The Valmest territory had been under immense strain for months, its people burdened by uncertainty and quiet desperation. Yet under its new ruler, the atmosphere had begun to shift. It was not a sudden transformation, nor a miraculous recovery, but there was movement- slow, steady, and hopeful. Markets had begun to stir again, the roads no longer felt abandoned, and the people, though cautious, had started to believe that perhaps the worst had passed.

This, however, was Carlos’s final night in Valmest.

He would be leaving at dawn. His time here, like everything else in his life, had come with a limit he could not negotiate.

The thought left a strange taste in his mouth.

There was a quiet conflict within him, one he could neither resolve nor ignore. A part of him longed to return- to step back into the world of politics, to reclaim what he had once believed was his by right, to stand not as a pawn but as a player. Yet another part recoiled at the very idea, wary of the overwhelming force that stood against him. Against that presence, survival itself was uncertain, and even if he endured, it would be a hollow existence- reduced to something merely tolerated.

Here, in Valmest, things felt different.

Here, he could have stayed.

He could have lived quietly beside the woman who had, without intention or effort, come to occupy his thoughts far more deeply than he had expected.

But that fragile possibility was nothing more than an illusion.

Those who wished him dead would not stop at borders or titles. If he remained, Valmest would inevitably become a battlefield, and Nyx- along with everything she had worked to rebuild- would be caught in it.

Carlos had been stripped of many illusions over the past few days, but there was one thing he refused to surrender.

He would not lie down and accept his place.

The days leading up to his departure had passed in an unexpected calm. He had walked through the town alongside Nyx, watching as people slowly returned to their trades. Shops that had once been shuttered now stood open, their owners cautiously optimistic as they spoke of rebuilding. Farmers had begun tending to their lands again, and though the scars of hardship remained, the weight of despair no longer pressed as heavily upon them.

There were concerns, of course.

The names of Matthis and Earl Kirkland still lingered in hushed conversations, spoken with unease. But each time, Nyx answered with quiet assurance, her voice steady as she reminded them that the knights now stood on their side.

And the people believed her.

Carlos had watched it happen more than once- how their tension eased under her words, how trust came to them not out of obligation, but naturally.

He had remained a step behind each time, silent, observing.

Unlike him, Nyx did not command attention.

She earned it.

There was a gentleness in the way she spoke, a sincerity that could not be forced. And yet, at times, when she thought no one was watching, her eyes would fall distant, hollow in a way that unsettled him. It was not a lack of empathy- if anything, she cared too deeply- but rather a quiet absence of something within herself.

As though she had long stopped valuing her own existence.

The morning of his departure arrived sooner than he would have liked.

There were no grand farewells, no gathered crowd to mark his leaving. The estate grounds lay quiet beneath the pale light of early dawn, the sky only just beginning to soften at the horizon. A faint chill lingered in the air, carrying the last traces of the night.

It felt... fitting.

Carlos stood beside the carriage, one hand resting lightly against its frame as he looked out toward the distant fields. Even at this early hour, there was movement- figures already at work, tending to their tasks as though nothing had changed.

Valmest did not stop for anyone.

Not even for the one who had, in some small way, altered its course.

The supervising panel and Sir Hopkins were ready to depart. A few members of the household staff had gathered at the entrance to see them off, and among them stood Nyx.

"Thank you for all that you did for Valmest," she said, bowing her head.

Carlos turned toward her with a faint smile. "I only removed the obstacles."

Nyx stepped closer, returning his smile, though there was something softer, more restrained beneath it. "If it were that simple, this place would never have fallen into trouble."

Carlos watched her as she came to stand before him. Her bluish-grey eyes held his steadily, searching, as though trying to memorize something she would not have again anytime soon.

"Will you return?" she asked, her voice low enough that it belonged only to the space between them.

Carlos’s expression softened. "How could I not?"

"Then... be safe," she said quietly. "And don’t be disheartened. You saved all of us here."

Carlos lowered his gaze for a moment. The truth sat heavily within him- he had not done it alone. Most of it had been Ruel. Yet without him, none of it would have happened either. That thought alone was enough for him to accept her words without protest.

"You as well," he said, lifting his hand to cup the side of her face. "Take care of this place... and yourself."

Something fragile flickered across her expression- melancholy, restrained, yet unmistakable. It stirred a dull ache in his chest, one he chose not to dwell on.

"I’ll announce our engagement once I return," Carlos said, his voice steady despite the weight behind it. "I’ll make the preparations myself."

Nyx’s lips curved into a faint smile, though the sadness did not leave her eyes. "Alright."

Carlos leaned forward then, resting his forehead gently against hers. Her skin was cool against his, grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.

For a brief moment, neither moved.

Carlos wanted the moment to freeze in time but, it couldn’t. He had to leave.

Carlos pulled back and turned without another word, stepping into the carriage before hesitation could take root. As it began to move, he glanced back once, just once, and saw her still standing where he had left her, watching in silence as the distance between them grew.

The ride had been quiet for some time before Carlos finally exhaled, sinking back into his seat. With no one else inside, he allowed himself to speak freely.

"When will I see her again?" he murmured.

Ruel did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice carried a weight that made Carlos’s chest tighten.

"That depends on what happens on the day of judgment."

Carlos frowned slightly. "The day of judgment?"

"I don’t know what else to call it," Ruel replied. "Armageddon would suit it better."

Carlos let out a dry breath. "Why are you using such words for the day Eric will be announced the winner?"

Silence followed.

"Ruel?"

No response came.

Carlos leaned his head back, staring out the window as the landscape blurred past- trees and distant buildings stretching into streaks of color. The carriages carrying the supervising panel rode ahead, while the knights maintained their formation around them.

Exhaustion began to settle in. He had not slept properly in days, and now, with nothing left to do, his body began to claim what it had been denied.

His eyelids grew heavy.

Just as he was about to drift into sleep,

a sharp commotion broke through the stillness.

Carlos’s eyes snapped open.

Shouts rang out from outside, urgent and chaotic, but when he looked out, his vision was obscured by a thick cloud of white.

"What’s going on?!" he demanded.

Before he could receive an answer, the carriage lurched violently to the side, throwing him against the seat as it veered off course. The horses broke into a frantic sprint, dragging the carriage away from the main path.

Carlos grabbed onto the frame, trying to steady himself as he peered outside. Trees rushed past in a blur, the road no longer visible. Behind them, the white smoke lingered, and through it came distant shouts- orders, warnings, chaos.

His heart began to pound.

Something was wrong.

The carriage took another sharp turn.

This time, he wasn’t ready.

He was thrown hard against the door, which burst open under the impact. The next instant, he was airborne.

He hit the ground shoulder-first, the impact knocking the breath out of him as he rolled across the dirt before finally coming to a stop.

Pain flared through his body, sharp and disorienting. His head spun, his throat tightening as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He coughed, the motion forcing blood past his lips before he managed to push himself upright.

The carriage lay ahead, shattered against a tree.

For a brief moment, relief flickered- he had survived that.

Then he saw them.

Figures clad in black stepped out from the shadows of the trees, their movements calm, deliberate.

"That’s him."

"Hurry. Finish it."

Carlos’s breath caught.

"Ruel," he called under his breath.

No answer.

He reached for the hilt of his sword, forcing himself to stand despite the protest of his body.

Five of them.

He didn’t need to count twice.

He had no idea who had sent them, but that hardly mattered.

He couldn’t outrun them.

He couldn’t outlast them.

So there was only one thing left.

Carlos drew his sword and faced them, his stance unsteady but resolute.

If he wanted to live, he would have to fight.

Carlos tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword as the five men spread out, circling him with practiced ease. Their movements were measured, but there was no finesse in them- only intent. They were here to kill, not to test their skill.

The first came in without hesitation.

Carlos met him head-on.

Steel rang as their blades clashed, the force of it jarring through his arm, but he held his ground. The man pushed hard, overcommitting, and Carlos seized the opening. He twisted his wrist, knocking the blade aside before stepping in and driving his shoulder forward. The assassin staggered, just enough.

Carlos didn’t waste the moment.

His sword cut across cleanly, and the man dropped.

The second came from the side.

Carlos turned just in time to catch the strike, though it pushed him back a step. His footing slipped slightly against the uneven ground, but he recovered quickly, forcing the attacker away with a sharp counter. The man hesitated- just for a fraction- and that was enough.

Carlos closed the distance and struck.

The second fell.

He exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling faster now. Two down.

Three remained.

They moved together this time.

Carlos raised his blade, bracing himself as they pressed in from different angles, their coordination crude but effective enough to force him on the defensive. He blocked one strike, twisted away from another, but the third grazed past, cutting shallow across his side.

He hissed, stepping back. The wound wasn’t deep but it slowed him and they saw it.

And they advanced.

Carlos adjusted his stance, forcing his breathing to steady despite the burn in his side. If they rushed him all at once, he wouldn’t last long.

He moved first.

It was reckless, but necessary.

He lunged toward the nearest one, forcing him back, breaking their formation before it could fully close in. The man faltered under the sudden pressure, and Carlos struck, not clean enough to finish him, but enough to force him out of the fight.

Two left. But then, something shifted, Carlos felt an icy chill run down his spine.

Before Carlos could react, a figure dropped from above.

It was sudden enough that even the assassins froze for a fraction of a second.

That was all it took.

The lithe figure clad in black moved like a shadow made solid. It was a woman.

Her weapon- something like a sickle bound to a chain- flashed once, the metal glinting faintly before it curved through the air. The chain followed with a whisper, wrapping, tightening and then pulling.

One of the men didn’t even have time to scream.

The second tried to react, raising his blade but was too slow.

The sickle came back around in a smooth arc, guided effortlessly, and this time it struck clean.

Silence followed.

The bodies hit the ground almost at once.

Carlos stood still, his breath uneven, his grip tightening unconsciously around his sword as he watched her.

She didn’t move immediately.

For a moment, she simply stood there among the fallen, her dark clothing blending with the shadows beneath the trees, her short auburn hair catching what little light filtered through the canopy. Then, slowly, she turned her head.

Her green eyes met his and Carlos felt it instantly. That pressure, the suffocating and unrestrained bloodlust that Ruel had told him about.

The woman still stood there, her icy gaze fixed on him, Carlos stood his ground despite the fact that his heart was hammering crazily and his gut screamed at him to run away. The bloolust that wanted off of her didn’t seem to be for him, but regardless, he couldn’t show any weakness.

Without a word, she flicked her wrist.

The chain followed, the sickle snapping through the air once before the blood on its edge scattered in a thin arc across the ground.

Then, Carlos heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching him.

"Your Highness!"

Sir Hopkins’ voice broke through the stillness as he rushed toward him.

Carlos turned instinctively watching the cloud of dust approaching him at a fast speed but when he turned back again she was gone.

As though she had never been there.

Only the bodies remained.

Carlos stood frozen for a moment longer, his mind catching up to what he had just witnessed. The precision. The ease. The complete lack of hesitation.

A realization settled heavily within him. This was Ocean’s assigned guard.

Only one was enough to create such bloodlust, and Ocean had an alleged army of such people. These assassins that were sent to kill him must have been mercenaries since all of the assassination guilds in the kingdom were under Ocean. Even his mother and the Esmertia clan found it extremely hard to hire one because they knew they were under surveillance themselves.

Carlos lowered his gaze to the fallen men, his grip loosening slightly around his sword as a quiet understanding settled in.

Just as easily as she had cut them down

she would not have hesitated to do the same to him.

Sir Hopkins reached him and saw the carnage, he didn’t ask much as he kept speaking himself of how this must be a plot of Matthis or Earl Kirkland’s supporters and how he would take care of it. Carlos listened in a daze before Sir Hopkins led him back to the carriages where the supervising panel members hurriedly bandaged his bleeding side and then they rushed towards the next town for a proper doctor’s assistance.

Carlos didn’t even know when he passed out, but he remembered clearly those icy green eyes and behind the black shadow the looming large figure with glowing blue eyes. Whatever he did, he couldn’t possibly escape from them.