Swordmaster Andreas Drakemoor, Royal Knight of the Kingdom of Umbrasia and sworn protector of the royal bloodline, pulled his cloak tighter against the morning chill as his subordinate approached with the dawn report. Dew covered his red armor, making it less shiny, while his wet dark blue hair hung across his forehead.
"Speak," Andreas commanded, his voice heavy with the weight of habit rather than conviction.His battle-worn face showed nothing—but behind it was a man tired and full of doubt.
The young knight straightened. "Sir Drakemoor, the target remains… active. No change in his condition through the night watch."
Andreas' jaw tightened. "Still breathing."
For three long months he had stood guard at this desolate border fortress, not as a protector but as a witness—waiting for Prince Elias, the bastard child of the late king, to wither away under the slow torment of poison. Three months where his blade, sworn to defend, had been shackled to silence. Three months in which he had guarded not life, but death.
It was necessary—so he had been told, and so he had convinced himself. The Second Prince, was a man of honor, a man worthy of leading Umbrasia. Andreas believed that with all his heart and followed his orders. And yet, every sunrise that revealed Elias still clinging stubbornly to life carved another scar into his conscience. He had sworn to shield the blood of Blackheart, not watch one of them be erased.
"Sir?" The subordinate shifted uneasily, sensing the tension beneath his commander's composure. "There is… something else."
Andreas' gaze narrowed. "What now?"
"The servant, Elena. She was seen leaving the prince's manor early this morning. She took the road toward the courier station."
The courier station. A line of communication to the capital, perhaps even to the other royal siblings.
Andreas gave a sharp nod, forcing strength into his voice. "Continue surveillance. Double the watch. If the bastard refuses to die, then… adjustments may be required."
The subordinate hurried away. Left alone, Andreas' gaze drifted toward the distant horizon where the capital lay hidden beyond hills and forests. His heart ached with a quiet treachery—loyalty had bound him to silence, to complicity, to watching a slow murder unfold. He told himself it was for Umbrasia, for the Second Prince, for order.
And yet, no oath, no chain of duty, could keep the ghost of Prince Elias' hollow eyes from following him in his sleep.
Soon, he thought. Soon it would be over. And when it was, perhaps his sword could forget what his conscience never would.
Elena's footsteps echoed through the narrow stone corridors of the courier station, her face a mask of cold professionalism. She carried a sealed letter in her hand – one she had spent careful hours composing in the privacy of her chambers.
The station master, a portly man with ink-stained fingers, looked up nervously as she approached his desk.
"I need this message sent to the capital quickly," she said, her voice cold. "It's urgent business."
"Of course, of course." He accepted the letter with trembling hands, noting the quality of the parchment and the dark wax seal. "The usual route?"
"The fastest route," Elena corrected, placing a heavy purse on the desk. "Speed is more valuable than discretion in this matter."
Inside the letter, written in her careful script, were words that painted a picture of growing desperation:
Your Highness,
The subject grows ever more resistant to our current methods. His constitution proves unexpectedly resilient, and the measured approach stopped showing effects. The bastard has stopped taking regular meals, growing suspicious of his food. More potent solutions are required if we are to see this matter concluded before the changing of seasons. I await your guidance and whatever tools you deem necessary for swifter resolution.
Your faithful servant,
Elena
She turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "And remember – speed is paramount. The Palace values those who work fast."
The threat in her voice was unmistakable. The station master nodded frantically, already reaching for his strongest seal.
The reply came within three days, delivered by a courier bearing the First Prince's personal seal.
Elena stood in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, examining the vials that had accompanied the royal missive. The liquid inside was almost black, viscous like tar, and even through the thick glass she could smell its potency. This wasn't poison – it was death distilled into its purest form.
The accompanying letter, written in the First Prince's elegant hand, was brief but clear:
Elena,
The enclosed elixir shall solve your difficulties. A single drop mixed with wine or broth will suffice – no more, or suspicion may arise. Let it appear as though weakness has finally claimed what strength could not preserve. See that this business is concluded before the next full moon.
By Royal Command
She tucked the box holding the vials into her robes and made her way back through the winding streets of the fortress town. But instead of heading directly to the manor, she took a detour through the soldiers' quarter.
The tavern was crowded with off-duty guards, their voices loud with drink and camaraderie. Elena had become a familiar sight here over the past week, bringing meals to the men who couldn't afford the tavern's prices, listening to their complaints and fears with a sympathetic ear.
"Elena!" called out Jerry, a grizzled sergeant with kind eyes. "Come, sit with us! We saved you a spot."
She smiled – the first genuine expression she'd worn all day – and joined their table. As the evening wore on, she listened carefully to their casual conversation. Guard rotations, weak points in the fortress walls, the timing of recent raids by the Aurianites who wanted to conquer this region.
"Those Aurianites bastards hit us every week like clockwork," complained a younger guard. "Always at noon, always from the eastern approach. You'd think Command would learn to reinforce that section before their next assault."
"Command doesn't care about us," Jerry spat. "We're expendable out here. Just keeping the border warm until the real war reaches the heartland. Meanwhile, those eastern dogs gather strength for another push into our territory."
Elena nodded sympathetically, filing away every piece of information. By the time she left the tavern, she had a clear picture of the fortress's defensive patterns, guard schedules, and the growing discontent among the men.
But more importantly, she had earned their trust.
The other spies weren't so easily managed.
"I need to see the prince," demanded a thin man with nervous eyes who had been sent by one of the noble houses to verify Elias's condition. "My employers require proof of his... deterioration."
Elena blocked his path to the manor's entrance, her posture radiating barely contained violence. "You want to see him? You want to watch a man waste away, twisting in agony as poison eats him from the inside?"
The spy stepped back, unnerved by the intensity in her voice.
"You want to witness the way he vomits blood every morning? The way his skin has turned yellow and his eyes have sunken into his skull? The way he begs for death but can't quite reach it?" She stepped closer, and the man could see something wild and desperate in her gaze. "Fine. But if you see it, you become part of it. You think anyone will believe you were just an innocent observer when they find his body? You think your employers will protect you when the court asks who was responsible for his death?"
The spy's face went pale. "I... I don't need to see him personally. A report will suffice."
"Good." Elena's voice returned to its cold, professional tone. "Because if you had insisted, I would have made sure you shared his fate. Witnesses are liabilities, and I don't leave liabilities alive."
The man fled, and Elena watched him go with satisfaction. Fear was a powerful tool – it kept people at a distance while also making her seem thoroughly committed to her role as poisoner.
Word spread quickly among the other watchers. Elena had become someone to avoid, someone whose dedication to her grim task bordered on the fanatical. They began to give the manor plenty of space, content to receive their reports secondhand rather than risk drawing her attention.
One week earlier, in the prince's chambers…
(What are these messages ?)
[You have unlocked 'Loyalty']
[You have unlocked 'Synchronisation']
(The status window never showed something like this in my past life. Let's read the description.) Elias thought with genuine surprise.
[Loyalty: Determines the strength and stability of a subject's bond after being placed under your command.]
[ Synchronisation :A passive skill connected to the resonance between master and subject under Absolute Dominion. ]
(I guess we'll find out the new effects slowly, for now escaping from this border fortress is the priority. The first problem is…)
"The damn swordmaster watches everything," Elias said, his voice barely above a whisper as he paced the length of his room – an habit that would have been impossible when he first awoke in this body. Days of careful movement and light exercises, forcing this weak flesh to respond to his will, had begun to pay.
Elena knelt beside his bed, her expression focused and attentive. The blood magic had faded days ago, but she had made her choice. She would follow this strange, terrifying new version of Elias who promised to save her siblings and destroy his enemies.
"I cannot move freely," he continued. "Every action I take, every moment I'm not playing the part of a dying prince, risks exposure." He turned to look at Elena. "You can be my hands, my eyes, my voice in places I cannot go."
"What do you need me to do, my lord?"
"Everything." His smile was sharp as a blade. "Convince them you're the perfect assassin. Make them fear you, trust you, depend on you. Learn everything about this fortress – its defenses, its weaknesses, its people. And when the time comes..."
He had explained the plan then, in careful detail. Every step, every contingency, every terrible necessity. Elena had listened without flinching, even when he described what would need to happen to the other servants, even when he outlined the role she would need to play.
"Can you do this?" he had asked.
"Yes, my lord." There had been no hesitation in her voice. "For my siblings. For justice. I can do anything."
"Alright," Elias muttered, taking a knife in hand. Without hesitation, he sliced across his palm—slice—blood spilling onto the plate below—drip, drip, drip. He let it flow until it was nearly full, then quickly wrapped his hand in bandages to stem the bleeding.
"Shit, that still hurts… Damn," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Will it be enough?"
"Yes, it's plenty." Elena answered.
The seventh morning was gray and cold, with storm clouds gathering on the eastern horizon. Elena made her usual rounds, carrying a basket of fresh sandwiches for the guards about to take their posts. She came just in time for the shift change. Each man greeted her warmly – Jerry clapped her on the shoulder, young Thomas asked about her health, the gate guards invited her to share breakfast with them.
None of them noticed the small, almost invisible droplets of crimson that had been mixed into the bread. Just a few drops per sandwich, barely enough to taste, but more than enough for the magic to take hold.
[Skill Absolute Dominion is in effect. ]
[Skill Absolute Dominion is in effect. ]
Within minutes of eating, the guards began to show the signs. Their movements became mechanical, their responses automatic. They continued their duties, but their eyes held a distant, unfocused quality – like men walking in their sleep.
[Controlled unit : 35]
Elena watched from the shadows as the transformation took hold across the fortress. Nearly a third of the garrison on duty had consumed her offerings, and those who hadn't were too few to notice the subtle change in their comrades' behavior.
The horn sounded at noon—braaaaam!—just a few minutes after Elena had finished distributing the sandwiches.
The Aurianites army came pouring down from the eastern mountains, their war banners snapping in the wind as they charged the fortress walls. It should have been a routine engagement – the defenders knew this pattern, had repelled similar assaults dozens of times before during this ongoing border war.
But something was wrong.
Commander Halvard stood on the ramparts, his face growing pale as he watched his men's response to the attack. They moved to their positions, yes, but slowly, mechanically, without the urgency that should have driven them. Some stood at their posts with blank expressions, as if they couldn't quite remember what they were supposed to be doing.
"What's wrong with them?" he shouted to his lieutenant. "Why aren't they defending?"
The Aurianites, sensing weakness, pressed their advantage. They surged against the eastern wall, their siege ladders and grappling hooks finding openings where alert defenders should have repelled them. The fortress's carefully planned defense began to crumble as key positions went empty or were held by men who seemed to be operating in a dream.
By the time the enchanted guards began to shake off their stupor, it was too late. The enemy soldiers had breached the walls and were pouring into the courtyard, their weapons gleaming in the pale afternoon sun.
BRAAAOOUUUMM!!
Sir Andreas felt the ground shake beneath his feet as the fortress's main gate exploded inward. From his position overlooking the prince's manor, he could see smoke rising from multiple points within the walls. The veteran in him recognized a coordinated assault when he saw one, but something about this felt wrong. The Aurianites had never mounted an attack of this scale before.
"Sir Drakemoor!" One of his men came running up the hill, his face streaked with panic. "The fortress is falling! The defense… There's something terribly wrong with them. They're fighting like they're half-dead!"
Andreas cursed under his breath. This was supposed to be a simple assignment – maintain surveillance on a dying prince until he expired, then report back to the capital. Now he was caught in the middle of what looked like a major military disaster that could compromise the entire eastern border.
"Secure the manor," he ordered his three subordinates. "I must rally the defense before these Aurianites dogs break through completely. We cannot afford to lose our primary objective in this chaos."
He strapped on his sword and began running down the hill toward the fighting, his mind already calculating the fastest way to salvage this engagement. Behind him, three of his subordinates approached the prince's manor with weapons drawn, their hearts already heavy with foreboding.
The building loomed before them, unnaturally silent. Where was the usual bustle of servants? The concerned voices of staff worried about the attack? Even the stable boys should have been rushing to secure the horses.
"Something's not right," muttered Willem, the lead guard, as they pushed open the main door—creeeeak!
The smell struck them hard – the sweet, cloying scent of death that made their stomachs turn and their hands instinctively move to cover their mouths and noses.
They found the first body in the entrance hall.
Old Henrik the groundskeeperlay spread out at the foot of the stairs, his weathered face frozen in an expression of surprise. His skin had taken on a waxy, yellowish pallor, and dried foam crusted around his mouth like sea salt.
"Gods preserve us," whispered one of the younger guards, his voice muffled behind his sleeve.
But Henrik was just the beginning.
They moved through the manor like men walking through a nightmare. In the kitchen, they found the cook collapsed over her preparation table, her fingers still curled around a wooden spoon. In the scullery, two maids, Marta and Hilda, lay side by side on their narrow beds, their faces peaceful as if they had simply gone to sleep – if not for the telltale signs of poison that marked their lips and fingernails.
"Who could have done this?" Willem breathed, his professional composure cracking as they discovered body after body. "And why? These were just servants – no threat to anyone."
The sight of the corpses made one of the guards throw up violently into a corner.
"We need to find the prince," Willem said, though his voice shook. "If someone's been poisoning the staff..."
But they never made it to the prince's chambers.
The shadow struck from behind a tapestry, a knife blade slicing across Willem's shoulder—slice!—as he spun away from the blow.
Willem's training saved his life – barely. He rolled to the side as a second strike whistled through the air—whoosh!—where his neck had been, his mind struggling to process this new horror on top of the house of corpses they'd discovered.
His two companions reacted instantly, drawing steel—shing! shing!—and moving to flank their attacker. But they could feel a strange numbness spreading from their wounds, a creeping paralysis that made their movements clumsy and uncertain. They had been struck already.
The figure that faced them was clad in form-fitting black leather, face hidden behind a dark mask. Only the eyes were visible – cold, professional, utterly without mercy.
"Poison," Willem gasped, even as his legs began to fail him. "On the blade..."
Thump!
Elena said nothing as she watched the three men collapse. The toxin on her weapons was the same enhanced poison the First Prince had sent – fast-acting, lethal, and nearly impossible to detect until it was too late. Within moments, all three guards lay still.
She stripped off her mask and assassin's gear, revealing the simple servant's dress beneath. But her work wasn't finished yet.
Moving with practiced efficiency, she began spreading oil throughout the manor's main rooms. The wooden furniture, the tapestries, the accumulated debris of years – all of it would burn beautifully.
As she worked, she heard footsteps on the stairs.
He descended like a king returning to his throne.
Gone was the trembling, sickly prince who had collapsed among scattered dishes a week ago. Elias moved with controlled grace, his posture straight and commanding despite the obvious frailty of his frame. He had dressed in simple black – travel clothes that wouldn't impede movement – but somehow he made them look regal and also got a new haircut.
The most striking change was in his red eyes. Where Prince Elias had looked out at the world with fear and uncertainty, this man's gaze held the weight of absolute authority.
"Is it done?" he asked, his voice carrying easily through the smoke-tinged air.
"Yes, my lord. The fortress will fall within the hour. Andreas has gone to rally the defenders." Elena's tone was respectful but not subservient – the tone of a trusted lieutenant reporting to her general.
Elias nodded, stepping over the bodies of the royal guards without sparing them a glance. "Good. Then it's time to collect our wayward swordmaster."
He paused at the manor's entrance, looking back at the building that had been Prince Elias's prison and tomb. Soon it would be nothing but ash and memory.
"You know," he said conversationally, "I've toppled kingdoms and bent the mightiest warriors to my will, now I wonder how strong a swordmaster is." His smile was sharp and predatory. "I think Sir Andreas Drakemoor will make an excellent addition to my forces."
Elena struck the flint—click, click—and flames began to lick at the oil-soaked walls behind them.
—whoosh! crackle!
As they walked away from the manor, the fire spread with hungry enthusiasm, consuming everything that remained of Prince Elias's old life.
In the distance, they could see Sir Andreas fighting desperately to organize a defense against Aurianis's assault. He was formidable – even from here, they could see his skill as he cut through enemy soldiers and barked orders at his scattered men. A true knight, devoted to duty and honor.
But he had no idea that his real enemy was walking up behind him, or that the game he thought he was playing had already ended.