Alright.

  The distance between us was barely seven meters.

  This marble fountain couldn’t protect me much longer. If I didn’t act right now, my chances of running would be severely limited.

  I took a deep breath and offered a silent prayer to the God of the Earth. I had never been religious— not even in my old life. But in desperate moments, I would accept help from anywhere, divine or otherwise.

  “Stop right there!”

  I stepped out of hiding and faced the kidnappers with every ounce of determination I could gather. My attention snapped immediately to the crossbowman standing just behind the woman, because he aimed his projectile weapon at me without hesitation.

  “Shit—kill him!” the woman shouted, but the man carrying Ingrid on his shoulder refused.

  “No. He’s King Ulric. If we capture him, the reward will be double.”

  Good. They wanted to use me as a hostage. That would buy me enough time to try my insane idea.

  “Help! Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  The woman sprinted toward me and tried to grab me with both hands.

  I bolted back toward the fountain and threw myself behind it, like I was playing tag with my sister.

  Running in a straight line was useless against adults. Their strides were longer than mine, and they could restrain me with far greater strength. But if I dropped to the ground, I could give them a false sense of control—just enough time to keep screaming.

  “Help!”

  “Shut up!” The woman seized me effortlessly by the collar of my doublet. My legs lifted into the air as if I weighed nothing, and for the first time I clearly saw her face: pale skin, brown eyes, and curly black hair braided beneath her hood.

  I had never seen her in my life.

  “Help!”

  “Shut your fucking mouth!” With her other hand she clamped over my lips, silencing me. The crossbowman walked toward us with a short rope.

  Did he think I’d bite?

  No.

  A critical mistake.

  She was holding me by my collar with one hand and covering my mouth with the other—meaning both my hands were free.

  I moved fast.

  I slipped the dagger Mother had given me for my birthday from beneath my clothes, and without thinking twice, drove the blade deep into the kidnapper’s left arm.

  “AAAAHHH!” she screamed.

  Instinctively she released me. I crashed to the ground with my knife now slick with blood.

  “You miserable little—!”

  In desperation and rage, the woman tried to kick me in the face. I saw it coming. I rolled across the floor without cutting myself on the blade.

  Adrenaline was flooding my body, and my mind still wasn’t used to the pressure of kill-or-be-killed.

  “I didn’t think you were this useless. Grab him so we can leave,” she snarled.

  Good. They still underestimated me. That worked in my favor.

  The crossbowman slung his weapon across his back and approached slowly. Meanwhile, the woman pulled out a bandage and began stopping the bleeding so they wouldn’t leave evidence.

  Smart.

  Too smart.

  These weren’t street bandits, and they weren’t members of the Gray Fist.

  “Help!” I shouted again.

  “No one’s coming, kid. Everyone’s busy with the banquet.”

  “Help us!” I rushed him with the knife in hand. At that point I didn’t care about size or strength—I just wanted to make it hard for them.

  Of course, stabbing an unguarded enemy was one thing. Fighting hand to hand against a brute like this was another.

  He blocked my thrust with ridiculous ease—caught my wrist, squeezed, and my fingers opened on their own. The dagger slipped free.

  “A fine dagger. I think I’ll keep it.”

  “Hit him already. We’re wasting time.”

  “I’m doing it.”

  Ugh.

  His left fist slammed into my stomach.

  I didn’t faint, but I forced my senses to stay awake. If I lost consciousness, I was dead.

  “H-Help…” I whispered.

  This is the same.

  Yes…

  When I was being gunned down, no one came to save me. I had screamed until my throat tore, and all I received were bullets that ended my life.

  Now it wasn’t different.

  That punch left me on my knees, sick with nausea. The world spun. My vision doubled. My legs refused to respond.

  “With this you won’t run again.”

  “I’m almost done bandaging, damn it—stupid brat!” The woman stood and limped toward me. “Take this!”

  Her kick slammed into my stomach, knocked the air out of me, and erased what little energy I had left.

  Damn it.

  Now I couldn’t shout. I couldn’t escape. I was completely at their mercy.

  Damn…

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  Damn it.

  For fuck’s sake.

  I had never felt so helpless in my life—not even during my previous death.

  No, no, no…

  I’m sorry, Ingrid. I couldn’t save you.

  I’m sorry, Mother. This has to be the end. Once kidnapped, it’s unlikely they’ll ever let me go.

  I’m sorry, Sora. I wanted to talk about that book with you.

  Alda will be so alone without me. I wish I’d known her better.

  None of that matters now.

  I’m going to die.

  I’ll be murdered by these criminals.

  “N-No…”

  I lifted my head one last time and saw Ingrid—gagged, bound, drenched in tears.

  What a failure of a king I’ve been.

  “Leave the young lady alone!”

  A metallic voice snapped me out of my dizziness.

  I turned my head slightly and saw an armored knight holding a greatsword as if it weighed nothing. He was over two meters tall, radiating pure intimidation.

  Sir Marte Hogan—leader of the Royal Guard, and my personal fencing tutor.

  God.

  God.

  Yes!

  My prayers were heard. Someone came to save us!

  “S-Sir Marte,” the woman spat, drawing the longsword at her hip. “Kill him!”

  They forgot I existed and focused on the knight. The crossbowman did the same—rather than using me as a hostage, he chose to aim at Sir Marte with his wooden crossbow.

  “Last warning,” Sir Marte said, walking forward slowly, unconcerned by the deadly weapon trained on him. “Put the girl down and surrender peacefully.”

  I had read in Gonzalo’s manuals that crossbows could pierce plate armor, and were once banned for their lethality.

  The ancestor of arquebuses and pistols…

  How was he so calm?

  “Die!”

  The snap of the crossbow firing nearly deafened me.

  But what came next was even more unbelievable.

  CLANK.

  Sir Marte blocked the bolt with the blade of his sword.

  Luck, or monstrous skill—either way, he predicted the trajectory and used the thick steel of the greatsword to deflect the bolt off to the left.

  W-What a feat.

  I had seen things like that in fiction.

  I never thought it could happen in real life.

  Sir Marte Hogan was, without question, terrifying.

  “I-Impossible…”

  The woman charged him head-on. She raised her longsword with both hands and lunged toward his left armpit.

  Sir Marte sidestepped to the right—clean, precise—and countered immediately with a downward slash aimed at her left shoulder.

  S-So fast.

  Despite his size and near-superhuman build, he moved like he wasn’t wearing steel at all. How many hours of training did it take to reach that level?

  SPLASH.

  The heavy blade severed most of her arm—nearly slicing it off completely. Blood flooded the ground in a pool that brought back the image of the murdered peasant from my visit to the village.

  “AAAAAAHHHH!” she screamed, drowning in pain.

  She dropped to her knees, arm ruined, strength gone.

  Sir Marte turned his attention to the crossbowman. Reloading a crossbow took time—and right now, it was impossible.

  “B-Bastard…” The thug abandoned his crossbow and drew a longsword. “Come on!”

  What an idiot.

  A sword was a poor choice against an armored opponent. If they wanted a chance, they should’ve used a mace or war hammer.

  Maybe these kidnappers weren’t so impressive after all.

  “Idiots,” Sir Marte said coldly.

  The man rushed forward, thrusting straight at the knight’s breastplate.

  Sir Marte didn’t even dodge.

  He gripped the greatsword with both hands and—before the attacker could close the distance—countered with a quick thrust to the exposed neck.

  “U-Uh…”

  The greatsword had longer reach. Killing him was easy. A basic lesson even Alda practiced.

  The crossbowman managed only to glance down as the blade tore into his throat.

  Then he collapsed, dead, soaked in his own blood.

  “Only you remain. Release the girl.”

  “Never.”

  The last kidnapper pulled a dagger from his pocket and flashed a desperate smile, playing his final card.

  “Stop there, Sir Marte. One more step and I slit this brat’s throat.”

  Ingrid began sobbing again, but she didn’t struggle. She didn’t resist—the blade threatened her neck.

  Smart.

  In moments like this, the best choice was not to provoke the attacker. Even a small cut to the jugular could be fatal.

  “Release Lady Ingrid,” Sir Marte repeated, unfazed by the threat. “This is your last chance.”

  “Don’t you see? I’ve got the brat in my hands. I decide if she lives or dies. Let me leave the castle unharmed right now, you miserable dog.”

  The dagger hovered a hair’s breadth from Ingrid’s pale skin.

  “Back!”

  “Ingrid, close your eyes.”

  Sir Marte’s order was calm and absolute.

  The kidnapper froze—stunned by the complete absence of fear.

  “Huh—?”

  “Idiot.”

  The kidnapper’s head exploded.

  A bolt struck him from behind. His skull burst, brains splattering onto the ground. The scene was unreal—blood sprayed out in a violent arc, and Ingrid toppled forward.

  “I’ve got you.”

  Sir Marte lunged and caught her before she hit the ground.

  “Don’t open your eyes yet, Ingrid.”

  “Y-Yes…” she sobbed, shaking.

  And then more soldiers arrived—my guard, and men from Vlad II as well.

  Late, but better than never.

  “Come. To the infirmary,” Sora said, running to us the moment the danger ended. She lifted her skirt to avoid tripping and pulled me into her arms.

  “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Oh my God—come, we’ll take you to the infirmary.”

  “Yes. I’m fine,” I said, trying to hide my fear—trying to bury the trauma of watching a man’s skull burst apart. “Sir Marte… who fired?”

  “I placed a hidden shooter while we fought. I expected something like this.”

  Sir Marte handed Ingrid over to Sora. She wrapped both of us in her gentle arms, offering a warm sense of safety.

  “You’re safe now… Ingrid, don’t open your eyes for anything until I tell you, alright?”

  “Y-Yes…” she whispered, drowning in tears.

  Sora lifted Ingrid into her arms and hurried away. It would haunt her—a memory that would become a nightmare and follow her even into adulthood.

  For a moment, I felt pity.

  Ingrid—an unwanted child used as a political weapon, without love or family. A cruel reminder of how unjust life could be.

  Some were born into glory.

  Others were condemned to misery.

  I took a deep breath and stepped forward beside my martial mentor.

  “Who are you? Who sent you?” I tried to sound intimidating, but with this voice and this body I probably looked more ridiculous than frightening.

  “Go to hell!” the woman screamed, her wound worsening by the second.

  “If you tell us what we want, we can treat you.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say. If you want to kill me, do it already.”

  “Are you sure?” Sir Marte lifted his visor, revealing a merciless face devoid of empathy—nothing like the man I knew in training.

  “I hope you understand your position.”

  “Go to hell, you bastard.”

  “Pity.”

  He grabbed her by the throat and lifted her with one hand.

  “Will you talk?”

  “Son of a—!”

  Sir Marte slammed her face into the ground, scattering teeth and breaking her nose. Then he kicked the bleeding wound, making her convulse in agony.

  “AAAAAAHHHH!”

  “Will you talk?”

  “Fuck you and your whole bloodline!”

  Before Sir Marte could continue, King Vlad II and his brother Manius arrived.

  “We heard what happened,” Duke Manius declared. “A gang of kidnappers tried to abduct my natural daughter. A disgrace!”

  His cold stare silenced the woman instantly.

  “You have my recognition, Sir Marte,” Vlad II said. “A warrior of great valor.”

  He didn’t bow. His thanks sounded hollow, careless. Still, my bodyguard knelt to show respect.

  “It is an honor to serve.”

  “Now then,” Manius said, “we will handle this miserable whore. She has meddled with our house…”

  He yanked her up by her healthy arm, and his men shackled her in chains.

  “B-But Duke Manius,” I protested, “we were about to learn her intentions.”

  “What intentions can a rat have? She’s a kidnapper and deserves punishment. People like her deserve neither forgiveness nor mercy. We will torture her so thoroughly she will wish she was never born.”

  Ingrid’s father dismissed my suggestion with an annoyed grimace. God, he was driving me insane.

  We had a chance to learn the truth.

  Why the hell weren’t they listening?

  “I insist, honorable duke. This could be part of a serious conspiracy. We need information.”

  “Are you questioning my brother’s judgment?” Vlad II glared at me, furious and cold. His presence swallowed mine, and Sir Marte placed a hand on my shoulder to steady me.

  Right. I was still shaken. I needed to calm down.

  “Forgive His Highness,” Sir Marte said. “He suffered as well and cannot think clearly.”

  He saved me again—this time morally.

  “Fine,” Vlad II said. “For your valor, I’ll let it pass. Take the bitch out of my sight. Do what you want with her.”

  The guards’ lecherous looks were disgusting. Even a miserable woman like her deserved a quick death—not the hell they were about to put her through.

  In the end, I never learned who they were or how they entered the castle. Part of me wondered if they had slipped in with Vlad II’s men…

  A perfect excuse to claim a casus belli and crush us.

  But we ruined whatever plan it was.

  I had no proof. Still, the brothers’ irritated expressions told me plenty about what was truly happening behind these walls.

  “We’ll see you at the banquet. You should change, Lord Ulric.”

  “Yes. I’ll see you there…”

  I said goodbye to Sir Marte and picked up the bloody dagger from the ground.

  I still couldn’t believe it.

  I had fought three adults and somehow survived—thanks to my bodyguard.

  Sir Marte Hogan’s skill was no joke. I had thought his physique was just genetics, but he demonstrated speed beyond an average fighter.

  That kind of ability wasn’t built in a day.

  Behind every movement were thousands of hours of training. I felt grateful to have him as my weapon master.

  “Son! You’re safe!”

  Mother’s voice suddenly reached me from ahead. I’d been so lost in the aftermath that I hadn’t noticed her arrival or her cry.

  A little peace, at last…