This was the First Prince's fiancée.
Yona Hanaki.
The wielder of twin swords. Ruler of the moonlight. The one who attacked rival candidates and crushed contenders--all for the First Prince. His betrothed.
And here she was, caught pickpocketing at the edge of Sheol.
What in all the sacred lands was she doing here?
Keiser didn't notice his grip falter until it was too late. His mind was spiraling--if it were his real body, it wouldn't matter if his thoughts wandered. He'd fought plenty of battles while idly wondering about snacks, even imagining how monster guts might taste roasted over a campfire.
But right now, Princess Yona yanked her arm free from his hold. The wrench nearly tore his shoulder out of its socket. Not an unfamiliar pain, but enough to make him let go.
"She--she took it! Our money!" Lenko shouted, pointing wildly after her.
Keiser gave him a flat look, clutching his sore arm. "Yeah. And you're just pointing and shouting."
Lenko sputtered.
Keiser wanted to stand there and be stunned too--
What is she doing here?
Isn't she the First Prince's fiancée?
Why is she stealing?
And gods--she took our only money to get to the capital.
But his legs moved before his brain caught up. "Stay close!" he barked, surging forward.
Some villagers turned from the commotion to stare at the girl sprinting past them, then at him. Behind him, Lenko squawked--a sound almost identical to the goose he'd swindled from those same villagers earlier. His voice was already fading into the noise.
"Your highne--Muzio! Wait!"
Keiser's breath came ragged, but his focus sharpened. He caught her weaving silhouette ahead.
Yona ducked under a group of men hauling a wooden beam, spun past idle villagers, and yanked down a rack of cloaks. Keiser almost tripped, and so did half the people she passed. Shouts and curses erupted. Somewhere behind, Lenko's voice alternated between apologies and renewed pursuit.
A fruit vendor cursed as his apples scattered across the cobblestones, bowled over by the bodies pressing through the street.
Keiser vaulted over the mess, nearly stumbling--the height of his jump atrocious, his landing worse.
His joints screamed. This body screamed. He wanted to scream.
But he pushed on. He could ignore most of the pain, though the shortness of breath and dizziness clawed at him. Not now.
The princess was nimble, moving with precision. This wasn't a desperate, flailing theft--this was practiced. He could at least follow her path, though matching her speed was another matter entirely.
She knew how to run. She knew how to avoid getting caught.
"Muzio, don't--!" Lenko's voice was already fading into the crowd. He might have had the stamina of someone who actually exercised, but weaving through a mess of people wasn't his specialty.
Keiser wasn't listening anyway. The only things in his head were the pounding of his pulse, the slam of his boots, and the recognition.
Yona Hanaki. Princess of Hinode. Youngest daughter of the matriarch, promised to the First Prince in that nauseating marriage-alliance deal to 'secure his claim.' He'd seen her before--courtroom, battlefield, trial grounds--always poised, always silent, always with that unreadable little smirk that made diplomats itch.
But that was during the King's Gambit.
Back then, he'd had better things to do than wonder how she ended up beside the First Prince--mostly involving subduing carnivorous beasts along the border. Still, he remembered the moment: her choosing the prince during the final trial… and dying by his hand not long after.
Trade your pulse for poetry? Was that romance now?
In the end, some other prince had taken the throne, leaving behind nothing but corpses, shattered promises, and the faint smell of political hypocrisy. Keiser had been one of the many bodies thrown aside afterall.
So what was she doing now--robbing strangers in a village near Sheol like a pickpocket with usury to pay?
He gritted his teeth. The ache in his side flared--sharp, ugly, familiar. This body wasn't his, wasn't trained, and certainly wasn't designed for sprinting after wayward royalty. He'd barely slept since last night and this morning leaving Sheol's edge, and now he was sweating buckets chasing a princess with better cardio than sense.
This was not on the training schedule.
The crowd thinned. Cobblestones gave way to dirt, the air heavier with dust.
His legs were filing complaints.
His lungs were writing death threats.
His vision wobbled at the edges.
And then--salvation.
A stick.
Half-buried roadside, thick enough to be a proper post once upon a time.
Without hesitation, Keiser lunged for it. It didn't budge. He wedged his foot against the base, grunted, pulled--until it tore free with such force he nearly hit himself in the face. Pain zinged up his arms. His palms burned. His brain was too busy screaming, WEAPON ACQUIRED to register anything else.
Keiser's chest was on fire, his breath coming in ugly, ragged wheezes. He tried to lunge forward but his legs gave the convincing impression of a newborn fawn attempting to dance. He half-tripped, half-caught himself, then wheezed out between coughs,
"Stop… running!"
It wasn't a threat--it was a plea. He couldn't run anymore. The only thing moving in him was his heartbeat, hammering like a jongleurs on festival day.
So instead of chasing Yona again, he planted his feet, hefted the chunk of wood like a man hauling his last bag of potatoes, and hurled it with all the strength of someone who knows they're about to collapse either way.
It spun end over end, whistling through the air--whump!--and smacked Yona square in the back.
Keiser blinked. He honestly thought it would fall short. She must have been tired too because she stumbled, legs tangling, before skidding face-first into the dirt with a noise halfway between a grunt and a startled shout.
Keiser winced, a sympathetic twinge shooting up his own jaw. He even felt a phantom pain in his teeth, like he was the one who'd just kissed the ground.
Still gasping like he'd just surfaced from deep water, he propped himself against a tree, vision wobbling like an off-balance cartwheel. Black spots danced across his sight, but what caught his attention wasn't his dizziness--it was the smell.
Smoke.
Not the pleasant, woodsy campfire kind.
Not the greasy tang of roasted monster meat.
This was sharper, heavier… human.
Knights knew the difference. You didn't forget it if you'd ever burned bodies before--not just to stop the rot, but to make sure they couldn't be reanimated by something with too many teeth and too much magic. Keiser had been in enough campaigns to know that smell.
And yet, this wasn't from a pyre.
It was curling lazily from his palm.
When his vision finally cleared, he stared.
A glowing sigil was burned deep into his flesh. Simple, sharp lines pulsing faintly with mana--crude, almost childlike, and absolutely unmistakable.
'Stop-running.'
That… definitely hadn't been there before. He hadn't carved it, hadn't drawn it. He'd just said it--wanted it--and it had happened.
The mana… was Muzio's.
But it had answered him.
"M-my lord--haa--are you alright?"
Lenko staggered into view, looking like he'd just run through the whole village while apologizing to every villager in existence. He bent double, gasping for air, hands braced on his knees. His eyes darted from Keiser's scorched palm to the princess sprawled on the ground--still screaming, still twitching like her body had just forgotten what 'movement' meant.
Keiser, still catching his breath, realized with mild surprise that she'd been making that noise the entire time.
"What…?" Lenko muttered, baffled by the tableau.
Keiser didn't bother answering. He walked toward her--slow, stiff, one arm pressed to his side. Every step made the ache sharper.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" the girl cursed, trying to push herself up, but her limbs spasmed like they were tied by invisible ropes. "Why can't I--why can't I stand?!"
Keiser ignored her, crouching to retrieve the stick. The wood bore a charred imprint of his fingers, and inside it, the same glowing rune burned faintly.
It almost made him nostalgic. Back in training, he could turn anything into a weapon--once made a brigade recruit cry by flicking him with nothing but the cloth he used to wipe sweat off his face. This must be why bullying Olga's younger brother was so satisfying. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud. She'd punt him into a wall. With her strength, she could decapitate him before lunch.
Lenko stepped in, planting a hand on Keiser's back for balance and squaring up to the princess like a scrawny cat trying to look bigger.
"Y-you! It's not nice to steal someone's money, you know! That was my blood, sweat, and tears! You can't just run off with it!"
He snatched the coin pouch off the ground--apparently dropped when she'd kissed the dirt earlier--and took one step back. Then he really looked at her. The bleeding chin, the sweaty hair plastered to her face, the glare.
"Thief," he muttered, retreating behind Keiser like a cowardly little shadow. He fumbled with his coins, muttering numbers, while she hissed at him.
Keiser rolled his shoulder, testing his arm. It still felt wrong. He shifted the stick in his grip--
--and a sharp, inhuman screech ripped through the air above them.
They froze.
Princess Yona, mid–worm impression on the ground.
Lenko, halfway between counting and re-counting his coins.
Keiser, arm stretched out like a questionable statue.
All eyes lifted at the same time.
Oh.
They'd crossed the village border.
That wasn't just a stick--it had probably been holding a warning sign.
Something like,
KEEP OUT
DEATH AWAITS, or
DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.
And now? No wards. No sigils. No protection.
Lenko paled, voice shaking. "M-my lord…"
Keiser tightened his grip on the stick.
No time to think.
The wilds of Sheol had found them.