YWPWYLFDM 28

Chapter 28

The memory he had glimpsed in that brief moment was far too detailed to be dismissed as fleeting. Gifted with artistic talent, Winfred skillfully drew the unique sword blade.

“It looked like this—the tip of the blade was split. I’d never seen a sword like it before, so I was quite surprised.”

Alexia’s expression froze. That sword was all too familiar to her.

‘This blade… it’s the dagger of the Air family.’

The Airs were a venerable knightly family, known for their distinctive fighting style, wielding long and short swords simultaneously.

‘Bayfold Air died during the rebellion ten years ago, so the one left must be his younger brother.’

Cloud Air. She recalled his image—ashen hair and brown eyes. She had visited Bayfold a few times while serving in the royal guard with him, so that memory remained faintly in her mind.

‘I can’t tell who the informant is, but perhaps the prince’s words are true.’

Alexia quietly closed her eyes, recalling her old comrade who had risked his life to protect his lifelong lord.

“What are you thinking about?”

When Alexia remained silent, Winfred, feeling restless, spoke.

“Oh, nothing. I was just considering that the informant’s words might be true.”

An assassin wielding the Air family dagger, which had vanished after the family was branded traitorous overnight—no matter how he thought about it, it was highly suspicious.

“Did the informant say anything else, Your Highness?”

“…Anything else? Ah. He said he would continue to target my life until I returned to the royal palace.”

Alexia’s eyebrows twitched. That, too, was highly credible information. Considering Byron’s temperament, it was entirely possible. She touched her chin, lost in thought.

Byron was in a foul mood.

Seated crookedly in a comfortable armchair, legs crossed, he looked almost picturesque—but the look in his eyes as he lifted his glass of liquor was sharp enough to spark flames.

“…Why haven’t I heard anything from Cloud yet? Does he go out somewhere every night?”

It had been a long time since he had ordered the killing of his nephew, a boy whose face he barely remembered.

The journey to be appointed crown prince was nearing its end. His nephew, Winfred, would soon return to the royal palace.

Byron gripped his left hand tightly in anger, unable to contain his fury.

In the Peleth Empire, before a prince could be named crown prince, he had to undertake a pilgrimage to the westernmost high mountain, Mount Primus.

Named after Primus Arpa Vito Peleth, the empire’s first emperor, the mountain held a sacred significance. Before his death, Primus declared he would become the empire’s guardian spirit, ascending to the mountain’s peak, leaving behind no body.

His descendants, unable to find his remains, believed he had truly become the empire’s protector. Thus, any prince destined to be crown prince had to perform the ritual of seeking Primus’ spirit before being officially appointed.

By birthright, that role—and the future throne—was Byron’s.

He had always believed he would someday make the journey to Mount Primus himself. But in the end, he could not become crown prince. Instead, his younger brother Hiram had undertaken the journey.

Unable to accept even that, now his nephew Winfred was completing the crown prince’s ceremony and returning to the palace—the very ritual Byron had never been able to perform.

The fire burning within him felt as if it were consuming his entrails. He quickly drained his glass to extinguish the flames.

“…Forgive me, my lord. The guards are too vigilant, so opportunities are scarce,” Cloud said, bowing with a voice betraying no inner thought.

In truth, he had spotted Winfred sneaking out but had failed to eliminate him. There was no need to admit that—doing so would only provoke Byron further.

No trace of the prince could be found. If he had used teleportation magic, there should have been evidence, but even that was gone.

Had he risen to the sky? Or sunk into the ground?

As Cloud pondered the mystery, something suddenly flew toward him—the liquor glass in Byron’s hand.

He could have dodged it, but didn’t. Dodging would have enraged Byron further, as if ignoring him.

“…Kill him before he returns to the palace. I will never allow him to become crown prince while I live.”

The unspoken addition: “If you fail, do not return.”

Even with a cut on his forehead, blood trickling down, Cloud lowered his head in unwavering loyalty.

“Yes, my lord.”

He would obey—nothing more, nothing less.

In the dark alley, Cloud waited silently, eyeing the building where the prince was staying.

It was truly impenetrable. Cutting through all the knights surrounding the building was impossible. Sneaking in unnoticed was equally difficult—the watchful eyes were too numerous.

‘…If only he would sneak out once more.’

Then he wouldn’t miss the opportunity this time.

Since that day, the young prince had remained secluded, perhaps sensing that someone was plotting against him—except for official appearances.

Cloud’s frustration grew.

‘My own position is so frustrating too.’

He sighed. He could see the rebellion’s outcome as clearly as fire before him. Byron was greedy and foolish—not unintelligent, but blinded by his own desires, lacking wisdom. Cloud understood why the late emperor had chosen Hiram over him.

Even if the rebellion succeeded and Byron ascended the throne, the reign of such a foolish emperor would be short-lived. Was Byron truly a lord worth risking his life for?

No—he couldn’t think that way. Cloud banished these futile thoughts. He remembered Bayfold, the loyal older brother who had given his life. He must not falter.

What needed to be done now was kill the young crown prince.

At that moment:

“Hey, the captain of the guard says everyone should gather.”

“…What? At this hour?”

The knights surrounding the building were in an uproar. Cloud pricked his ears to listen closely.

“I don’t know. I’m just passing on the order. Since it’s urgent, only two guards at the main gate will remain; everyone else is to come inside.”

Whatever the situation, it was a rare—and perhaps unrepeatable—opportunity. All the knights except the two at the gate vanished into the building.

‘No time to hesitate.’

Cloud slipped to the rear of the building, quietly scaling the high wall and entering the estate. Inside, only minimal guards remained; the rest had obeyed the captain’s summons.

He couldn’t be certain which room the prince occupied, but it would be the largest, most luxurious, and most heavily guarded.

Soon, Cloud found a grand, imposing door guarded by several knights.

‘This must be it.’

Biting his lip in anticipation, Cloud pulled a mask from his pocket to cover his nose and mouth and set fire to a bundle of dry herbs. Soon, a strange-colored smoke began to waft into the air.

He carefully tossed the bundle toward the knights. Coughing from the toxic smoke, they collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Things were going perfectly. Cloud opened the grand door—ready to find the unguarded prince asleep.

But inside, it wasn’t the prince who awaited him.

“…It’s been a while, Cloud Air.”

“Dexen…?”

Alexia Dexen glared at him with a grim expression.

Realizing he was now surrounded by knights, Cloud briefly shut his eyes.

‘…A trap.’

“Just now realizing that? Your head’s really rusty. Or did you enter even knowing it was a trap?”

Cloud gritted his teeth and placed his hand on his waist to draw his sword.

“Stop these foolish thoughts, Cloud. I know you’re an exceptional knight, but do you really think you can take all of us?”

“Do you remember me as a greenhorn from ten years ago? My mind may be rusty, but whether my skill has improved or not, you’ll have to see for yourself.”

Drawing his longsword cautiously, Cloud spoke, steeling himself. He needed some bravado to remain composed.

“Attack all at once.”

The knights hesitated, waiting for Alexia’s orders.

“…Be careful. He’s no easy opponent.”

Alexia drew her sword and spoke in a commanding voice—the signal to attack.

Three knights drew their swords and charged at him simultaneously.