In Blood
"For my son. For my daughter. For every tear I could not shed."
Jason wheeled his mount without a backward glance. Behind him, Birna Claudio sprinted through the carnage, pink hair streaming.
"Your Highness! It's Birna! Birna, daughter of Duke Claudio! Please—help me!"
But Jason's attention remained fixed on preserving Ost—the sole surviving member of his shadow guard. The Regent's daughter meant nothing weighed against that singular purpose.
He spurred his horse harder.
"Wait—!"
"Your Highness! I... No! NO!"
Birna's legs pumped desperately, but flesh could not outpace a warhorse at full gallop.
She staggered to a halt, unable to accept what her eyes had witnessed.
"He didn't see me... that's impossible. The Grand Duke would never ignore me... He couldn't..."
Her voice cracked into hysteria. She clawed at her own hair, shrieking denials at the sky.
Around her, the battle still raged—swords singing, men dying. She stood alone in its midst, utterly forgotten.
"AHHH—!"
A stray blade caught her across the back.
Searing white agony. Then darkness.
Birna crumpled to the blood-soaked earth, unconscious once more.
❧Even from the distant ramparts, Medea could distinguish Jason's figure among the chaos below.
She watched him cradle his fallen guard's body, watched his shoulders heave with grief. Watched him abandon Birna without a flicker of hesitation—too consumed by rage and terror to spare even a glance.
Her expression remained utterly impassive.
Jason, I warned you. I would dismantle every foothold you sought to build in Valdina.
Nothing would be surrendered to him. Everything he grasped would be torn away, destroyed by her own hand.
The Regent had never been her sole target in this manufactured rebellion.
One, two, three... Four in total, but Tom missed one. Did Ost escape?
Her true objective had always been the elimination of Jason's hidden power—the shadow guard that had protected the imperial bloodline for generations.
Medea knew their existence intimately. Far too intimately.
Between us lies a debt that must be settled.
These same guardians had once protected her son Lian.
By the ancient laws of succession, Jason's firstborn inherited the full protection of his bloodline. It was Nord and his companions who first discovered General Jared tormenting Lian with a basket of venomous serpents—and who reported the atrocity to Medea.
From that day forward, they had assumed complete responsibility for Lian's safety.
"My son is still a child. He faces no demons on the battlefield—he has no need of guards so skilled as you."
Jason had objected, but their ancient code demanded they prioritize the preservation of royal blood above all else.
And so I trusted them. I allowed Lian to enter the imperial palace under their protection.
What returned to her was her son's cold corpse.
In the agonizing investigation that followed, Medea uncovered the truth: Empress Rachel had corrupted the guardians. They had permitted—had facilitated—the poisoning of her child.
They had shattered their sacred vow of political neutrality to conspire with Rachel against mother and son.
"My lady, we no longer wish to exist as shadows of the Imperial Family. The Empress has promised us power—freedom to stand in the light at last."
"Valdina lies in ruins. What can you—a mere consort, not even true royalty—possibly offer us?"
Jason had been complicit in their scheme.
He had already begun maneuvering to discard Medea by the campaign's end. Rather than investigate their son's murder, he buried the truth—protecting the Empress from any breath of scandal.
Medea had gnashed her teeth until they cracked. Had wept tears she was certain were blood. But she could extract no vengeance.
Because those same guardians—now Rachel's devoted puppets—had turned their attention to Leah.
You will perish in this foreign land—nameless, honorless. And I will strip away the very chains of shadow you so desperately wished to escape.
She watched them fall from their horses, pierced by arrows. Watched them tumble across the dusty earth, trampled beneath the hooves of fleeing comrades.
And she felt nothing but cold satisfaction.
Medea stepped forward and raised her voice to carry across the battlefield:
"Surrender! Cast down your weapons, and I will spare your lives!"
The rebels lifted their heads. Disbelief and desperate hope warred in their eyes.
"Is it true? She'll actually spare us? Isn't treason punishable by death?"
"Theo said it was a fabricated rebellion! We were deceived from the very beginning!"
The soldiers atop the walls echoed her proclamation:
"There will be no second chance! Drop your weapons and surrender—now!"
The captain of the guard recognized the Princess's intent immediately.
In the end, every one of them is a citizen of Valdina.
Fear could silence dissent for a time—but inevitably, it would erupt again, more violent than before.
Rather than execute them all and sow seeds of future rebellion, it was wiser to punish only the architects of this conspiracy. Royal mercy, demonstrated before so many witnesses, would leave a far deeper impression on the people's hearts.
One by one, weapons clattered to the ground.
"We didn't know! We truly didn't know!"
Men who moments before had raised blades against the palace now prostrated themselves before the high walls, desperate to survive.
"Gods above... what do we do now?"
The mercenaries stood paralyzed—trapped between two impossible choices. Their leader was dead. Theo had betrayed them. The promised gold had evaporated like morning mist.
Before them loomed the palace walls. Behind them, Gilliforth's soldiers waited with hungry blades.
What hope remained?
They too released their weapons.
As the rebels abandoned their cause, the dust and clamor gradually subsided. Across the vast field, only kneeling figures remained—heads bowed in submission.
The civil war disguised as revolution had ended in utter ignominy.
Through the sea of prostrate forms, a single figure rose and walked forward.
Every breath on the walls caught as they watched him approach—each deliberate step carrying him closer to the gates.
In one hand, he gripped the chieftain's severed head.
"Hear me, Princess of Valdina!"
The young man reached the base of the wall and dropped to his knees. He removed his helmet and drew a letter from within his armor, brandishing it overhead.
"This is correspondence between Regent Claudio and the rebel leader! Proof of their conspiracy!"
"Ah—!"
Saya nearly cried out when she recognized the face beneath the rebel's helm.
The young man who had beheaded Horrols—her brother Theo. She clamped both hands over her mouth, stifling her shock. Mercifully, every eye remained fixed on the scene below, and no one noticed her reaction.
"The chieftain accepted the Regent's gold to purchase mercenaries and manipulate the common people—swelling rebel numbers through deception! Their scheme was to exploit the chaos and place the Regent on the throne—paid for with our people's blood!"
Theo's voice cracked with fury and anguish. Each word seemed to pierce the hearts of those who listened.
The rage of pawns who had discovered they were nothing but expendable pieces—it rang unmistakably true.
"I myself am not innocent of treason. But I could no longer stand idle while this kingdom was delivered into the hands of that contemptible hypocrite."
Theo's bloodshot eyes fixed upon the Regent with undisguised hatred. Tears carved paths through the grime and gore on his face.
"Princess of Valdina! Even if it costs me my head—I implore you to expose every crime the Regent has committed against this nation!"
The shadows beneath his eyes, the dried blood staining his features—they spoke eloquently of the torment he had endured.
"What... what is the meaning of this? Did I hear correctly?"
Shock rippled through the assembled nobles.
"The Regent—who played the valiant defender—was the one who orchestrated this uprising?"
Dozens of accusing gazes swung toward Duke Claudio.
The Regent, who had been edging backward, forced himself to stand firm against the wall.
"You impudent wretch! What madness are you spouting?! This gutter rat thinks he can topple a duke with his serpent's tongue!"
Veins bulged across his neck and hands. His voice rose to a frantic pitch.
"This is conspiracy! Fabricated evidence! A plot to destroy me! Surely none of you believe this lunatic?! I, Joaquin Claudio, swear before the Goddess—I have never seen nor spoken with this traitor!"
His desperate protestations echoed across the walls. Some faces showed doubt; others, suspicion.
"Uncle."
Medea's quiet voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
"Are you claiming this, too, is a lie?"
She turned to face him directly. Then she extended her arm, unfurling a scroll.
Every breath on the wall ceased.
"...!"
The Regent's face drained of all color as he beheld the document.
"This is a written declaration of intent to rebel. At the very top—the names Joaquin Claudio and Samon Claudio."
Medea stepped forward, holding the decree high for all assembled—every soldier, every noble, every witness guarding this palace—to see.
The evidence unfurled in the fading light.
The Regent's own handwriting. His own seal.
And upon the walls, surrounded by witnesses, Princess Medea smiled.
For Lian. For Leah. For every debt written in blood.
The reckoning had begun.
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