The group of seven settled into their guest quarters—each allocated a space befitting their status. Empress Lola, however, was given a room set slightly apart from the rest, a private chamber decorated with luxurious silks and golden lanterns, clearly prepared for someone the king hoped to impress.
The others arranged themselves in adjoining rooms, and for an hour, the palace grew quiet.
Silence, however, never lasted long around Prince Josh.
After just an hour, the little prince rose from his cushioned resting couch, dusted off his tiny robe, and announced casually,
"I'll take a walk… I want to see what this palace looks like at dusk."
He didn't wait for permission. He simply strolled toward the door with the self-assurance of a grown emperor inspecting his territory.
Naze, leaning against a marble pillar, didn't say a word. He simply followed, blending silently into the shadows like a loyal specter. But inside, his mind was a battlefield.
He had been battling migraines for the past hour, and not from exhaustion.
From disbelief.
As he shadowed Josh through the palace corridors, watching the boy's miniature, confident strides, Naze's thoughts spun like a storm.
I was there the day he was born… I held him in my arms… I trained him… this boy is real, flesh, blood, lineage. He is legitimate. He is the son of Groa Aratat. He is the second male named—Josh of the bloodline of the Aratats.
So how? How can someone so young… feel so ancient? So familiar? So dangerously similar to the late Emperor?
He could still remember Emperor Josh Aratat standing at the foot of the Sky high sculpture made for him and in his image, back in the Nazare Blade Empire—arms crossed, wind whipping through his hair, giving Naze orders with the same tone, the same certainty, the same weight that forced obedience.
Now the same aura—the same overwhelming, spine-tingling presence—was radiating from a five-year-old.
Naze rubbed his temples.
His head throbbed.
Was it possible?
Was reincarnation real?
No… no, even the gods did not play such games easily.
Unless the love between Lola and the Emperor was so deep… so impossibly powerful…
Naze swallowed a lump of dread.
Could a bond that strong produce a child who mirrors the father so perfectly, it feels like looking at the same soul twice?
The more he thought about it, the more the question twisted around his brain like a serpent ready to squeeze.
If he continued down this line of thought, he would lose his mind.
And he already lost his sight.
And now....
Maybe both.
He exhaled sharply and forced the thoughts away, trying to regain his mental footing.
Ahead of him, Prince Josh walked with hands behind his back, occasionally pausing to observe palace murals or inspect the architecture with a sharp eye that no ordinary five-year-old should possess.
Josh smirked lightly to himself.
He knew exactly what was happening to Naze.
He could practically feel the man's confusion pulsing behind him like heat.
It amused him—deeply.
There was a reason they called him the little devil.
Not only because he caused trouble.
Or that he was mischievous.
But because he had a talent for stepping on the deepest nerves of those around him—digging under their skin so subtly, so persistently, that they questioned their sanity before they questioned him.
And the beloved King Sinnabad had already gotten a taste of that devilish trick.
Josh smiled wider, remembering how quickly the king's brain snapped.
He hadn't even pushed much.
Just a nudge here… a phrase there… and boom—
The king exploded like a volcano in front of his nobles, screaming and raging, completely losing the dignity of a monarch.
By the time he calmed down, the poor man looked like he wanted to melt into the floor.
Josh found it entertaining.
Humans were easy.
Powerful men even easier.
Naze let out another quiet groan behind him from the migraine that refused to leave.
Josh tilted his head slightly, just enough for Naze to see his smirk.
Yes.
He was doing this on purpose.
A little devil indeed.
Josh turned around suddenly and headed back toward the guest lodge.
Naze barely had time to blink.
He had been so consumed by the whirlpool of thoughts—reincarnation, resemblance, destiny, the impossible becoming possible—that he didn't even sense the boy's abrupt change in movement. For a warrior of his rank, that was unheard of. His instincts were sharper than steel; even an army wouldn't catch him off guard.
Yet one distracted heartbeat was all it took for Josh to slip out of sight.
Naze cursed silently.
What kind of child can distract a Level 6 Beyond Mortal Realm warrior,—( a Divine-tier warrior ) to this extent?
He followed quickly, silently, berating himself.
Josh, meanwhile, walked calmly into the lodge as if he owned the entire palace.
He went straight to one room in particular—the one occupied by Relia Amia.
He didn't knock.
He just pushed the door open.
Inside, Relia Amia was half-dressed—only in her armored trousers of animal hide and scaled metal. Her upper body was bare, toned muscles reflecting the glow of the lantern light. Her back muscles flexed in reflex as she spun around.
"Ah!" She gasped, clutching for anything to cover herself.
Her bronze skin flushed instantly—half from shock, half from fury, half from something she didn't want to acknowledge.
Josh stood there without a shred of embarrassment, hands behind his back, eyes calm as winter.
He didn't apologize.
He didn't avert his gaze.
He didn't even blink.
Instead he said, in his usual soft, confident voice,
"Come out, honey. I need you to accompany me around the palace. It'll be boring without you."
Relia Amia felt the anger shoot up her throat like a fireball.
But so did the heat on her face.
Honey?
Honey?!
She was General Relia Amia—the Empath Assassin.
People trembled at the mere echo of her footsteps. She could bend emotions like iron in a blacksmith's hand—turn courage into terror, hope into despair, confidence into utter brokenness—with nothing more than a whisper and a flick of her fingers. Entire garrisons had surrendered just from meeting her eyes. They called her the Witch of the West, the one who walked with shadows trailing her like loyal wolves.
While Lola was the heart, she was the right hand of the Black Dragon—Josh Aratat, first of his name.
She was the slayer of mountain manticores, commander of twelve thousand cavalry, a legend spoken in campfire tales meant to frighten drunk soldiers sober.
She had struck down men the size of mountains.
She had faced warlords who summoned storms.
She had never—ever—flinched.
And yet…
One soft, casual word from a five-year-old—
"Honey."
—sent her heart into a stumbling sprint.
No blade, no beast, no battlefield had ever disarmed her the way that single word did.
It was humiliating.
It was infuriating.
It was… confusing.
Because while her body screamed to snap at him, her emotions—those same emotions she could control better than any woman or man alive—betrayed her completely.
Her heartbeat fluttered.
Her face flushed.
Her mind blanked for a second too long.
The Empath Assassin, undone not by a foe but by a boy's gentle tone.
She despised it.
She feared it.
And worst of all…
She felt it.
That was the part that truly terrified her.
She hated that.
She absolutely hated it.
She forced herself to breathe, pushed him out gently, and closed the door before she exploded.
Outside the door, Josh waited patiently, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.
Inside, Relia pressed a hand to her chest.
"This boy…" she muttered, mortified and flustered. "Is he trying to kill me with embarrassment?"
She dressed quickly—tight leather under-armor, silver shoulder plates, her signature scale-mail vest. When she stepped out, she looked like a war goddess—elegant, deadly, radiant.
And Josh's eyes slid over her casually, like someone admiring artwork that belonged to him by default.
The generals lounging around in the lounge area looked up.
Every single one of them blinked.
Relia looked away sharply, unable to meet their amused stares. The only one who didn't react was Empress Lola—sound asleep in her chamber, blissfully unaware.
Relia Amia clenched her fist.
If not for the Empress's presence… if not for Josh's royal blood… she would have grabbed that little devil by the ear and forced a proper apology out of him.
But the moment she stepped close to him, Josh gave her a little side glance—warm, soft, disarming.
"Let's go, Relia."
Her heart skipped.
Again.
Damn the boy.
She had no idea how to reprimand him anymore.
No idea how to behave around him.
And worst of all… she feared she was losing the battle.