Year 986, Third Age of Astron
Imperial City, Kingdom of Polaris
Marquis Calden's estate glittered like a second palace beneath the night sky.
Lanterns burned along the outer walls. Carriages bearing noble crests filled the road leading to the gates. Laughter spilled from the banquet hall, carried by music and the scent of roasted meats drifting across the courtyard.
Tonight was not merely a feast.
The Baron of Velmar had arrived from the western territories. Two revenue ministers had taken seats beside the dais. A count from Triton had come under the pretense of trade negotiations. Servants whispered that private matters would be settled before dawn.
Within the walls, guards stood at every interval — armored, armed, disciplined. Patrol routes crossed at precise intervals. Watchmen circled the outer perimeter in pairs, hands resting near sword hilts.
Nothing about the estate suggested vulnerability.
The first sign was subtle.
A guard stationed near the eastern wall paused.
He frowned.
The torch beside him flickered strangely, though there was no wind.
"Did you hear that?" he asked his partner.
The second guard turned, peering into the darkness beyond the stone.
"I heard nothing."
The first stepped forward, squinting.
He never saw the blade.
A gloved hand pulled him backward into shadow. Steel slid across his throat with controlled precision. His body was lowered without sound.
The second guard turned at the faint scuff of leather against stone.
Too late.
His mouth opened to shout. A dagger entered beneath his jaw before breath could form warning. His body collapsed against the wall.
Minutes passed.
Another patrol approached the courtyard corner.
"Marcus?" one called quietly. "Why are you not at your post?"
No answer.
They exchanged a glance and split — one circling toward the eastern wall, the other stepping deeper into shadow.
The one who circled found blood first.
He froze.
The shadow moved behind him.
Steel pierced between the plates of his armor. His breath left him in a harsh exhale before he could turn.
The final guard drew his sword and shouted.
"Alarm—!"
The word ended abruptly.
The courtyard returned to silence.
One by one, patrol routes thinned.
Torches guttered beside fallen men.
Bootsteps quickened briefly as two remaining guards realized something was wrong.
"Sound the bell!" one hissed.
They ran.
A dark figure dropped from the roof behind them.
One was cut down mid-stride. The other managed a strangled cry before steel opened his throat.
The bell rope swayed untouched.
Within the estate walls, the perimeter died quietly.
Inside the banquet hall;
Laughter rolled from table to table as servants refilled goblets and replaced platters scraped clean. Velvet sleeves brushed against gold-threaded coats as nobles leaned close to trade promises disguised as pleasantries.
Marquis Calden sat elevated upon the dais, one arm resting lazily against the carved back of his chair. He watched the room with satisfied amusement.
"The border tariffs will pass by winter," The revenue minister assured him, lowering his voice. "The petitions from the western villages have already been dismissed."
A chuckle followed.
"Peasants always cry louder when harvest is thin," the Baron of Velmar added dismissively. "It means nothing."
Calden smiled faintly and raised his goblet once more.
"Then let them cry," he said. "The court hears only what we allow it to hear."
The men around him laughed.
Just then, the side doors burst open.
A young soldier stumbled inside, pale and breathless, his boots slipping slightly on polished marble.
"My Lord!" he gasped. "The courtyard— the guards—"
His words were cut short as a blade pierced cleanly through his throat from behind.
The hall froze.
The soldier's body collapsed forward, blood spreading slowly between the white veins of marble.
The dagger then slid free.
And a single drop struck the floor with a soft, final sound.
Gasps rippled outward like cracks across glass.
A figure stepped into the light.
Black garments clung to her form, fitted for movement rather than ornament. A pale demon mask concealed her face, its carved expression unreadable beneath the chandeliers' glow. No crest adorned her clothing. No symbol announced her allegiance.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Then chairs scraped violently.
"Guards!" someone shouted.
Silence answered.
Marquis Calden rose slowly from his seat.
"Who are you?" he demanded, voice sharp though his fingers tightened against the edge of the table, "How dare you spill blood beneath my roof?"
She did not respond.
She moved.
The Baron of Velmar barely reached for his sword before a red line opened across his throat. He dropped without finishing the motion.
The revenue minister beside him turned to flee. Steel caught him between the ribs.
Another man fell before managing a scream.
She did not cut through the hall in a frenzy.
She passed trembling guests who had come merely to feast.
She walked directly toward those who had committed crimes, who had dismissed petitions, who had profited from taking advantage of the poor.
Seven men fell.
The rest remained standing, untouched and shaking.
When the killing stopped, Marquis Calden's composure fractured.
He spat, backing away from the dais. "Do you know who I am?"
She faced him at last.
The gaze behind the mask was steady, unhurried.
A chill crept down his spine, and the Marquis stepped back on instinct; the words of threat died in his throat.
"I can reward you," he said quickly, abandoning arrogance. "Gold. Lands. Protection."
She stepped forward.
He stepped back.
Then he turned and ran. "Guards..."
He made three strides while shouting for help.
She closed the distance in an instant. Her foot struck his back, sending him crashing against a stone pillar. Before he could rise, her blade pressed against his throat.
Up close, her eyes were visible through the narrow slits of the mask.
"Elira," she said.
His breath hitched violently at that name.
"Seventeen years old. Taken from the west district seven nights ago. Found dead before dawn. Signs of defilement."
The hall held its breath.
"Her parents submitted a petition. However, it was buried under your seal. Yesterday, their bodies were discovered beyond the northern wall."
The surviving nobles stared at their lord in dawning horror.
Calden's face drained of blood.
"You cannot prove..."
The blade cut him off cleanly.
His body collapsed heavily against the marble.
From within her sleeve, she then withdrew a slender metal shard and drove it into his chest with deliberate precision.
The mark gleamed beneath chandelier light.
N.
A tremor passed through the hall.
"Nyx…"
She did not linger to hear the gasps of the crowd.
She turned and walked from the banquet hall, stepping onto the terrace overlooking the courtyard where guards lay silent beneath the moon.
As the night air brushed against her face, she removed the mask.
For a moment, the cold in her gaze softened.
Distant lanterns of the city flickered beyond the estate walls.
"I promised I would meet him before sunset," she murmured quietly, then gazed at the moon. "But I guess I'm a bit late."
Then she stepped onto the terrace rail...
And vanished into the night.
*
The commercial district of the Imperial City never truly slept.
Even at dusk, merchants still argued over ledgers, porters hauled crates of ore and herbs, and adventurers crowded notice boards in search of coin and glory. At the heart of it all stood the largest commercial building in Polaris — thirty-six floors of stone, glass, and ambition.
A hooded young woman was seen moving through the crowd with her head lowered, steps unhurried, presence deliberately unremarkable.
Few spared her a glance.
Until she reached the entrance.
Two towering guards crossed their spears before her path. Each bore the tattoos of seasoned warriors, their arms thick with muscle and mana veins faintly visible beneath the skin.
"State your business."
The woman then lifted her chin slightly.
That was all it took.
Both men stiffened, then immediately stepped back and dropped to one knee.
"Greetings, Guildmaster."
A few nearby adventurers froze mid-conversation.
The woman gave a small nod and passed between them without flourish.
Whispers followed her inside.
"Was that…?"
"It's Lady Valmont."
"The Princess Consort?"
"The one with five husbands?"
"Shhh… Lower your voice."
"I heard even a divine envoy once proposed to her."
"I heard the Crown Prince nearly started a war over a love letter."
"Ridiculous."
"Is it? They say she's the true mind behind the Crown Prince's rise."
"She? She's not even a Spirit Warrior."
"Appearances deceive, my dear."
Nyssa did not slow her steps.
She climbed the staircase, without stopping, until the thirty-sixth floor, rather than using the Ascend formation spell that can lift one to any floor they wished.
When she reached the top, she entered her office without knocking.
A silver-haired man sat near the window, sunlight falling across the pages of the book in his hand. The quiet turn of paper was the only sound.
He closed the book the moment she stepped inside.
"You're quite late, Dear," he said mildly. "I finished three chapters."
Cedric Veyron. Fourth Prince of Polaris. Vice Guildmaster of the Crowned Blade Guild. Five-Star Spirit Warrior.
And her third husband.
Nyssa lowered her hood, dark hair cascading down her shoulders.
"Sorry, the meeting with Aunt ran longer than expected," She said with an apologetic smile.
Cedric's gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary before he stood and gathered the scattered reports on the desk.
"Sit."
And in the next second, the softness vanished from his voice. Work mode took over him.
She took her seat without protest.
"The mining division's deposits don't match the treasury records," he began, sliding parchment toward her. "Herbalist commissions are worse. Someone is siphoning funds."
Nyssa scanned the numbers quickly.
"And your deposit initiative," he continued, sharper now. "Adventurers take the advance, vanish, then resell contracts to rival guilds. We are losing coin and authority."
"We are actually baiting them, Honey," Nyssa replied calmly.
Cedric's brow furrowed. "Baiting?"
Nyssa then pushed herself up from her seat to stand behind her, her hands resting slightly on her shoulders. "Because..."
She then leaned until her lips were close to her ear and said, "Your Father... His Majesty to pass a law that will change everything."
Cedric turned slowly. "What decree?"
"All private guilds will dissolve. A single Guild will remain, under the direct control of the throne."
His eyes widened.
"And ours," she finished softly, "will become its headquarters."
Silence stretched.
"You knew?" he asked.
"I suggested it."
Cedric's lips parted, astonishment shifting into admiration. "And you plan to put me in charge."
"Of course."
He let out a quiet breath. "The other guildmasters will revolt."
"They won't," Nyssa said. "Not against a king who earned his throne in blood."
Cedric studied her.
"And why not you?" he asked quietly. "Why should I lead?"
Nyssa stepped closer. Her arms then pulled him into her embrace seamlessly as she raised her chin up to meet his gaze. "Because you once told me you wanted to build something that would outlive you. It is your dream to lead an organization."
Cedric blinked, his eyes fluttered as he looked down, his hand wrapped over Nyssa's body.
"You… remember that?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
"That's the first promise I made to you, honey," She replied, tiptoeing on her legs and giving a peck on his lips.
"I always remember."
"Oh, Dear…" Cedric murmured, his hand instinctively tightening its grip around Nyssa's body.
His smile widened as he gazed at her. "If you had said these words in our home, I would have taken you right away..."
Nyssa's cheeks turned red as she looked away. "Shameless..." She quietly murmured.
Cedric grinned while continuing to hold her.
*
By sunset, their carriage rolled through the gates of Valmont House.
The ancient mansion stood proud beneath lantern light, its golden dragon crest gleaming against polished stone.
The moment Nyssa stepped down, a massive wolf, almost the same size as her, emerged from the shadows. Its eyes, bright as molten gold, locked onto them.
"Back already?" The beast's voice rumbled, its tone deep and calm.
"How was the day?" It asked.
"Hectic as always, Riven," Nyssa sighed as she waved a dismissive hand.
Her voice contained a hint of fatigue. "New recruits to test, more quests pouring in than we can handle, underhanded staff, and paperwork enough to drown an army. You are lucky to be born as a magical beast. Nothing else to worry about, other than eating and sleeping."
"Hmpf, whatever…" The wolf huffed, a sound somewhere between sympathy and annoyance.
"Anyway, since you are back, I'm leaving for my hunt. I'll return by midnight as usual," The 9-star magical beast said, eventually turning around and leaving to god knows where.
Inside the mansion, warm light spilled across the marble floors of the entrance hall.
A stewardess in a neat black uniform stepped forward, bowing gracefully. "Welcome home, Lady Nyssa, Lord Cedric."
"Good work today," Cedric said with a polite nod, brushing past her toward the grand staircase.
Nyssa offered a tired but kind smile, murmuring her thanks before following Cedric.
Halfway up, they met a man descending the staircase on the first floor.
He had similar features to Cedric's but had dark hair instead of silver, and he also looked more elegant and mature, rather than young and charming like Cedric.
"Cedric," the man nodded a polite greeting to his younger brother before his gaze shifted to Nyssa.
His lips immediately curved into a smile as he stepped closer, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her into her tight embrace.
"Nyssa, my darling," he murmured, his head tilted a bit before capturing her lips in a slow and deliberate kiss.
Nyssa couldn't help but close her eyes, feeling as if her fatigue from work was slowly fading away.
Lucien Veyron, the eldest prince who was born of the King and a Dragon before the King's marriage, the first husband of Nyssa. While he is an illegitimate by birth, this 7-star Rank Spirit warrior had the position of Prime Minister in the kingdom.
Cedric's jaw tightened slightly, though he said nothing.
He merely returned the older man's greeting with a nod, but maintaining an even tone, "Eldest Brother."
Lucien then released Nyssa with a satisfied smile and turned to his brother.
"It's always lovely to see you, Cedric," He said before turning to his wife again, "Darling, we have something important to talk about."
Without giving her any chance of response, he took her arm and started dragging her with him.
"Wai…" Nyssa couldn't stop herself and got dragged away.
She didn't resist it, though, and just apologetically glanced at her third husband.
Cedric glared at them with clenched fists for a moment before shaking his head and resuming his climb up the staircase to the mansion's second floor.
Meanwhile, Lucien and Nyssa made their way to his chambers.
"Darling, the ball at Aquareld House is set for next week. And I accepted the invitation without asking you. You don't mind it, right?"
"Of course, we are going to go," Nyssa replied with a firm nod.
"And about the Duchy of Siglrid," he continued, glancing at her with sharp eyes. "The ministers seem to favor me to be the replacement for those traitorous fools. What do you think?"
Nyssa furrowed her brows for a moment, analyzing the positive and negative outcomes of this decision.
"It's not a bad offer," She said.
"Silgrid has potential, though it will take atleast a decade to rebuild it to its former glory."
Lucien's fingers tightened slightly on her arm. "Which is why I need your support," he said, his voice turned softer, more intimate.
"After all, we're partners in so many ways, aren't we?" His eyes briefly changed for that moment; His round pupils turned vertical slits of a dragon.
"You always try to use those charming eyes… It's unfair..." Nyssa pouted as they reached the door of his chambers.
Lucien grinned. "Well… my darling… what can I say… I always get into a mood whenever I get stressed from the court politics."
The doors were shut very soon, and Nyssa's loud moans filled the chamber for the next half an hour.
*
Nyssa returned to her room with slow and deliberate steps.
Her mental fatigue might have gone because of an intimate session with her eldest husband, but it also made her crave a warm bath.
Shedding her clothes and undergarments, she stepped into the tiled sanctuary, letting the heat wash over her as the runes were activated.
She slowly stepped into the tub.
*Creaaak*
The sound of the door creaking open startled her.
"Hmm?" She snapped her eyes open and turned her head as a familiar figure stepped into the room.
"Adrian." She muttered under her breath.
His piercing gray eyes sparkled with mischief, making her close her eyes in resignation.
"Adrian, what are you doing?" She asked, inwardly sighing, knowing the answer to it very well.
"Blame yourself for that, my Schatz," He smirked, leaning casually against the doorway, crossing his arms.
"Your moans were loud enough to wake the spirits, let alone me. It's a miracle the entire mansion doesn't know by now."
Nyssa sighed, "You and Lucien need to stop competing all the time. It's exhausting for me, to be honest."
"Oh, please… stop the act. How can two sessions exhaust you?" Adrian scoffed. "Six months ago, over that ridiculous bet, you drained me so thoroughly I was useless for three whole weeks. Do you know what that did to my pride?"
Nyssa guiltily looked to the side and murmured, "It's already been half a year. How many times are you going to use that incident as an excuse to do your bidding?"
Adrian smirked as he walked forward while slowly removing his clothes, one after another. "Well… as long as my lady doesn't feel guilty about it."
Nyssa pouted. "So unfair..."
Adrian Veyron, the fifth prince of the Polaris kingdom and Nyssa's fourth husband.
Just like Lucien… Adrian is also a part-human, part-dragon, born of the same King and the Dragon Princess. While Lucien is an illegitimate prince born before the King's marriage, Adrian was born due to the extramarital affair the King had while he was still married. He is also an illegitimate prince, but unlike the other two, Adrian is a proper Spirit Warrior, A 7-star Mage with a unique ability of Word Magic. Currently serving as the Chancellor of the Great State Library.
Removing his clothes completely, Adrian stepped into the tub and drew her back against him, forcing her to sit between his arms. Nyssa flushed deep red as heat crept through her body.
"You're cute when you're flustered, Sweetie," he teased, placing his head on her head.
Another intense moaning session went on in the bathroom.
By the time Nyssa was out, she looked like she had completely recovered.
Her face was practically glowing.
On the other hand, Adrian, whose dragon bloodline's essence was drained, looked like he had lost a couple of kilograms.
*
Later that night, the four of them gathered in the western sitting chamber.
The fire crackled softly. Tea steamed between them.
Adrian checked the clock again.
"It's nearly half past nine," he muttered. "If His Highness intended to attend, he would have arrived by now."
Cedric remained composed. "Felix carries the burden of the throne. Delays are inevitable."
Adrian gave a dry laugh. "Burden? Eldest brother manages half the court, yet he always comes on time."
Lucien's gaze sharpened slightly over the rim of his cup. "My duties end at five because His Highness ordered them to, not because I want to."
"Exactly my point," Adrian replied coolly. "Felix was purposely isolating you. First, he restricted your work time. Then he restricted your position by providing special advisors, and then he was kicking you out of the imperial city in the name of promoting you to a Duke." Adrian finished quietly.
Cedric placed his cup down with deliberate calm. "Enough."
Lucien did not immediately respond. His expression remained unreadable.
"Felix does what he believes strengthens the throne. It is not isolation," he said at last.
"And what of the second prince?" Adrian asked suddenly. "Still missing because of him. We don't even know whether Emil is alive or not. And Look at Nyssa. She sacrificed so much for him, but that selfish bastard abandoned us, even her, as soon as he became the Crown prince."
Nyssa's fingers curled slightly around her teacup, and they trembled for a moment as her eyes. She quietly sighed in her heart. "Emil… Felix… I wonder when our family will return to our happy times..."
Later that night, in the warmth of their shared bed, a naked Cedric lay on the bed, busied himself in a deep and peaceful sleep. Nyssa, meanwhile, stared up at the ceiling, her mind whirling with the events of the day.
After a while, taking a glance at her sleeping husband, she took a deep breath and slowly slipped out of bed, careful enough not to disturb him.
She then approached the wardrobe and took out black clothes from it.
Within moments, she was dressed in the black assassin garb.
Her body vanished into the shadows of the room and reappeared on the rooftop of the mansion in the next moment.
Staring at the moon, she then slipped the demon mask and lunged into the air and turned into a blur, disappearing into the darkness.
*
Once, she had been nothing but an assassin.
Two years ago, she became a wife. A guild leader. A pillar of the Empire.
Yet the blade had never truly left her hand.
And to understand how a killer became a queen of influence…
We must return to two years ago.