Because it was dusk when Louise and Varut arrived at the manor, Verus simply arranged lodging for them without mentioning the letter.
That night, Louise finally sank into a comfortable big bed after days on the road. But sleep wouldn't come easy. She gazed out the window at the twin moons looming larger than ever.
Sora, I know you'll come back.
I miss you so much—where are you, Sora?
Clutching the fluffy pillow, Louise tossed and turned, her mind swirling with thoughts of familiars, lovers, and promises for the future.
At the same time, Varut slipped silently from his room.
He cast [Float] wind magic to hover three centimeters above the ground, noiseless as a ghost, then used his swordsman's agility to skirt distant guards, sticking to the manor's shadows.
The eagle familiar circling overhead watched for outside threats, oblivious to Varut's movements within.
Varut and Louise had been housed in guest rooms on the manor's left wing; soldiers' barracks lay to the right, with the king, crown prince, and ministers quartered in the central block. As Varut neared the center, patrols thickened.
From a shadowed corner, he amped up [Float]'s power, leaped, and plastered himself to the corridor ceiling like a gecko, crawling limb-over-limb toward the Albion royals' bedrooms. Below, sword-wielding soldiers patrolled, glancing side to side—but never up.
Varut lurked quietly in the corridors outside the central rooms until his moment arrived. Crown Prince Verus emerged from the first door on the right, seeing off several ministers.
Once Verus waved them away and retreated inside, Varut slithered into the room.
The door sealed tight—blasting it with magic would rouse the guards. By the time Gelfin arrived, any shot at success would be gone.
So he waited patiently for it to crack open again.
Click—the door swung, but it was the middle one. A haggard old man in luxurious robes stepped out, shuffled to Verus's door, and knocked.
Albion's king. His soft policies had bloated local nobles' power, sparking the rebellion.
Killing him might shatter the royalists too.
The thought flickered: drop the [Float], plummet, and sever the fool king's head with a wind blade—war and history rewritten.
Nah—Verus anchored the royalists. Slay the king, crown Verus, and he'd rally them fiercer in vengeance.
Varut watched the king enter Verus's room.
An hour dragged by; the twin moons dipped toward the horizon. No time left. Varut stewed another hour, then abandoned the chance.
The king departed Verus's room. Verus escorted his father back. The door didn't latch fully.
Varut's eyes sharpened—he released his grip, dropped from the ceiling, flipped mid-fall, and darted into Verus's room the instant he landed, ducking behind the door.
Verus saw his father off with a weary sigh and returned, exhaustion weighing him down.
Ministers, emperor—everyone looked to him. Rebels held the upper hand; popularity alone couldn't conjure victory from thin air. Ha—maybe holding out till the end, dying on the field with his father, was true loyalty and filial piety.
He shut the door and crossed to the hall table. Albion's sand table sprawled there, mapping rebel and royalist territories, troop strengths, key terrains. Seeing rebels claim over 70% of Albion, alone at last, Verus sighed: "What now? Father's policies grew the rebels—no other power will aid us. We're finished."
He slumped at the desk, yanked open a drawer, and pulled out a ring and letter.
Verus unfolded the letter, rereading by candlelight. Tolistine's cousin had penned it after rebels stormed the capital, urging him to flee there for sanctuary—even amid enmity, she'd shield him. Anrietta's face and voice bloomed in his mind: gentle as water. Without their crowns, he'd chase her forever.
Tolistine fared worse now, rumors swirling of an alliance with Kelmania. Anrietta might abdicate, wedding Kelmania's barbarian king as consort queen.
Thud—Verus slammed the desk, unresigned. That bearded brute's realm, mere three centuries old—a backwater barbarian state, unworthy of the ancient four nations. Anrietta marrying him? If Albion stood strong, he'd halt it.
But Albion teetered on collapse. Friendless, Tolistine needed Kelmania's pact most. Anrietta's envoys came to reclaim this letter—exposure would torpedo the union. Verus toyed with leaking it to sabotage the match, but Anrietta loathed politics as little as he; she'd sacrifice herself for her realm.
"Anrietta, good luck to you." Verus scanned the letter one last time, refolded it, and approached the flickering candle. Burn this secret—then she could forget him, wed the barbarian for her country. He'd wish her joy.
He dangled the letter over the flame.
Varut, clinging to the ceiling, struck.
Silent [Wind Hammer]—a dozen head-sized air masses hurtled from his vantage. Whistling winds spun Verus around.
Candlelight glinted off the air masses' faint outlines. Verus flung his cloak up left-handed, leaping back. Bang-bang-bang—the hammers pummeled it, cloak shredding as it soaked most blows. Verus hit the floor, staggered four or five steps to steady, drew his waist wand, and aimed at Varut.
"You!!" Verus snarled. "Anrietta's orders?"
Varut dropped, snatching the scattered letter Verus had dropped in the chaos.
"That girl? If she had guts like this, I'd back her to the hilt. But she's a play-pretend princess—Tolistine crumbles under her." Varut skimmed the letter, sneering: "This seals it—no Kelmania alliance for Tolistine."
He pocketed it, glaring coldly at Verus: "Time's short. You're dead."
The hammer's muffled thuds hadn't roused many, but the fight would. Finish fast. Verus was triangle-rank; basic [Wind Blade] or [Wind Hammer] wouldn't fell him.
Varut's wand shattered in his clash with Sora—he extended both hands, chanting loud: "Haxiu Wendy Wendy Wendy Lie." [Wind-Wind-Wind, Blade of the Wind King]
Verus lifted his wand, chanting back. Less fluid than square-rank Varut, but the tool bridged the gap—he matched the incant near-simultaneously.
"Lille Wendy Wendy Wendy Young." [Wind-Wind-Wind, Shield of the Wind King]
Gales shredded papers, tables, chairs across Verus's room. Before Varut loomed a ten-meter blue wind blade, gleaming sharp.
Before Verus, winds wove a five-meter-thick shield, internals latticed in rhythmic gusts.
Varut slashed his right hand down—[Wind King's Blade] launched. Verus thrust crossed hands forward; [Wind King's Shield] surged to meet it.
Boom—third-tier wind magics clashed, shockwaves gutting the room, blasting the door wide. The roar echoed, jarring even sleeping manor guards.
"Huh?" The blast yanked Louise awake, groggy.
Central barracks soldiers swarmed Verus's quarters.
Clash's backlash hurled Varut and Verus. Varut tumbled outside the wrecked room; Verus cratered the back wall.
"Surround him—no escape!"
"Assassin—take him down!"
Soldiers drew blades, encircling Varut.
"Haxiu Wendy Lie" [Wind, Wind Blade].
Varut rose, eyes icy, scanning. Four one-meter wind blades materialized in the air, fanning outward.
Soldiers swung to parry and shatter them.
Varut bulled toward the room, blades firing four volleys—continuous blasts wounding and dropping closers. Inside, Verus slumped against the wall, limp.
A fresh triangle-rank mage, spent after one third-tier spell—no power left. A square-rank like Varut could chain them endlessly. Rank crushed.
Varut raised a hand: "Hulie Wendy Wendy Jiao." [Wind-Wind, Spiral Wind]. Four blades spiraled round his right fist.
Verus lifted his head, eyeing Varut's savage, smug face and coiling ultimate. "Bastard." He hurled a cyan gem ring.
What—? Varut's gaze snagged, mesmerized by the gem's luster.
Whoosh—a waterfall wind cascaded from above, walling between them. Varut's fist plunged in, dragged earthward—impenetrable.
A gentle breeze scooped Verus's gem, ferrying it to waiting hands aloft.
Over the ruined room, an elder descended slow. Royalists' mightiest: great mage Gelfin.
Varut's pupils shrank; he yanked his fist free, erupted wind blades to carve escape through dozens of soldiers, slew to the manor's edge, [Floated] over the wall, and vanished.
Fretting his disciple's peril, Gelfin held back. He settled by Verus, soft winds lifting him, fed sparkling red potion, summoned medics for treatment, and barked orders for vigilance.
"Gelfin, Verus holding up?" The king arrived under heavy guard, once assassins cleared, concern faint.
Gelfin eyed him coolly: "No need for kingly worry—just impact shock. Rest a day or two, he'll mend."
"Good, good. Verus's safety's yours." The king nodded, retreating to his quarters.
Gelfin recalled last night's youth. Sure enough—Tolistine's envoys plotted Verus's death; the pair linked.
"Guards—lock the other Tolistine lackey," Gelfin commanded.
"Yes, sir."
Louise, dozing off again amid the din, jolted as soldiers burst in.
They dragged her to the manor's undercellar storage, slamming the door locked.
"What—what's this? I'm Princess Tolistine's envoy—release me!"
"Varut assassinated Verus? Mistake—you've got it wrong! Why would Varut do that?"
"Where's Verus? Is he safe? Let me out—I need to explain to him!"
"Let me out!" After hollering awhile, Louise huddled in a corner, knees hugged, and drifted to sleep.
Guards eyed the girl's peaceful face. How could someone so innocent run with assassins? Something's off.