Chapter 44

“Ugh… Ughk….”

In the pitch-black darkness, Hastings, whom Yuwon had been searching for, let out a groan.

After tossing and turning a few times in the dark, Hastings slowly regained consciousness and opened his eyes.

‘I must have passed out. But… what’s this softness?’

The moment he opened his eyes, something strange struck his senses—first, his sense of smell and touch.

‘Ah, this smell. This texture! It’s straw!’

It was the familiar grassy scent of well-dried straw under sunlight, and the soft cushion of hay bundles. Hastings was buried up to his neck in a pile of straw.

Creak—!

Just then, a sound like the creaking of wooden joints reached Hastings’ ears.

‘A creak?’

Clatter—!

Before he could even react, a loud noise echoed, and the floor beneath him shook.

The commotion was brief—but enough for Hastings to realize where he was.

‘A freight wagon. Yes, a freight wagon!’

He was being transported like cargo in a wagon. For some reason, the wagon must have stopped for a while earlier.

After a brief rattle, the wagon began moving again, the rhythmic sound of its wheels rolling echoing steadily.

‘I’m being moved somewhere. Why? If I’ve lost my value as a hostage, they could’ve just killed me instead of going through all this trouble. Unless…’

The task of coaxing Hastings for information—what Chief Attendant Marcellus had been doing until just a few days ago—seemed to have been taken over by another man. And now, Hastings was being transferred.

‘Something’s happened to Marcellus! Something’s happened in the Third Prince’s Palace! They couldn’t keep me there any longer…!’

Whatever had occurred, it was clear that something had gone wrong.

‘This is my chance. I don’t know why they’re moving me, but now’s the perfect opportunity to escape!’

They must have taken precautions for transport, but the situation was undeniably better than before. Previously, his limbs had been bound with heavy chains, leaving him unable to move—but now, he could.

‘Gone? They didn’t tie me up?’

The restraints that had bound his arms and legs were gone. Things were certainly looking up.

Even Hastings hadn’t expected this. Lying back against the straw pile, he began to think hard about how to escape from Marcellus’s grasp.

‘What should I do? Wherever we’re headed, they won’t be traveling day and night without rest. I should probably wait until nightfall.’

The wagon continued moving steadily without stopping. Holding his breath, Hastings listened closely to the faint bits of conversation he could hear, trying to estimate their numbers.

‘Not many. Six or so at most. Ten if I’m unlucky.’

He didn’t know how many of them were fighters, but the odds didn’t seem impossible.

‘If it comes to a fight, I stand no chance. But if I wait for night and make a break for it, it’s not hopeless.’

Thankfully, no one was checking on him. Hidden deep within the haystack, Hastings waited patiently for nightfall.

Time passed—one hour, two, three…

It had been four hours since Hastings had come to. At last, the moment he had been waiting for arrived.

“Whoa—whoa! Stop the cart! We’ll rest here for the night!”

A commanding voice shouted not far from the wagon Hastings was in. Soon, the wagon came to a halt with a jolt, and the horses neighed.

“The sun’s going down. Let’s set up camp here. The ground’s decent enough.”

“Yes, sir!”

Noisy sounds of unloading soon followed.

Hastings’s heart thudded violently from tension.

‘Now’s the time to stay sharp…!’

The men unloaded their cargo and began preparing the camp. Once they had roughly organized the site, the sounds of meal preparation filled the air.

They were clearly seasoned at this. Within half an hour, they had finished setting up and were sitting together to eat.

“When this job’s done, that haystack’s gonna be filled with gold coins again, huh?”

“Of course! That medicine the man makes—nobles line up with number tags, paying fortunes just to get it.”

“Old or young, commoner or noble—men are all the same when it comes to things that are ‘good for the body,’ heh.”

“Haha, true enough. They say it’s made from studying the Snow Serpent. I heard it works so well you don’t even need to say a word to explain it.”

“The hatchling, you mean? Wait, don’t tell me—you used that expensive medicine?”

“Heh, I ‘accidentally’ claimed a few bottles were damaged in transit. You know how it goes.”

“You bastard! Do you have any idea how much one of those bottles costs?!”

“Come on, you know me. I even set one aside for you, boss. I didn’t touch them—just hid them in case. And I already cleared it with the others, so from now on, every shipment, I can sneak one or two without a hitch.”

“Ha! That’s my boy! That’s why I like you.”

The loudest voices belonged to the group’s apparent leader and his right-hand man.

‘They’re having the time of their lives… sounds like they’ve been drinking, too. The rest are awfully quiet.’

Aside from the two noisy ones, the others were men from the Third Prince’s faction. Those two were merely frontmen—guides hired by the trading company for cover.

The meal had just ended, and as the drinking began, an incident occurred.

Through the pitch-dark night, a lone rider approached the camp.

“Wh-who’s there?”

The voice of the caravan leader trembled. Though his side had the numbers, encountering an unexpected visitor at night while carrying secret cargo was reason enough for fear.

“I’ve come to retrieve what was left in your care.”

“What was left, you say…? Are you perhaps here on behalf of that man—?”

“That’s enough.”

The knights of the Third Prince, who were escorting the goods, stepped forward, ready to say anything to drive the intruders away.

“Whoever you are, it’d be best if you turn around and keep going.”

Behind the knight who took the lead, several men placed their hands on their swords menacingly. The uninvited guests, however, showed no fear—they drew their swords in return.

“So it is them. A caravan this small shouldn’t have knights of that caliber.”

“…Go. Cut them down.”

“Yes, sir—!”

At the man’s command, two of his subordinates rushed forward, blades drawn. The Third Prince’s knights were not ones to stand idle.

“They’re suspicious! Capture the leader alive—kill the rest!”

Three against seven. Ten swordsmen clashed, and the sound of steel filled the night. The dark forest road was soon drenched in blood.

“Kill them—!”

“Gahhh!”

Limbs flew, blood splattered. Hastings, who had been peeking out to check the situation, clutched his pounding chest and buried himself deeper into the haystack.

‘What the hell is going on…!’

The two groups were tangled in a deadly struggle. If Hastings wanted to run, now was his only chance.

‘Yes, now. If I don’t move now, I’ll get caught and die…!’

His very life was on the line—there was no time for hesitation.

Rustle—rustle—

Hastings crawled out of the hay as quietly as possible. Near the bonfire the caravan had lit, crimson blood gushed and severed limbs lay scattered.

Had he seen such a scene on any other day, he might have retched. But now was not the time.

‘Survive. I must survive. I must live and tell His Highness that Marcellus is the traitor!’

He focused all his being on escaping—lowering his breath, raising his heels to silence his steps.

Each small step was a moment between life and death. Hastings moved with all the caution he could muster—it was the slowest walk of his life.

‘Just a little farther…!’

He was moving away from the fight, toward the back path where the wagon stood.

The clash of steel, screams, and the sickening sounds he wished he didn’t understand filled the air—until, finally, his destination came into view.

‘Just a few more steps and I’ll reach the forest… I’ll be safe.’

And then—

Crack—

‘Ah!’

The once-chaotic forest had gone deathly silent, when the sound of a breaking branch thundered through the air. Hastings had stepped wrong.

‘No one heard… ah…!’

His thought ended there.

With a sudden whoosh, a pitch-black silhouette dropped in front of him.

“…Found you. Hastings Bartlett.”

The next morning.

The bloody battle that had taken place the previous night in the Third Prince’s Palace spread through the mouths of the Third Prince’s faction’s Houkijisu participants.

‘The Fifth Prince defeated the Third Prince!’

‘The Fifth Prince stormed the Third Prince’s Palace alone and slaughtered his subordinates!’

‘The Third Prince’s office was soaked in blood!’

The rumors spread like wildfire across dry fields.

Not even the semifinals of the swordsmanship tournament—where the Crown Prince and the Second Prince were set to face each other—could draw more attention than this.

It was that shocking, that unbelievable.

The Third Prince, who had built a powerful faction long ago, had been crushed by the Fifth Prince, who had only just begun to make a name for himself. It was unimaginable.

The Imperial Palace, which had been filled with festivity every day since the tournament began, now carried a chilling air.

And it all began with Yuwon.

From the incident with the Tindal Duke Family at the banquet, to the astounding skill he displayed during the swordsmanship tournament, and now—to the bloody conflict in the Third Prince’s Palace.

After withdrawing from the tournament, Yuwon had remained quiet for some time, but now his name once again filled the mouths of the Houkijisu participants.

“Well now, they’re identifying the dead one by one, and if all of this turns out to be true…”

“The Third Prince is finished.”

“Finished indeed… all his key supporters—those who tied him to the other noble factions—are dead.”

“That rumor about the White Dragon everyone used to joke about—it’s come true! Hah! Never thought I’d live to see the White Dog called a White Dragon….”

By noon, a grand funeral procession poured out of the Third Prince’s Palace.

Had he wanted, the Third Prince could have concealed it—but he did not.

Instead, he sent the dead off with full honors, marking the end of his political life.

It was the final nail confirming that the rumors were true. And as they were proven, the palace was thrown into chaos once again.

The Third Prince’s faction lost its center and scattered, while the Crown Prince, the Second Prince, and the Fourth Prince each spoke of the need to keep a close eye on Yuwon.

And at that very moment—

The man at the center of it all, Yuwon, was sitting in the Imperial Library as usual, sipping tea and reading a book.

Or rather, trying to—because his mind wasn’t on the page.

‘Marcellus. Let’s see if you can really neutralize my poison.’

Yuwon was waiting—for Marcellus to appear.

‘I don’t know where or why he moved Hastings, but if my guess is right, that bastard will come to me himself.’

His eyes were fixed on the book, but his mind was elsewhere, lost in thought.

‘Even if he knows poisons well, the one I used can’t be cured in a matter of days… He’ll come. He has to. What he wants isn’t Hastings—it’s me. What he wants… is the antidote.’

Just then—

Tap—

A familiar sound echoed in his ears. Someone had stepped onto the marble floor of the Imperial Library entrance.

‘Light footsteps. A trained swordsman. Not Marcellus, then… Terrien, perhaps?’

Yuwon didn’t bother to find out who it was. Anyone who had business with him would show themselves soon enough.

And then—that voice rang out.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve set foot in this library… hasn’t it, Rev?”

“Yes, it has.”

The strongest sword in the Empire, Revildren Bradman—and the only person who called him “Rev.”

“So, I hear our youngest is here….”

The Emperor entered the library.

“Ah, I suppose you’ve already heard everything by now?”

The Emperor of Aphahiel had come to see Yuwon himself.