100 - Regret
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The room remained quiet except for the faint rustling of curtains from the night breeze slipping through the slightly opened balcony doors.
Mariana's heart refused to calm down.
"That's what you are to me."
Those words lingered heavily in her chest.
She should've been disturbed. She should've pushed him away. She should've told him that none of this made sense. But instead, her eyelids slowly grew heavier. The exhaustion from everything that happened that day finally caught up to her.
Zafiel noticed first.
Her breathing slowed. Her tense shoulders gradually loosened. Even her gaze began to lose focus.
"... tired?" He asked quietly.
Mariana stubbornly tried to deny it. "... no..." Then immediately yawned.
Zafiel stared at her silently.
Her face flushed faintly in embarrassment. "... shut up."
A quiet chuckle escaped him.
Mariana clicked her tongue weakly before shifting slightly closer without realizing it. Perhaps because the bed was warm. Perhaps because she was too mentally exhausted to care anymore.
Or perhaps-no, she refused to think about that possibility. Slowly, her head lowered against his chest.
Zafiel froze instantly.
Mariana didn't notice. Already half-asleep, she mumbled something incomprehensible under her breath before loosely wrapping her arms around his waist. Then she nuzzled closer.
Zafiel's thoughts stopped completely. His entire body became rigid as he stared downward in stunned silence. "... Iana..." The name came out almost painfully soft.
He had imagined countless versions of this moment over the years. Her warmth. Her closeness. Her willingly seeking him out. And now that it was happening, he almost couldn't believe it.
Carefully, as if afraid she would disappear, his hand moved toward her hair. His fingers brushed through the soft strands slowly. Mariana sighed quietly in her sleep, hugging him tighter.
Something in Zafiel's chest hurt, not unpleasantly. But intensely enough that he had to close his eyes for a brief moment. Dangerous. This was dangerous.
Because now he truly understood something terrifying, he would never be able to let her go. Not after this. Not after finally having her beside him.
His gaze softened impossibly further as he looked down at her sleeping face. "... you trust too easily." He whispered.
Or perhaps not trust. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe instinct. Maybe she simply didn't understand how deeply he wanted to keep her.
His fingers lingered against her cheek lightly. Then his expression shifted. Duty. The empire. The attacks. The rebels moving far faster than anticipated. His jaw tightened.
I need to move now.
Carefully-so carefully-he slipped away from her hold. Mariana frowned faintly in her sleep as the warmth disappeared.
Zafiel immediately leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against her cheek. "I'll return soon." He murmured.
She relaxed again afterward. Only then did he finally stand. The softness vanished from his expression almost immediately.
By the time he reached the chamber doors, the terrifying Crown Prince remained once more. Cold. Controlled. Lethal.
-
Outside the room, Leonhard stood guard like an unmoving wall. The knight straightened instantly. "Your Imperial Highness."
"Guard the Crown Prince's Palace personally while I'm gone."
Leonhard frowned slightly. "... you're leaving tonight?"
"Yes." The answer allowed no questioning. Zafiel's gaze darkened slightly. "No one enters her room."
"Understood."
"If she requests anything, fulfill it immediately."
Leonhard blinked once at the strange addition but nodded regardless. "As you command."
A brief silence followed.
Then, aura surged. Unlike mana, aura did not shimmer softly or flow elegantly, it dominated. Sharp and overwhelming like a drawn blade pressed against the world itself.
The air distorted violently around Zafiel. Aura Blink. In a split second, his figure vanished completely.
Leonhard stared at the empty hallway afterward. Then muttered quietly to himself, "... the empire is doomed if anything happens to her..."
-
Far away from the capital stood the secluded Magic Tower. Ancient. Massive. Protected by countless layers of mana barriers woven together by generations of mages. Or rather, it should have been protected. The moment Zafiel arrived, his expression darkened.
The barriers were broken, not forcibly shattered. Corroded. As though something had eaten through the mana itself. The scent of blood hit him immediately afterward. Heavy. Fresh. Wrong.
Zafiel stepped inside. Silence greeted him. Then destruction. The grand halls of the Magic Tower were drenched in blood. Cracked mana stones flickered weakly along ruined walls. Mage corpses littered the floors, some still clutching broken staffs.
Zafiel's eyes sharpened dangerously. "... they moved faster than expected."
Further inside, three Archmages were barely alive, their bodies torn apart by wounds that refused to heal naturally. Not sword wounds. Not mana injuries. Something stranger.
Their flesh looked distorted around the edges, almost as though reality itself had split them apart. Another Archmage convulsed violently nearby.
Mana explosion. Pure mana leaked uncontrollably from his body, destroying the surrounding floor every few seconds. And the fifth, missing. The youngest Archmage.
Zafiel's gaze darkened completely. "... troublesome."
One injured Archmage noticed him weakly. "Cro...wn... Prince..."
Zafiel immediately crouched beside him. "Who attacked?"
The old mage coughed violently, blood staining his lips. "... couldn't... see..."
"Explain."
"... shadows..."
Zafiel frowned. Not illusion magic, something else. Something capable of interfering with mana perception itself. His fingers tightened.
That hidden bastard again. That fucking chess player moving through this empire's darkness.
Without another word, Zafiel stood and began working immediately. Not as Crown Prince. Not as Sword Saint. Simply as someone cleaning up a massacre.
He carried bodies himself. Stabilized collapsing mana circles. Applied emergency first aid to the surviving Archmages despite not specializing in healing.
Aura gathered carefully around his hands-not to heal directly, because aura was not mana nor faith-but to forcibly stabilize damaged bodies long enough to prevent immediate death.
Hours passed. Blood stained his sleeves. His hands. The floor beneath him. Yet his expression remained frighteningly calm. Inside, however, rage simmered violently.
They reached the Magic Tower already, meaning the empire's collapse had accelerated. Because of him. Because he became emotionally careless. His jaw tightened as Mariana's sleeping face flashed through his mind.
No, I refuse to regret her. Never her.
The problem was everyone else failing to keep up. Once the surviving Archmages stabilized enough to avoid death, Zafiel finally stood again.
There's still one thing left.
-
The Grand Basilica. Seat of the Temple of Astrid. Unlike the Magic Tower's flowing mana, the Basilica radiated something entirely different.
Faith. Warm. Radiant. Heavy with divine authority. Holy knights immediately blocked the entrance when Zafiel appeared. Then froze as overwhelming aura flooded the cathedral halls.
"Yo-Your Imperial Highness-"
"I'm here to meet the Pope."
No one dared refuse.
Minutes later, Zafiel stood within the Pope's private chambers. The old Pope looked visibly displeased the moment he saw him.
"... Crown Prince."
Zafiel stepped inside calmly. "I need the Temple's cooperation."
The Pope scoffed softly. "You always sound like you're issuing commands instead of requests."
"I don't have time for diplomacy tonight."
"... unsurprising."
Silence lingered briefly. Then Zafiel spoke. "The Magic Tower was attacked."
The Pope immediately straightened. "What?"
"Three Archmages critically injured. One suffering mana explosion." A pause. "One missing."
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
"... impossible."
"It already happened." The Pope's expression hardened. "Enemy forces beyond this world are moving openly now." Zafiel continued quietly. "I want the Temple of Astrid to cooperate with me in eliminating them."
The old man stared at him silently for several moments. Then sighed. "... I still dislike you." Zafiel looked unsurprised. "You imprison my great-granddaughter under the excuse of protection."
"She's safer with me."
"That remains debatable."
"Debate it after the empire survives."
The Pope clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Insufferable child.
And yet, he could sense it too. The strange disturbances in divine faith lately. The corruption spreading beneath the world itself.
"... fine."
The Pope extended a contract. "The Temple will cooperate temporarily with the Imperial Crown."
Zafiel signed immediately. Aura surged briefly across the contract while divine faith sealed the agreement afterward. A binding cooperation.
The Pope watched him carefully afterward. "You look... exhausted."
"I'm not."
"You have blood on your hands."
Zafiel glanced down silently. "... not enough." The Pope's gaze sharpened faintly at those words. Then, "Send priests to the Magic Tower immediately." Zafiel ordered. "Mana injuries require faith-based healing now."
The Pope nodded seriously. Even despite the Temple and Magic Tower's long-standing animosity, this situation surpassed politics. "I'll dispatch them tonight."
Good.
Zafiel turned to leave. Then paused slightly near the doorway. "Thank you."
The Pope blinked in visible surprise. Before he could answer-Aura Blink. Zafiel vanished instantly. Silence filled the chamber afterward.
The old Pope slowly sat down again. "... that child is becoming frightening."
Outside, the Basilica bells rang softly into the night.
And far away, hidden within darkness, someone smiled while moving another piece across a chessboard.