Leinas had long since decided that the kingdom's nobility were, in a word, idiots.
Compared to the pragmatic, iron-clad policies of the Empire, the aristocrats here were like spoiled cats—lounging on velvet cushions while the house burned down around them. The contrast was enough to make her wince.
But even so, she had no regrets about leaving the Empire. Not one.
Especially not as the knight of the man sitting before her now.
After the ordeal in the Great Marsh, Leinas knew full well how terrifyingly powerful Lyle truly was—beneath that courteous, unassuming veneer.
He had gone alone into the deepest stretch of the cursed woods—where even the trees whispered madness—and returned after two days without so much as a torn sleeve. Not even a full party of Iron-ranked adventurers could have managed that.
And then there was the curse.
Or what used to be a curse. That's what she thought—until she realized Lyle hadn't removed it.
No, he had done something stranger. He had… refined it. Now she could wield that dark power at will, like a second blade.
She still had no idea how he'd accomplished it, and she wasn't foolish enough to ask. Some things weren't meant to be questioned.
Powerful. Mysterious.
To serve at this man's side wasn't just duty. It was an honor.
"Sir," Leinas asked quietly, her deep sapphire eyes bright with resolve, "what should we do next?"
Lyle, ever composed, gave her a casual once-over. Her outfit was sharp—practical yet elegant, with just enough nobility in the cut to pass among the upper class.
"You look the part," he said with a small smile. "I assume you mingled with the kingdom's lords and ladies?"
Leinas nodded. "Yes. I attended several small banquets hosted under the guise of celebrating a countess's birthday."
"And what's your impression?" he asked, folding his hands.
From the back of the room came the crisp sound of someone chewing a biscuit far too loudly.
It was Imina, seated cross-legged on the rear table like she owned the place.
Leinas straightened slightly. She knew Lyle's question had nothing to do with personal impressions. He wanted tactical analysis.
"I've observed two main factions among the nobility," she said after a beat of thought. "The Royalist faction and the Self-Interest faction."
"The latter commands more influence, with Prince Barbro—the eldest and presumed heir—as its nominal figurehead. However…" Her voice dipped slightly. "From what I've gathered, Prince Barbro lacks the ability to actually control that faction. If he ascends the throne, it's unlikely he'll hold the reins for long."
"Go on."
"Prince Zanac, the second son, is rumored to be more capable—but has no noble support. However, if you're looking for a foothold, he may be your best option. At least for now."
Leinas said this with calm professionalism. She was no empty-headed sword-for-hire. It didn't take a prophet to guess at Lyle's intentions.
Lyle leaned back in his chair, smiling faintly. "That's why I trust you."
She blinked, slightly startled by the praise.
"You said Zanac has no backing," he added. "But consider this—how strange is it that in such a short time, you've already heard whispers of his 'talent'? Doesn't that feel… intentional?"
Leinas' eyes widened slightly as the realization clicked.
Someone wanted that information to spread.
"You also forgot one candidate," Lyle said mildly.
Leinas blinked. "There's… only Barbro and Zanac. No other princes have succession rights, unless—"
Her breath caught. "Princess Renner?"
"But… that makes no sense," she muttered. "In both the Empire and the Kingdom, princesses have no claim to the throne. Politically, she's a dead end."
But Lyle didn't reply.
Leinas frowned and turned away. "One moment, Sir."
She left the room briefly, and when she returned, she carried a modest, unadorned envelope in her hand.
"This arrived the second day we moved into the Noble Quarter," she said, bowing as she handed it to him. "I dismissed it at the time. A mere formality. It was from Princess Renner."
"After that, there was no further contact."
Lyle examined the letter. Plain. Forgettable.
But a slow smile curved his lips.
"A caged canary," he murmured. "No matter how clever, a bird in a cage can only be admired, not feared."
He raised his eyes to Leinas. "If you were that canary… what would you do?"
Leinas hesitated, uncertain.
From the back of the room came Imira's cold voice. "If it were me? I'd either break the cage and fly—or starve myself to death. I don't sing for anyone."
Lyle gave her an approving glance.
Renner was not a woman to be understood through morality or sentiment.
None of her political proposals seemed aimed at being accepted. Instead, she used spies—most notably from the Empire—to transmit her ideas elsewhere. Self-sabotage? Perhaps. Or maybe she simply found joy in shaking the board.
Like an abandoned hound that finds comfort in the gaze of its master, she lived for acknowledgment—any acknowledgment.
Her real sickness, Lyle thought, was the desperate need to prove she existed. To matter.
"Prince Barbro is a fool in noble robes," he said flatly. "Prince Zanac is talented, but only enough to be competent."
He handed the letter back to Leinas.
"Treat this woman," he said softly, "as if she were the female version of the Bloody Emperor."
Leinas inhaled sharply. Her eyes widened. "You can't be serious…"
The Bloody Emperor was the most terrifying ruler in imperial history. Even the most corrupt noble houses never dared deny his brilliance.
And Lyle was comparing that mad genius… to Princess Renner?
"After your duel with Gazef, make arrangements to meet her," Lyle instructed. "Offer your allegiance."
Leinas stiffened. "Sir?"
"You don't need to manipulate her. Just let her know you're watching. She'll do the rest."
He gave a faint, cryptic smile. "A gem only needs to be uncovered. It will shine all on its own."
"…Yes, Sir," Leinas replied at last, though her heart was still troubled.
"That woman is too smart for masks. Don't bother hiding anything. Just treat her like a clever little canary."
He turned toward her again, tone growing more serious. "As for Gazef—watch out for his 'Fourfold Slash'. If he's improved lately, he might've upgraded it to 'Sixfold Slash'. Don't underestimate him."
Then he turned to Imina. "I won't be staying in the kingdom for a while. I'll leave things here to you two."
"Excuse me?" Imina raised a perfectly shaped brow, her amber eyes narrowing. "Since when did I become your sidekick?"
"I'm still waiting on my payment, you know. And I'm not about to babysit some prissy noble lady."
Lyle stood and stretched, unbothered. "Don't worry. The payment's coming—and I promise, it'll be worth your while."
Later that night.
A small inn on the outskirts of the capital, quiet and tucked beneath shadowed eaves.
Dark shapes emerged from the night—black-clad figures with practiced silence, creeping toward the inn like a tide of spiders.
"She's in there, right?" one of them whispered.
"Confirmed. The half-elf's already changed locations three times. This is her latest hideout."
"Stay sharp. She's not weak."
"Heh. A half-elf? That's rare. Think we can sell her for over a thousand gold?"
"I'm more interested in a taste."
"Don't be stupid. Lord said alive."
They chuckled quietly but didn't slow their approach.
Then the inn's front door creaked open.
Imina stepped into the moonlight, her expression cold, her golden eyes narrowed.
"We're exposed!" hissed one assassin.
"No time—go loud," another snapped.
But a calm voice came from behind them.
"You've confused your roles," it said.
"You're the prey."
Their bodies froze.
Lyle wasn't wearing his usual conspicuous priest robes tonight. Instead, he was clad in a black cloak, his figure entirely hidden beneath a hood that cast his face in shadow.