Auther woke up feeling bored and refreshed. A week trapped in bed does that—turns even divine potential into pure restlessness.
He wanted to stretch, move, anything. But Viola's head rested on his stomach, azure hair spilling everywhere, her breathing deep and even.
"How do I get her off me without waking her?" he thought.
He slid a pillow under her cheek like defusing a bomb, then twisted his body out in one careful, ridiculous motion. She ended up curled fully on the bed, still asleep.
"She looks uncomfortable," he muttered, frowning at the pinch between her brows. Thirty minutes of silent maneuvering later—pillows adjusted, blanket tucked—he finally slipped out the door.
The corridor froze. Servants, forbidden from entering for days, stared like he'd risen from the grave. Some smiled so wide it looked painful—instant celebrities in their tiny circles: "I saw the prince walk out alive!"
Auther blinked. Am I suddenly too handsome, or do women hand out smiles like candy every day?
He shrugged and kept walking.
The dining hall—for the first time in this life—was empty. No silver, no food, no hovering staff.
Being coddled had its perks. Now he had a problem: how do I ask for breakfast without sounding like a spoiled brat?
A burly man in a modest suit approached, bowed low. "If you would grace me with your request, Your Majesty?"
Auther liked him instantly—no jealous glare, just polite. He rattled off three dishes. The man listened patiently.
"May I know your name?" Auther asked, grinning. "I've taken a liking to you."
The man's smile widened. "I am your end."
He vanished.
Reappeared.
Syringe buried in Auther's neck.
The toxin hit like liquid fire—racing not to his brain, but straight to the fragile seam where soul met flesh. Every cell near it screamed.
Auther yanked the needle free, panic exploding. "Lana. She can analyze this. She'll make the antidote."
He bolted for the alchemy wing.
Back in the corridor, the assassin strolled casually, laughing under his breath. "Fifty thousand gold for that? God my ass. The kid couldn't defend against an ant."
He had waited years for this—hiding in plain sight as a butler, blending into the palace shadows, awaiting the masked giant's signal. The contract was old: infiltrate, lie low, strike when the time came. Now it was done.
"If that Azure demon had been guarding him, I wouldn't have touched the job for a million."
He never saw her coming.
A blur of white and gold exploded from the shadows ahead. Viola—eyes pure white, aura like a storm—materialized between him and escape.
The assassin dove into shadow.
Viola's rapier sang once.
The entire corridor section detonated—stone pulverized, wood shredded, air itself screaming. Shadows scattered like frightened birds.
He reappeared thirty meters away, heart hammering. She was already there—taller, faster, inevitable.
Another swing. Another section of palace reduced to dust.
He flickered again—desperate, cornered. Viola's strikes followed like judgment, each one carving the world apart to deny him refuge.
No words. No mercy.
Just the raw, terrifying gap between Legendary and Epic—fifteen years of honed soul, decades of blood, and a fury that turned the air thick with killing intent.
The assassin's grin was gone. He ran.
Viola hunted.
Meanwhile, Auther burst into the alchemy wing like a storm. Alchemists scattered. He found Lana in the corner, grabbed her wrist.
"Poison. In my neck. Analyze it. Now."
Lana's eyes widened, hands already shaking as she took blood, took the syringe, started working. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Vials clinked too hard. She was unraveling—stress cracking her calm.
Viola barged in moments later, aura still crackling, eyes wild. She took in the scene—Lana fumbling, Auther helping steady her hands—and froze.
Lana was sweating, shaking. Viola looked ready to murder her.
"Get your act together or he dies!" Viola snapped.
Lana flinched, tears pricking. Her voice cracked. "Why didn't you go to Gold? Or someone else? Anyone else would be faster—"
Auther cut in, weak but firm. "Because I came to you. You're not a stranger."
Lana froze. The words hit like a lifeline. Her hands steadied. Eyes sharpened.
Viola's ears burned at the exchange, but she stayed silent.
Lana's voice cracked but stayed commanding. "Viola. Get out unless you can multiply and divide by factor 5 and decimals fast."
Viola opened her mouth—then saw Auther's eyes. Trust.
She grabbed the book Lana shoved at her. "I can do that."
"You're my calculator now. I add reagents exactly when you say the number. Faster and more accurate = higher chance your boyfriend lives."
Viola's ears burned again. Boyfriend.
She worked like a machine. Lana matched her speed. No second-guessing after the sixth number—she just trusted.
Six minutes later: a purple, foul-smelling potion.
Lana shoved it down Auther's throat.
The toxin vanished. His soul core healed. He felt reborn.
Lana exhaled, shaky but triumphant, a wide smile breaking through the stress. She had made a perfect antidote. By herself.
Viola stared, genuinely shocked. She had seen detoxes before. None this fast. None this clean.
"What was your name again?" she asked softly.
"I'm Lana the alchemist," Lana said, then added with quiet pride, voice trembling just a little from the adrenaline crash, "but Auther—my friend—calls me Lana."
The word hung in the air. Friend.
Auther's chest tightened. In this life, he had subjects. Equals. Family by blood, distant and cold. But a friend—someone who chose him, not his title? Someone platonic, uncomplicated, and real?
He looked at her—pink hair messy, eyes bright with leftover fear and victory—and felt something warm and rare settle inside him.
"Yeah," he said, voice soft, smiling back at her with more emotion than words could carry. "I do call her Lana."
They shared a look—a small, genuine smile that said everything: gratitude, trust, the quiet joy of connection in a world full of crowns and daggers.
Viola watched them, something unreadable flickering across her face.
After that, they decided it was safer to sleep in the same room. Just in case.
They both lay awake that first night, inches apart, pretending to sleep. Both wishing something would happen. Neither brave enough to start it.
Somewhere else, under moonlight, the assassin knelt before a two-meter demon-masked man. His hand was already gone. A bag of blood-soaked gold lay beside him.
"I did everything you asked," he sobbed. "I almost died."
"Do you want to know why the Heavenly Demon called me that?" the masked man said, voice like grinding gravel.
The assassin looked up, confused.
"Because I am unpredictable."
He swung once. The head rolled.
"I killed you because you were late," he added calmly. "And because I'm unpredictable."
He picked up the gold and walked away into the dark.
The crescent moon watched it all.
Back in the palace bedroom, Auther turned toward Viola in the dark.
She turned toward him at the exact same second.
Their eyes met.
Neither moved.
But neither looked away.
Tomorrow was going to be interesting.