The King's slow, thunderous applause broke the silence. His psychotic grin was a slash of triumph in his beard.
"A performance worthy of legend!" he boomed, his voice vibrating with genuine delight. "You have not just earned a dance, you have earned a story that will be told in my hall for centuries! My dear," he gestured to his daughter, "it seems you have a partner. Do not keep him waiting."
The Princess, her face pale as moonlight, looked from her father's ecstatic face to the bloody, smoke-smudged form of Jade. Her amethyst eyes were wide with a storm of emotions—terror, revulsion, and a flicker of something else… a dreadful, unavoidable curiosity. This was the monster who had unmade a titan with cold fire and his bare hands.
She descended the dais steps as if walking to her own execution, her lavender silk gown whispering against the stone. She stopped before him, her scent of night-blooming flowers a stark contrast to the ozone and blood that clung to him.
Jade said nothing. He simply extended a hand. It was not a request. It was a command.
A tense, collective gasp rippled through the nobles as she placed her delicate, trembling hand in his blood-stained one.
The string quartet, with a nervous glance from the King, launched into a slow, dramatic waltz.
And then, Jade began to lead.
It was not the stiff, awkward shuffle one might expect from a killer. It was… perfection.
His movements were fluid, precise, and impossibly graceful. He guided her across the bloodstained arena-turned-ballroom with the same cold, calculated efficiency he used in battle. Every step was measured, every turn executed with flawless timing. He was a general commanding the flow of a battle, and the dance floor was his new battlefield.
The Princess, initially rigid with fear, had no choice but to follow. His lead was absolute. As they moved, a shift occurred. The terror in her eyes didn't vanish, but it was joined by sheer, bewildered fascination. He was a paradox—a brutal killer with the grace of a courtier born and bred. His handsome, glacial features were set in calm concentration, his crimson eyes holding hers with an intensity that was neither lust nor cruelty, but something far more unnerving: absolute focus.
He was solving her. Learning her rhythm, her weight, her tells.
Across the room, Zero watched, and for the first time, his stoic mask showed a genuine crack. His eyebrows lifted a fraction. He had seen Jade break foundations and shatter titans. He had never seen this… this artistry. The void within him felt a strange, unfamiliar ripple, something akin to respect for a skill he did not possess.
And from the shadows, Lady Anya watched, her wine-dark eyes burning. She saw the way the Princess's initial terror was melting into a helpless, captivated awe. She saw the raw, untamed grace in Jade's every movement. Her crimson nails dug into her own palms. The possessive hunger in her gaze was a physical force. She could almost taste the cold power radiating from him, and she whispered a vow into the perfumed air, "Soon, my prince. You will dance for me alone."
The dance became a silent, breathtaking duel of its own. The music swelled. Jade spun the Princess out, her pink hair and lavender gown flaring like a blossoming flower, before pulling her back in, her body following his lead as if they were one. He was no longer just claiming a prize; he was dominating the very concept of the dance, proving his worth in a way no flowery speech ever could.
It was, indeed, a Majestic Dance.
And when the final note hung in the air and Jade released her, the Princess was left breathless, her hand still tingling from his touch, her heart pounding not just with fear, but with the terrifying, undeniable thrill of it all.
The final note of the waltz faded into a silence that felt heavier than before. Jade released the Princess's hand. She took a half-step back, her amethyst eyes wide, her breath coming in soft, shallow pants. The fear was still there, but it was now layered with a dizzying, profound confusion. She curtsied, a reflexive act of courtly training, then turned and almost fled back to the safety of the dais, not looking at her father.
The King, however, was beaming. He rose from his throne, his voice booming through the grand hall.
"Magnificent! A display of power and grace! You have surpassed every expectation, stranger."
A System prompt materialized before Jade and Zero simultaneously:
Before they could process this, the King continued, his eyes alight with a new, dangerous game.
"But the night is young, and the most thrilling hunt is yet to begin!" he declared, spreading his arms wide to address the entire court. The nobles, who had been watching in stunned silence, now stirred, their eyes gleaming with predatory anticipation. "The gates to the Twilight Gardens will be opened! The prey? Our two illustrious guests! The hunters? Any who dare to claim the bounty I shall place upon their heads! To the one who brings me their trophies, a dukedom and a chest of sun-gems!"
A roar of excitement and greed erupted from the crowd. Polite masks vanished, replaced by raw avarice and bloodlust. The ballroom was no longer a place of dance; it was a launching ground for a hunt.
Lady Anya glided forward from the shadows, her smile a promise of velvet-wrapped violence. She stopped unnecessarily close to Jade, her scent of midnight orchids and cold metal enveloping him.
"It seems our private dance must wait, my icy prince," she purred, her voice for his ears alone. "Run fast. Run far. It makes the catching so much more... satisfying." Her gaze dipped to his lips, then back to his eyes, burning with possessive hunger. "And remember, when they all fail... my offer still stands."
With a last, smoldering look, she melted back into the now-churning crowd of nobles who were already calling for their weapons and hounds.
Zero materialized at Jade's side, his expression grim. "Analysis: Our status has shifted from curiosity to high-value target. The environment is unknown. Our primary offensive capability is locked."
Jade's mind was already working, calculating, adapting. The dance was over. The hunt was on. He met Zero's gaze, a cold, familiar focus settling over him. The thrill of the fight, the challenge of survival, this was a language he understood far better than waltzes.
"Then we hunt the hunters," Jade stated, his voice flat and absolute.
The grand doors at the far end of the ballroom swung open, revealing a path into a dark, mist-shrouded garden under a twilight sky. The first baying of hounds echoed in the distance.
The objective was complete. But the game, for everyone watching, had just become infinitely more dangerous.
As the grand doors boomed open, revealing the mist-choked, twilight gardens and the echoing bay of hounds, another chime—clear and authoritative, sounded in their minds.
The sensation was like a great weight lifting. The void where his connection to the World-Eater had been suddenly filled. The pale bone haft of the scythe materialized in Jade's grip with a satisfying, familiar weight. He could feel his skills, from Observer's Eye to Obliterate, waiting at the edge of his consciousness like drawn blades.
But one connection remained silent, dark, and cold. The Nether-Flame. The System' quarantine held firm.
It didn't matter. The leash was off.
Before the first noble could even step through the doorway, a sound like the world tearing apart cracked through the ballroom.
CRACK-BOOM!
It was the sound of lightning striking the inside of a cathedral.
Zero had not summoned his odachi. He didn't need to. He simply unleashed.
A storm erupted around him. Arcs of blue-white lightning cascaded from his shoulders, crackling down his arms and wreathing his form in an incandescent aura. The air itself ionized, smelling of ozone and the clean, sharp scent of a coming tempest. His silver-green eyes now glowed with electric ferocity, the void-black veins within them pulsing with raw power.
The first wave of hunters, a trio of hulking Beast-kin and a human spellsword, roze in the doorway, their faces a mask of stunned terror.
Zero didn't give them a chance to recover.
He moved. It was Chinmoku perfected by lightning. He didn't run; he became a flash of light, a thunderstep that carried him across the ballroom in an instant. He left afterimages of crackling energy in his wake.
He didn't draw Gesshilla. His hand, charged with the power of the storm, simply chopped forward in a blur.
A blade of solidified lightning, sharp as a razor and brighter than the sun, extended from his fingertips. It passed through the spellsword's raised blade, through his armored torso, and through the Beast-kin behind him in a single, seamless motion.
There was no blood. The wounds were instantly cauterized by the immense heat. The two halves of the spellsword's blade clattered to the floor a second before the man himself toppled, his eyes wide in shock. The Beast-kin followed, a clean, smoking line bisecting his chest.
The ballroom, which had been a cacophony of greedy excitement, fell into a dead, horrified silence once more, broken only by the fading crackle of Zero's lightning.
He stood between the hunters and the garden door, a lone Sentinel, the storm given human form. He slowly turned his head, his electrified gaze sweeping over the frozen crowd of would-be hunters.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The message was clear: The prey you seek has fangs. And one of them is a thunderstorm.
Jade watched, a cold, approving smirk touching his lips. His partner was stealing the show, and for the first time, he was content to watch. The hunt was on, but the hunters had just become the hunted.