The night had deepened, the inn settling into a quiet lull as the last of the patrons drifted off to their rooms. After finishing their meal, it was finally time to rest.
Mimi and Luna had already retired to their room. At the doorway, Mimi bowed respectfully. "Sleep well, my lord," she said softly, before disappearing inside with Luna.
Meanwhile, Theodore and Belial entered their own quarters—a modest room with two single beds, a wooden desk, and a small window overlooking the city. It wasn't luxurious, but it was more than enough for a night's stay.
"Not bad," Theodore murmured as he walked toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling city below. The streets were still alive with the flickering glow of lanterns, but what caught his eye was the distant silhouette of Donovan Manor. It stood tall and foreboding, a fortress of wealth and corruption.
"My lord, you don't seem tired," Belial observed, leaning against the bedpost.
Theodore chuckled, shaking his head. "After everything that happened today? It's hard to just lie down and sleep. I nearly died multiple times, fought in the Dark Soul Realm, and, to top it all off, I threatened a goddess. Honestly... I feel pretty good about that last part."
Belial smirked. "Not many would take pleasure in provoking the heavens, my lord."
Theodore shrugged. "Then they lack ambition."
A brief silence passed between them before Belial spoke again. "If that's the case, shall I tell you a story from my past?"
Theodore turned, intrigued. "You? Sharing something personal?"
Belial chuckled. "Consider it a bedtime story. It's about the lord I once served before I was punished on Skull Head Mountain."
Theodore raised an eyebrow. "So you really were punished? What did you do?"
Belial sighed dramatically. "A simple misunderstanding with that old man. I disobeyed his orders, and well... let's just say I ended up spending a few centuries as a glorified statue."
"I see," Theodore mused. He had always known Belial was powerful, but to be sealed away for disobedience meant the one who punished him must have been on an entirely different level.
"Anyway," Belial continued, "before all that, I was a ruthless demon. I fought for centuries, serving those chosen by the God of Shadows. Wars, betrayals, endless battles—it became a cycle. But then, I met someone different. A man in his late twenties, with long blonde hair and the strangest eyes I'd ever seen—his pupils were marked with a seal, shaped like a star woven into a magic circle."
Theodore's interest sharpened. "A star? A magic circle in his eyes?"
Belial nodded. "Yes. And the first thing he said to me was that he wanted to tame me, just like you did. I found it amusing and, frankly, irritating. So I fought him." He chuckled. "I assumed it would be another battle of raw strength... but he defeated me without even breaking a sweat."
Theodore frowned slightly. "He beat you that easily?"
"Without using a single curse, shadow spell, or even dark magic," Belial confirmed. "The man didn't rely on divine gifts or inherited power—he created magic. He built it from nothing, crafting spells that had never existed before."
Theodore was stunned. A person creating magic? He had read countless books on the subject, but even the most powerful mages only refined or modified existing spells. To create magic from scratch was on an entirely different level.
(If such a person existed... just how powerful was he?)
Theodore yawned, the weight of exhaustion finally creeping in. "That's... interesting," he admitted, stretching his arms. "I'll have to ask you more about it another time. For now, I need sleep. Thanks for the story, Belial. It helped."
Belial inclined his head. "I'm glad to be of service, my lord."
With that, the two lay down on their beds. The candlelight flickered before dimming entirely, plunging the room into darkness.
"Good night, my lord."
"Good night, Belial."
And with that, they drifted into sleep, resting before the chaos that awaited them the next day.
——-
The morning sun barely peeked over the horizon, casting golden streaks through the misty streets of Donovan. The air was crisp, filled with the distant sounds of merchants setting up their stalls and the rhythmic clatter of armored boots patrolling the city walls.
Inside the inn, Theodore stood by the window, watching the world stir to life. Today was the day.
Mimi and the others gathered outside, their cloaks drawn over their heads to conceal their identities. Mimi had already prepared the carriage—her every movement precise and calculated, just as planned.
Theodore leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper as he addressed her. "Remember, Mimi, you are nothing but a pawn to the Queen. Act accordingly. Make sure she suspects nothing."
Mimi gave a firm nod, pulling her hood further over her face before stepping onto the cobbled street toward the waiting carriage.
Theodore and Belial remained hidden in the shadows, observing as figures on the rooftops shifted. Assassins—silent and poised, their movements betraying years of training.
"It seems they already knew she was in this inn," Belial murmured.
Theodore scoffed. "Not surprising. We're deep in enemy territory. But this just makes things easier."
Belial glanced at Luna, who clung to Mimi's cloak, her silver eyes wide with curiosity. "I should take care of her first."
Without another word, Theodore summoned the shadowed portal of the Dark Soul Realm. The eerie, mist-filled doorway opened, revealing the towering silhouette of Shadow Commander, who stood on the other side.
Theodore didn't hesitate—he tossed Luna straight into the commander's arms.
"Take care of her. That's an order," Theodore commanded before the portal snapped shut.
Shadow Commander blinked down at Luna, who stared back at him in confusion. "...What?"
Back in the real world, Theodore turned to Belial. "We move. Follow Mimi, but remain unseen."
They moved like wraiths, leaping across rooftops, blending into the morning fog. The assassins, however, were not blind.
"They've noticed us," Belial murmured, his crimson eyes flashing.
"They're only sixteen of them," Theodore replied, unimpressed. "Belial, clean them up."
Belial smirked, his fingers elongating into razor-sharp claws. "With pleasure, my lord."
In a blur, Belial moved. He leapt into the midst of the assassins, his nails slicing through the air with terrifying speed. The first assassin barely had time to react before his throat was slashed open in a single, fluid motion. Another lunged at Belial from behind, only to be impaled through the chest before he could even scream.
The rooftop fight was silent, precise—blood pooling beneath the bodies as Belial cut through them effortlessly. Within moments, it was over.
Belial reappeared beside Theodore, wiping the blood off his hands onto his cloak. "Done."
Theodore smirked. "Good. Let's move."
From their vantage point, they saw Mimi arrive at the towering gates of Donovan Manor.
Mimi stepped down from the carriage, moving with the practiced grace of a spy. As she approached the heavily guarded entrance, one of the sentries stepped forward.
"State your name and purpose," he commanded.
Mimi bowed her head slightly, her voice even. "I am the Queen's personal informant, assigned to monitor Prince Theodore."
The guards exchanged glances before one of them nodded. "Let her through. She's a regular."
The heavy iron gates groaned as they swung open, revealing a sprawling courtyard filled with neatly trimmed gardens and ornate statues. Servants bustled about, carrying trays of exotic fruits and fresh linens toward the grand marble steps of the manor.
A maid spotted Mimi and approached her with an air of familiarity. "You picked a bad time to come. The Queen is in one of her moods."
Mimi followed the maid through the castle's back corridors, past rows of tall windows draped in fine silk.
The maid suddenly turned to her, studying her face with mild curiosity. "You look different today. Are you sick? That cursed prince must be stressing you."
Mimi's fingers twitched.
The maid continued, oblivious. "Honestly, he should just die already. Let him join his wretched mother in hell."
A low chuckle escaped Mimi's lips. She tilted her head slightly. "Are you the Queen's personal maid?"
The maid blinked. "No, just one of the castle maids. Why?"
Mimi's smile didn't reach her eyes. "No reason. Just wanted to make sure."
The maid opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could finish her next insult, Mimi struck.
Her head snapped forward, slamming into the maid's skull with a sickening crack. Bone splintered. Blood splattered. The maid barely had time to scream before her face was forcibly crushed into the cold stone wall.
A series of sharp, crunching sounds echoed through the empty corridor as Mimi, with terrifying efficiency, devoured her.
Not a single drop of blood was left behind.
Mimi wiped the corner of her mouth, adjusting her cloak as she turned toward the glass-walled garden where the Queen was waiting.
The glass garden was a beautiful yet eerie sight. A dome of enchanted glass enclosed the Queen's private sanctuary, shielding rare and exotic plants that glowed with soft bioluminescence.
Inside, the Queen lounged on a chaise, her delicate fingers idly caressing the petals of a pale blue rose. Around her, a handful of maids tended to the plants, their faces carefully neutral.
Mimi stepped forward, her posture perfect, her presence unassuming.
One of the maids glanced up. "You've arrived," she murmured. "Be careful. She is not in a forgiving mood today."
Mimi's gaze flickered toward the Queen, who had yet to acknowledge her presence.
The Queen stood in the center of the glass garden, the sunlight filtering through the enchanted dome above her, casting ethereal colors across the lavish space. Despite the beauty of her surroundings, an air of fury and cruelty twisted her features.
She was breathtakingly beautiful—flawless rose-colored skin, golden-white hair cascading down her back, long, curled lashes framing mismatched irises, one grey, one an icy blue. Yet beneath this regal elegance was something vile, something venomous.
Mimi knelt before her, her head bowed in practiced submission. "Greetings, my Queen," she said, her voice calm despite the tension in the air.
The Queen's lips curled into a sneer before laughter spilled from them, sharp and mocking. "Oh, so you've finally decided to crawl back?" she hissed, stepping forward. "You worthless spy! Because of your incompetence, I have lost my right to seize that cursed brat's wealth! Do you realize what you've done?!"
Her voice rose into a furious scream, echoing through the enclosed space. The maids flinched, pressing themselves against the walls, too terrified to speak.
Outside the castle grounds, concealed within the towering oak trees, Theodore and Belial observed the unfolding drama.
"I can't hear what they're saying," Theodore murmured, perched effortlessly on a thick branch. "But I can already tell she's losing her mind." His crimson eyes gleamed with amusement. "This will be fun."
Belial smirked beside him, arms crossed. "My lord, this will be delightful to watch."
The plan was in motion. All they had to do now was wait.
Inside the glass garden, the Queen's fury was boiling over. She stormed toward Mimi, her delicate hands clenched into fists.
"Tell me, why didn't you kill that bastard when you had the chance?" she demanded. "And who the hell is that butler with him? How did he get there?!"
Mimi's expression remained carefully composed. "Your Majesty, the butler is far stronger than I anticipated. I do not know how Prince Theodore came to possess such a powerful servant. Every attempt to poison him failed—because of the butler."
The Queen's nostrils flared as her rage deepened. "So you—the daughter of an assassin clan and a mercenary king—couldn't handle a simple child?"
"But—"
SLAP!
Mimi's head snapped to the side as the Queen's palm struck her with full force.
The garden fell silent.
The maids trembled, exchanging nervous glances.
The Queen stepped closer, her voice venomous. "You have no excuses. You were trained for this. You exist to serve me. To die for me."
She lifted her cane—an ornate weapon lined with gold filigree—and brought it down on Mimi's shoulder with a sickening crack.
Mimi gritted her teeth as pain flared through her body, but she remained still.
CRACK!
Another blow.
Then another.
The Queen's fury knew no limits as she rained down punishment upon Mimi, her once elegant posture now wild with uncontained rage. Blood splattered across the pristine marble floor, staining the delicate floral vines growing along the edges of the glass walls.
The maids turned their heads away, their hands clasped over their mouths, too afraid to intervene.
"I TOLD YOU TO KILL A CURSED, MANALESS CHILD!" the Queen shrieked, her voice raw with anger.
Mimi's breathing was ragged. Her vision blurred from the impact, and her body trembled violently. Still, she did not break.
With a final, merciless stomp to her ribs, the Queen sent Mimi sprawling to the ground.
Her head collided with the edge of a marble planter.
Thud.
Then—stillness.
A trickle of crimson stained the glass floor.
The Queen took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Then she scoffed.
"Don't pretend to be dead. Your punishment isn't over."
Silence.
The maids exchanged fearful glances.
One of them hesitantly stepped forward, peering at Mimi's motionless form. Her face paled instantly.
"Y-Your Majesty," she stammered. "She's not breathing."
The Queen's breath hitched.
Another maid gasped. "She's... d-dead."
Panic gripped the room.
One maid let out a horrified sob, covering her mouth with trembling hands. "Oh gods... what have we done?"
The Queen took a shaky step back. "No. That's impossible," she hissed. "It was just a small punishment."
She stared at Mimi's lifeless body, realization sinking in like poison in her veins.
She had just killed the daughter of the Mercenary King.
This could ruin her.
Grinding her teeth, the Queen spun toward the nearest guards standing outside the garden doors. "Dispose of the body," she ordered.
The soldiers hesitated. "Your Majesty—"
"NOW!"
The men jumped at her shriek, scrambling to obey. They wrapped Mimi's limp form in thick cloth, binding her tightly before loading her onto a carriage.
"Dump her in the nearest river," the Queen commanded. "Make sure no one ever finds her."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
As they hurried to remove the evidence of her crime, the Queen turned away, gripping the edges of her gown with shaking hands.
She took a deep breath, composing herself.
"Nothing happened," she whispered. "This never happened."
She would make sure of it.
But as the carriage rolled out of the castle gates, carrying what they thought was a lifeless body, they failed to notice the faintest twitch of a finger beneath the cloth.
The trap had been set.
The dense canopy of the forest cast long, flickering shadows over the dirt road as the carriage rumbled toward its destination. The road was uneven, winding through the outskirts of Donovan Territory, far from the prying eyes of the public. The guards inside had been given strict orders—dispose of the body where no one would find it.
Perched atop a thick branch of an ancient oak, Theodore and Belial observed in silence.
"She does know how to play dead well," Theodore murmured, eyes gleaming with amusement.
Belial smirked. "Well, she is a shadow, my lord. She was never truly alive to begin with."
Theodore's gaze followed the slow-moving carriage. "Now, let's tail them. We need to make sure those men disappear properly."
Without another word, the two figures moved in perfect sync, leaping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop. Even in the dimming light of dusk, their movements were precise, shadows blending seamlessly into the skyline.
Inside the carriage, two men sat across from each other, speaking in hushed tones to break the eerie silence.
"How's the new wife treating you?" one asked, nudging his companion with a grin.
The other sighed dreamily. "Ah, she's an angel, I tell you. I must have pleased the goddess Gaia herself for such a blessing. Every night, I—"
Their laughter was cut short.
A sudden thud landed on the roof of the carriage, causing it to jolt slightly.
"What the—?"
Before the men could react, steel flashed in the moonlight.
With a single slash, Belial cleaved through the roof, splitting it open like paper. A second later, a spray of blood painted the carriage walls as one of the men collapsed, lifeless, his throat split wide.
The remaining guard screamed as the horses whinnied in terror, bolting forward in panic.
Before the terrified man could reach for his weapon, Theodore dropped from above, his small fist slamming into his face with enough force to send him flying into a nearby stone wall. He crashed against it with a sickening crack, blood spraying from his lips.
The horses, now riderless, galloped off into the darkness, leaving only the destroyed carriage, a corpse, and the trembling survivor.
The man groaned in pain, struggling to sit up. His entire body ached, but fear overpowered the agony. He looked up at the boy standing before him, at his merciless red eyes, and pure terror gripped his soul.
"P-Please..." he stammered, coughing up blood. "Please, spare me! I'll do anything!"
Belial scoffed, stepping forward and grabbing the man by the collar. "He'll betray us the moment he gets the chance." He bared his sharp nails. "We should carve fear into his soul so he won't even dare think about it."
The man trembled but suddenly clenched his jaw. His eyes, despite the terror, flashed with defiance. "Kill me then! I won't betray my master. I'd rather die than sell him out."
Theodore chuckled, crouching beside him. "Oh? A loyal dog, are you?" His tone was amused, but his eyes were cold. "How admirable. But..." His gaze flickered downward. "What's this?"
Something small and metallic had fallen from the man's clothes.
A pendant.
Theodore picked it up, his fingers tracing the edges of the locket before flipping it open. Inside was a small painting of a woman—delicate features, warm eyes.
His smirk widened. "I see... your wife."
The man's eyes widened in horror.
"Oh, she's beautiful," Theodore said mockingly. "I'm sure the pigs will enjoy feasting on her flesh."
The man froze.
"...What did you just say?" His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with pure fury.
Theodore dangled the pendant in front of him. "I said, I'll visit her. Maybe introduce myself. Maybe deliver her severed head to you personally."
The man's entire body locked up, his breath coming in ragged gasps. A moment ago, he had been ready to die with honor. But now?
Now he was terrified.
He fell to his knees. "No! Please! I'll do it! I'll do anything you say—just don't touch her!" His voice cracked, his pride shattered. "I swear it! But if you break your promise, I swear I'll kill you myself—even if I have to chase you into the afterlife!"
Theodore's smirk grew.
"Then it's a deal."
With the matter settled, Theodore turned his attention back to the "corpse" lying nearby. He knelt beside Mimi's body, his amusement evident.
"You did well, Mimi. I couldn't have planned this better myself."
Mimi's eyes fluttered open, her lips curving into a faint smirk. "I'm glad I could be of service, my lord."
The man watching the exchange recoiled, his face pale. "H-How is that possible?! Her body was ice-cold! I—she wasn't breathing—she was dead!"
Belial rolled his eyes and slammed his fist into the man's gut, making him double over in pain.
"Don't ask questions you're not worthy to understand," Belial sneered.
Theodore stood, dusting himself off. "Now then, onto the next part of the plan."
He turned to the trembling man. "You're going to do exactly as I say. You'll take Mimi's 'body' to the Steel Vanguard Mercenary Guild and tell them you found her lifeless on the street. Do it convincingly, and they won't suspect you."
The man swallowed hard. "A-And if they do suspect me?"
Theodore patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll personally make sure nothing happens to you."
The man didn't trust that promise. Not one bit.
But he had no other choice.
He had made a deal with the devil.
The evening sun cast long, golden rays across the bustling streets of Donovan's market district. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, but Theodore paid no mind to the lively atmosphere. He and Belial moved through the crowd unnoticed, their hoods drawn low over their faces as they trailed behind their reluctant pawn.
The man, still trembling from Theodore's threats, carried Mimi's 'lifeless' body in his arms, the weight of his situation pressing heavier than the corpse he cradled. Wrapped in a black blanket, her skin had turned a deathly purple, ice-cold to the touch—Mimi had played her part well.
Theodore watched in amusement as the man finally reached his destination: Steel Vanguard, the largest and most notorious mercenary guild in Donovan Territory.
The Steel Vanguard Guildhall was a massive, fortress-like structure—its wide stone walls lined with banners bearing the guild's emblem, a steel gauntlet gripping a crimson blade. Mercenaries of all sizes and races moved in and out, their weapons glinting under the dimming sunlight. Inside, laughter, drunken shouting, and the clash of steel filled the air as warriors tested their mettle in friendly duels.
But all noise stopped the moment the man stepped inside.
A few mercenaries turned their heads, eyeing the bundle he carried with growing suspicion.
"Oi, who the hell is that bastard?" one of them muttered.
"What's that big thing he's holding? Looks like a goblin carcass."
"Maybe he caught an elf," another snickered.
"Pfft! Hah! As if he could manage that."
Theodore and Belial slipped in unnoticed, blending into the sea of warriors. Theodore leaned against a wooden pillar, arms crossed, watching as his pawn was slowly crushed under the weight of hundreds of bloodthirsty gazes.
The man gulped and staggered forward, approaching the counter where a woman stood—Jennet Milton, the guild's receptionist. She had sharp purple eyes, short purplish-brown hair, and wore a fitted suit, her posture firm with authority. She had just finished dealing with a mercenary when she noticed him approach.
"Sir? How can I help you?" she asked, arching a brow at his nervous demeanor.
The man hesitated. His mouth opened and closed, no words forming.
Jennet's eyes narrowed. "Sir?"
His breath caught in his throat. His hands shook. And then—
Thud.
He dropped Mimi's body onto the wooden floor.
The moment the black blanket unraveled, exposing her lifeless form, the entire guild erupted into chaos.
Weapons were drawn instantly, swords unsheathed, axes raised, and bows aimed directly at the man's head.
"You bastard!"
"You dare bring a corpse in here?!"
One mercenary kicked him to the ground, his blade inches from slitting his throat.
But Jennet had already knelt beside the body.
When she pulled back the blanket fully, a gasp of pure horror escaped her lips.
The corpse was none other than Amara—daughter of the Mercenary King.
A heavy silence fell over the room.
As the guild erupted in pure chaos, the trembling man stood frozen amidst the sea of enraged mercenaries. Sweat dripped from his brow, his breath quick and uneven.
The moment Jennet uncovered the corpse, and the identity of Amara, daughter of the Mercenary King, was revealed, **every sword in the room was drawn—**but none of them pointed at Theodore.
Instead, they were all aimed at him.
His heart hammered violently in his chest. His mind screamed at him to run. But the suffocating bloodlust of a hundred seasoned killers pinned him in place like an insect caught in a spider's web.
("No... No, this wasn't supposed to happen...")
Then, **he turned—**desperate, pleading, searching for the boy who had promised to help him.
And there he was.
Sitting calmly at a table in the corner. Watching. Smiling.
Theodore's crimson eyes gleamed with mocking amusement. His arms were lazily crossed, his head slightly tilted—as if he had already known how this would unfold from the very beginning.
That was when the realization hit him like a blade through the gut.
("I was never meant to survive.")
The man's entire body went cold. His fingers twitched as he clenched his fists, his breathing growing ragged.
It was all planned.
From the moment Theodore handed him Mimi's 'corpse,' the moment he forced him to walk into the Steel Vanguard Guild, the moment he whispered reassurances of 'I'll protect you'—
It was all a lie.
A cold sweat broke out across his skin. He had been used. Like a pawn on a chessboard, he had been moved exactly where Theodore wanted him to be.
His legs trembled. The murderous aura in the room suffocated him.
Then—he saw Theodore's smirk deepen.
("That little monster...")
It was mocking.
It was knowing.
It was the smile of someone who had already won.
And that was when the man knew—
He was going to die.
Then came the roar.
A deafening, furious roar that shook the very foundation of the guild.
From the upper balcony, a towering man leapt down, landing with a ground-shaking impact. His short, fiery brown hair and thick beard framed his hardened features, his massive frame radiating raw power.
The Mercenary King.
His bloodshot eyes locked onto the lifeless body of his daughter. He staggered forward. He fell to his knees.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then—a howl of grief.
He cradled her body in his massive arms, his hands trembling as he gently brushed her blood-streaked hair aside. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving.
"Who did this..." his voice shook.
Then his head snapped up, his fury piercing straight through the trembling man.
"Who. Did. This?"
The man broke.
"It was the Queen! I swear on my life!" he screamed, tears streaming down his face. "It was her! She ordered us to dispose of her body in the forest! Please—please let me live!"
Theodore smirked from the shadows.
Perfect.
The Mercenary King's fingers twitched. Then, in a single, brutal motion, he grabbed the man by the face.
Crack.
The man's skull twisted violently to the side. His body fell limp.
With a roar of pure rage, the Mercenary King slammed his fist into the wall, shattering the stone like brittle glass. The entire room seemed to shake from the force of his fury.
He knew.
He knew why the Queen had done this.
All because of That cursed prince.
The Mercenary King had once followed the Queen's orders without hesitation. But now? Now, she had taken the one thing he loved most.
His eyes burned with unfiltered wrath.
He turned, his voice a booming command.
"Men! Arm yourselves! We march on the Donovan estate tonight!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the guild.
Hundreds of mercenaries rose at once, bloodlust igniting in their veins.
Steel clashed as swords, axes, and bows were drawn. The air was thick with the scent of impending war.
The Mercenary King turned to his twin sons, both standing frozen with grief over their sister's lifeless body.
His voice softened only slightly.
"Protect your sister's body. Do not let a single soul touch her."
They nodded, their sorrow laced with vengeance.
In the corner of the room, Theodore finally stood.
A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face as he watched the perfect chaos unfold.
Belial chuckled beside him. "It went exactly as planned, my lord."
Theodore crossed his arms, watching the guild transform into a storm of bloodthirsty soldiers.
"Of course it did," he murmured, his crimson eyes gleaming. "After all... the most precious thing in this world is one's own blood."
He turned toward the door, his cloak billowing as he walked.
"Let's move. We have a war to watch."