Boom!
With a loud crash, the door was flung open with enough force to slam against the wall.
The guard, who had been somewhat dozing off while standing at his post, jolted awake with a startled gasp. His hand instinctively went toward his sword, training overriding drowsiness as he tried to assess the threat.
It had been almost three days since the young lord was attacked by that assassin. After the incident, Prince Elric had been placed in this special recovery room—a chamber specifically designed to isolate mana from both inside and outside. The room's golden construction wasn't just for show; it created a barrier that prevented any external magical interference while allowing the prince's own mana to stabilize naturally after his traumatic healing.
With nearly thirty knights placed throughout the palace on high alert, guarding against any follow-up attacks, his own role as an interior observer was relatively minor. He was essentially just meant to keep an eye on the prince and inform others when he woke up. The real security was handled by far more skilled warriors stationed at strategic points.
So he'd been quite relaxed, honestly. Maybe too relaxed.
He looked around confusedly, trying to orient himself. When had he dozed off? And why was the door open?
"Young lord...?" he began, taking a step toward the doorway.
He stopped talking the moment he felt a cold touch against his neck.
A familiar yet somehow unfamiliar voice came from directly behind him, close enough that he could feel breath against his ear.
"Don't move. Don't shout. If you don't want to die, slowly remove your left hand from your sword and unlock your weapon belt."
The guard's mind raced. The voice was Prince Elric's, but the tone was completely wrong. Gone was the gentle, somewhat timid manner the prince usually spoke with. This voice carried cold certainty, the kind that came from someone who'd made peace with violence.
Taking the guard hostage was quite a gamble in itself. Elric knew that. The element of surprise was the best chance he had—the only advantage a small, untrained body could leverage against a professional soldier. Killing the guard would have been safer, eliminating the threat entirely.
But he still wasn't entirely sure whether he'd been kidnapped or was actually being protected. The room could have been for his safety rather than imprisonment. So he'd take this gamble before killing what might be an innocent soldier who'd been standing guard to protect him.
"Young lord, please calm down," the guard said carefully, slowly raising both hands away from his weapons. His voice was steady despite the sharp glass pressed to his throat. "You may be a little confused after what happened, but please, you're safe. We're in the Golden Palace."
Even though he'd been caught off guard just moments ago, this broken glass wasn't really a major threat to him. If he was careful and moved quickly, he could probably disarm the prince without serious injury. He was stunned, yes, but not from fear.
He was stunned from happiness.
How could he not be happy? This was the same lord who'd been unwilling to eat meat because he felt too bad for the animals, now holding a weapon to someone's neck and ready to kill at any moment. The transformation was remarkable, even if the circumstances were unfortunate.
The guard didn't want to provoke him further or force a violent confrontation that would haunt the gentle prince later. This first step—the willingness to fight, to take action—was already cause for celebration among those who worried about the prince's passive nature.
So because of this reasoning, a strange stalemate formed.
"Golden Palace," Elric repeated, the name triggering something in his inherited memories. It sounded familiar. Close to the training grounds, if he recalled correctly. He'd never personally been there, but he'd heard the name mentioned.
He dropped his guard slightly, though he kept the glass shard positioned against the guard's neck. "Where is Ronga?"
The only person he could truly trust right now, based on the fragmented memories, was the Head Knight who'd protected the kingdom for decades.
"Lord Ronga still hasn't returned from his expedition," the guard replied carefully. "But Sir Roy is nearby. If you permit, I can call him—"
"Shut up," Elric quickly interrupted. He didn't want anyone else arriving until he'd confirmed his situation. "Take me outside. If you're telling the truth, you won't mind, right?"
"Of course, young lord. This way, please."
The guard moved slowly, Elric maintaining his position behind him with the glass shard still pressed to his neck. They walked through the doorway and into a corridor that gleamed with the same excessive gold decoration as the room.
After just a short walk, they emerged into open air.
The familiar scene that greeted Elric made him release the breath he'd been holding. Relief flooded through him so suddenly it almost made him dizzy.
It was the garden from his memories—the palace gardens he'd walked through countless times in Prince Elric's life. Carefully maintained flower beds, stone pathways, the distinctive architecture of the palace wings surrounding the open space.
He released his grip on the guard and stepped back, lowering the glass shard. "Sorry about that."
The guard turned to face him, and Elric was surprised to see the man's eyes were practically shining with enthusiasm. The shallow cut on his neck where the glass had pressed didn't seem to bother him at all.
"Young lord, that was absolutely the perfect response!" the guard exclaimed, his professional demeanor cracking with excitement. "Making a weapon from a glass shard, taking a hostage, maintaining control of the situation—although it would have been even better if you'd just killed me outright to eliminate the threat, but still, the tactical thinking was—"
Elric directly tuned out the knight, who had apparently entered his own world and was now mumbling excitedly about combat tactics and proper hostage protocols. He had more important things to focus on.
He followed a somewhat familiar path leading toward the edge of the garden. From that vantage point, he could see beyond the palace walls to the small town that surrounded the castle.
Houses stretched out below—some made of mud and straw, others constructed from wood, a few built from materials he couldn't identify from this distance. Smoke rose from chimneys in thin columns. People moved through the streets, tiny figures going about their daily lives.
The scenery in front of him merged with the memories he'd inherited, two versions of the same place overlapping in his mind. One set of memories belonged to Prince Elric, who'd seen this view a hundred times growing up in the castle. The other belonged to him, seeing it now for the first time with his own eyes.
The synthesis of those perspectives hit him with unexpected force.
This was real. Truly, undeniably real. He was standing in a brand new world, breathing air that had never touched Earth, looking at a civilization that had developed completely separately from everything he'd ever known.
Magic existed here. Mana flowed through every living thing.
And somewhere in this world, there might be answers about his mother's condition. Knowledge about mana that could save her life.
"Young lord?" A new voice interrupted his thoughts.