Debt
"A debt paid in shadows, bound by honor."
The shadow only relaxed its guard after spotting the clearly horizontal scar across the man's torso.
So that was the source of the blood—a fresh wound, nothing more sinister. Still, unease lingered in the air like smoke refusing to dissipate.
The woman at the door spoke up, her voice pleasant and casual.
"You said you're with the royal guard, correct? My husband's elder brother also serves in the security forces. If you have a moment, could you pass along a message? I have some laundry he asked me to do. His name is Ryan Arnold—"
"I'm on official duty, I'm afraid. That might be difficult."
The shadow cut her off hastily, sensing the conversation spiraling toward exposure.
"I must head toward the north gate now. Good evening."
And with that, the shadow fled into the darkened streets.
Cesare regained consciousness to the sound of pounding on the door.
Bang! Bang!
His muscles tensed reflexively as his eyes snapped open. Instinct drove his hand to his face—the mask was still there, securely fastened.
The princess hadn't removed it. She hadn't been curious about his face. His clothes and condition remained exactly as they'd been when he'd lost consciousness.
Cesare blinked against the whiteness clouding his vision. Something rough and coarse pressed against his body—a makeshift blanket smelling of gunpowder, dust, and old fabric. He was covered like a piece of forgotten luggage.
"..."
He considered the situation for a moment. All his life, he'd been raised in luxury and trained in nobility. Even during his time as a mercenary, Cesare—born and bred a king—had never worn such a wretched blanket.
A brief impulse crossed his mind: to kick away this offensive covering and reclaim what little dignity he had left.
But then—
"I'm sorry, but my husband isn't home right now."
He nearly laughed aloud at the sound of her voice, so calm and natural as she spoke of a husband she'd never had—a woman who'd never even held a man's hand.
When she'd explained to the intruder that "her husband" had been injured while cutting cloth, Cesare had tensed, fearing she might be in danger while he lay helpless.
When she'd lied about having family in the security guard to throw off the shadow, he'd been genuinely impressed.
The shadow finally departed, and a faint, unsteady breathing filled the silence—like a small animal trying to catch its breath.
He could hear how frightened she'd been.
As the door clicked shut, Medea sagged against it, her back sliding down the wood. Her vision blurred. She closed her eyes for just a moment.
"There's nothing a princess can't do."
Medea's head jerked up.
He'd just awakened and was already unwrapping the filthy bandages from his hands.
"I didn't know you were such a skilled actress."
The mercenary's eyes were still pale with exhaustion, but there was a thread of laughter woven into his voice.
She snapped back to awareness when she felt the cool touch of long, slender fingers against her skin.
Medea instinctively tried to pull her hand away, but stopped when pain flared sharp and bright.
In that pause, Cesare drew a small bottle from his pocket and poured medicine onto the wound. Unlike the violent precision with which he wielded his sword, his hands now moved with surprising gentleness.
The pain ebbed immediately, replaced by a soothing coolness.
"I am indebted to you."
The cut on her pale hand was deep and red. The faint smile on the mercenary's face vanished as he examined it.
"Princess, you saved me. I will repay you—eventually."
His voice was softer than she'd ever heard it.
The distance between them was so slight that Medea could study his face in detail.
Even with the mask obscuring most of his features, his sharp jawline and elegant bone structure were unmistakable. His long, deft fingers wrapped her wound carefully with a clean handkerchief.
A rich, deep scent drifted between them—woodsy and earthy, with a faint freshness like wind sweeping through a dense forest.
"How maddening it must be outside these walls..."
Why did she suddenly remember the words of a noblewoman muttering at a banquet years ago?
"Wipe up the spilled blood before you speak. It's unsightly."
Medea realized with faint amusement that the scent belonged to the man himself. She swallowed a laugh.
Truly an irritating presence.
But he was just an outsider. A stranger.
"A welcome guest has arrived."
The mercenary seemed to have anticipated the arrival of the imperial gunmen all along.
The assassins had targeted only him. Had he drawn them here deliberately?
Since when had her country, Valdina, become a hunting ground where Katzen soldiers roamed freely?
Her calm green eyes regarded him with icy detachment.
"Then tell me what you want now. And stop dragging Valdina into your affairs."
Her voice was cold—as if they hadn't just fought a demon beast together, as if she hadn't injured herself to hide him from the imperial shadows.
There was displeasure in the slight tilt of her chin.
He answered with a smile flickering in his eyes.
"I'll keep that in mind."
As if that settled everything, Medea rose to her feet.
"Farewell, Your Highness."
Bang!
The door slammed shut without a response.
The street where the gunmen had vanished was eerily quiet.
"Your Highness!"
Medea soon encountered Neril waiting by the carriage.
"I saw your signal. I should have come sooner... It took time to navigate through the chaos."
Neril helped Medea into the carriage, her expression darkening when she noticed the wound on the princess's hand.
"Did this happen while you were dealing with the demon beast? Have you been treated? This might scar. Shall I summon the palace physician?"
"It's fine. Don't worry yourself. The wound looks worse than it is—it's nearly healed inside."
Medea patted Neril's shoulder dismissively.
"I apologize, Your Highness. No matter what you said, I should have insisted on accompanying you from the start."
"I told you it's fine. Had you been there, the situation would have been far worse."
After all, the head of Façade had been lying in wait at the estate.
"Yes?"
"Never mind. I'll explain the details later. What's the situation with the fire at the Count's mansion?"
"Still raging. The security forces and fire brigade arrived too late, paralyzing the streets near District Two. The Count's household has been almost entirely wiped out—either burned alive or cut down by the assassins."
Silence settled between them as Neril spoke.
"But Your Highness... you don't look well. Is the Prince Regent's name on the certificate of acceptance?"
"No, look—it's right here at the top. Below that are the names of Samon and all his associates."
Medea withdrew a scroll from her bodice.
"With this, we can bring down the Duke. Keep it safe."
There would be a precise moment when this document would prove most valuable.
When the rebel army reaches the capital, this evidence will be revealed to the world, exposing the Prince Regent's treacherous ambitions for all to see.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Neril accepted the certificate, studying her mistress's face once more.
Despite tonight's enormous complications—the fire at the Count's residence, the mysterious intruder—the princess had secured exactly what she'd come for.
Yet her expression was heavy with worry.
"Do you remember those assassins with the white cords who infiltrated the Count's mansion?"
"Yes, Your Highness. Even I could tell their swordsmanship was exceptional."
"I recognized their technique. They were using the imperial sword style."
Imperial forces attempting to kill the head of Façade.
"Valdina's humble military cannot compare to the empire's might. Foreign powers treat our land as their own playground, acting with impunity. Peleus must return here as soon as possible."
Medea sighed, rubbing her temples wearily.
Through the carriage window, the sun was beginning to rise, painting the early morning sky in pale gold.
Somewhere beneath that vast sky, Peleus was still fighting.
"I need to find a way to support Peleus and bring this war to a swift conclusion."
Duke Claudio received the news late into the night.
The Prince Regent's hand struck Samon's cheek with vicious force.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Crash!
The teacup hurled by the Prince Regent shattered against the floor.
"I told you not to act recklessly! Didn't you say you were only going to burn down the mansion?"
"I'm the one who ordered Grandmother's execution anyway! If that disgusting man hadn't been using servants as playthings for his own entertainment, it wouldn't have escalated so far! Father, have you forgotten what he did to my siblings and me at that grand banquet?"
Samon's true feelings erupted.
"But you didn't have to be so brutal! How do you think the nobility will speak of your father now? Did you never consider they'll see you as ruthless—a man who slaughtered an entire allied family?"
Was Samon truly a child capable of seeing only one step ahead?
The Prince Regent pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples, frustration mounting with every breath.
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