The assassination attempt against me would be drastic. I sensed it long before the first strike.
The air around the castle had grown heavier these past days, as if the shadows themselves were whispering warnings only I could hear.
Outside, the wind stirred faintly, carrying with it a tension that prickled my skin.
As she slept, peaceful and unguarded, I rose silently from the bed and moved toward the circular window.
The cold stone beneath my feet was a stark contrast to the warmth she carried in her breathing.
Each breath she took was slow and even, a fragile calm before the storm.
I shifted into the shadowed corner where no one outside could see me.
My breath slowed. Every muscle tightened, ready to snap. The night held its breath with me, waiting for the inevitable.
[Nicholas would soon find out he was great, great at being weak.]
A soft chuckle escaped me. Was the voice mocking me? How sweet.
But weakness alone would not define my future. I knew this. Knowing the events ahead meant I could change them.
Then came the crack. The glass shattered in a sharp snap. Fragments scattered like dark petals as an arrow tore through the pane.
My hand shot out instinctively, catching it mid-air, the feathered shaft pressing cold against my palm.
Mirabel jolted awake. Red mana coalesced around her fingers, shimmering and alive, forging itself into a radiant blade.
With a flick of her wrist, the blanket transformed into a flowing dress of scarlet silk, each fold alive with power.
I exhaled, relief flooding me briefly, only to be cut short by another arrow whistling through the room.
I dropped flat to the floor, barely evading its deadly path. Mirabel landed beside me, her body pressing against mine as a third arrow hissed past.
Then came the fireball, burning radiant orange, exploding across my vision in a blaze of heat and light.
This was why I had not switched rooms. I did not want to avoid the assassin. I wanted to kill them.
A memory flickered, sharp and vivid, just moments before the fireball struck. This time, I moved. Mirabel's blade intercepted the flames with razor precision, the air crackling as magic met fire.
The enemy struck again. A man in a black cloak burst through the smoke, wielding a curved blade that caught the flickering light in sinister arcs.
Without hesitation, Mirabel dropped me and intercepted him, steel clashing against mana in a dance of sparks and fury.
I rolled forward, instincts guiding me, and snatched the fourth arrow inches from her back.
She looked at me briefly. I hurled the arrow toward the attacker. It veered him off balance, his attention torn.
In the next instant, she forced him down, her boot pressing firmly on his throat.
A second assassin dove in, a woman with flowing black hair. As she descended, I caught her leg and slammed her down.
Before either of us could move again, a bell rang.
The room ignited in a flash of red light. The woman liquefied into a grotesque puddle of bone, blood, and sinew.
The man's heart emerged, suspended by threads of my own blood, still pulsing. Two spears of red mana pierced his eyes, leaving only his mouth intact.
Mirabel's voice was soft but deadly. "Who sent you?"
His lips twitched. "Go die."
She smiled darkly, curling her fingers tighter around his heart. "Death does not exist. Only liberation from life, and that will never happen to me."
She crushed it. Blood spattered across her face.
Then she turned and faced me. Her expression blank yet full of storms. "You predicted this and did not tell me. Why?"
I stood, brushing gore from my clothes. "I... did not think it mattered. Not really."
"They were sent by Fertical," I said.
Mirabel nodded once, then snapped her fingers. Heat rolled through the room. Flames consumed everything, except the shattered window. When the blaze died, only scorched ash remained.
"Tomorrow," she said, her back to me as she returned to the bed, "you will explain. Gently. And thoroughly."
Her dress vanished. She wrapped the blanket around herself again.
[Mirabel was a monster, far more terrifying than Nicholas in this state. And that was an unshakable truth.]
I looked down at my hands, shaking. The archer would not return, not after witnessing what she had done to his allies.
That suited me. Fertical had to know their attempt had failed. Maybe that was all the push they needed to declare war.
There is a force in this world shaped by desire and cruelty. Mana. It is the unseen code beneath reality. When bent by will, it becomes magic.
I wanted to wield it. I wanted war. I wanted to rip through Fertical and burn that kingdom to ashes just a little sooner than planned. But not yet.
I returned to the bed and sat quietly. Mirabel slept soundly, and that gave me hope. Hope that I could change what once happened.
Hope that the suffering I endured could be rewritten. That fate would not swallow us again.
The Golden Authority may grow stronger. Ruthless. Now I might become their enemy. But hope remained.
Hope I would survive long enough to marry her, to have one child. This time, the wedding will not be cursed.
The ceremony is set at the end of the year. I plan to end this war before then, secure the kingdom at peace. Mirabel first.
Crown her queen. Then I can die in peace, knowing a capable ruler remains behind me.
I am just a fool with a charming voice. She is the part of me that feels complete. Even at my weakest, she stays.
[Nicholas would atone for his past sins, and make her someone worth respecting, beyond her strength.]
Deep within the cosmic sea lies a realm known only as the Darkness, an extension of my Regalia's power. Not evil. A shadow of Earth. Within it dwell the fallen idols.
Idols are divine humans, those who rose beyond mortality and rewrote natural law. My darkness lets me give form to the void.
To turn absence into consequence. My Regalia manifests as a black rose.
A symbol. A weapon. A tool to stain reality, altering its weave.
I called this power Dark Alter, the ability to shape fate from the shadow.
[His chaotic ability allowed him to manipulate the shadow of reality, and one's shadow must always follow its source.]
The narrator's words stung. Despite my weakness, fractured state, and fear, I had changed one proposition, one meant for my death.
[Nicholas was something of a fool, and in that regard, his magic was truly awful.]
The voice was not wrong. My magic drained me too fast. I used it sparingly, only when necessary.
[Nicholas would soon come to realize... his earthly restrictions were simply a burden.]
I chuckled softly, eyes fluttering open and closed. "Was I really such a burden?"
A sigh escaped me. "Nah. I was just a fool... lost in his own glory."
This world was an accumulation of different ideas and concepts; I was simply burdened with the worst of these.
Sloth. The absolute worst sin of them all.