Morning came quietly.
Too quietly.
No tavern noise.
No footsteps in the hall.
No knock from Myne.
Flint Marko opened his eyes slowly.
The shield rested against his chest, its sandstone surface cool in the early light.
He sat up.
Something felt off.
The air was heavier.
Still.
He stood, boots hitting the wooden floor.
The room was intact.
Nothing overturned.
Nothing stolen.
But—
The door to his room was slightly open.
He distinctly remembered closing it.
His eyes hardened.
He stepped into the hallway.
Empty.
He walked to Shiva's room.
Knocked once.
No answer.
He opened it.
The bed was made.
Cold.
His jaw tightened.
Heavy footsteps pounded up the tavern stairs.
Not one pair.
Several.
The door at the end of the hall burst open.
Royal knights flooded in.
Armor gleaming.
Hands on swords.
"There he is!" one shouted.
Flint didn't move.
The shield shifted subtly as sand compacted along its rim.
"What's this about?" he asked evenly.
"You are summoned immediately to the throne room!" a knight barked.
Flint's eyes flicked behind them.
No Shiva.
No Myne.
He already knew.
Still, he asked.
"Where's my party member?"
The knights exchanged glances.
Then stepped aside.
And there she was.
Myne.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Tears streaking her cheeks.
Clothes disheveled.
Wine-red eyes trembling.
She looked up at him—
—and flinched.
As if afraid.
The performance was flawless.
Flint felt something cold settle in his chest.
They didn't bind him.
They didn't need to.
The Shield Hero couldn't attack.
That's what everyone believed.
As they escorted him through the streets, whispers spread like wildfire.
"What happened?"
"She says he—"
"Disgusting…"
"He looked dangerous from the start…"
Flint walked calmly.
Each step steady.
The shield heavier than ever.
He glanced once toward the market district.
Toward where Shiva might have run.
If she was smart.
If she wasn't caught.
He hoped she ran.
The doors slammed open.
The same throne room as before.
But this time—
It wasn't ceremony.
It was judgment.
King Aultcray sat rigid upon the throne.
The other three heroes stood nearby.
Confused.
Concerned.
Motoyasu looked angry.
Ren looked skeptical.
Itsuki looked uncertain.
Myne was escorted forward first.
She collapsed to her knees.
"Sire… I didn't want to say anything…" she sobbed.
Flint stood in silence.
The king's voice thundered.
"Shield Hero! You are accused of assaulting Princess Myne last night!"
Gasps filled the chamber.
Flint didn't react outwardly.
But inside—
Everything clicked.
Too fast.
Too prepared.
Too clean.
He looked at Myne.
Really looked at her.
No shame.
No fear.
Only carefully placed tears.
He finally spoke.
"She's lying."
Murmurs erupted.
Motoyasu stepped forward immediately.
"How dare you! She's a princess!"
Flint's gaze shifted to him briefly.
"Doesn't make her honest."
The king slammed his staff.
"Enough! The evidence is clear! She was found distraught in the hallway, claiming you forced yourself upon her!"
Flint's eyes narrowed.
"Evidence," he repeated calmly. "Or just her word?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
The room didn't want truth.
It wanted confirmation.
He understood that feeling.
He'd lived it before.
Accused.
Judged.
Condemned.
Before the trial even began.
The king's voice boomed again.
"As punishment, the Shield Hero's funds shall be seized! His reputation formally tarnished! And he shall receive no support from the crown!"
A roar of approval rose from parts of the noble crowd.
The other heroes looked unsettled now.
Ren frowned.
Itsuki hesitated.
Motoyasu glared openly at Flint.
Flint lowered his eyes briefly.
Not in shame.
In calculation.
They thought they had cornered him.
Isolated him.
Made him desperate.
They didn't know about the Sand Shield.
They didn't know he had already started planning.
He slowly raised his head.
"You done?" he asked quietly.
The king stiffened at the lack of fear in his voice.
"You will address the crown with respect!"
Flint gave a faint, humorless smile.
"Respect's earned."
Gasps.
Outrage.
But he didn't care.
He turned without waiting for dismissal.
The knights hesitated—
But the king gestured angrily.
"Let him go! No one will aid him anyway!"
Perfect.
Exactly what Flint wanted.
As he walked toward the massive doors, whispers followed him like smoke.
Monster.
Criminal.
Disgrace.
The doors opened.
Bright daylight spilled in.
And as he stepped out—
Sand shifted quietly along the surface of his shield.
They thought they'd broken him.
What they'd really done—
Was remove his reason to hold back.