Klaus's eyes snapped open.
No haze.
No weakness.
His strength—physical and magical—had returned all at once.
Too fast.
He sat up.
A ward.
Another bed beside his.
August.
Unmoving.
But breathing.
Steady.
Alive.
That was enough.
Klaus's gaze swept the room again.
Empty.
Not him.
He threw the blanket aside and stood.
Bare feet hit cold stone.
He didn't feel it.
Didn't register it.
A thin white shirt clung to his body.
Too light.
Too short.
The fabric barely reached mid-thigh.
Left nothing hidden.
He didn't notice.
He was already moving.
The ward was close to the infirmary.
He went straight there.
"Where is the chief physician?"
The assistant he stopped froze.
"Y-Your… Lord Klaus—"
Her eyes flicked down.
Then away.
Color flooded her face.
"Brod," Klaus said, sharper. "Where is he?"
"In the other infirmary—just down the hall."
Klaus turned.
"W-wait—!"
He stopped.
Slowly.
Turned back.
"What."
"Y-You… you…"
"Speak."
She swallowed.
"Please—come with me. I'll get you proper clothes."
Klaus frowned.
Irritation flickering.
Then glanced down.
Ah.
The shirt covered him—
barely.
In reality—
it concealed nothing.
"…Damn it."
He dragged a hand down, covering himself out of reflex.
"Fine."
By the time he changed—
Brod was already back.
Standing in his office.
Mixing something.
"Where is he?"
Brod didn't look up.
"I see you've recovered."
"Brod."
"Calm down."
Only then did he raise his eyes.
"He's alive."
A pause.
"Badly hurt. But alive."
Klaus exhaled.
Slow.
Tight.
"I want to see him."
"Next room."
Brod wiped his hands.
"I kept him separate. He'll need time."
A pause.
"And… specific care."
Klaus's eyes narrowed.
"What kind of care?"
"Exhaustion. Dehydration."
Too quick.
Too clean.
A lie.
Klaus heard it.
Filed it away.
Didn't press.
Not yet.
He opened the door.
Quietly.
Egor lay on his side.
A book in his hands.
Alive.
When the door creaked—
he looked up.
"Klaus…"
The name left him like something fragile.
Relief.
Fear.
Both.
Klaus stepped closer.
And stopped.
His face.
Swollen.
Discolored.
Bruises.
Deep.
Layered.
Too many.
Everything visible—
ruined.
Something in Klaus's chest tightened.
Sharp.
Ugly.
"Forgive me."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Egor blinked.
Confused.
"For what?"
"For this."
Klaus gestured.
Didn't look away.
"For what they did to you."
"You didn't do this."
"But it happened because of me."
"No."
Egor's voice was quiet.
But steady.
"I'm here."
A breath.
"I'm alive."
"That doesn't change anything."
"It does."
Egor forced a faint smile.
It didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm safe now."
Klaus's jaw tightened.
Hard.
"I won't leave you again."
Low.
Sharp.
"Unless you want me gone."
A pause.
"After this… I'll understand."
"Klaus."
Soft.
Tired.
"Don't start."
Silence.
"We already talked about this."
"What happened—"
He swallowed.
"—that's on Abel."
A beat.
"And on me."
Klaus's gaze sharpened.
"You told me to train."
Egor looked away.
"I didn't listen."
A pause.
"So I paid for it."
The words landed flat.
Too flat.
Like they didn't belong to him.
Silence settled.
Heavy.
Wrong.
"…August?" Egor asked.
"He'll live."
Another silence.
Worse.
Klaus knew.
He saw it.
The bruises.
The way Egor held himself—
tight.
Careful.
Guarded.
Like any movement hurt.
Like something inside him had been broken.
Klaus knew.
And he also knew—
Egor didn't want to say it.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
So he didn't ask.
Because if he did—
he wasn't sure what he would do next.
He sat with him.
For a while.
They talked.
About nothing.
Anything—
but that.
Eventually—
Klaus stood.
"I'll come back."
Egor nodded.
Didn't look at him.
Klaus left.
There was nothing he could do here.
Not yet.
That left only one thing.
Abel.
Klaus was done waiting.
Negotiations—
Horalde could handle them.
For now.
He stepped through the portal.
The estate.
Horalde was in the office.
Exhausted.
He looked up.
Relief flickered across his face.
"You're back."
A breath.
"Good. I can't do this anymore."
"I'm not here to relieve you," Klaus said.
Horalde froze.
"August can't replace you."
A beat.
"And I don't have time."
"How many?"
"Eighteen families."
"Loyal?"
"Six."
"Opposed?"
"Two."
"The rest—conditions. Demands. Games."
Horalde exhaled.
"How did you tolerate this?"
Klaus gave a faint, humorless smile.
"You grow up in a nest of vipers."
"That explains it."
"You're unsure about the rest?"
"Yes. But I prepared."
Horalde straightened slightly.
"One of the former slaves writes fast."
"His master made him record everything he said."
"I had him present at every meeting."
"No one noticed."
Klaus nodded.
"Good."
"You can rest."
"I'll review everything."
Horalde hesitated.
"But the deadline—two weeks—"
"Go to the underground city."
Klaus cut him off.
"See August."
A pause.
"See Egor."
"Then come back."
"And tell me if I'm rushing."
Silence.
Horalde bowed.
Left.
Klaus sat.
Read.
Every word.
Nothing missed.
Every sentence.
Every pause.
Every lie.
Horalde—
strong.
Direct.
Not made for this.
He saw it clearly.
But it was enough.
Klaus began to sort them.
Who could be used.
Who couldn't.
Who would betray him the moment they could.
Still—
he needed to see them himself.
Time passed.
Food arrived.
Tea.
He barely noticed.
Only when the light shifted—
did he register it.
Night.
Everything had changed.
Ichiro felt it.
Power—
slipping.
Cracking.
Breaking.
How?
How had it come to this?
He—
king—
ruler—
And now—
they demanded answers.
From him.
No.
It wasn't just the queen.
That alone wouldn't have shaken them.
What else?
What did that bastard know?
What did he have—
that outweighed fear?
Ichiro paced.
Restless.
His thoughts spiraled.
Klaus.
That boy—
was tearing everything apart.
And worse—
winning.
Five hundred men.
Gone.
Him.
And that earth mage.
Ichiro hadn't even finished questioning Abel.
The coward had returned empty-handed.
Now—
he would speak.
Or die.
Digger's words echoed.
Three days.
Meeting Klaus.
On neutral ground.
Unacceptable.
Suspicious.
Dangerous.
"Your Majesty," the advisor said carefully, "if you begin executing nobles, you will drive the rest to him."
"I KNOW THAT!" Ichiro snapped.
"Then what do I do?!"
"You're the advisor."
A step forward.
"Advise me."
"We need to know what he's offering."
"And how do we do that?"
"…We accept the meeting."
Silence.
Then—
rage.
"Have you lost your mind?!"
Ichiro slammed his hand down.
"If I go—"
"They'll doubt me."
"Those who still believe."
"Those who are too afraid to move."
"You want to destroy that too?"
"Forgive me, Your Majesty."
A pause.
"But you told Lord Digger—"
"That your wife lost her mind."
"That you hid her to protect her."
Another step.
"What if you go—"
"To retrieve her?"
"To save her—"
"From your ungrateful son?"
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
Ichiro slowly sat.
"…Leave."
"I'll think."
"And send in my nephew."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And—"
A pause.
"I'll need a courier."
"If I go—"
"I'll need a gift."
Abel entered.
Head high.
Barely bowed.
"Uncle—"
A grin.
"You have no idea what I went through—"
"Sit."
Ichiro watched him.
Listened.
Words.
Complaints.
Boasting.
Noise.
Nothing useful.
Nothing.
Then—
"I broke the collar."
Abel smirked.
"And those idiots—"
"They never even imagined it was possible."
"Idiots?"
Ichiro's eyes narrowed.
"Klaus had no allies."
"Or is there something I don't know?"
"No, no."
Abel waved it off.
"I mean August."
"They were always together—"
Ichiro froze.
"August."
A beat.
"You're telling me—"
"He's alive?"
Abel blinked.
"…I thought I said that."
"You idiot."
Ichiro leaned forward.
"That should have been the first thing out of your mouth."
"So he took your prize?"
"Yes."
A shrug.
"He wiped out the first group almost alone."
"The second—I didn't see."
Ichiro studied him.
Cold.
"Anything else?"
"No."
A pause.
"Except the boy."
"Egor."
"That's your only leverage."
Silence.
"Good."
Ichiro stood.
"Then I don't need you anymore."
"…Uncle?"
Magic pressed down.
Sudden.
Crushing.
The chair shattered beneath him.
Abel slammed into the floor.
"W-what are you—"
The pressure increased.
His ribs cracked.
Audible.
"You said—"
"I was—useful—"
His voice broke.
Collapsed.
"Yes."
Ichiro stepped closer.
"You were."
A pause.
"Until now."
The pressure intensified.
Bones gave way.
One after another.
Sharp.
Wet.
Abel screamed—
or tried to.
Blood poured.
Eyes.
Nose.
Mouth.
The floor fractured beneath him.
His body twisted—
collapsed inward—
unnatural—
Then—
his skull split.
Like fruit under pressure.
Blood.
Brain.
Fragments.
Across the floor.
Across the desk.
Silence.
Ichiro looked down.
Unmoved.
"Clean this."
He turned—
and walked out.