The following day, the morning sun didn't just shine through the grand arched windows of Cassian's bedchambers; it aggressively assaulted his retinas like a localized Fourth-Circle light spell.
Cassian woke up to a sound that felt like a stone golem violently practicing the drums directly inside his skull. His mouth tasted like dry ash, his limbs felt like lead, and his brain was processing thoughts at the speed of a dial-up internet connection. The 180-proof Elven fire-wine had officially taken its toll.
"Urgh..." Caasian let out a pathetic, low groan, dragging a silk pillow over his face to block out the universe. He slowly raised a shaking, pale hand to his throat, carefully feeling his trachea.
'Okay... skin is intact. No blood. No stitches,' Caasian thought, his modern mind frantically trying to boot up his memory files. 'Did I get executed? Wait, let me check the surroundings. Luxury canopy bed... velvet curtains... okay, I'm still in Cassian's room. Did I die last night? Am I on Timeline Sixteen? Or am I just experiencing the absolute worst hangover of my entire collective lives?'
"My Lord! You're finally awake!"
Elias hovered into his field of vision, holding a steaming porcelain cup of herbal hangover tea. The servant's face was a fascinating cocktail of profound awe, absolute worry, and a deeply unsettling new level of respect.
"Elias..." Cassian rasped, pushing the pillow off his face and pushing himself up onto his elbows. His vision took a full ten seconds to stabilize.
"Tell me the body count from last night. Did Adrian stab me? Why does my head feel like it was run over by an imperial carriage?"
"No body count, My Lord! You are very much alive!" Elias hurried forward, carefully handing him the tea. His hands were shaking slightly.
"In fact, you are the talk of the entire Imperial Palace! The rumors from the gala have already spread to the outermost sectors of the capital!"
Cassian took a cautious, sluggish sip of the bitter tea.
"Rumors? What rumors? The last thing I remember is sitting on the East Wing balcony, minding my own business, and then Adrian showed up with a very punchable face and a poisoned dagger. Did I break his wrist? I feel like I wanted to break his wrist."
"You didn't have to, Prince Cassian," Elias whispered, leaning in closer, his eyes wide as saucers. "Sir Lucien Arden handled it. He drew his holy broadsword against the Crown Prince himself to protect you!"
*Spit—!*
Cassian instantly spat a mouthful of hot herbal tea right across the silk duvet, coughing violently as his eyes nearly bulged out of his head.
"HE DID WHAT?!"
"He threatened the Crown Prince's life on the spot, My Lord!" Elias explained frantically, wiping the bedsheets with a handkerchief. "Prince Adrian was so utterly terrified that he turned around and ran down the gallery in a blind panic! He hasn't left his palace wing since! The royal doctors claim he has a 'sudden nervous fever'!"
Cassian sat frozen, the porcelain cup rattling against its saucer.
'Lucien drew a blade on the heir to the throne? For me?!....mhm I think I do remember a bit about that. But wait–' Cassian's brain completely short-circuited.
'No, no, no, this is catastrophic! If the Emperor thinks Lucien is mutinous or overly biased toward my faction, he'll cancel his deployment! He'll lock us both in a dungeon! He'll—'
"And that wasn't all, My Lord," Elias continued, his voice dropping into a tone of pure, romantic reverence that made Cassian's stomach turn.
"After Prince Adrian fled, you... well, you were heavily affected by the Elven wine. You collapsed. Sir Lucien refused to let any of the common royal guards touch you. He picked you up himself, carrying you through the main palace corridors in a full bridal hold, looking like a silent, terrifying god of war."
Cassian jaw hit the floor. The cup of tea slipped from his fingers, spilling the remaining liquid all over his lap, but he didn't even notice the heat. "He... he carried me? In front of people?"
"In front of the entire night guard, three ministers, and the Grand Duke's entourage," Elias confirmed with a solemn nod. "He brought you all the way back to your carriage, placed you inside, and then... he immediately mounted his stallion and rode out to your residence at the palace. The Elite Order officially marched for the Northern Border at dawn. Now the whole capital can't stop singing about the Knight's romance towards the prince and how close he has become to you."
Cassian blinked once. Twice. Three times.
Slowly, the existential horror in his chest began to shift. He analyzed the facts with his seasoned mercenary logic.
'Wait. Lucien carried me back, he must have been disgusted because I was a sloppy, rambling drunk... and then he immediately left for the North?' A massive, wave of overwhelming relief washed over Cassian, so intense that his hangover headache momentarily vanished.
'Oh, thank the heavens!' Cassian thought, a huge, ecstatic grin breaking across his face as he slumped back into his pillows.
'He didn't stay! He left! My drunken, pathetic rambling must have completely repulsed his strict, righteous holy knight sensibilities! He probably couldn't stand to look at my useless, intoxicated face for another second and bolted for the border to get away from me! Yes! I am brilliant! I accidentally disgusted my future executioner into leaving early!'
Cassian had absolutely zero idea about his modern-world confession, the fourteenexecutions riddle, or the terrifyingly possessive vow Lucien had whispered directly into his ear before carrying him away. To Cassian, the board was clean.
"He's gone," Cassian murmured happily, a joyous chuckle bubbling up from his chest. "The human chainsaw is officially thousands of miles away. Elias! Bring me my robes! The dark, inconspicuous ones! We have a heist to pull!"
*****
Two Hours Later.
For the first time in months, Cassian walked across the academy grounds without a massive, silver-armored shadow towering over his shoulder. The feeling of breathing unsupervised oxygen was intoxicating. The noble students he passed didn't even dare to look him in the eye; they actively scurried into the bushes, completely terrified because the rumor of Cassian executing Count Malakor on a whim hasn't died down. Another reason was because of Lucien, the Knight Commander had literally drawn a sword on the Crown Prince just to keep Cassian safe. In their eyes, Cassian was now the most dangerous political mastermind in the empire.
But Cassian didn't care about their delusions. He walked straight into the grand library, bypassing the main floor where the noble girls had gossiped the day before, and slipped down into the deep, subterranean corridors where the Restricted Vaults lay.
Using his past-life mercenary stealth and a minor sound-muffling spell, Cassian easily bypassed the hungover afternoon guards. He reached the heavy, iron-reinforced vault door, his fingers moving with fluid, practiced precision as he fed a tiny trickle of his Fourth-Circle mana into the complex magical lock mechanism.
*Click. Clack. Creak.*
The heavy doors slowly swung open, revealing a dusty, shadow-drenched room filled with ancient artifacts, forbidden magical scrolls, and historical relics of the empire.
"Finally," Cassian whispered, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dark. "The 'Aura of the Cosmos' map. Let's find those dimensional coordinates and get the hell out of here."
He navigated through the rows of stone shelves, his eyes scanning the faded gold lettering of the forbidden texts. After ten minutes of frantic searching, his hand finally locked onto a heavy, ornate obsidian case resting on the central pedestal. This was it—the primary text detailing parallel realms and space-time anomalies.
Cassian eagerly popped the latch open, pulling out the ancient, yellowed parchment. He unrolled it under a small, conjured orb of light, his modern eyes searching for the specific magical equations needed to tear open a rift back to Earth.
But as his eyes scanned the ancient ink, his smile slowly, violently vanished.
The text didn't contain a complete map. The central page—the one detailing the exact ritualistic coordinates for stable dimensional displacement—had been cleanly, deliberately torn out. In its place, a small, modern imperial tracking note had been pinned to the binding, stamped with the official seal of the Northern Expeditionary Force.
Cassian's breath caught in his throat. He leaned closer, reading the elegant, crisp handwriting on the tracking note:
> *'The Core Artifact of the Cosmos and its corresponding dimensional rift coordinates have been relocated to the Fortified Northern Citadel for safe keeping against localized shadow corruption. Access restricted to the Supreme Military Commander of the Expedition.'*
The Supreme Military Commander.
'Sir Lucien Arden.'
Cassian stood dead center in the dark, silent vault, his hands clutching the useless book as a cold, terrifying realization slammed into his brain like a physical blow. His mind flatlined.
'The coordinates aren't here,' Cassian thought, his knees shaking as his mind violently spiraled.
'The map... the portal details... the only way for me to get back to Earth... is currently sitting right inside the personal war office of the one man who has decapitated me fourteen times.'
Cassian slowly lifted his face, staring blankly into the shadows of the vault, his internal voice letting out a long, agonizing, and thoroughly miserable scream.
'YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! I JUST PUSHED HIM OUT THE DOOR! I HAVE TO GO TO THE FREEZING NORTH NOW?! I HATE THE COLD! I HATE MONSTERS! AND I ABSOLUTELY HATE LUCIEN ARDEN! Why does every single timeline lead back to that giant, shiny psycho?!!!!!!!'
*****
The Same Afternoon In The Imperial Garden.
When Cassian returned to the palace from the restricted vaults, the triumphant, joyous bounce in his step was entirely gone. He looked like a man who had successfully escaped death row only to realize his front door key was at the bottom of the ocean.
Seeing the handsome prince walking through the marble corridors with a face full of profound, soul-crushing despair, the Emperor's concubines—who were already thoroughly enchanted by his charms from the gala—instantly called him over to the imperial garden pavilion.
"Prince Cassian! Over here!" Lady Aria called out, waving a silk handkerchief from amidst a sea of blooming white roses. "You look as though the weight of the entire heavens is on your shoulders. Come, sit with us. We have fresh honey cakes and iced plum wine."
Cassian didn't even hesitate. 'If I am forced to go to the freezing, monster-infested North to steal back my ticket home from a homicidal stalker knight, I am going to be thoroughly pampered before I go.'
He dropped into a plush, silken chaise lounge, immediately letting out an exhausted sigh as two attendants began fanning him. For a whole week, Cassian completely drowned his sorrows, worries, and existential dread in endless luxury. He spent every single day in the garden, effortlessly entertaining his stepmothers and younger step-siblings with modern wit, easygoing charm, and zero regard for standard imperial hierarchy.
He helped his little sisters build flower crowns, shared dark-humor jokes with the concubines that made them giggle behind their fans, and ate his weight in premium pastries. To Cassian, it was a coping mechanism. But to the rest of the palace vipers, it looked like the enigmatic, brilliant prince was casually consolidating absolute control over the entire imperial household while Crown Prince Adrian was hiding in his room with a "fever."
Naturally, word of the prince's scandalous, highly unconventional behavior traveled fast. It leaked through the imperial networks, down the supply lines, and crossed thousands of miles until it reached the bleak, snow-covered trenches of the Northern Border.
The Fortified Northern Citadel: 1,500 Miles Away
*SPLAT.*
A massive, towering Shadow Fiend was violently split in half, its corrupted black blood instantly boiling and evaporating against the blinding, furious holy mana radiating from the legendary broadsword.
"Next," Lucien muttered, his voice like grinding glaciers as he wiped a spray of dark residue off his silver visor.
The imperial vanguard soldiers standing behind him were sweating bullets despite the sub-zero temperatures. They stared at their Knight Commander in absolute, breathless terror. Over the past week, Lucien had been operating like an unhinged, holy execution machine. He was leading vanguard charges without sleep, slaughtering massive groups of high-rank shadow monsters entirely on his own, and systematically clearing out entire infected sectors in hours rather than weeks.
"Sir Arden is truly the god of war," a young knight whispered, trembling. "He's fighting like a man possessed. It's as if he wants to single-handedly end the century-long war by next Tuesday."
Only Lucien knew the truth behind his frantic, terrifying pace.
Every time he closed his eyes, all he could hear was Cassian's slurred, tearful voice echoing under the moonlight
*"You've done it fourteen times, Lucien! You always cut my head off... I just want to go home."*
'Fourteen times,' Lucien's internal monologue raged, his grip tightening on his hilt until the leather creaked. 'I thought I would let it pass as his drunken whim but it keeps bothering me. What was all that about? What did he mean by 'fourteenlifetimes'? Could his core truly be possessed by a time-looping ancient demon... or is he a displaced soul trapped in a fate I am destined to enforce? I need to know. I need to squeeze the truth out of him.'
'The change of his behaviour did cross my mind. He might still be vile, arrogant and presumptuous, but I cannot deny the fact that he had changed over the past few months...not only his magic aptitude, his veteran swordmanship, the change towards the younger Prince Leo....and how guarded he always was towards me. I thought he was being cautious and hiding his dark mana around me. But what if there was another reason?, What if he truly–'
"Sir Arden!, a message for you!"
Just then, disturbing his thoughts a messenger falcon landed on the wooden barricade, bearing a highly confidential intelligence report from the capital. Lucien snatched the scroll, tearing it open. As his ice-blue eyes scanned the fresh text, a dark, suffocating wave of pressurized white mana violently erupted from his body, causing the surrounding snow to instantly vaporize.
The report detailed Cassian's activities over the last seven days
>*'Prince Cassian spends his afternoons in the inner palace gardens... deeply embedded with His Majesty's concubines... sharing spirits, laughing, and feeding them delicacies...'*
'He is flirting with his father's mistresses?!' A savage, territorial fury flared deep in Lucien's chest, tightening his throat until he could barely breathe. The image of Cassian—with his soft black hair and beautiful crimson eyes—smiling at those women, pressing his lips to their hands, and completely letting his guard down while he was out here freezing, drove Lucien completely insane.
'That reckless, utterly shameless prince!' Lucien thought, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, possessive intensity.
'Does he have any boundaries? He claims he wants to escape to the '21st century,' yet he occupies his time lounging in a harem like a hedonistic tyrant! If the Emperor catches wind of this, his head truly will roll before I can even get back!'
Lucien slammed his broadsword back into its scabbard with a sharp, lethal,
*CLANG*
He turned to his terrified vice-captain.
"Prepare the heavy cavalry," Lucien commanded, his voice dripping with absolute, terrifying urgency. "We are pushing directly into the Shadow King's nesting grounds tonight. I want this border completely secured and purged within forty-eight hours."
'I will hurry back, Cassian,' Lucien swore internally, his heart hammering against his armor as he stared toward the southern horizon.
'I will return, I will confiscate whatever dark dimensional books you are hunting for, and I will lock you so deeply within my sight that you won't even remember the faces of those women.'
Just then Lucien caught his breath for a moment whilst covering his flushed face with his hand.
'What am I even thinking right now?'
Meanwhile, back in the sunny capital, Cassian let out a massive sneeze, spilling a crumb of honey cake down his chin.
"Someone must be talking about me," Cassian mumbled lazily, wiping his face while Lady Aria poured him another cup of wine. "Probably Adrian plotting my demise. Whatever. Pass the grapes."
He had no idea a silver-armored hurricane was currently tearing through an entire monster army just to sprint back and corner him.
*****
Eleven days later,
The massive iron-reinforced gates of the capital wall groaned as they were thrown wide open.
The citizens and stationed guards could only stare in paralyzed, speechless shock as the heavy cavalry of the Elite Order rode through the cobblestone streets. It was an absolute, unbelievable anomaly. A northern expedition of this magnitude—purging the deepest nesting grounds of the high-rank Shadow Fiends—that usually consumed three grueling months of bloody trench warfare.
Sir Lucien Arden had forced his men to conclude it in exactly ten days.
The horses were lathered in frozen sweat, the knights' armor was heavily dented, and a thick, suffocating aura of fresh battlefield slaughter rolled off the entire column. At the vanguard rode Lucien, his ice-blue eyes fixed entirely on the high spires of the Imperial Palace looming in the distance. He hadn't slept in ninety-six hours. His white cloak was stained with black monster residue, but his posture remained terrifyingly rigid.
"Sir Arden," his vice-captain panted, pulling his horse alongside the commander's towering stallion as they reached the central square.
"The High Pope has officially opened the private sanctuary doors at the Grand Cathedral for our order to rest and cleanse ourselves before we report our victory to His Imperial Majesty."
Lucien didn't even look at him, his gaze burning holes into the distant royal seal on the palace gates. "Can we not go report immediately? The border is secured. The Emperor expects swift notification."
"With all due respect, Commander, look at us," the vice-captain pleaded, gesturing to the ragged, blood-splattered state of the knights. "We reek of shadow decay and rotting fiend flesh. To step into the imperial throne room looking like a pack of wild mercenaries would be a severe breach of protocol. Please, let us cleanse the soot from our armor first."
Lucien's jaw tightened, but the basic logic of imperial etiquette forced him to relent. He gave a single, curt nod. "Very well. Instruct the men to prepare for a swift two-hour recess. We march to the palace the moment the sun hits the western meridian."
"Yes Sir"
*****
Shortly After At Cathedral Sanctuaries.
The interior of the cathedral was vast, silent, and draped in heavy, holy incense designed to mask the odor of mortality. After dismissing his aide, Lucien strode down the dimly lit stone corridors toward the private baths, his heavy greaves echoing softly against the marble.
Suddenly, his hyper-sharpened, peak-swordmaster senses picked up the subtle, frantic rustle of silk robes around a dark corner ahead.
Lucien instantly ceased his footsteps, his body melting into the deep shadows of a massive stone pillar. His breathing slowed to a completely imperceptible rhythm. From the darkness of the secondary chapel, two voices murmured in a hurried, nervous cadence.
One voice belonged to High Priest Raphael, a powerful senior official of the Holy Church. The other was sharp, arrogant, and distinctly aristocratic—a high midline noble.
"This is the only way, High Priest," the noble hissed, his voice echoing faintly in the vaulted ceiling. "Duke Reinhardt and the Crown Prince have already fully approved of this plan. They only wait for your final response and compliance."
Behind the pillar, Lucien's eyes darkened into a freezing, lethal glare. Duke Reinhardt... and Adrian? What are those desperate vipers plotting now?
"But... but this is madness," High Priest Raphael stammered, his robes rustling as he paced nervously. "The church may possess the 'Sacred Nectar of the FertileMother'—that ancient, divine wine designed to artificially trigger and enhance the Valemont royal family's latent fertility traits for the princes to conceive. But Prince Cassian is a chosen prodigy! He commanded the holy light at the send-off! To use such a volatile, aphrodisiac relic against that kind of member of the direct bloodline is a bit—"
"High Priest Raphael, I suggest you remember exactly what is at stake here," the noble cut him off, his tone dripping with cold, political menace. "If you refuse to cooperate now, you are directly crossing the Crown Prince—the future Emperor of this entire realm. Your sanctuary will be stripped of its funding by winter."
Lucien's entire frame violently froze. His hand instinctively crept toward the hilt of his sheathed broadsword, his heart hammering a savage, protective rhythm against his ribs.
"You do not need to orchestrate a grand conspiracy," the noble continued, a wicked, triumphant sneer evident in his voice. "You merely need to send a single, loyal acolyte to dip just a drop or two of the Nectar into Cassian's wine chalice during the banquet. The compound is tasteless and absolute. It will drive that smug, arrogant Prince Cassian into an instantaneous, uncontrollable heat right in the middle of the ballroom."
The noble let out a low, disgusting chuckle that made the skin on Lucien's neck crawl. "Think of the magnificent fallout, High Priest. If Prince Cassian collapses into an unbridled, feral heat before marriage—and especially if he associates or pairs with a low-born partner or servant in his delirium—his pristine reputation will instantly plummet to the dirt. His imperial stature will crack, the public will view him as a corrupted degenerate, and the King will be forced to exile him from the capital on the spot to preserve the family's dignity. Once he is cast out into the wilderness without his guards... it won't matter what happens to him. That is all the Duke and Prince Adrian desire. So make it happen at the upcoming Victory Gala welcoming the heroes... and the Reinhardt Dukedom will reward your diocese handsomely."
A wave of raw, murderous white mana violently spiked from Lucien's core, nearly cracking the stone pillar beneath his palm. They want to drug him... force his royal fertility trait into a public spectacle... and destroy his dignity. Images of Kagen—vulnerable, frantic, and trapped in an engineered madness—flashed through Lucien's mind, driving him into a state of absolute, possessive fury. He took a predatory step out of the shadows, ready to drag the noble's spine out through his throat.
"Sir Lucien! There you are!"
The sudden, loud call of his personal aide bounced through the corridor.
Inside the chapel, a sharp gasp echoed. Hearing the heavy metallic clatter of an arriving knight, High Priest Raphael and the noble didn't waste a single second; they frantically scrambled through the altar's hidden rear exit, their footsteps fading rapidly into the cathedral catacombs.
Lucien hissed under his breath, turning a terrifying, unhinged glare toward his startled aide. The young knight instantly took a step back, turning pale under the sheer pressure of his commander's gaze.
"C-commander..?, "The horses are prepared..."
"Cancel the rest period," Lucien commanded, his voice a low, vibrating growl as he walked right past the soldier, his white cloak snapping in the air. "There is no time to waste. I will change into my ceremonial armor immediately. We report our return to His Majesty within the hour."
As Lucien strode out into the bright sunlight, his mind was a chaotic, raging vortex of panic and determination.
'The Victory Gala is tonight, Lucien thought, his teeth grinding together as he visualized the layout of the palace banquet hall. Adrian and the Reinhardts are cornered, so they're playing their foulest card. You think you can touch him? You think you can drag him into the dirt while I breathe?'
'Just wait, your highness...' Lucien swore, his horse leaping forward into a frantic gallop toward the palace gates.
'I am back. And before that gala begins, I will find you, and I will force you to understand exactly how dangerous the vipers around you truly are. You will not drink a single drop tonight unless it comes directly from my hand.'
*****