CHAPTER 100

  THE PARVIAN PRESENCE

  After the eventful dinner, Hans kept his word. He met with Aredhel—though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

  “What may I assist you with, Lady Winters?” he asked, expecting a clear response. But he met with another question.

  “Who are you?” She asked.

  “Who am I?” He gave a light shrug. “I don’t know. You tell me, Lady Winters.”

  Her eyes darkened.

  “The lie,” she said, pointing at him, “the white lie I spun from threads of my imagination now stands before me in flesh. There was no Theodred. No legend. No prophecy. I crafted it all so my daughter could endure—so she might have something to hope for.”

  She paused, her gaze turned unreadable.

  “And now, when that falsehood is no longer needed—not anymore. You came, so tell me, who are you?”

  Hans had no answer. Only speechlessness.

  The deception she spoke of was so widespread, even children on the other side of the world believed it. What the… is she serious? he thought, but his face remained impassive, pretending not to be confused by what she was talking about.

  “And what does any of this have to do with me, m’lady?” he replied coolly.

  “Who named you Theodred?” she asked, without preamble.

  “Myself,” Hans answered, without hesitation, giving her nothing but plain honesty. “I heard whispers—a child born of light, an elf-boy destined to surpass the Parvians as a knight. A prodigy, they said. I looked at myself.” He gestured from head to toe. “I fit the tale. So why not call myself Theodred?”

  She studied him carefully, her gaze sharp and calculating.

  It seemed, the one I have to fool is not Reina but this Winters’ mother. That much was now clear.

  “If that’s all you wanted to discuss, then I believe our conversation is concluded. Will you permit me to take my leave?” he asked with as much courtesy as he could muster.

  A new piece of information was given and now he had to process it. He might have said too much if he had stayed, so he chose to make a swift exit even when Aredhel didn’t say anything in response.

  “Damn it!” He cursed on his way to his room. “These mother and daughters are really insane.”

  But the moment he opened the door, he froze.

  A shadowy figure waited inside.

  “What the fu—” He couldn’t finish the curse.

  He hadn’t sensed the presence at all. A dark cloak smothered his face, and in an instant, the world shifted. Teleportation—familiar.

  “Dijkstra.” He breathed, instinctively leaping back.

  “Tsk!” A click of the tongue echoed in the dark. The intruder drew back his hood, revealing a weathered face and steely eyes—an assassin’s visage, marked with age and experience. The stealth artefact of Parv shimmered faintly on his shoulders.

  “Fame is troublesome in this line of work,” the man said. “Whenever misfortune strikes, they say: The Sad Death was here.”

  Hans narrowed his gaze as his guess aligned with reality. “I don’t believe it. Parv sent a killing machine after me?”

  “Don’t make me blush?” Dijkstra smirked. “Flattery won’t let you escape from me, Clandorian.”

  Oh, he is here to kill me. Why? Hans thought, trying to piece it together. “I didn’t think I’d stepped on any Parvian toes, Ser Dijkstra.” He asked.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “I know.” Dijkstra nodded.

  “Then why—”

  “Why am I here to send you six feet under?” Dijkstra finished for him. “Because your very existence is a threat to my country—to the Imperial bloodline. The higher-ups don’t like uncertain things.”

  “And what about you?” Hans asked, searching for the man's personal stance.

  “I don’t question my orders—”

  “A Tenth-Ranked Knight, reduced to an assassin. Do you sleep well, bearing that tainted honour?” Hans remained in character. There had to be someone watching, someone testing. He thought.

  “Bold.” Dijkstra’s eyes narrowed. “Negotiating at death’s door?”

  “I’m not bold. If you truly meant to kill me, I’d be dead already…The Sad Death doesn’t talk,” Hans added. “He executes.”

  Hans stood ready, though revealing himself was a last resort. He had one hope—Dijkstra’s craving for challenge, for worthy bloodshed.

  “You’ll have your chance,” Dijkstra said at last. “Defend yourself.”

  “A warlord hunting a Grade 20?” Hans scoffed. “Have you no shame?”

  Dijkstra chuckled. “What did you say during your spar with that mad queen? Yes—‘Giving my all is a sign of respect.’”

  fuck— Hans cursed inside. He mocked, hoping it would work.

  “So that’s what Parv is? Scared of a kid? Does your imperial bloodline is so weak that you have to dishonour yourself to nip a bud? Does your prince know that’s how his roads were being cleared to he could ascend to the top— but what must I know—it might be his order? A coward.”

  “Hmm— you can’t taint our prince like that. You could never be half of him even if you try.”

  “Of course I won’t. Because Dijkstra the dishonourable will kill me here.”

  Dijkstra paused, his psyche wavered, and Hans caught it.

  “You aren’t really scared of death, are you?” Dijkstra asked.

  “Death can claim me alright. But it will be on my terms.” Theodred’s aura transformed into the blade of light. His first skill—Regenratio— working strongly from the beginning.

  “Hmf,” Dijkstra scoffed. “You are fine, knight in making. I’ll spare you tonight. Put your honour in line and come find me in the Knight Convention. Prove that your life that I spared was worth it.”

  Then, as swiftly as he came, Dijkstra vanished.

  Hans exhaled in relief. “Where in the abyss am I?” he muttered, glancing around the unfamiliar, open lands.

  Damn it. This reeks of Arat’s meddling. My own country, coming after me… just to protect me? I don’t know whether to laugh or cry?

  He sat in silence, waiting. Someone would come. And sure enough, Captain Nym arrived—the elite captain, his current stalker, the stone-faced and precise.

  Hans wasn’t sure if someone had been watching, but it didn’t matter now.

  In the late night, the palace was bustling—an intruder had slipped past defences and kidnapped the Queen’s prized project right from under their noses.

  In the royal halls, Hans was led in.

  “Who nabbed you?” Reina demanded, her tone asking for truth without any hindrance.

  “Tenth-ranked,” Hans answered, calm and honest. “Ser Dijkstra.”

  “Ser?” She frowned.

  “He is a knight—”

  “You survived?” Bernard jumped in, as if not believing himself.

  “As I said, he is a knight after all—you can reason with them with honour.” Hans commented.

  His words didn’t merely ripple through the room—they struck like a shockwave.

  Dijkstra and reason—those words were never spoken in the same breath.

  Hans glanced at his audience—no, his questioners. Their eyes bore into him, demanding clarity.

  “I suppose I’m quite the threat to the Parvian bloodline,” he said, voice even. “They tried to nip the bud before it bloomed. I asked what their prince would think of his doing? So he went away—probably shamed—”

  “Shamed? Wake up, you delusional,” Delimira said sharply from the side, her voice thick with scorn.

  “Hans would prefer offing you with his own hands anyway. And he will—No matter how strong or prophetic you believe you are. Dijkstra understood that. He didn’t leave in shame. He left because he knew this wasn’t the place to press further. He left because your lifeline will cut short the moment you meet Hans.

  Hans blinked, caught between confusion and disbelief. Wow, the sentiments. What sort of person does she think I am? Why would I attack someone the moment we meet?

  He gave a composed reply. “Oh, we’ll see.”

  Delimira, unable to hide her disdain, scoffed and turned on her heel, vanishing without another word.

  Ignoring the chatter, Reina hissed, “Parvians? Was division not enough?” Then, with a snap of command: “Go to your chambers.” She ordered Theodred.

  She turned to the royal mages without hesitation. “Reinforce the detection wards. Not even a fly enters this palace without my permission.”

  As the palace surged into action around her, Hans drifted away to his room. He collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  “This is madness,” he muttered to himself. “Aredhel, Dijkstra, Arat. Feels like everyone wants me dead. And Reina… did she let it happen? Did she allow me to be taken?”

  He exhaled.

  “Guess I’ll never know.”