The figure stepped closer, lowering their hood to reveal their face.
Karthen's eyes widened in recognition. "Micah?" he whispered, his voice tinged with equal parts relief and disbelief.
The man before him had long blond hair that cascaded past his shoulders, a sharp, pointed face that looked like it could charm any woman. However, his expression was calm, reserved—far from the lively, reckless man Karthen once knew.
Micah remained silent for a moment, studying Karthen's battered form. Then, before Karthen could say another word, his body gave in to exhaustion.
"Elloise… she's—" Karthen managed to murmur before his eyelids grew unbearably heavy. His body slumped forward, succumbing to the darkness that had been clawing at the edges of his mind.
Time passed.
Karthen's eyelids fluttered open to a damp, dimly lit environment. His vision was blurry at first, but as it sharpened, he took in his surroundings. He was inside a building, one that had clearly seen better days. Cracks ran along the stone walls, moss creeping through every crevice. A faint ray of light trickled down from a high, narrow opening above, barely illuminating the small room. Despite its decrepit state, the place bore the remnants of grandeur—intricate carvings etched into the crumbling walls, a once-majestic door now worn with time.
"Mhmm..." Karthen groaned as he tried to sit up, only to feel a sharp pain shoot through his torso. He winced.
"Don't move too much. Your wound hasn't fully healed," Micah's voice came from nearby.
Karthen turned his head and saw Micah, seated on a makeshift stool, grinding herbs in a mortar and pestle. His movements were practiced, precise
"Where are we?" Karthen asked, his voice hoarse.
"We're in the lost catacombs beneath the capital," Micah replied without looking up.
Karthen let out a dry chuckle, which quickly turned into another wince. "Ha, you always find a way to keep yourself busy."
Micah finally glanced at him, smirking slightly. "And you still think too slow."
Karthen exhaled sharply, his expression darkening. He looked down at his bandaged torso, memories of recent events flashing through his mind. Then, hesitantly, he spoke. "Elloise…"
Micah's hands stilled. A brief silence settled between them before he sighed. "It must have been my sister you were calling for in your sleep."
Karthen managed a weak smile. "Hah… how'd you figure that out?"
Micah rolled his eyes. "You've only ever had eyes for her."
Despite himself, Karthen chuckled, only to immediately regret it as pain lanced through his ribs. "Argh… damn it."
Micah shook his head. "Laughing will only aggravate the injury. Here." He reached into his pocket and placed a small object in Karthen's palm. "Take this. It'll help relieve the pain."
Karthen opened his hand and examined the pill—a small, round sphere, seemingly composed of finely ground herbs. "Thanks," he murmured before swallowing it dry.
A few moments passed before he spoke again. "How long was I out?"
"Two days."
Karthen raised an eyebrow. "Hah… your humor is still wild I see."
Micah smirked but said nothing.
A somber air settled over them. Karthen hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the stone ceiling before returning to Micah. "Hey… aren't you curious? About why I'm not with Elloise?" His voice was quiet, as if afraid to voice the thought aloud.
Micah exhaled, setting the mortar aside. "My sister knew exactly what she was getting into when we parted ways."
Karthen clenched his jaw. "But still—"Micah turned away slightly, his fingers tightening around the pestle. "Even back in the orphanage, she was selfish. But she cared deeply for those she loved."
His voice grew heavier. "And even now... if she were here, she would want all the tears for herself."
"....."Karthen was hesitant as he clenched his fists
Karthen bit his lip. "But still... I shouldn't have—"
He slammed his fist against the wall, frustration boiling over. Tears welled in his eyes, slipping down his cheeks. "If I had just been a little stronger..."
Micah said nothing, letting the moment stretch into silence.
Short While After
"The Tournament of Heirs?" Karthen echoed, breaking the quiet.
"Yeah, I've heard about it," he continued. "A competition to decide who will claim the throne."
"I heard about it at a tavern," Micah said.
A knowing look passed between them before Micah spoke again. "There's a simple way to get revenge."
Karthen eyed him warily. "Go on."
Micah's expression was unreadable. "Win the tournament. Take the throne. Marry someone that isn't my sister."
Karthen recoiled. "I would never betray my morals. And besides—"
He hesitated, lowering his gaze. "I doubt it would be that easy."
Karthen absentmindedly twirled his fingers together. "Ever since I returned, Count Trynal has been hunting me. I'm already injured. Entering the tournament like this would be suicide."
Micah sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If only there was someone to take your place. Someone we could trust."
Karthen's eyes gleamed with sudden inspiration. "That's it."
Micah narrowed his eyes. "You can't be serious."
Karthen grinned, ignoring the pain.
Micah groaned, already regretting this conversation. "Arrghhhh..."
____________________________________
"I don't think it'll be that easy"Katrthen said as he put his two fingers together, twirling them around
"After I got back, I was specifically hunted by Count Trynal, not only that, I'm injured"Karthen said
"Ahhh"Micah sighed as he slapped his forehead
"If only there was someone to take my place, someone worthy of trust"Karthen said, his eyes shining
"You can't be serious"Micah said
"Arrghhhhh"Micah groaned into the background
___________________________________________________
At that time, Count Trynals Estate,Count Trynal's Study
Inside the dimly lit study, Count Trynal sat behind a grand wooden desk, his fingers interlocked as he let out a weary sigh. "Haaa…"
In front of him, a man bowed deeply—Hwaan, his trusted steward.
"Useless," Trynal muttered under his breath, his patience wearing thin.
Hwaan remained still, awaiting his master's command.
Trynal drummed his fingers against the desk before finally speaking. "They wouldn't dare threaten or force the princess while most major powers are gathering. Merchant families and financial houses also… everyone is gathering military prowess even."
Hwaan inclined his head. "What would you have me do, my lord?"
Trynal's gaze darkened. "Summon my third and fourth sons."
Hwaan bowed and swiftly left the room.
Trynal leaned back in his chair, exhaling another long sigh. "Even my closest steward might need replacing."
He stared at the chandelier above, his fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest. "Why… why does nothing ever go the way I want it to?"