Pain.
That was the only thing that came to Elric's mind first—overwhelming, all-consuming pain that blotted out every other thought.
Some rational part of his consciousness knew this wasn't his real body. No matter how real this felt, he should survive. Nothing permanent would happen to him. He would wake up back in his original world, safe in his own bed, this entire nightmare nothing but a strange dream.
But no matter how much he tried to convince himself of that truth, he seemed to have no control over his mind's reaction to the trauma.
With the pain came disorientation. His eyes started to lose focus, vision dimming as his brain struggled to process the catastrophic injury. And beneath it all, an unknown and primal fear welled up in his heart—the kind of terror that belonged to the animal part of the human mind, the instinct that knew death was coming and screamed against it.
The fear was strong enough to paralyze his body, though he'd already lost all his strength anyway.
The pain was so overwhelming that he didn't notice when the sensation began to fade. At some point, the agony that had been tearing through his chest transformed into something else entirely—a warm sensation that spread from his wound outward, gentle and soothing.
Skia had been preparing to finish the job, to ensure his target stayed dead. But he froze mid-step as golden light suddenly began escaping through the prince's wound.
To his disbelief, the gaping hole in Elric's chest started to heal at a crazy speed. Flesh knitted together, bones reformed, and the knife that had been embedded in his heart was pushed out by regenerating tissue. It clattered to the floor, stained with blood that gleamed black in the moonlight.
Blessing, the word came to Skia's mind instinctively. Some kind of regeneration ability.
He gritted his teeth and drew his sword in one smooth motion, the blade singing as it left its sheath. Without hesitation, he swung directly at Elric's neck. If he couldn't destroy the heart, he'd take the head. Even blessings had limits.
Tang!
The sword stopped mid-swing with a sharp, metallic ring.
"The impact jolted up his arms, rattled teeth in his skull."
His grip loosened involuntarily, and the sword was ripped from his hand. It spun through the air and embedded itself in the wooden floor several feet away, quivering from the impact.
His eyes darted toward the source of the interference.
Three knights now stood in the doorway, their armor gleaming in the blue moonlight. The one in front—clearly the leader—still had his hand extended in a throwing motion.
Skia's gaze dropped to what had struck his sword: a scabbard, now rolling across the floor. The knight had thrown an empty scabbard with enough force to disarm him completely.
Before he could process this, Roy—the lead knight—leaped forward and positioned himself directly between Elric and the assassin.
Skia quickly backed away.
"You two," Roy commanded without taking his eyes off Skia, "take care of the prince. There might be other assassins lurking around. Don't even think about leaving his side, whatever happens outside. I'll handle this one."
Skia instantly realized the mission had failed. The prince possessed a blessing that made simple assassination impossible. Staying to fight would be suicide.
Without any hesitation, he made his decision.
Skia turned and launched himself through the open window, his black cloak billowing behind him as he disappeared into the night.
"Protect Prince Elric!" Roy shouted to his companions, then followed the assassin through the window without a second's pause.
After jumping from the tower window, Roy quickly scanned the ground below for traces of the assassin. His eyes swept across the shadowed courtyard, searching for footprints, disturbed grass, anything that would indicate where his quarry had landed.
Nothing.
To his astonishment, there was no trace of the man. Even after landing on the ground himself, Roy found no evidence of another person landing beside him.
The sky, he realized abruptly, looking up.
And there he was—floating perhaps twenty feet above the ground, suspended in the air like a puppet on invisible strings.
Calling it flying would be incorrect. Roy instantly noticed that the assassin was slowly descending, his movement gradual and controlled but definitely downward. It wasn't flight so much as... delayed falling?
The assassin could fly, but he also didn't seem to have the ability to move while floating. His body remained rigid, arms pressed against his sides as if held in place by some invisible force.
Roy's mind raced through possibilities. He watched carefully for any attack from above—a thrown weapon, a spell, something to capitalize on the height advantage. But the assassin didn't seem to be preparing anything. Even after considering countless scenarios, Roy still couldn't understand what this seemingly useless ability was for.
What was the point of floating in place where any archer could turn you into a pincushion?
Skia paid no attention to the knight standing below him. His mission had already failed, and his mind was focused entirely on escape.
With enough preparation, he might be able to defeat three knights in combat. But unfortunately, even after spending two days gathering intelligence on the knights of this kingdom, he'd found very little useful information.
With the power Roy had just demonstrated—throwing a scabbard hard enough to disarm him—and without any intelligence on their full abilities, it would be a hard fight. And dying here was not an option.
He'd already failed his mission. He couldn't compound that failure by getting himself killed through recklessness. A combat power like him couldn't be carelessly thrown away. Lord Redford would need him for future operations.
So he'd made the tactical decision to retreat.
His current floating state was just a temporary defense mechanism—his blessing automatically triggered when he fell from great heights, slowing his descent to prevent injury. But he had no intention of waiting the full minute it would take to reach the ground safely.
Skia gathered his mana, feeling it pool in his core like liquid fire. He reached for his blessing, the one he'd relied on for years, the ability that made him the Empire's most effective infiltrator.
The mana flowed through carefully constructed channels in his body, responding to his will. He quickly reinforced his physical form with additional mana, bracing himself for the incoming friction and intense forces. Then he closed his eyes and activated the spell circle he'd prepared in advance.
His blessing would pull him toward the mana circle he'd placed aboard the ship—a teleportation of sorts, though not instantaneous. It would yank him through space with tremendous force, covering miles in seconds. The friction was enough to strip flesh from bone if you weren't properly protected, but it was the perfect escape mechanism.
He waited for the familiar sensation of reality warping around him, the pulling force that would rip him away from this place.
Nothing happened.
Skia's eyes snapped open in shock. He was still floating there, suspended above the courtyard, exactly where he'd been a moment ago.
He gathered his mana again, double-checking the spell formation in his mind. Everything was correct—the pathways were clear, the power was sufficient, the intent was focused.
He tried again, pouring even more mana into the activation.
Again, nothing.
For the Silver's sake, he thought, his carefully composed mind finally starting to crack. Did something happen to the ship?
He quickly checked his own body, searching for any foreign mana that might be interfering with his blessing. Some kind of curse or binding spell the knights might have used.
But no—there was no foreign mana disrupting his internal systems. His own power was functioning perfectly. The problem wasn't with him.
He'd already placed the mana circle aboard the ship before ever setting foot in this kingdom. It was his escape route, his guaranteed way out of any situation. He should be flying toward the ship right now, pulled across by the connection between himself and the circle.
So there was only one possibility.
Something had happened to his mana circle on the ship. Either it had been destroyed, disrupted, or the ship itself was gone.
No, he thought desperately. They wouldn't. They couldn't have—