The sound of flags emblazoned with golden eagles flapping in the wind was like a giant bird beating its wings. The clang of armor colliding, the rough snorts of horses. The smell of war vibrated through the air.

Kyrie stood at the very front of the formation, in a shadow-like position directly behind Isolet.

She wore her old leather armor again. The blue dress Isolet had gifted her lay shoved in a corner, box and all. The sensation of rough leather against her skin finally let her breathe. This was her skin, her burial shroud.

The Emperor, the Princess, and Isolet ascended the platform.

Isolet wore silver armor. The sickly, decadent beauty he’d shown in formal wear had vanished, replaced by cold, sharp warrior’s spirit overflowing from his entire body.

He was no longer a prince of a fallen kingdom. He was a monarch who returned from h*ll for revenge.

After the Emperor’s congratulatory speech ended, Princess Adelaide stepped forward. She pulled out a white handkerchief imbued with blessings and tied it to Isolet’s armor.

“Please return safely, my prince.”

Adelaide rose on her tiptoes and lightly kissed Isolet’s cheek.

Waaaah!

The soldiers’ cheers shook the parade grounds. The beautiful lovers’ farewell raised the soldiers’ morale. It was a perfect picture. The union of sun and moon. A hero blessed by the goddess of victory.

Isolet expressed his thanks with an expressionless face. But when he turned to check behind him, his gaze searched for Kyrie.

‘Are you watching?’

His eyes asked. A desperation seemingly hoping she’d be jealous, hoping she’d be angry at this moment when he received another woman’s blessing.

But Kyrie bowed her head. The shadow of her helmet hid her eyes. She didn’t move, stone-like.

‘Hide it. Thoroughly.’

Like a machine executing the Princess’s orders, she swallowed even her jealousy.

When Kyrie bowed her head, Isolet’s brow furrowed faintly. He stared forward again with eyes mixing disappointment and rage.

“All troops, march out!”

He drew his sword and thrust it skyward. Trumpet sounds rang out. The massive procession began moving.

* * *

Three days into the march, Kyrie fought off drowsiness atop her horse.

“Your expression looks exactly like a cow being dragged to sl*ughter, Miss Wolf.”

A familiar sneer came from beside her. She knew without looking up. Casian. 

He accompanied this expedition in his capacity as Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army. His black horse suited his massive frame unfairly well, which secretly irked Kyrie.

“Does the Commander think this is a pleasure trip?”

Kyrie replied without even glancing at him.

“It is a pleasure trip. We’re going hunting. Though this prey will be quite large and vicious.”

Casian cackled. He adjusted his horse’s speed to ride alongside Kyrie.

“That prince of yours. He’s quite worked up. He’s been holding strategy meetings for days without sleep. Like someone trying to forget something.”

Casian’s eyes gleamed sharply.

“Did you two fight?”

Kyrie gripped the reins tightly.

“Not the Commander’s concern.”

“Not my concern? Even more so when the cause involves a woman I’ve claimed.”

“Who’s your woman?”

“Not yet, but seems like it’ll happen soon.”

Casian grinned shamelessly and surveyed Kyrie’s haggard complexion.

“The palace is full of rumors. The prince gave you an expensive dress but the knight refused it. Foolish. Why not just wear it and smile prettily? Male pride is quite childish—sometimes you need to pretend to lose.”

“Selling smiles isn’t my duty.”

Kyrie shot back coldly. Casian stared at her blankly for a moment, then burst into roaring laughter.

“Hahaha! You really are entertaining. That’s right, you’re a sword. Not a flower.”

Casian’s voice lowered.

“But even swords break if they clash too hard. Both you and the prince are too tense right now. If neither of you bends, you’ll both break.”

It was a warning. Pointed advice hidden beneath his shameless attitude. Kyrie didn’t answer. She saw a scout riding in from ahead. A signal that the enemy fortress was near.

“Prepare yourself, Miss Wolf. It’s almost time to see real blood.”

The first battle took place at ‘Black Rock Fortress,’ which would become the foothold for reclaiming the kingdom.

The place occupied by rebel forces was a natural fortress. Steep cliffs and solid walls. But Isolet didn’t hesitate.

“Attack.”

At his command, catapults launched fireballs. Boom! The walls shook.

Isolet wasn’t a prince who merely commanded from the rear. With his silver armor flashing, he leaped into the heart of the battlefield.

“Follow me! Those who stand behind me shall live, and those who block my path shall die!”

His swordsmanship was magnificent and ruthless—secret techniques inherited through generations of royalty.

Isolet’s sword traced elegant arcs as enemy heads rolled. The soldiers felt both terror and awe watching their prince fight like a man possessed.

But the most striking figure on that battlefield was Kyrie.

She rampaged like a rabid dog right beside Isolet. She had no defense. Like a well-trained human weapon, she deflected arrows flying toward Isolet, blocked spears with her body, and pierced enemy hearts with her sword.

“Hngh!”

An enemy arrow grazed her shoulder. But Kyrie didn’t even let out a strong groan. Her eyes followed only Isolet’s safety.

She was a sword. A tool that didn’t think, didn’t feel, only cut and stabbed for its master. She roamed the battlefield as the ‘blood-scented beast’ Casian had mentioned.

The rebel forces crumbled under the imperial army’s overwhelming numbers and the prince’s momentum. The gates broke and the fortress fell in an instant.

“Victory! Long live Prince Isolet!”

The soldiers’ cheers pierced the sky.

The fallen kingdom’s flag was planted atop the fortress once more. Isolet shook blood from his sword, breathing heavily. Half his face was stained red with enemy blood. Instead of savoring the joy of victory, he looked to his side.

Kyrie stood there. Covered head to toe in blood, exhaling roughly. Though she swayed, she raised her sword toward Isolet in salute.

“Congratulations, Your Highness. The first victory.”

Her voice was dry. That businesslike tone mixed with the smell of blood made Isolet’s chest feel strangely cold yet aching.

* * *

That night, naturally, the fortress was in a festive mood. Soldiers opened wine casks and roasted meat, celebrating their victory.

But the air inside the commander’s tent was heavy.

“I heard you refused treatment.”

Isolet sat before a table. He’d removed his armor and wore only a thin shirt, revealing his bandaged arm. Kyrie stood at attention before him.

“It’s a minor injury. The soldiers take priority.”

“Your shoulder’s torn open. That’s minor?”

Isolet rose and approached. Kyrie tried to step back but stopped.

“Sit. I’ll look at it.”

“Your Highness is not a physician. And I…”

“It’s an order.”

Isolet growled. Left with no choice, Kyrie bit her lip and sat in the chair. Isolet approached and carefully rolled up her upper garment. The exposed shoulder bore a deep gash gaping red.

Isolet’s hands trembled. He applied medicine and wrapped bandages. His touch was so excessively careful it actually pained Kyrie. 

Rough handling would’ve been better. Being touched like something precious threatened to crumble the walls around her heart.

“…Are you still angry?”

Isolet asked quietly. His fingertips tying the bandage touched Kyrie’s collarbone.

“About the dress. I went too far. I wasn’t trying to disrespect you. I just…”

“I’m not angry.”

Kyrie cut him off. She adjusted her clothes and stood.

“I’m a knight. I have no right to judge what my liege bestows. I overstepped then. Please forgive me.”

It was a perfect apology. But to Isolet, it hurt worse than any accusation. She was creating distance between them by degrading herself to a ‘tool without qualification.’

“You of all people lack qualification?”

Isolet laughed hollowly.

“You’re my life’s savior and the woman I love! Yet you lack qualification? How long will you hide behind this knight act?”

“It’s not an act!”

Kyrie raised her head. Moisture pooled in her amber eyes as fury blazed.

“Does Your Highness think war is a game? Do you know how many people I cut down today? The blood on my sword hasn’t even dried. Yet you speak of love? Of women?”

She held up her blood-stained hands.

“With these hands, I killed people. To seat Your Highness on the throne. And you want me to prattle about love and embrace you? Princess Adelaide exists! Go whisper love to that noble, pure woman. Why do you cling to a murderer like me!”

Kyrie’s outcry echoed through the tent. The inferiority complex and guilt she’d accumulated, mixed with the Princess’s warning, burst out like unavoidable resentment.

Isolet stared at her blankly. He realized for the first time that his love could be violence to her. She was driving herself more harshly to ease her own guilt.

“…Kyrie.”

“I’ll withdraw. I’m tired.”

Kyrie saluted and fled the tent. Isolet couldn’t catch her. His outstretched hand fell limply.

Victory cheers echoed outside the tent. They’d taken the first step toward reclaiming the kingdom, but the distance between him and the person he wanted most was growing irreversibly wider.

The map on the table flickered in candlelight. The territory they needed to reclaim was still vast, and the emotional chasm they needed to cross was even deeper.