Chapter 20
“……”
When she opened her eyes instinctively, she saw an unfamiliar ceiling—no, it was actually the familiar guest room ceiling of the Diaman estate.
Outside the window, the world was still dark. Dawn hadn’t yet broken.
“Strange.”
In the next moment, Celia realized why she had suddenly woken up.
A familiar sensation was calling to her.
‘Periot?’
That eerie presence the sword gave off when it mimicked the demonic energy—Periot was nearby. Which meant…
“The prince is here?”
As she whispered and opened the window, a faint, familiar smell brushed the tip of her nose.
It was the unmistakable scent of blood—faint, but real.
Whish.
Without hesitation, Celia threw on a thin coat over her nightgown, pulled on her boots, and jumped out the window.
She landed right in front of the annex entrance, where she spotted a long plow lying by the flowerbed—likely left there by a gardener.
“Tch.” She clicked her tongue regretfully, then picked it up.
Only members of the Diaman family could legally carry a real sword within the estate. Someone like her couldn’t possibly have a weapon. This was the best she could do for now.
“It’s been a while since I’ve held a proper blade.”
Muttering under her breath, Celia focused on that familiar sensation tugging at her.
Thump. Thump.
Something kept calling to her—an unseen pulse guiding the way. The trail led toward the greenhouse.
“……”
What greeted her there was chaos.
The once-beautiful greenhouse that Cecile Diaman had lovingly maintained was now in ruins.
The ground had been torn apart, trampled by many feet. These weren’t the marks of house guards or servants.
A few drops of blood glistened faintly near a glowing mana orb. Celia opened the greenhouse door, but there was no sign of life inside.
Then the pull—the strange sense calling her—abruptly shifted direction.
“There.”
Toward the forest between the capital outskirts and the Diaman estate. That was royal territory, not the Diaman family’s.
Celia glanced toward the dark treeline, then snatched one of the mana orbs hanging at the greenhouse entrance.
“I’ll borrow this for a bit.”
She gently infused it with magic, and the orb’s light brightened.
Carrying it, she stepped into the forest. Her boots squelched as sticky mud clung to them—the ground slick with dew and moss. Still, the dampness made it easy to follow footprints.
Only one is being chased.
The more she studied the tracks, the clearer it became—someone had fled here in a hurry, their trail long and erratic. The smell of blood was growing stronger.
The pursuers were relentless. But then, the tracks suddenly stopped.
Using the mana orb for light, she saw a sharp drop ahead—an escarpment, about two stories high.
“What now?”
As she slowly scanned her surroundings, a flicker of light caught her eye. Someone else’s mana orb.
Celia instinctively hid hers, climbed a tall tree, and from her perch like a predator, scanned below.
Voices drifted up.
“…leave him?”
“Who knows.”
Where have I heard that voice before?
It was familiar—naggingly so.
“If we just leave him, isn’t that dangerous?”
“Of course.”
Thickhead and Quickblade?
Those were the idiots who had jumped out as bodyguards when she first confronted Crondel.
They stood apart from each other near the cliff’s edge, speaking seriously.
“The report?”
“We’ll make it.”
“If His Highness finds out…”
“It won’t matter. This kind of thing always happens. He caused trouble again, like always.”
“Still, it’s been a while since we’ve seen blood.”
“A while, sure, but not the first time.”
“If we leave him like that, he could die.”
“That might actually be convenient. His Highness didn’t dirty his hands. The order was only to keep watch—not to rescue or protect.”
“I don’t recall him ever saying to let him die, either.”
“He’ll understand.”
A bad feeling crept over Celia. This kind of hunch rarely lied.
“Someone who might threaten the Crown Princess disappearing quietly like this—maybe that’s for the best.”
“Those bastards…” Celia’s expression hardened.
“They acted like his guards back then.”
But now it was obvious—they were the Crown Princess’s spies.
Come to think of it, even when Crondel had told them not to call him “Prince” outside, they’d gone ahead and used formal titles like Star of Ahaim right in front of her—revealing his identity on purpose.
And when Crondel had tried to speak privately with her, they’d insisted on staying close, pretending to “guard” him while prying for information.
At the time, she’d thought they were just overprotective.
“…So they were reporting his every move to the Crown Princess.”
Right. Crondel was the second prince.
No wonder the Crown Princess despised him. Even if he was powerless, he still had legitimate succession rights. Of course she’d want to keep him in check.
The lean one—Quickblade—cracked his neck and said,
“My vote’s for leaving him.”
“What the hell did you just say?” Celia hissed under her breath.
They knew the prince was being hunted and still planned to abandon him? Both of them deserved execution for treason.
Just then, Thickhead shook his head.
“Don’t presume to know Her Highness’s intentions.”
“And you do?”
The air grew tense—they were on the verge of fighting.
Then Thickhead sighed. “We’ll leave him, but as soon as we exit the forest, we fire a rescue flare—for the Capital Knights.”
“Fine. Then we’ll see whether they find a living Second Prince or just confirm a corpse.”
Their conversation ended, and the two shadows disappeared quickly into the darkness.
Just as Celia was about to climb down from the tree, she suddenly felt a gaze on her.
When she turned, she thought she locked eyes—just for a heartbeat—with Thickhead.
“Hallucination… or not.”
Either way, it didn’t matter. Unless he came back to confront her, it wasn’t a problem. And he didn’t seem likely to.
Once they were gone, Celia jumped down lightly from the tree.
The stench of blood grew stronger as she approached the cliff edge.
“Damn it.”
That guy might have the face of an angel, but even his stance back at the greenhouse had been clumsy—neither his swordsmanship nor magic were worth a damn.
He reminded her uncomfortably of her past self.
She shook her head sharply. No—she couldn’t afford to project herself onto him. She barely even knew what he was thinking, or if he’d cooperate with her in the future. He was just an annoying kid who’d begged her to teach him magic.
But still…
Well, I do have things to ask him.
Strictly business, she told herself. If he died, that would be her loss too.
With that, her resolve solidified.
“If you die, I’ll kill you myself, you stupid prince!”
And Celia sprinted forward with all her strength.
“Whew.”
Crondel leaned back against the wall and caught his breath.
He had wedged himself between narrow gaps in the cliffside—not spacious, but enough to buy a little time.
His arm, slashed open, had gone completely numb. He wasn’t sure if it could ever be used again—but that wasn’t the most pressing issue right now.
“Dying like this would be too pathetic.”
He’d always lived like this—walking a tightrope, precarious and narrow, just like this crevice he was standing in.
A place that suited him far too well. If he lost focus even for a moment, he’d fall straight into the abyss.
“But I don’t intend to die that easily.”
He had expected this from the moment he left the royal treasury with that sword.
The beings chasing him now weren’t human. They were the wraiths guarding the royal vault—
Specters that hunted and punished those who dared to steal the king’s relics.
Crondel glanced at the sheath of Periot, swinging faintly at his hip.
It had been a gamble. And now all he could do was wait to see how that gamble paid off.
“I knew what I was doing, so I won’t make excuses.”
He hadn’t expected them to catch up this fast, though. Maybe running into Celia had sped things up—the wraiths reacted to nearby magical energy, multiplying in its presence. If they’d reacted to her mana, their numbers would’ve increased rapidly.
Not that it mattered now.
“I should’ve told Marcella where I was going.”
She’d probably have been furious—but maybe it would’ve helped. Still, there was no point regretting it now.
“All I can do is trust that someone’s coming.”
He murmured softly—
Creaaaak.
A terrible sound echoed nearby.
Creaaak. Creeeak.
From the cliffside cracks, red eyes glowed in the dark.
They slid into view—soundless, their melted, formless bodies dripping down the stone. Their eyes were all black, without a trace of white.
The wraiths of the royal vault.
“Ah.”
Crondel smiled faintly, almost brightly.
“Found me, huh.”
