The Surviving Prince
Assassination, trailing, kidnapping—handling the foul tasks unfit for the light of day was the duty of the imperial shadow unit. To preserve their absolute secrecy, they held neither official registry nor recognized rank, but the vanishingly few who knew of their existence called them Nox, for they moved like the night itself.
"Our targets are the Prince of Remus and Princess Adelheid. The prince's assassination takes priority."
Cloaked in the darkness of their makeshift nest, having slipped silently within sight of the rebel encampment, the leader of Nox reiterated their mission to his subordinates.
"Infiltrate."
Their already ghostly presence faded into absolute nothingness, and the ten operatives scattered in an instant.
"Hm? Ghk...!"
Befitting blades serving the Emperor—or the Crown Prince—the sentry never noticed the shadow gliding past his vision. Taken from behind without a whisper, the soldier realized his plight only after cold steel drove through his neck and parted head from shoulders. He frantically tried to scream, but a head severed from its lungs could make no sound, perishing in hollow silence.
"Beginning infiltration."
Hoisting the severed head, the Nox operative scanned its features, then gathered mana into his palm to spark a flame that melted it down in seconds. He smoothed the liquefied flesh over his face like lotion. Moments later, his visage had molded into an identical copy of the soldier he had just slain.
Stripping the corpse of its uniform and concealing the body in the shadows took mere tens of seconds. When a roving patrol ambled by shortly after, a flawless duplicate of the sentry stood at attention.
"Keep it up."
"Yeah."
The patrol strolled on without sensing a trace of suspicion.
Once the patrol had drifted far enough away, the operative confirmed that all his comrades had finished their disguise rituals before seamlessly melting deeper into the camp.
First, locate the one called Prince Romul. Regroup with the others, dispose of him in silence, then weigh whether we can take the Princess...
Just as the operative casually advanced toward the heart of the encampment, a voice drifted past.
"Hmm, where is it? I was sure it was around here..."
A Remusian accent... early twenties... that attire... Could it be him?
Speak of the devil. Less than three minutes into his infiltration, his primary target was wandering about entirely unescorted. Caught off guard for an instant, the assassin betrayed none of his shock, smoothly closing the distance.
No Blade Wind, no guard detail—a golden opportunity. There's no time to wait for the others...!
Yet as he adjusted his plan on the fly, an odd discrepancy tugged at his instincts. He had been walking toward the prince, yes, but the distance between them was closing far too fast.
He's... coming straight toward me?
Just in case, the operative quickly scrutinized his disguise. His appearance was immaculate, and his mana was suppressed down to the harmless thrum of a common conscript.
"Hey, you there! Mind if I ask you something?"
Just flagging down a random sentry to ask for directions? You're rushing to your own grave.
"Yes, Prince Romul. How may I—"
Now within arm's reach, the operative prepared to draw the dagger tucked in his tunic, offering a docile reply to lure the prince into a false sense of security. But Romul cut him off mid-sentence.
"Ah, so it is you. I was worried I might've guessed wrong."
"Pardon? What do you—"
The operative faltered, unable to parse the nonsensical remark.
"It was you, wasn't it? The intruder."
Before the question could fully register, Romul's arm shot out like a striking viper, clamping around his throat.
Crack—!
Before the assassin could even muster resistance, aura flooded the prince's grip, snapping his neck with brutal finality.
How...?
Stunned disbelief far outstripped the agony of death. Even as his knees buckled and his vision dimmed, the operative desperately tried to deduce how he had been exposed. But Romul wasn't even looking at him anymore.
"Nine... left, give or take? The closest one is over that way."
Turning his head as casually as a traveler checking street signs, Romul's gaze locked onto a direction that chillingly mirrored where the operative had last coordinated with his comrades barely a minute prior.
Could it be...?!
"Ah, better make sure, just in case."
Chrrk—
Withdrawing his left hand from his pocket, Romul brandished an eccentric weapon—multiple blades linked from hand to forearm by chains of mana. He cracked it downward like a whip, and the Nox operative's consciousness severed along with his head.
Slash!
As the Segmented Blade took the soldier's head, lukewarm blood erupted from the neck and flecked across my cheek. The moment his breath ceased, the dizzying tempest of bloodlust rattling my skull lessened by one.
"Your Highness."
"Belle. Check that face and see if it's really his."
As Belle stepped up to dab away the blood with a handkerchief, she gave a wordless bow, drew a dagger from beneath her skirt, touched the severed face, and drew a clean diagonal incision across it.
"It is human skin, but remarkably limp. It has been grafted over."
A shallow cut had yielded ordinary blood, but slicing just a hair deeper revealed no muscle—only an entirely different face peeled underneath.
Suspicion hardened into certainty. I kicked the headless torso to roll it over, noticing an unnatural bulge around the sleeve; inspecting it revealed a concealed dagger.
A counterfeit face and unauthorized arms. Circumstantial evidence so blatant that even a fool couldn't dismiss it.
"Belle, leave this as it is and go inform Lady Adelheid or her inner circle. Tell them we have intruders. Nine in total, counting this one. And that they've murdered our men to steal their faces."
"And what will you do, Your Highness?"
Click.
With a sharp flick of my wrist, the extended segments of the Segmented Blade snapped inward, coiling snugly around my arm like a chain bracer.
"What else? Intruders snuck in, so I'm going to catch them."
"This is an Imperial dispute. Even if we have been drawn into it, there is no need for Your Highness to shoulder such risks—"
"Come now, what's wrong with lending a helping hand? Why live so cynically? Besides, this nausea is driving me out of my mind. If I don't clean them out right now, I won't survive the night."
"So that is your true motive. Understood."
Belle let out a quiet sigh, her steps uncharacteristically sluggish as she departed—plainly worried about my condition.
"Urgh..."
My complexion must have looked horrific. In truth, I was barely keeping my stomach from turning inside out.
Whatever cruel trick my constitution was playing on me, I had been hypersensitive to human intent and emotion since childhood. For the most part, it just meant I was unusually sharp at reading the room. But there were two exceptions.
Hostility and bloodlust. If someone harbored even the faintest glimmer of either, my senses flared without fail, sending my nervous system into violent, ringing alarms.
One or two were manageable. But when ten or twenty overlapped at once, the sensory vertigo was worse than the foulest carriage ride or raging sea storm. How could I ever step foot on a battlefield where the murderous intent of thousands collided? I'd be incapacitated before drawing a sword.
"Ugh..."
Extinguishing the nearest one had offered some relief, but the remaining malice homing in on me was brazen and unmistakable. The bastards had come specifically to take my head.
"Damned vermin..."
Forcing strength back into my trembling legs, I set off toward the next closest beacon of bloodlust.
"Assassins?!"
Having just reviewed the unit muster reports and preparing to turn in, Adelheid was struck with horror at Belle's urgent dispatch. Throwing her plate armor over her nightclothes, she raced to the scene.
"It is over here."
With a soldier's decapitated corpse lying in plain sight, a crowd had already gathered, held back by shouting officers trying to establish a cordon.
Adelheid quickly verified the exact same telltale signs Romul and Belle had uncovered. And as an Imperial princess, the culprits' identity occurred to her immediately.
"Nox...! That lunatic Crown Prince... has he completely lost his mind?!"
Her voice boiled with fury at the thought that the Imperial shadow unit—which existed and yet did not exist—had slain her men and attempted the life of her most trusted ally. Then, the realization that Romul had been attacked struck her like a physical blow, and she seized Belle by the shoulders.
"What happened to Romul?! Is he unharmed?! Tell me he hasn't been critically wounded! Where is he?! I must see him at once!"
"Prince Romul went to deal with the remaining intruders personally."
"He did what...?! Why did you not stop him?! A fragile boy who cannot even step onto a battlefield!"
Well aware of Nox's lethal skill and sinister reputation, Adelheid felt the world tilt upon hearing that Romul had gone hunting them alone.
In the dead of night, rooting out assassins who wore the grafted skin of friendly troops—where ally and enemy were impossible to tell apart—was an ordeal that would push even a veteran master to the brink. She could not comprehend why Belle, his personal attendant, had idly allowed her lord to walk into the jaws of death rather than shielding him after an assassination attempt.
Just as Adelheid's voice threatened to erupt into a furious bellow—
"Imperial Princess... forgive me, but who exactly are you speaking of? Could you truly be referring to our Prince Romul?"
"Who else would I speak of in such an hour?! Do not mock this princess!"
Adelheid finally detonated, yet Belle merely blinked back, genuine bewilderment written across her face.
"...Fragile? Our prince?"
That reaction gave Adelheid pause. Sensing that something was fundamentally amiss, the strength draining from her grip loosened—just as hurried shouts shattered the air.
"Y-Your Highness! Another decapitated corpse has been found!"
"Your Highness! Prince Romul suddenly struck down one of our soldiers, and—!"
"Prince Romul has begun pursuing a deserter!"
Reports poured in one after another: Romul was cutting down friendly soldiers. Adelheid doubted her own ears, turning back to stare blankly at Belle.
And as Belle corrected the misconception surrounding her chronically underestimated master, her voice carried a faint, subtle trace of pride—so slight that even she herself was unaware of it.
"Our prince may appear that way, but he is a recognized member of Remus's royal family. And not through political achievements, but solely on his martial strength."