Elijah
Royal Dungeon
First Terrain
Lower level
Kingdom of Ashtarium
I stood up from the couch, the blood draining from my face. Royal Guard. Steph—my Royal Guard? I wanted to laugh, to deny it, to question the absurdity of it all—but the way she looked at me, calm and unwavering, told me everything I needed to know. She wasn't lying.
The truth sat between us like a drawn blade.
I took a slow step away from her, my legs suddenly heavier than they had been a moment ago. The velvet carpet beneath my boots muffled the movement, but it did nothing to soften the pressure tightening in my chest.
My mind raced. Before I became Director of R.E.T.U., I had a royal retinue—handpicked guards who had been sworn to me since birth. But when I took up the mantle of Director, I was granted authority to reassign or replace that detail, however I saw fit. And Steph hadn't been one of them. I looked at her, voice barely finding its way out of my throat.
"How…?"
She didn't hesitate. "Jack Kuria."
The name hit me like a slap to the face. Jack Kuria. That damned man again. The name echoed in my skull, dredging up my mindset of him. That damn man seemed to have his thumbs deep within my life more than I thought. I took another step back, the air in the room suddenly feeling thinner, too warm. The scent of aged liquor still lingered, sharp and sweet, but now it made my stomach twist.
My fingers clenched at my sides.
I couldn't even tell what I was feeling—betrayal? Relief? Confusion? Everything swirled together into a storm of emotion I couldn't name.
My eyes flicked to Steph again. She hadn't moved. Her expression was calm, but there was something quiet beneath her gaze—like she had been waiting for this moment, and was ready for whatever came next.
"How did Jack Kuria make you my assigned guard?" I asked, my voice low, taut with disbelief.
Steph didn't flinch. "After I left the military, Jack took me in. Trained me himself. Then he used his authority to place me into the Royal Guard."
Her tone was calm, but there was a quiet weight behind it, like every word cost her more than she let on.
"I don't even know how he pulled it off," she continued. "But he made it happen. Then he had me sign up as your secretary… so I could stay close. Keep watch. Protect you."
The air felt heavier somehow. The quiet hum of the mana lamps lining the walls was suddenly too loud. I felt the smooth glass of the drink in my hand, now warm and forgotten, trembling slightly in my grip.
That bastard… he really did have pull in the Royal Government.
I set the glass down with more force than I intended, the sound sharp against the polished wood counter.
"So you've been spying on me," I said, turning toward her. "For Jack Kuria."
Steph stood up slowly, her movements deliberate, like every muscle ached. Her expression shifted—not with anger, but something deeper. Regret. Guilt. Or maybe something even heavier than both.
"I wasn't reporting on your movements," she said softly. Her voice cracked at the edge, and I almost ignored it.
"I... I wasn't meant to be your shadow. I wasn't planning to manipulate you. I was only meant to make sure…"
"Make sure what, Steph?" I snapped, stepping forward, my heart pounding louder than reason.
She opened her mouth, but the words didn't come.
Her eyes were drawn past me, toward the door.
I turned.
A low whispering sound had crept into the chamber, barely audible at first—like wind slipping beneath stone. A white mist was swirling at the threshold, unnatural and slow-moving, curling like tendrils of smoke but too thick, too cold.
The temperature in the room dropped sharply.
My breath caught.
Steph's voice was barely above a whisper now. "That your fate… wouldn't be stolen."
The mist thickened. It didn't spread like ordinary fog—it slithered, coiling inward like it had a purpose, a will. The air went still, soundless. Even the ambient mana hum of the tower faded into silence. I took a step forward.
"Steph—get back," I said.
"No," she replied sharply, already drawing her blade. The green runes on her forearms began to pulse faintly beneath her skin, lines of light flowing like a second heartbeat.
The moment her runes activated, the mist responded. A sharp crack split the air—like glass breaking underwater—and a shape burst from the mist, moving faster than my eyes could track.
I barely dodged.
A blade—thin as a whisper, curved and silver—cut through the space where my neck had just been. It missed me by inches, but the force of it sliced a thin line across my cheek, hot blood sliding down my jaw.
I stumbled back as the assailant emerged fully from the mist. Cloaked in flowing white cloth that fluttered like smoke, the figure's face was hidden behind a mirrored mask. No aura. No footsteps. No scent. It was like it didn't even exist.
But it did.
Steph was already moving. Her sword flashed green as it met the assassin's next strike, the impact releasing a crackling pulse of pressure that knocked over a table and shattered a mana lamp.
"Second attempt," I muttered, heart racing as I backed toward the side wall.
"Whoever it is, is here to finish the job." Steph gritted out, clashing again.
I extended my hand, summoning my sword from its dimensional sheath. It shimmered into my grasp with a resonant chime, the runes along its length reacting to my surging adrenaline.
The assassin feinted toward Steph but turned mid-air—vanishing—then reappearing just behind me.
Too close.
But I didn't flinch. I twisted and drove my elbow back hard, just as my soul core flared, forcing a thin burst of mana around my body like an instinctual barrier. A mana skin. The strike connected, sending the assassin skidding across the polished floor, robes dragging like wet silk.
"Steph, pin it!" I shouted.
"Already on it!" she replied, slamming her palm to the floor.
A circle of ancient Benandanti runes burst to life beneath the assassin, glowing green-gold. The mist recoiled from the light—hissing.
The figure twisted unnaturally, resisting the bindings, its mirrored mask cracking slightly at the edges. A faint whisper escaped from beneath it—not words. Not sound. A curse.
And then—it vanished, dissolving into the mist again. Gone. I stood in silence, breath ragged, sword trembling in my hand. The mist lingered for a few moments longer… then slowly drifted out the shattered doorway, disappearing into the cold hallway beyond.
Steph lowered her hand, her runes fading. She looked at me—not as a subordinate, not as a bodyguard—but with something heavier. I wiped the blood from my cheek, staring at the cracked floor where the assassin had landed.
"We need to find out who these assassins are," I said. "Because if they want my life…"
I sheathed my sword.
"…I'm going to make them beg for theirs."
Later that evening, Captain M'rael, Ray, and Nettle stood in my chamber, the flickering light of the mana lamps casting long shadows across the walls. The air still carried the faint metallic tang of the assassin's presence—a scent I couldn't shake, no matter how many windows I opened.
I stood by the hearth, arms crossed, recounting the attack in cold detail. Captain M'rael remained silent through most of it, jaw clenched tight, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to punch a wall but was too disciplined to do so. He stared at the floor, his brows drawn so tight it looked like they might leave a permanent crease.
As the captain of my retinue, I knew this felt like a failure to him. His whole identity was wrapped around protecting me—and twice now, someone had tried to kill me under his watch. But I didn't blame him. The chaos in the Dungeon. The mist. The Shedim. Tasha's death. No one could have prepared for all of that.
Still, I said nothing to ease his guilt. Not because I was cruel—but because I had a feeling this wasn't over. I suspected that whoever was trying to kill me wasn't an outsider. They were close—too close. And while I didn't want to believe it, the truth had already begun to rot in my gut. It wasn't that I didn't trust my guards…It was that I knew better than to trust blindly.
Steph stood near the window, arms folded, her gaze sharp as a blade.
"I believe the assassin was with us during the Dungeon raid," she said, her voice calm but edged with cold certainty. "Tasha's death wasn't random. They used the chaos of the Shedim's attack to make a move on Prince Elijah."
She looked at the others, then back at me.
"She died protecting him. And now, whoever it was, they tried again—but failed."
I said nothing.
Thanks to you, I thought. It wasn't just luck that saved me. Steph's presence, her runes, her speed—and that Divine Protection she carried—had changed everything. I had survived because she had intervened, again. That truth was settling into me like ice.
Her power... it wasn't normal. It wasn't even fair. She was easily the second-strongest human I'd ever seen. Only one person rivaled her in sheer capability—Lilith Kain. And for a brief moment, I found myself wondering: If those two ever clashed… who would walk away?
"So…" Ray leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. "Who do you think the assassin is?"
I didn't hesitate. "My number one suspect is Victor."
There was a beat of silence.
"Victor Van Helsing?" Captain M'rael repeated, brows furrowed. "I don't see why he would be the one. The Helsing Clan has a long-standing reputation for honor in combat. Sneaky tactics? Poison blades? That's not their style."
"Maybe not," I said, pacing slowly across the chamber, boots thudding softly against the floor. "But that bastard's been obsessed with Steph ever since he saw her with me."
I stopped, glancing toward her where she stood near the wall, arms folded, gaze steady.
"For whatever reason, he's fixated on her. And what better way to clear the field than to remove me altogether?"
The room went still.
The guards exchanged glances—and their expressions shifted. They didn't say it, but I saw it in their eyes: they knew she was Benandanti. The runes. The divine aura. Her strength. Steph wasn't just a pretty face—she was powerful, and bloodlines like hers didn't walk around unclaimed for long.
Ray let out a thoughtful grunt. "The Prince is right. I saw the way Helsing looked at her… like he was entitled to her. Not admiration. Possession."
Captain M'rael's jaw tightened, clearly uncomfortable, but he didn't speak. And neither did Steph. Her face was unreadable, but her silence said enough.
I clenched my fists, heart thudding heavier than I wanted to admit. Was it jealousy? Anger? The idea of Victor wanting her... the way he looked at her—it made something ugly twist in my gut.
I didn't like it. At all. But the truth wasn't just that I didn't trust Victor. The truth—the raw, uncomfortable truth—was that I didn't like the way he looked at something that felt like it was mine.
My thoughts froze.
Wait… did I just think that?
I turned slowly to look at Steph again—really look at her. The way the soft lamplight shimmered off the faint lines of her runes, the effortless strength in her stance, the calm storm behind her eyes.
My mind fluttered, just for a second. Steph had been my assistant for nearly two years. Loyal. Constant. Efficient. I'd always known she was attractive—how could I not? There were times I'd even been tempted to ask her more about herself, to crack that calm exterior.
But now that I knew what she really was, now that the mystery had peeled back just enough to let the light in— Something inside me shifted. And I wasn't sure I could ignore it anymore.
"Well, for now," I said, turning to the three of them, "I need you to keep an eye on the group that made it back from the Dungeon. All of them."
Ray raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing.
"The assassin could be one of them," I continued. "Track their movements, note who they speak to, where they go, and what they do. If anything seems off, don't engage—report for backup immediately."
I looked each of them in the eye.
"Whoever this person is… they're not just skilled. They're dangerous."
Captain M'rael nodded first, his face a tight mask of grim resolve. Ray and Nettle followed suit, more serious than I'd seen them in weeks. I dismissed them with a brief wave, and they left in silence, closing the chamber doors behind them with a soft click.
The moment the door latched, I felt Steph's gaze burn into my side.
"What the hell was that all about?" she asked, stepping closer. "You really think Victor would try to assassinate the Prince of Ashtarium? Because he wanted me? He knows what that would mean—for him, for his entire clan."
I didn't look at her.
"I know," I said quietly.
She blinked. "What?"
I finally turned to face her.
"As much as I loathe the way he was looking at you… I know Victor Van Helsing isn't the one trying to kill me."
Steph's brows furrowed, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Then why go through all of that? The suspicion, the setup?"
I allowed a thin smile to tug at the corner of my mouth. "I'm laying a trap."
Steph tilted her head, arms folding across her chest. "So you're using your suspicions—or rather, fake suspicions-to bait the real assassin?"
"If your Divine Protection is as real and absolute as you claim," I said, stepping toward her, "then I'm betting on it guiding this to victory."
There was a beat of silence.
Then her expression shifted.
"You…" She frowned. "You loathe the way he was looking at me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
I didn't hesitate.
"I don't care that Jack assigned you to watch over me," I said, voice low and certain. "You work for me now, Steph—Stephen Macros. And I can't stand the idea of someone else looking at what's mine… the way Helsing did."
Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came. For the first time, she looked genuinely thrown off.
"I've made my decision," I continued. "It makes sense for me to suspect Victor. That's what the assassin will expect me to believe. Which means…"
Steph's eyes narrowed. "Which means the assassin will try to use that against you."
"Exactly."
I walked toward the balcony, pushing the doors open and stepping into the cool air. The wind swept through my hair as I looked out over the Inner Sanctum of the Palace—a sprawling marvel of light-carved stone and glowing towers, a city of miracles built over millennia.
I placed both hands on the railing, exhaling.
The city below thrived in silence, unaware of the game being played above its shining rooftops.
Let's see if the assassin takes the bait.