Fire
"Some beasts guard treasure. Others erase witnesses."
So that’s why the Princess came here herself.
Cesare watched the Hydra coil protectively around the glowing sphere. Even from a distance, the object within was unmistakable: a scroll, perfectly dry and perfectly warded.
The scroll the Hydra protects must be the Regent’s weakness.
It wasn’t difficult to connect the dots. But even knowing its importance, Medea’s decision to charge toward the lair of a legendary demonic beast was closer to madness than bravery.
Hydra was a monster that even eighth-star knights struggled with—its venom, its regenerative heads, the way two more sprouted when one was severed. It was not something a lone, unarmored princess should ever face.
Yet Medea calmly pushed Cesare’s hand away and leveled her crossbow again, as if she hadn’t heard him at all.
"If you keep this up, Princess, you’ll die long before the Prince Regent does."
His warning was not idle. He had seen too many "promising talents" die in places like this—men and women who believed skill alone could overturn the laws of nature and war.
This swamp, this beast, this night—none of it was the sort of gamble a princess of Valdina should stake her life on.
"The Prince Regent is hardly worth dying for. You know that as well as I do."
Only then did Medea finally turn to look at him.
"If I were you, I’d say the same thing."
Her eyes were as calm and flat as still water at midnight. Even if a tidal wave struck, they didn’t look like they would ripple.
"But you know as well as anyone—Valdina’s useless little Princess was only ever dealt a handful of cards."
"So she doesn’t have the luxury of leaving any of them unused."
"Including your own life?"
Instead of being offended by his bluntness, Medea’s lips curved into a small, self-mocking smile.
"Unfortunately, yes."
She raised the crossbow again, sighting along it toward one of the Hydra’s thrashing necks.
Cesare stilled.
At a glance, the bolt looked unremarkable—slender shaft, modest head.
No. Not ordinary.
The tip gleamed with a dull, oily sheen—the telltale look of a latex-based poison. The shaft was stiffened with something more caustic, likely vinegar, and a faint whiff of gunpowder leaked from the small pouch at her collar.
"So you really are going to do it again."
Cesare laughed under his breath, more at himself than at her.
I swore I wasn’t the sort to care about anyone’s safety.
Yet in the Princess’s presence, he’d already intervened on her behalf more than once—long before he consciously chose to.
Medea, oblivious to the tangle of his thoughts, stepped past him without a word.
The crossbow string sang as she loosed.
Thwip—
The bolt flew straight and true, burying itself deep into the thick neck of one of the Hydra’s heads.
KAAAAK—!
The Hydra whipped its neck, trying to snap the bolt, but the vinegar-stiffened shaft only ground deeper into its flesh.
Boom.
The swamp shuddered with the explosion.
This time, when the flesh tried to knit and swell, the thick black ash left by the gunpowder blocked it, sealing the wound and preventing new heads from sprouting.
Medea calmly reloaded and fired a second bolt. The next head fell in a spray of blood and smoke.
Cesare watched, arms still at his sides, as she methodically harpooned the monster again.
You’re ignoring me that completely.
A grim smile tugged at his mouth.
He reached for his sword.
"Then let me help."
"Congratulations, Princess. You actually made me move."
"What do you need?" "Cut the necks vertically."
His feet barely whispered against the wet stone. In a blink, he was in front of the Hydra’s next head, and a bright silver line shredded the night.
The third head split cleanly down the middle, flailing uselessly as Medea’s bolt speared through the new wound.
Kyaaaaa—!
In the space of a few breaths, only one remained.
The last head of a Hydra is said to be immortal.
Medea was already running through the contingency plan she’d prepared—only for the final head to shudder once, then crash sideways into the mire.
So that’s his true level.
Cesare shrugged, a casual gesture that somehow still radiated arrogance and ease.
"As you commanded," he said lightly.
Count Etienne’s Office · Return
The two of them emerged back into Etienne’s office, the magic circle dim and cracked beneath their feet.
Medea slipped the acceptance scroll into an inner pocket and sealed it securely against her chest.
Then she knelt and scraped the arrowhead across the etched lines of the circle, gouging them until the pattern broke.
Just in case my uncle tries to use this entrance to retrieve the evidence.
Medea was just rising to her feet when she froze.
Cesare’s eyes narrowed at the same moment.
The air in the mansion had changed.
Crash!
The windows exploded inward in a spray of glass.
Arrows poured through the shattered frames.
"Kyaaaa—!"
A woman’s scream—sharp, terrified—ripped through the mansion from somewhere below.
Men in black moved like a tide through the Count’s residence, cutting down the Minister’s kin without hesitation.
Blood spread over the manicured garden like spilled ink, turning the once-elegant Rose-White mansion into something that looked like a painting of hell.
The Beast is Dead · The House is Purged
Night of Long Knives ## Blood Washes Blood
The Hydra falls. The house falls. And the real monster finally shows its fangs.
The purge has only just begun.
[ To Be Continued ]
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