In a dilapidated room filled with the stench of decay, the only sounds came from rats and cockroaches rustling through piles of garbage.
A flickering light hung from the ceiling, struggling to illuminate the space.
In the center of this hazy gloom, a pair of eyes, bright with unshed tears, shone with a stubborn fire that was utterly alien to their disgusting surroundings.
This was a little girl who appeared no more than ten years old, her small frame draped in clothing of remarkable luxury—fine silks and delicate embroidery now tragically soiled and torn.
Her exquisite palace attire was ruined, smeared with grime and something unidentifiable, making her look like a little beggar prince from a tragic tale.
Her small face was streaked with dirt, but beneath the filth, her features were delicate and noble.
Only her signature, vibrant light green hair, now tangled and matted, still hinted unequivocally at her true, exalted status.
This was Hisui E Fiore, the only child of King Toma E. Fiore, the crown princess, and the future queen of the kingdom.
Fear was a cold stone in Hisui's stomach, but it was overshadowed by a far more potent emotion: frantic urgency.
She had been safely within the gilded walls of the palace, under the protection of her father's most trusted guards, and yet she had been taken.
And the one who had orchestrated her kidnapping was the unthinkable—General Carteus, her father's right hand, a man she had called "Uncle" since she could remember!
Hisui cared less about her own immediate safety; a terrifying realization had taken root in her mind.
She urgently, desperately needed to warn her father.
If Carteus had turned traitor, then her father was in mortal danger, his trust a weapon poised at his own back!
But how? The door was guarded by a group of hard-faced mages whose magic felt cold to her.
She couldn't take a single step outside.
As she wracked her brains for a solution, her heart sinking with each passing moment, the old wooden door suddenly creaked open on rusted hinges, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence.
Hisui immediately became a statue of feigned defeat.
With a speed born of desperation, her small hand darted into a pile of refuse, closing around a sharp, jagged shard of broken glass.
She hid it securely behind her back, its edge a promise of resistance, before slumping her shoulders and adopting a posture of listless despair in the farthest corner of the room.
After the door opened, the man wearing Carteus's face walked in.
His eyes scanned the room and, upon seeing the small, crumpled form in the corner, he let out a barely audible sigh of relief.
He strode toward her, his boots crunching on the detritus covering the floor.
Hisui's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, but she forced herself to look up, her wide eyes meeting his.
Feigning a voice weak with fear and exhaustion, she whispered, "General Carteus... why? Why have you betrayed us?"
She played her first, most obvious card. "If it's money you want... my father... he can give you more than you could ever spend! Just name your price!"
The plea from the panicked princess only made the impostor's eyes fill with cold disdain.
'Truly a pampered little fool', he thought. 'Someone like her, born into a life of unimaginable privilege by sheer luck of birth, standing at the pinnacle of power without having earned a single thing...'
The narrow-minded resentment that festered within him boiled over.
His face darkened, and he barked, "Shut your mouth!"
Hisui flinched, genuinely startled by the venom in his voice, and fell silent.
Emboldened by her fear, the false Carteous's eyes grew even gloomier.
He leaned closer, his voice a low, dark mutter, as if confiding in the filth around them.
"Once my devout followers from the White Devil Cult seize Fiore's royal treasury and finally put an end to your foolish father, your precious royal status will become my most valuable asset..."
Hisui quickly lowered her head, hiding her face beneath a curtain of her disheveled green hair.
But beneath that veil, her spring-like eyes, far from showing despair, now blazed with an unusual, calculating calmness.
'White Devil...'
So, it wasn't just betrayal.
This man wasn't Carteus at all—he was a villain from the notorious White Devil Cult!
The pieces snapped together in her mind with terrifying clarity.
The demand for the treasury was a feint, a diversion!
Their true goal was to draw the palace's defenses away, to create an opening to get to her father.
Their deeper purpose was regicide!
And they planned to use her, the crown princess, as a puppet to plunge the entire kingdom into chaos and seize control!
Hisui, strong-willed and exceptionally intelligent for her age, felt a fresh, cold wave of panic.
She had to act.
Now.
"Carteus," she whispered, her voice trembling with a feigned timidity that masked her racing thoughts.
"Leave? Go where?"
A vicious, triumphant glint flashed in the impostor's eyes.
He reached out with his massive hand, not with any semblance of care, but to fist it in Hisui's long, beautiful hair.
He yanked brutally, sending a spike of pain through her scalp as he threw the slender girl onto the filthy, garbage-strewn ground.
"Where?" he sneered, looking down at her crumpled form. "To see your father's corpse, of course!"
"By now, my faithful followers should have already slit the old king's throat!"
The man who wore Carteus's face suddenly threw his head back and burst into maniacal laughter, the sound echoing horribly in the small room.
His features twisted, viciously venting the madness and resentment that had festered within him for years.
He reached down again, grabbing Hisui's arm with bruising force and hauling her to her feet.
He began pulling her toward the door, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest.
"Come along, little Princess. Let's not be late for the grand finale..."
"You're too late. The show's already over."
A third voice, calm, clear, and utterly composed, cut through the man's laughter like a shard of ice.
The impostor's arrogant expression instantly froze on his face, morphing into a mask of stunned disbelief.
'That voice... it was impossible... it couldn't be...'
He turned his head mechanically, his neck stiff, to see a figure detach itself from the deepest shadows in the corner of the room—a place that had been empty moments before.
An impossibly handsome young man with serene features slowly revealed himself, stepping into the flickering light as if emerging from another world.
"Ankh!" the impostor choked out, the name a strangled gasp of terror. "Why are you here?! You should be at the treasury! You should be surrounded by my men!"
He stared disbelievingly at Ankh, his mind refusing to accept the reality before him.
The hysterical scream that followed was born of a plan utterly unraveled.
'Ankh?' The name sent a jolt of wild, disbelieving hope through Hisui's small frame.
'The prodigy? The one they say rivals Siegrain? The youngest of the Ten Wizard Saints?!'
The stories she had heard whispered in the palace halls flashed through her mind.
The hope she had almost abandoned now surged, so potent it made her dizzy.
Ankh, dressed in spotless white mage's robes that seemed utterly untouched by the filth surrounding him, stepped forward calmly.
His voice was even, as if discussing the weather. "I've been following you since you left the palace. I entered this room right behind you."
"Behind... me?" the cult leader stammered, his mind reeling.
It was impossible. He would have sensed it!
"But... the guards outside..." he managed, grasping for an explanation.
Ankh tilted his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible expression of puzzlement crossing his features, as if the man had asked why water was wet.
"Naturally, I dealt with them."
The cult leader staggered backward as if physically struck, his back hitting the grimy wall with a dull thud.
A surge of hot, coppery blood rose in his throat, and he nearly vomited on the spot.
His carefully selected, powerful mages... the ones who were supposed to be his insurance... eliminated without a single sound, without a flicker of magical disturbance?
The sheer, effortless power that implied was terrifying.
Ankh's gaze shifted to Princess Hisui, still held tightly in the man's grip.
He saw the intelligence and fierce hope in her eyes, and for a reason he himself didn't quite understand, he unusually added an extra sentence of explanation, directed at the cult leader.
"To get some... conclusive information from you, I've been standing in this room, watching your little performance."
A faint, cold smile touched his lips. "Thank you for the confession, Cult Leader."
The last of the color drained from the impostor's face.
Even his true identity... it was all exposed. Laid bare.
How? How had this man managed any of this?
His entire, meticulously laid plan had been brilliant: kidnap the princess, use her to force a reaction, anticipate the king's counter-move at the treasury, draw the real muscle away, and then strike at the now-vulnerable king.
It was a classic misdirection.
He had accounted for everything—except for the variable of Ankh.
He had never imagined the mage the king hired would be the same terrifying individual he had encountered years ago, the one whose reputation was built on the ashes of dark guilds.
From the moment his plan had intersected with Ankh's path, it was doomed to catastrophic failure.
Seeing all his schemes crumble to dust, a desperate, feral panic seized the cult leader.
His survival instincts, honed in the shadows, kicked in.
In a flash, he released Hisui's arm and instead locked a thick, powerful arm around her neck, dragging her back against his chest as a human shield.
He backed away toward the wall, his eyes wide with manic fear.
"Don't come any closer!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "Take one more step and I'll snap her neck! I swear it!"
Ankh looked at the man, a wave of profound speechlessness washing over him.
This old, clichéd script again.
Did every villain truly believe this was their ultimate trump card? He wasn't the least bit anxious.
If he wanted this man dead, it would be the work of a single thought.
Eliminating him would be as effortless as breathing.
But a dead cult leader was of limited use.
A living one, however, his mind packed with names, locations, and connections—especially to the mysterious Tartaros—was a treasure trove of intelligence.
His life was pitiful, but the information in his head was priceless.
Just as Ankh was calculating the precise angle to disarm the man without harming the princess, the door to the room burst open with a splintering crash.
A large crowd surged inside, royal guards with drawn swords, their faces etched with urgency and fear.
But at their forefront was a figure Hisui had feared she would never see again.
When Hisui saw the familiar, short-statured, gray-haired man at the forefront, his face a mask of frantic worry, the dam of her composure finally broke.
The brave facade she had maintained crumbled into dust.
"Father!" she cried out, the word a sob of pure, unadulterated relief, all her fear and strength leaving her in a single, heart-wrenching exhalation.