Leo stood alone on the ruined terrace.
The sun had already set, and the last golden rays gilded the treetops that had pushed through the ancient stones. Down below, at the foot of the hill, Randel’s knights were setting up camp. It was more comfortable here than inside the palace—voices, laughter, and the clatter of pots echoed through the air. Up here, though, it was quiet. Only the wind rustled in the branches, and somewhere far away a night bird cried out.
Crimson lenses stared at the sunset. The scarlet cloak did not stir—the wind couldn’t reach this high. Black armor drank in the final light without reflecting it.
Leo hadn’t removed his helmet. He rarely took it off in front of others—only when he was truly alone. But right now, he wasn’t alone.
Footsteps.
Light. Confident. The kind that didn’t particularly try to hide, yet still moved with care.
“Fuck,” Leo breathed.
Randel smirked as he stepped out from behind a column.
“Were you waiting for me?”
“I was hoping you’d die somewhere along the road,” Leo’s voice was icy, yet something alive slipped through it. Exhaustion.
“You’ll have to wait longer,” Randel replied, walking over and stopping beside him, gazing at the sunset.
Silence.
“You’ve been following me all day,” Leo said.
“I was training.”
“You were training where I was standing. Then you trained where I moved to. Then you…”
“I was looking for inspiration,” Randel interrupted.
“Inspiration?”
“You move beautifully. I want to learn how.”
“You want to learn how to be invisible?”
“I want to learn how to be as untouchable as you,” Randel turned to face him. “You dodge strikes you don’t even see. You appear where no one expects you. It’s an art.”
“It’s the armor,” Leo cut him off sharply.
“No,” Randel shook his head. “The armor makes you unseen. But the way you move… that’s you. And that can be learned.”
Leo didn’t answer. He turned and walked to the other end of the terrace.
Randel stayed where he was, simply watching the black figure move away.
A minute later, he rose and followed.
Leo found a new spot — beside an old column where the shadows were so thick that even his black armor seemed lighter. He crossed his arms and stared into the darkening sky.
Five minutes later, Randel stepped out from behind the column.
“You…” Leo began.
“Good spot,” the prince nodded. “From here you can see both the sunset and the camp. You always choose positions that let you control everything around you. Is that a guard’s habit?”
Leo remained silent.
“Or the habit of someone who’s used to being attacked from every direction?”
“What do you want?” Leo’s voice grew quieter.
“To talk.”
“We already talked.”
“We talked about armor, about invisibility, about who you are,” Randel stepped closer. “I want to talk about something else.”
“About what?”
“About war. About battles. About strategy. You said you’ve been killing for a thousand years. That means you’ve seen hundreds of wars. You must understand them better than any general.”
Leo turned away once more and started walking.
This time — toward the old altar at the far end of the terrace. There was almost no light there, only the faint glow of luminous mushrooms below casting a weak shimmer.
Randel waited a minute and followed after him.
Down below, by the campfire, the knights had noticed their little game.
“Lord’s going after the guard again,” said Falk, chewing on a piece of bread.
“Fifth time already,” Erhard nodded.
“That guy nearly killed him not long ago,” one of the knights remarked. “Held a blade to his throat.”
“And the lord still keeps pestering him,” another smirked.
“That’s called strategy,” Erhard said importantly. “The lord wants to figure out what kind of man this guard really is. And for that, you need to stay close.”
“Or maybe the lord just enjoys pissing him off,” Falk snorted.
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The knights burst out laughing.
Up on the terrace, Leo stood by the altar, feeling his blood begin to boil. This prince... this stubborn, arrogant, impossible prince... had been following him all day. From the training grounds to the terrace. From the terrace to the column. From the column to the altar. Like a shadow. Like...
“What the hell do you want from me?!”
He spun around, and the crimson lenses flared brighter — the armor’s magic responding to his anger.
Randel stood three steps away. Smiling.
“Finally,” he said.
“Finally what?”
“You said something other than ‘you talk too much, prince’ and ‘that’s not your concern.’”
Leo froze.
“You…” he began.
“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” Randel took a step closer. “You play the role of the thousand-year-old guardian, but the real you breaks through when you’re angry. And I want to know the real you.”
He stepped right up to him. Reached out and clapped Leo on the shoulder — right on the black armor that was colder than ice.
“You’re the first person who ever beat me so easily,” Randel said. “You’re the first who called me a pup and lived to tell about it. You’re the first who made me feel... weak.”
“And you’re grateful for that?” Leo asked, confused.
“I’m impressed,” Randel withdrew his hand. “You can be anyone. A boy in armor or a thousand-year-old guardian. But the way you move, the way you carry yourself, the way you fight — that’s not a lie. That’s you.”
Leo stayed silent. The crimson lenses stared at the prince without blinking.
“I want to learn from you,” Randel continued. “Not just how to strike the unseen. I want to understand war the way you do. Strategy. Tactics. Skills. You said you’ve seen hundreds of battles. Tell me about them.”
“Why?” Leo’s voice grew quieter.
“Because I need to be stronger,” Randel said simply. “For her. For the duchy. For the world we’re trying to save.”
He looked toward the sunset.
“I thought I was strong. I’m the best swordsman in Aichenwald. I’ve won dozens of duels. I’ve led armies into battle. And then you came along and showed me that I’m nothing. That my strength is the strength of a child playing at adult games.”
“You’re not nothing,” Leo said.
“Then what am I?”
“You…” Leo fell silent. Then he removed his helmet.
In the faint light of the glowing mushrooms, his face looked pale. Young. Tired.
“You’re the one who searched for her for a whole year,” he said. “You’re the one who didn’t give up even after I humiliated you. You’re the one who asks to be taught even when a knife is held to his throat. You… you’re strong. In a different way. Not like me. But strong.”
“You’re strong too,” Randel said.
“You’re the one who protected her when I wasn’t there,” Randel continued. “The one who stood by her side when she was alone. The one who gave me his sword.”
He extended his hand.
“Peace?”
Leo looked at the hand. Then at Randel’s face. Then back at the hand.
“You’re insane, prince,” he said.
“I know,” Randel smiled. “She tells me that every day.”
Leo took his hand and shook it. Firmly. For real.
“Peace,” he said.
They sat on the broken pieces of columns, gazing up at the stars. Down below, the knights had stopped singing — they were only quietly talking among themselves, occasionally glancing upward.
“Tell me about the Battle of Wind Gorge,” Randel said.
“It was a trap,” Leo shook his head. “The imperials drove the highlanders into the gorge and then brought the cliffs down on them.”
“I’ve read about it. But the chronicles don’t say how the highlanders survived. How they held out for three days without water.”
“They ate their dead,” Leo said simply.
“You were there?” Randel asked.
“I was. On my mistress’s orders,” Leo nodded. “And I wasn’t going to wait around until they decided to eat me too.”
“What did you do?”
“I killed the commander,” Leo smirked. “I walked straight through their lines, unseen, and slit his throat. After that… the imperial army broke and ran. Without their commander, they were helpless.”
“That’s brilliant.”
“That’s cowardly,” Leo shook his head.
“That’s smart,” Randel corrected him. “That’s victory.”
“And you really think so?” Leo turned to him. The crimson lenses stared intently.
“I know so,” Randel didn’t look away.
“Fine,” Leo smirked. “Then listen to the rest.”
Once, Leo lowered his voice.
“I once killed the most honest man in the world.”
“The most honest?” Randel frowned.
“Yes. He was a knight. A real one. The kind who actually believed in honor. In justice. In rules. He challenged me openly, in front of the entire army. He took off his helmet, laid down his sword, and said: ‘Come out, coward. Fight me. Man to man.’”
“And you went out?”
“I did,” Leo nodded. “I walked up to him. Stood right in front of him. Looked him in the eyes.”
“And then you fought?”
“No,” Leo smirked. “While he was still talking about honor, I slit his throat. Then I vanished. Invisible. While his men just stood there, staring at his corpse.”
“You…”
“I won that battle,” Leo cut him off. “Without an army. Without a sword. Without honor. Their knight was dead. His soldiers broke and ran. The fortress surrendered the next day.”
He fell silent for a moment, then added, almost cheerfully:
“And you know what they called me after that?”
“What?”
“They said I was the greatest warrior alive.” Leo laughed. “Because they finally understood. War isn’t a duel. War is death. The one who knows how to kill wins. The one who believes in honor… dies.”
Randel stayed quiet for a long time.
“Do you… pride yourself on that?” he asked.
“I pride myself on being alive,” Leo shrugged. “On my men still breathing. On the people I protect still being alive. As for honor…” He smirked. “Honor is just a word cowards hide behind. Who invented honor? The losers. The ones who couldn’t win, so they made up rules. So that the victors wouldn’t kill them too dishonorably.”
“You really believe that?”
“I know it,” Leo turned to him. “I’ve been killing for a thousand years, prince. I’ve seen hundreds of honorable warriors. Do you know where they all are now?”
“Where?”
“In the ground,” Leo grinned. “Every single one. And I’m still here. Alive. And so are the people I protect.”
Randel looked at him. In the red lenses, there was nothing—only the reflection of the stars and his own face, tense and thoughtful.
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“I know.” Leo nodded.
“I can’t kill people in their sleep. I can’t poison water. I can’t slit the throats of those begging for mercy.”
“I know,” Leo repeated.
“But I want to understand.” Randel met his gaze. “How can you? How do you live with it?”
“Easily.” Leo shrugged. “I sleep just fine. Because I know this—those who want to kill my people don’t sleep. They think about honor. About glory. About how they’ll be remembered in ballads. And I think about making sure they never wake up.”
“And you don’t feel…”
“Anything,” Leo cut in. “I don’t feel anything. That’s my strength. And my curse.”
He fell silent, staring up at the stars.
“Teach me,” Randel said.
“Teach you what? To kill in their sleep? To slit throats? To poison water?”
“All of it.” Randel didn’t look away. “I want to understand. I want to know. I want to be able to do it. Even if I never will.”
Leo studied him for a long moment.
“You’re strange, Prince,” he said.
“I know.” Randel smiled.
“Alright.” Leo nodded. “I’ll teach you. But fair warning—you’ll hate it.”
“I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t,” Leo smirked. “You’re too honest. But it’s worth a try.”
He extended his hand.
“Teacher?” he asked.
Randel looked at the hand. Then at his face. Then back at the hand.
“Student,” he said, taking it. “Even if the teacher is a killer.”
“Especially if the teacher is a killer,” Leo corrected. “Killers live longer.”
They sat on the ruined terrace, gazing at the stars—two men brought together by one woman. One, a duke who believed in honor. The other, an orphan pretending he was thousands of years old, a seasoned killer.
Below, by the fire, the knights fell quiet, listening to the voices above.
“Has my lord found a friend?” Falk asked.
“Seems like it,” Erhard chuckled. “My lord always had a talent for getting along with those who nearly killed him.”
“That’s a talent,” one of the knights remarked.
“That’s stupidity,” another corrected.
“It’s both,” Erhard said, rising to his feet. “Now get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day.”
He glanced up at the terrace, where two figures sat side by side, talking, laughing about something.
“And a new friend,” he added quietly.