Chapter 95: The Day He Would Die...
Something tugged sharply at the back of Lenko’s coat, Olga’s hand, yanking him just as a sharp clang rang past his ear.
He stumbled backward, heart lurching to his throat. A lance, long, silver, and runed, had missed him by mere inches, the tip embedding itself into the cracked rail where his throat had been a heartbeat ago. He could still feel the air split from its passing, the faint hum of mana vibrating through the shaft.
He froze. Then he looked up.
The sixth princess stood behind him, her eyes sharp and burning. She didn’t move, just glared past him, her gaze fixed on the darkness between the pillars.
Olga hissed through her teeth, as she pulled Lenko further back. "You blind idiot, watch your surroundings!" she snapped under her breath, keeping her aim steady.
Lenko swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. "Did you see---"
"Oh, I saw."
The figure stepped forward, slow and deliberate, from the shadows near the far end of the crater. The faint, flickering light from the shattered mana lamps revealed a man draped in a torn dark cloak, his boots silent against the stone. His face was partially obscured by the shadow of his hood, until he pulled it back with an almost lazy flick of his wrist.
The dark haired man’s grin was sharp, practiced. His eyes gleamed with a cruel amusement, as though the chaos around him were nothing but a well-timed performance.
"Well now," he drawled, voice dripping with mock courtesy. "Do you mind?"
Lenko’s eyes widened. He knew that voice.
The memory hit him, Tyron’s voice, quiet and uneasy "My father knew him. Said he used to be with the Imperial Company... before he went rogue."
The mercenary tilted his head, regarding them like a cat eyeing cornered mice. The gleam of his runed weapon pulsed faintly in the dim light, the etched runes crawling along the metal like veins of fire.
"Three little strays left behind," the man said with a mocking chuckle. "How careless of Lord Genevra to forget you. Or... maybe he thought you’d handle yourselves."
Olga’s jaw tightened as she stepped forward, placing herself between Lenko and the mercenary. "If you think we’ll go down easily, you’ve picked the wrong quarry."
"Oh, I don’t doubt you’ll make it interesting," the man replied smoothly, lifting his hand. The runes on his glove flickered to life, feeding into the lance that vibrated with a low hum. "But my employer was quite clear. The princess’ little friends don’t leave here alive."
Lenko’s breath hitched. The weight of the words struck through the ringing in his ears.
The sixth princess shifted beside them, her posture straightening despite her wound. "Then your employer will be disappointed," she said coldly, her voice cutting through the air like glass. "Because I am not
leaving without them." The mercenary smirked. "Ah, the royal pride. Always charming." He flexed his wrist and the embedded lance wrenched itself free of the floor with a metallic screech, spinning back into his hand. The blade gleamed with that same malicious light, hungry and alive.
Lenko could feel his sister tense beside him, her breath shallow but steady. The princess steadied her stance.
And Lenko, his heart hammered, his fingers gripping the dagger hidden at his waist, finally exhaled through clenched teeth.
"Guess Plan B’s now," he muttered.
Olga smirked without taking her eyes off the mercenary. "Guess it is."
The man only grinned wider, lowering the lance as his runes flared brighter.
"Good," he said softly, almost delighted. "I was getting bored anyway."
As soon as the mercenary’s grin sharpened, Lenko moved.
His hand slipped to his belt, fingers brushing the hilt of his dagger. In one smooth motion, he pulled it free, the blade flashing faintly in the fractured light that filtered through the ruined ceiling. The motion drew the man’s attention instantly, his eyes narrowing, body shifting into a stance meant to parry.
But Lenko wasn’t aiming for him. Not exactly.
The boy flicked his wrist, and one thing left his hands, not his dagger, but a small glass vial that spun through the air toward the crater.
The mercenary’s gaze tracked the vial first. Instinct. Trained reflex. Anything thrown in the middle of a fight that shimmered like that could be poison, explosive, or curse-sealed. He turned his head slightly, just enough to follow its path.
That one mistake, just that heartbeat of distraction, was all it took.
By the time the vial shattered harmlessly below, spilling nothing more than water onto the cracked floor, the battlefield had already shifted.
The princess was gone from behind Lenko.
Olga was gone from his side.
And Lenko himself, grinning through the sweat and adrenaline, had already launched his dagger straight toward the man’s chest.
The mercenary cursed and swung his lance, deflecting the blade midair with a sharp clang!
Sparks burst where metal met metal, and the dagger spun away, embedding itself into a broken beam nearby.
"You think you can get me with your cheap little---" the man began, his voice curling into a sneer.
He didn’t finish.
A whispering swoosh cut through the air, low and fast. His reflexes took over, the man slashed his lance to the side just in time to deflect the oncoming arrow. The shaft snapped clean in two, but not before the arrowhead grazed his shoulder, biting through the gap in his armor.
He hissed and staggered back, his hand clutching the spot where blood began to well. His eyes darted upward instinctively, tracing the angle of the shot.
And then his breath caught.
There, high above him, balanced with unnerving grace atop a shattered chandelier, stood Olga.
Her cloak fluttered lightly with the sway of the broken chain holding her perch. The light from the glowing mana crystals above cast her in streaks of gold and shadow, her green eyes gleaming with annoyance.
"Fucking tenth prince," she muttered under her breath, drawing another arrow with a smirk. "You really put my weapon high up, huh?"
Before the mercenary could even snarl back, she let the arrow loose.
The air cracked as the rune-laced arrow cut through the space between them. The mercenary’s runes flared in response, orange light running through his lance as he swung with a roar. The force of it split the air, a shockwave of compressed wind that sent dust and debris spiraling upward. The chandelier groaned violently under the surge, swaying in wide arcs.
Olga didn’t even look worried.
"Too slow."
She leapt.
The chandelier broke free with a metallic scream just as she pushed off, sending it crashing down into the crater below. Her arrow flew mid-descent, cutting through the shifting air currents caused by the mercenary’s mana surge.
He slashed again, aiming to split it, but the arrowhead curved, twisting mid-flight as if guided.
It struck true.
The tip embedded itself deep into his elbow joint, slicing through the metal plate and scraping bone. The man grunted, his face contorting in pain, and his grip on the lance faltered. Sparks danced along his runes as his mana flared out of control for a heartbeat.
Lenko’s heart lurched as he watched his sister fall.
The chandelier gave way with a shriek of bending metal, and Olga’s body dropped through the air, her cloak flaring like a torn shadow. For one breathless instant, all he could do was reach out, too far, too slow, his throat tightening around a sound that never made it out.
But before she hit the ground, the carpet beneath her rippled.
It moved like a living thing.
Threads of woven silk twisted and coiled, rising up in a rush that reminded Lenko of a serpent striking from the dark. The carpet caught Olga mid-fall, wrapping around her waist and hauling her back up in a single, fluid motion. The fabric shimmered faintly, glowing with an intricate web of glowing runes that pulsed and shifted like veins of light.
Lenko’s gaze snapped toward the source.
The princess knelt at the far end of the hall, one knee pressed to the cracked marble, her gloved hand resting against the carpet’s edge. Her fingers glowed faintly, the mana threading from her palm through the woven fibers, feeding the enchantment until the sigils burned gold-white. Her eyes were focused, hard with command. "Princess...!" he started, moving toward her.
He barely made two steps before the ground betrayed him.
The carpet beneath him shuddered violently, twisting like a tide breaking loose.
His boots lost purchase.
"Ah!"
The floor rippled beneath his feet, and before he could steady himself, the carpet flipped him backward. He crashed into a row of broken seats just as a lance tore through the air where his chest had been a heartbeat ago, embedding itself into the stone and splintered wood with a violent crack.
Lenko’s breath came out in a ragged gasp, his body twisting to look back. The mercenary was advancing again, fury etched into every line of his face. His runes were blazing brighter now, feeding off his anger, the lance humming with a deadly rhythm.
Lenko scrambled to his knees, his palms scraping the cracked marble as he forced himself to move, but his eyes, his eyes went to the princess.
She was still there, hand pressed to the floor, eyes fierce and unyielding. She met his gaze for the briefest moment, just enough for him to see it... the determination, the refusal to let him fall.
And that was when Muzio’s voice echoed in his head.
"Stay where the princess can see you. Never leave their side."
He smiled when Muzio said that, thought it was the tenth prince being protective of his own older sister, the sixth princess.
He’d thought Muzio was worried for her.
But now, lying on the shattered floor, his heart pounding and lungs burning, Lenko finally understood.
It wasn’t the princess who needed protection.
Lenko was certain of one thing now, before the day ended, the elf’s curse would take hold.
Today was the day he would die.