The ninth year since Nanoda crossed over.
Northern Empire. Imperial palace bedchamber.
"Wolf! Where is Wolf?!"
The bellow was loud enough to reach the guards standing watch in the corridor. The ailing old Emperor, bedridden and unable to find his most trusted retainer, was beside himself with anxiety — his sense of security had all but collapsed.
Beside him, the Prince pressed the agitated old man back down onto the bed, his face arranged into a mild, gentle smile. Inside, he felt nothing but cold.
"Father, Wolf is out attending to affairs... Please calm yourself and rest."
"I gave no such order — who permitted him to leave?!"
The old Emperor tried to claw his way upright, but found he could not wrench free of the two hands pinning him down. The veins stood out across his age-spotted face, his white hair thrashing and swaying as he roared again.
He strained against the Prince's arms with everything he had. It was no use.
"What are you doing? Release me!"
Watching his father struggle, the Prince kept the smile fixed on his face — but when he spoke, there was a new chill in his voice.
"Father, you are ill. You must rest properly. Carrying on like this... you won't last much longer."
The words, delivered without a shred of doubt, drove the old Emperor to the edge of fury — and it was precisely then that a familiar, languid voice drifted through the door.
"I'm back~"
Wolf, white mask in place, strolled straight into the imperial bedchamber as though he were walking through the front door of his own home.
"Oh! Wolf — punish this ungrateful wretch for me!"
The fury on the old Emperor's face did not dim one degree. His sunken eyes locked onto Wolf the moment he entered; what little color had been left in his pallid face flushed back in a surge of blood, and a spray of spittle flew from his nearly toothless mouth — enough to make the Prince, still pressing him down, grimace with distaste.
"Your Majesty," Wolf said, not sparing so much as a glance at the old man pinned to the bed. He turned and bowed to the Prince instead. "Who is this gentleman? What is he saying?"
The old Emperor, burning with rage a moment before, went utterly still. Several trembling seconds passed before he managed to speak.
"Wolf — I am right here. I am your Emperor. Whom are you calling 'Your Majesty'?"
All the fire had gone out of his voice. Seeing Wolf show not the faintest flicker of recognition, the old Emperor's face drained of color once more. The body that had been fighting so hard against the Prince's grip went slack by degrees; even his rage began to dissolve into something closer to terror. He could not believe what he was seeing.
"Wolf... you have betrayed me? You mean to side with this traitor?!"
At that, the Prince could no longer keep his expression in check. The gentle smile he had been wearing melted away, replaced by something brilliant with self-satisfaction — a grin he couldn't suppress even if he'd tried.
"Your Majesty, the plan to bring the Fortified City of Weise into our fold has failed. It seems the time for your ascension has come sooner than anticipated. Unifying the borderlands has become a matter of utmost urgency."
At Wolf's words, the Prince let the smile fade from his lips. He released the old Emperor's shoulders, drew a white cloth from his pocket, and dabbed at the sleeve where the spittle had landed, then gave a measured nod.
"Indeed. Father is gravely ill. I will have him draft an edict of succession for me."
The two of them discussed their plans openly, brazenly, right in front of the old Emperor, without a care in the world.
Only then did Wolf turn his gaze toward the withered old man lying in the sickbed.
"Ah — so this is His Majesty's father. What a pleasure to meet you at last."
Wolf addressed the Prince as "Your Majesty" at every turn and played the part of a stranger who had never laid eyes on the Emperor before. It was enough to make the old man bite down on his own lip with shaking, helpless hatred.
A loyal retainer? The man standing before him was nothing but a scheming traitor. To think he had been so blind.
The old Emperor extended a trembling, skeletal arm, the loose white sleeve sliding back. He pointed a shaking finger at Wolf. The fright and fury in his eyes had burned away — all that remained was hate.
"Wolf. May you die without peace, you miserable traitor. I gave you everything — and this is how you repay me?!"
"Father... you are old. You are far from the man you were in your youth. It is time to rest — to recover in peace. Is that not kinder?"
The Prince still had some residue of conscience; his intent was house arrest, nothing more. He had no plan to kill his own father. Watching the old man work himself toward apoplexy, the Prince spoke up in an attempt at comfort.
"Heh. Now that's interesting."
In the face of the old Emperor's curses, Wolf only let out a low, amused chuckle. Then he extended a single finger.
"A pleasure to meet you — and now, farewell."
A column of black-and-white light shot forth and struck the crown of that white-haired head. A thick spray of red and white erupted outward, painting the wall behind the bed in full bloom — like a flower opening.
"...Huh?" The Prince didn't register what had happened. The old man before him was simply — gone. In his place was a smear of red and white.
Fine beads of cold sweat slowly seeped from the Prince's temple. A long silence passed before he turned his head and murmured, barely above a breath: "What... did you... do?"
The old Emperor — the man even the Prince himself had not dared to touch — had been dispatched with a single, offhand gesture.
Wolf's expression was hidden behind his mask. Only his voice came through, carrying a note of genuine pleasure.
"The look on his face at the very end — truly priceless. That was pure hatred. I am quite satisfied. Even at the last, he managed to give me a little entertainment~"
"Right then. I'll leave the rest for Your Majesty to tidy up."
Without another glance at the stupefied Prince, Wolf walked out as though nothing of consequence had occurred.
After Wolf had gone, the Prince sat with the weight of what had just happened crashing down on him. He covered his face with trembling hands; the sweat from his brow soaked into his palms. He did not move for a very long time.
"A madman. Utterly, completely mad."
Only then did it truly dawn on the Prince: he had grown far too complacent.
---
Wolf left the palace and made his way back to his own residence.
The iron gate was unlocked. He pushed it open and walked in.
The untended courtyard was choked with dead and withered flowers. The entire ducal manor was hollow — not a single servant present to receive him, the whole place steeped in a pervasive air of desolation.
He shrugged off his ornate coat and hung it on the rack, revealing the white shirt beneath, then reached up and removed the white mask.
Facing the large full-length mirror, Wolf examined the scar on his face — shallower now than it had once been. He pressed a finger to each corner of his mouth and drew them back toward his ears.
An exaggerated grin spread across his face.
The man in the mirror smiled back.
Seemingly satisfied, Wolf turned and made his way toward the cellar beneath the manor.
"I wonder how my wine has been coming along," he murmured to himself.
He walked to the end of a corridor on the ground floor. Two light taps of his foot against the floorboards, and once he had confirmed the spot, he drew the short blade from his hip and pressed its tip into the seam between the boards.
A sharp pry — and a large section of flooring came up, revealing an iron hatch fitted with a handle. He pulled it open and dropped down into the darkness below.
The dim cellar was lined with rows upon rows of dark brown barrels. Wolf set down a wine glass he had prepared in advance, positioned it beneath one of the barrels, and pulled out the small spigot. A vivid crimson liquid trickled down and filled the glass to the brim.
He raised the glass and took a slow, considered sip. A soft smack of his lips.
"Still not enough time."
Wolf shook his head.
Floating in that crimson liquid were several small chunks of pale, white flesh.
And on the barrel from which it had poured, a label had been written in red Imperial script.
It read: "Wolf."
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