Mariejois – Night of Silver Chains
Thunder cracked over the Holy Land.Not the thunder of storms—but of boots.Marching. Quiet. Purposeful.
Raisa stood barefoot in the rain, hair soaked, blades hidden beneath her robe. Mireille waited on the balcony of the western wing, eyes watching the streets below like a hawk.
"The chain has begun to rattle," I murmured from the drawing room, eyes fixed on the old family piano. I touched a single key. Off-tune. Hollow.
Appropriate.
Because while I played the noble prince, Mjosgard was playing hero.
And heroes were easiest to break.
The Secret Beneath the Holy City
Whispers were leaking from the underbelly of Mariejois. Certain slaves had vanished—important ones. Skilled. Educated. Not the mindless or broken, but the dangerous kind.
All freed quietly.
All tied to Donquixote Mjosgard.
He'd been too quiet since the Reverie.
Now I understood why.
He was building an idea.
A Celestial Dragon who fought for the weak?Please.He wasn't a saint.
He was a fool with a death wish.
The First Confrontation
I found him in the Moonlit Archives—a forgotten ruin beneath the eastern palace. Only the highborn knew it existed. Only the mad dared go there.
Mjosgard was alone, hands clasped behind his back, wearing plain robes. No bubble. No pomp.
He didn't even turn to face me.
"You've corrupted everything," he said softly.
"I've perfected it."
"The world doesn't need another tyrant."
"No. But it does need a reminder of who holds the leash."
He finally turned, eyes tired. Not angry. Not afraid. Just… resolved.
"You were born with the world underfoot, Lucien. Why do you chase more?"
I smiled and stepped closer.
"Because I can."
The Offer
"I'm giving you one chance," he said. "Help me reform this place. Or I'll tear it down with or without you."
I laughed gently. Sincerely.
"Reform? You think branding the word 'justice' on your collar makes you different?"
Mjosgard's face darkened.
"It makes me better than you."
"Then why are your hands shaking?"
He blinked.
Too late.
I was already gone.
Later That Night – Mireille's Work
In the quietest hour before dawn, Mireille returned with blood on her dress and ash under her nails.
"He's sheltering them in the mountain tunnels," she said.
"How many?"
"Dozens. Maybe more."
"Slaves?"
"Runaways. A few Celestial bastards too ashamed to show face."
"Did you touch them?"
She bowed her head. "Not yet."
"Good."
We weren't ready for war. Not yet.But I wanted to make a statement.
The Crimson Lantern
By morning, the slaves were gone.
Not dead. Not harmed.
Simply… exposed.
Hung from silk ropes above the gates of Mariejois, alive, healthy, and marked.
Each one bore a new tattoo across their chest:
"Property of No One."
It wasn't just a message. It was a lie.
Because they weren't free.
They were mine now. Even if they didn't know it.
The Ripple Effect
The World Nobles were shaken. Not because of the cruelty. But because they didn't authorize it.
Whispers filled the halls.
"Lucien is acting alone.""He's broken.""He's dangerous."
Good.
Let them fear the cracks in my smile.
Because soon, they'd drown in them.
Epilogue – Hancock's Letter
That night, a single raven arrived from Amazon Lily. Its talons carried a folded black petal.
Inside it, a note written in Hancock's delicate script:
"Your game has reached my shores. I don't like games."
"But I do like monsters who know how to win."
I chuckled.
Then fed the petal to the fire.