The area around the Great Hall was chaotic.
Outside the firmly closed doors, nobles gathered like a swarm of clouds, whispering about the results of the recently concluded council meeting.
It was more of a notification than a meeting.
“His Majesty has collapsed and is unconscious. From now on, I, Kalian Olaus, will act as Regent and handle all affairs of state on behalf of King Tigrinu.”
The young prince, declaring the kingdom’s crisis, sat on the throne without hesitation.
“This position must never be left vacant even for a moment.”
There were no objections.
No one dared to step forward.
In a situation where there was no suitable person to sit on the throne, a single wrong word could cost one their head.
Only after showing proper respect and retreating outside the hall did the nobles vent their true feelings.
“That’s right. The throne cannot change hands like this.”
“In times of crisis, it is the custom of Ekilium for the clan chiefs to gather and voice their opinions. Those gathered here must continue that tradition.”
“Let’s elect a representative to make our voices heard.”
The faces of warriors who had fought in the continental unification war were especially grim.
Most of them had long-standing ties to King Tigrinu.
If Kalian became king, he wouldn’t honor us as the late king did.
He would appoint his own loyalists, leaving us as mere puppets.
A sense of crisis was rising among the senior nobles.
Without a will naming a successor, anyone present here was qualified to compete for the throne.
At least that was the principle.
It was Ekilium’s custom for a brave warrior to become leader.
Being a prince did not exempt one from that tradition.
“I guess we have to at least pretend to follow the formalities.”
“Looks like they’re happy that Princess Kiabel is dead.”
“The king has become a hostage of the prince.”
“This is a mess.”
As the nobles’ faces darkened with anger, heavy footsteps echoed across the floor.
A sturdy man wearing crimson gambeson and a sword at his waist rounded the corner.
Blayden Rehart — the warrior known as the Red Wolf.
The nobles were overwhelmed by Blayden’s commanding presence as he confidently strode through the path between the nobles who parted to let him pass, his expression indifferent.
***
Kalian paced the Great Hall, an apple in hand.
Blayden entered, escorted by a page. Kalian dismissed the page and asked,
“You were the one who informed the chamberlain that His Majesty had collapsed, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So, you are the last person to have seen His Majesty conscious. Did he say anything special?”
“He just played chess.”
Blayden’s cool tone and calm expression were as usual.
Kalian felt trapped.
Even if Blayden was lying, there was no way to press further.
If he showed knowledge of the marriage plan between Kiabel and Blayden, it would reveal the existence of a spy.
A prince spying on the king did not look good.
Although it was a public secret that spies swarmed the palace, it would become a scandal once officially confirmed.
He needed to be careful with his words while trying to appease the nobles.
Blayden spoke as if launching a counterattack.
“You must hold Princess Kiabel’s funeral.”
“Oh, yes, I must.”
As if he had already decided without prompting, Kalian called for Atenak, who was waiting outside.
Atenak came close and bowed respectfully as orders were given.
“Display Princess Kiabel’s head in the square.”
Atenak’s wrinkled brow deepened.
“Are you serious, Your Highness? You have already shown firmness. Now is the time to show mercy.”
Kalian ignored the harsh words.
“I have not shown enough firmness yet. Hang Kiabel’s head in the square and remind everyone what happens to those who conspire with the enemy. Rebellion will be punished by death regardless of rank.”
Atenak opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and bowed.
“I will carry out your orders.”
The steps retreating were slow and deliberate.
Blayden, who had been listening to the conversation, grew inwardly anxious.
He hadn’t expected Kalian to act this way.
No matter that she was a half-sister, he assumed she wouldn’t degrade the dignity of the royal family herself.
Was eliminating Kiabel not enough to secure the succession?
Was her hatred for her that deep?
How long did she intend to hang Kiabel’s head in the square?
Surely not to disgrace her corpse until it rotted and was swarming with worms like other criminals.
This could go wrong.
I need to erase the evidence.
As Blayden thought of those who could move in this matter, Kalian took a step forward.
“Setting aside the matter with father, there’s another reason I called you.”
The sudden gentleness in his tone was annoying.
Kalian was kind to him in only one situation: when assigning a disrespectful or impossible task.
“Speak, Your Highness.”
Blayden deliberately kept formalities.
Kalian frowned but did not lose his dignified tone.
“The royal physician who examined His Majesty suspected poison.”
“Do you think there are hostile forces trying to harm His Majesty?”
“Yes.”
The bloodshed will come as soon as the war ends.
As Blayden considered the political gains and losses, Kalian unexpectedly spoke again.
“They couldn’t identify the poison precisely, but the physician suggested an antidote made from a flower cultivated by the Shadow Tribe.”
“Are you referring to… the Shadow Flower?”
Suddenly, a chill ran down Blayden’s spine. A bad premonition overwhelmed him.
“Yes. It’s a flower from the Shadow Tribe’s homeland, Shadowland. They say if you brew tea from its dried leaves and mix in the blood of the one the patient loves, it can cure all diseases.”
Kalian’s voice sank as if casting a bait.
So he wanted me to fetch that flower.
A cynical smile spread across Blayden’s lips.
“Your Highness, is there anyone in this palace who loves His Majesty?”
Even if I were to fetch that flower, whose blood would I put into the tea?
Did Kalian understand the question Blayden asked with his eyes?
His grip tightened on the delicate hand holding a red apple.
Once, that hand had approached him with pure goodwill.
The son of a conqueror and the prince of a fallen kingdom — the war was cruel to the fate of these two boys of the same age.
Now, what this beautiful hand offers is only the risk of death.
“First, go get the Shadow Flower. We’ll think about the rest afterward.”
Kalian was driving him into the abyss, as countless times before on the battlefield over the past five years.
Now, he was sending him beyond human domains to test his fate.
“So you mean for me to go to Shadowland?”
“Yes.”
Shadowland lay northeast of Kiabek.
It was a special autonomous region within Verden’s territory, home to shadow spirits that fed on human malice.
To meet the chieftain who ruled these spirits, one had to pass through the magical forests of Saengnua.
Many adventurers set out to obtain the volatile orchid cultivated by the shadow spirits, but they died in those woods.
Although I’ve seen corpses and skeletons enough to be sick of them, Blayden felt as if a noose was tightening around his neck.
“You have desecrated the body of a royal. You harmed the princess, so at least spare the king’s life to keep your own.”
Kalian revealed his true nature.
As expected, the claim of sparing the king was just an excuse.
“If I save him, does that mean the charge of royal desecration will be dropped?”
“A knight dealing with a prince? Blayden Rehart, no matter how much you’ve grown up like my brother, you are not a prince. Your kingdom is gone. Do as you’re told. Like a hunting dog.”
Ignoring the provocative insult, Blayden asked,
“What shall I offer as a negotiation?”
When negotiating with the Shadow tribe, it was customary to offer tributes.
Kalian remained silent.
He kept his mouth shut and stared straight at Blayden.
A chill ran down Blayden’s neck.
“Am I the tribute?”
“Of course not.”
Contrary to his words, Kalian’s gray eyes revealed a sadistic pleasure before quickly turning cold.
“Twenty-one years ago, Your Majesty offered my mother to the Shadow tribe. If you know honor, now it’s their turn to reciprocate.”
“The Shadow tribe won’t think that way. That was then, this is now.”
“Is that so?”
Kalian smirked and fiddled with the apple in his hand.
After tapping the stem repeatedly, he grasped the luscious red fruit.
“Sir Rehart, you are my proxy. You may stake anything.”
“Anything, did you say?”
Support or trap?
“Yes. I trust your judgment. Your words will be my words. Your promise will be my promise.”
What kind of scheme is this, Kalian Olaus?
“I only wield my sword. You know I’m no silver-tongued man.”
“Saving a gravely ill monarch is a knight’s duty. And aren’t you as skilled with your tongue as with your blade?”
“I am honored you trust such a humble servant.”
Blayden bowed exaggeratedly.
As he turned and walked out of the hall, Kalian’s sharp voice called after him.
“I’m not done speaking yet. When will you break that bad habit of turning your back without permission?”
What else could be left?
Blayden suppressed his unease and faced Kalian.
After a moment’s hesitation, Kalian suddenly said,
“Find my mother.”
It sounded less like a prince’s order and more like a boy’s request.
Did he still hold her in his heart?
I thought the memory had faded with time.
“She is a poor soul offered as a tribute to the Shadow tribe. If you go to ShadowLand, you must find her and send my regards.”
Does he still replay the pain of parting?
Is he consumed by hope of reclaiming his mother?
“Blayden Rehart, she was kind to you.”
In Kalian’s voice softened by desperation, Blayden almost laughed aloud.
Kalian Olaus.
So this is what you really wanted.