He had recognized immediately that the attackers were elite warriors of uncommon skill.
Jason's gaze swept the carnage.
His men were being cut down in eerie silence, spears and swords finding their marks with mechanical efficiency. This was nothing like the earlier skirmishes with Gilliforth's forces.
The thud of falling bodies. The wet crack of breaking bone.
Each sound hammered into Jason's skull.
"Your Highness, we must withdraw. I will secure an escape route—"
"No! If we remain, we'll be annihilated! All units—retreat! Scatter and regroup!"
Jason's voice cracked with desperation.
This shadow unit bore the name Varangian—a legacy bequeathed by his father, the late Emperor.
Raised in absolute secrecy to evade his uncle's scrutiny, they were Jason's ultimate weapon against Perdiccas II.
He could not afford to lose them here. Not like this.
Then—a whisper of displaced air.
"Your Highness! Down!"
Jason's sword swept up reflexively at his guard's warning. But the arrow had not been aimed at him.
"URGH—!"
Nord toppled from his saddle, an arrow buried in his throat. Blood sprayed across his laurel-crested helm.
"NORD!"
Jason reached him too late. The guard's eyes stared sightlessly at the sky.
"Who did this?! Show yourself!"
He scanned the terrain wildly, but the archer had vanished—or had never been visible at all.
Before he could draw another breath, the killing wind sang again.
"AGH—!"
"AH!"
Sud and West—flanking him on either side—fell in rapid succession. Arrows pierced throat and chest with surgical precision.
"No... What is this..."
More shafts followed in a blur of deadly motion, ensuring each kill.
In the span of heartbeats, three of Jason's four immortal guardians lay dead.
Jason's blood turned to ice.
"AAAAAAHHH!"
A bestial roar tore from his throat.
The mask of the gentle, composed Grand Duke shattered completely. His face contorted into something demonic—unrecognizable to any who had known him.
"WHO?! WHO DARES?!"
Nord. Sud. West. Ost.
These four were the hereditary protectors of the Katzen Imperial bloodline—shadows who existed and yet did not exist. Through centuries of succession, their names had remained constant, their loyalty absolute, their duty singular: the preservation of the direct imperial line.
They took no part in politics. They served no agenda save the safety of their charge.
"Jason, these men will not bring you glory or greatness. But they will keep you alive."
His father's dying words echoed through Jason's mind.
It was these guardians who had preserved his life through all of Perdiccas II's assassination attempts. His uncle—not of the direct bloodline—had never even learned of their existence.
They had accompanied Jason to Valdina as common soldiers, never interfering in his schemes with the Regent, only watching. Protecting.
And now someone had identified them. Eliminated them. With terrifying, deliberate precision.
This isn't a trap for the Regent.
This is a trap for me.
The realization struck like a physical blow.
Whoever had orchestrated this nightmare possessed intimate knowledge of the Katzen royal family—secrets that should have been impossible to obtain.
Jason's face drained of all color.
But understanding came too late. The slaughter continued unabated.
"Ost! We flee—now!"
Without time to mourn his fallen guards, Jason spurred his mount into desperate flight, determined to preserve at least one of his shadows.
Then a piercing cry cut through the chaos:
"Your Highness the Grand Duke! Please—save me!"
A girl's desperate scream.
And somewhere on the walls above, silver hair catching the light, Princess Medea watched the Grand Duke of Castullo flee—his empire of shadows crumbling around him.
The hunter had become the hunted.
The trap had been sprung.
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