When the melodious chirping of birds pricked his ears, he fluttered his eyelids open, only to be greeted by a blurry sight. Blinking a few times to clear his hazy vision, the towering pine trees stretching toward the bright blue sky came into view, sunlight filtering through the canopy leaves. The thick, earthy scent, mingled with a metallic odor, stung his nostrils.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows in confusion, mumbling, “A forest?” His voice was hoarse and unfamiliar, likely due to his dry throat, so he brushed it off. But as he thought about it, he clearly remembered sitting on a plane engrossing in a novel, and—‘did the plane… crash?’

If that were the case, then it explained how on earth he was lying in the forest with agony rippling through his body. Using his elbows to lift himself off the ground, a jolt of excruciating pain erupted in his abdomen, slamming him back down with a thud. “Ugh!”

His breath hitched as the world spun, the pain intensifying in an insistent throb as if asserting its dominance. Inclining his head, he fixated on the source of his misery and froze at the sight of crimson liquid smeared across his brown leather vest. However, it wasn’t the amount of blood that shocked him.

“This… isn’t my body…” His once lean, muscular frame was gone, replaced by the slender body of a teenager. Even his clothes changed, resembling those of an adventurer from a game. Was he dreaming? But the anguish was far too vivid to be anything but a nightmare. No wonder his voice sounded weird.

‘If I’m in someone else’s body, what happened to mine? Am I… dead? Who is this person? Why is he injured?’ Though the torrent of questions flooded his mind, he pushed them aside—he had no time for this confusion.

He pressed a hand to the stabbed wound and forced himself to sit with a grunt. When the brown half-cape on his shoulders caught his attention, he yanked it off and wrapped it tightly around his waist, wincing as he secured it over the wound. It wasn’t much, but it would hold the bleeding at bay until he found proper help.

Rummaging through his body for anything useful, he was stunned to find nothing besides his clothes, which only worsened his dizziness. ‘Not. Even. A. Weapon?’ The corner of his mouth tugged up instinctively upon scoffing. “Could I be any luckier?”

Moving on, he surveyed the environment with his fleeting vision. The forest appeared unremarkable, dotted with unfamiliar vegetation and no sign of the plane wreckage he’d initially expected. But what relieved him most was the absence of wild animals or dangerous people. In his current condition—especially without a weapon—he wasn’t sure he could put up much of a fight.

Truthfully, he wanted to stay put and wait for help. However, with no recollection of how the person he possessed ended up in this situation, finding safety was paramount. After all, he had no interest in becoming a sitting duck whatsoever.

Gritting his teeth against the agony flaring from his torso, he forced himself to stand, but his body betrayed him, causing his step to falter and compelled him to reach the nearest tree for support. His entire body trembled as he gasped for air, sweat beading on his forehead while the pain threatened to consume him. After a deep breath, he braced himself before eventually moving his legs.

As he trudged forward, his eyes darted around, scanning for signs of wild animals, potential shelter, or clues that might lead to a water source. Amidst the forest’s symphony, a faint sound of flowing current reached his ears, prompting him to halt and strain his hearing to ensure it wasn’t a trick of his mind. When the sound grew clearer, sparks of hope flared within him, and he wasted no time propelling himself toward it. Guided by the sound, he pushed through the dense foliage until it gave way to a small clearing.

In the middle of it, a river meandered lazily, the water glistening under the sunlight, and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief as a wave of catharsis washed over him. Dragging his feet toward the edge, he dropped to his knees and scooped a handful of water to his lips, feeling the coolness slide down his parched throat and fleetingly refresh his mind.

Just as he was about to take another scoop, the reflection on the water's surface caught his attention. Squinting for a better look, a short white-haired teenager with pale skin entered his sight. The weary, cerulean eyes stared back at him. Yet, there was something unsettlingly familiar about the body he now inhabited, though he couldn’t quite place it.

Shaking off the thoughts, he scooped handfuls of water to quench his thirst. Once sated, he straightened his back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. But his respite was cut short as the wound throbbed unabated, constantly reminding him that this wasn’t over and that he needed to find shelter as soon as possible. With one last glance at his reflection, he rose to his feet with herculean effort and staggered along the river.

Nonetheless, the farther he ventured into the forest, the more his body vehemently protested. Each step felt like feeding his consciousness to the pain. His lungs tightened, and his already blurry eyes worsened. He had to stop and lean against every tree he passed to ensure he didn’t kiss the ground.

After what felt like an eternity, he emerged from behind tall bushes, only to freeze at the scene present before him. Numerous figures lay scattered on the ground, some donned in black robes and others in Renaissance-style soldier uniforms. Varied weapons and severed limbs littered the clearing, with blood splattered everywhere, painting the vegetation in crimson. It was undoubtedly the aftermath of a battle—a sight he frequently saw and might be the answer to why this person was injured.

Right before he turned around, the rustling leaves prompted him to drag his feet toward the nearby tree and hide behind it. Noticing a sword stabbed into the ground beside him, he pulled it out and gripped it tightly.

“...we must locate him at all costs,” demanded a young man’s voice.

“I understand,” responded a deep, masculine voice.

They were undoubtedly speaking another language, yet strangely, he understood every word—it seemed this body retained some memories. Lowering his sword and tilting it slightly, he used its flat side to catch a blurry glimpse of a robust man clad in full armor, though the other figure remained obscured behind his frame.

When a glint flickered on his blade, he instinctively ducked, and the sound of metal thunking into the tree behind him echoed. Leaping forward and spinning around, he swung his sword at the incoming attack. A clash of steel thundered as their swords collided, but the knight’s sheer power sent him sprawling to the ground with a heavy thump.

“Argh!” Wrenching pain crashed over him, a metallic taste blooming in his mouth. As a shadow loomed, he sprang to his feet and assumed a defensive stance.

“Cassian?!” The other man’s shout froze the knight mid-strike.

The knight flinched and hastily dropped to one knee, head bowed low. “Your Highness, please forgive my impertinence!”

“…what?” Despite the confusion, he held his stance.

“Ian! You’re safe!” The young man’s relieved voice drew Cassian’s attention; he was running in his direction. When the distance drew closer, he pointed his sword at him, causing the man to halt and raise both hands in surrender. “Ian?” Confusion tinged his voice.

“Prince Cassian, I implore you to sheathe your sword!” The knight stood and stepped forward, shielding the young man.

“Gilbert, needn’t be alarmed. Ian is likely bewildered by the situation.” The man eased his knight.

“But—”

“Gilbert, enough,” the young man interrupted with a wave of his hand. He walked around him with his hands held high. “Cassian, you’re injured. Let me tend to your wound.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes at the figure before him, trying to lift the haze veiling his vision. As his kaleidoscopic sight gradually dissipated, a young man with fair skin, short mint-green hair, and emerald eyes, dressed in regal attire came into view. He couldn’t help but stiffen at the familiar face.

“Julius?!” an exclaim escaped his mouth.

Julius offered him a reassuring smile and nodded. “Yes, it’s me—your brother. I came to rescue you.”

“…what in the world?” He muttered, his free hand pressed against his temple, battling the insufferable headache. The revelation felt like a slap to his face, and his stomach churned as the reality sank in. He recognized Julius right away because his face was on the cover of the novel he’d been reading on the plane! ‘Did I just enter that novel?!’

“Ian, please lower your weapon and allow me to tend to your wound,” Julius pleaded, pulling him back to the present.

“No. Stay back,” he growled. If he had truly become Cassian as they claimed, then there was no reason for him to trust Julius at all.

“Prince Cassian—”

“Silence!” Cassian snapped, his breathing uneven as he staggered backward. His body trembled, whether from shock or pain, it didn’t matter anymore. The most important thing right now was that he needed to run. He needed to run as far as possible.

“Ian,” Julius stepped closer, worried etched on his features and voice. “It’s all right, you can trust me—”

“I said, stay back!” Cassian roared, stopping Julius’ tracks. ‘Trust him?’ What kind of joke was that? How could he trust someone who was fated to kill him?!

Wasting no more time, Cassian whirled around, but his sword slipped from his grip, and he fell to his knees. His surroundings swirled, and his body grew uncontrollably heavy. “N-no…” Darkness swallowed him whole, drowned in Julius and the knight’s frantic shouts.

When light pierced through Cassian’s eyelids, he winced and blocked it using his hand. But before he slipped into his slumber, he snapped open his eyes and locked them on a pale, calloused teenage hand. Jerking upright, he lifted his ivory silk pajamas, exposing a toned stomach marred by several jagged scars. The wound was gone, and so was the pain.

Letting go of his clothes, he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed in resignation. It took less than a second for him to make out his situation. “So, I really have become Cassian, huh?”

If he remembered correctly, Cassian was Julius’ half-brother, and both were princes—heirs to the throne of the Solairé Empire. They were two years apart, with Julius being the firstborn. However, the information about Cassian was scarce as he had already been dead long before the novel began—he was fated to die at the protagonist’s hands, Julius.

‘But… why did he save him?’

Silence lingered in the air as nothing came to mind.

Dismissing the question, he took in the surroundings, realizing he was in an unfamiliar, grand European-style room adorned with luxurious baroque furniture. Sunlight streamed through the open arched windows lining the wall, bathing the backgrounds in a warm, golden glow.

Fixing his sight on one of the open arched windows, he swung his legs off the bed and strode toward it. However, the sound of the door creaking open halted his steps, drawing his attention to an elderly butler entering the room.

Locking eyes with him, the man froze in the doorway, his grey eyes widening in shock. “Your Highness…?” he stammered before whirling around and urgently bellowing, “His Highness has awakened! Summon the physician and inform Their Majesties immediately!”

“We understand!” Following the order, the maids behind the door commenced running.

The man turned and dashed toward him. “Your Highness, please refrain from exerting yourself,” he said, extending his hand. “Let us return to your bed.”

Cassian stared at the outstretched hand before meeting the old man’s gaze. “Who are you?”

“P-pardon?” He stuttered, utterly perplexed.

“Who are you?” Cassian repeated.

Yet, instead of providing an answer, the man looked at him in astonishment as if he’d seen the sun rise from the west. His mouth opened and closed like a fish coming out of water.

“Her Majesty the Empress is entering!” a blaring voice interjected, shifting their attention to the entrance.

A blonde-haired woman in a fancy gown, trailed by several ladies-in-waiting, rushed in their direction. Her bloodshot cerulean eyes brimmed with unshed tears, relief etched on her features. The elderly butler bowed respectfully and stepped aside. Holding her gaze, a whirlwind of emotions stirred within him, though he couldn’t grasp the cause.

When his vision flickered out of focus, Cassian’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Argh!” A sudden bolt of searing pain pierced through his skull, forcing him to grip his head tightly and drop to his knees.

“…ian! Cassian!” A woman’s desperate, trembling cry rang out before the cacophony of distorted voices gobbled it.

He tried to suppress the pain, but the harder he fought it, the more his head pounded. His chest tightened, and his breath grew shallow, sweat beading on his skin. Before he could fully process what was happening, a blinding light flashed into his eyes, engulfing everything in white and washing away the pain. Thus, the world went mute, and he felt like floating in the air.

“Cassian?” The previous voice echoed amidst the brilliance. However, unlike before, her voice was soft and soothing.

The moment the light receded, he found himself in the midst of a grand parade, basking under the warm sunlight. Jubilant cheers of the crowd blended with the lively music filling the air as he sat high in a luxurious open carriage drawn by four majestic horses. Gliding through a sea of smiling faces, the confetti danced around him; vibrant banners fluttered in the breeze.

Confusion clouded his mind at the abrupt shift in reality. Even so, the scene before him felt oddly familiar—like déjà vu. In contrast to the euphoric atmosphere surrounding him, a chilling tide of fear crept into his mind, and his heart raced like crazy.

‘I… can’t move my body…’

No matter how much he tried, his body refused to respond. He couldn’t move or speak—he had no control over Cassian’s body, as if he existed only to witness everything unfold.

“Cassian?” the voice called again, prompting Cassian to turn to find the Empress smiling tenderly at him. Seated beside his son, she wore an elegant peach dress with glamorous accessories that befitted her status.

She reached out and ran her fingers gently through Cassian’s hair, “Does this festivity bore you? You seem to lapse into drowsiness.”

Cassian shook his head. “No, it’s just—“

“Neigh!” a deafening whinny seized their attention. They whirled around—only to see the horses were already upon them. Before Cassian could react, a tremendous force slammed into his body, hurling him backward.

“Urk!” Cassian’s body crashed against the cobblestone floor; blood jumped out from his mouth. The world spun relentlessly as his body tumbled across the road. Coming to a full stop, Cassian lay sprawled on the ground, his body trembling, and his vision flickered like scattered fireflies, the sounds muffled and distant.

“…ian! …help! Physician!” Julius’ distressed voice cut through the turmoil while lifting Cassian into his arms.

Slowly regaining his senses, Cassian blinked rapidly to clear his hazy eyes. However, the first thing he saw caused him to widen his eyes, and his heart plummeted.

“N-no…” Cassian’s voice croaked.

In the distance, the Empress lay limp in the white-haired man’s embrace, a shard of wood lanced through her heart. Blood drenched her dress and pooled beneath them.

Tears burst from Cassian’s eyes. “Mo… ther…” His trembling hand outstretched, trying to grasp his mother, only for it to fall helplessly on the ground.

Overwhelmed by the great shock, Cassian’s chest heaved wildly as he gasped for air. The world began to tilt along with his consciousness, and the scene faded into darkness.

“…something!”

“…the Prince…”

“…in pain…!”

“…memories… trauma…”

When the chaos of jumbled voices pricked his ears, he fluttered his eyes open, only to be met by a kaleidoscope sight. His mind felt sluggish, and his body was slick in sweat. He tried to lift one of his fingers, and relief washed over him, knowing he had regained control of Cassian’s body. The experience of being reduced to nothing more than a helpless soul traumatized him—he never wanted to go through that again.

However, a question popped in: if he possessed Cassian’s body, where did the real soul go? Was he dead…? Or could ‘the real’ Cassian be enduring the same experience he had before?

A bad taste permeated his mouth, compelling him to shove the thoughts aside. Turning toward the noises beside his bed, he saw the Empress and an old man in a white robe—who reminded him of Gandalf—engaged in a heated discussion. Nevertheless, a flicker of unexplainable catharsis arose upon realizing the Empress was unharmed.

Sitting upright, Cassian held his head as dizziness struck him. When the stillness abruptly descended, he glanced sideways and found everyone present staring at him.

“Ian…” the Empress’ face contorted in relief, tears cascading down her cheeks. Without warning, she threw herself and wrapped him in a tight embrace. Burying her face in his shoulder, wrenching sobs escaped her.

“My dear… My son…” her voice quivered with emotions.

Cassian felt conflicted, unsure of what to do—he had never been in this kind of situation. But, for certainty, his heart ached to see her weeping like this. Was Cassian’s emotion messing up with him? After all, he had no reason to feel such great sorrow for someone he had just met.

After battling with hesitation, Cassian cradled her in his arms and gently patted her back. “Please cease your tears. I am well.”

Yet, instead of stopping, her tears flowed relentlessly. Sobs filled the room as she tightened her grip on his clothes, her hands trembling. The guilt that had been gnawing at him now twisted into something deeper, heavier. She… deserved the love of her real son, not the hollow comfort of a stranger in borrowed skin.

“His Majesty the Emperor, His Highness Prince Julius, and Lord Samuel of the Silverfall are entering!” a voice reverberated into the room, grabbing everyone’s attention.

Seven figures entered Cassian’s chamber, prompting everyone present to bow and curtsey respectfully. Leading the group was a middle-aged man with short white hair and crimson eyes, followed by a man with light brown hair and eyes, with Julius beside him. All wore clothing that screamed of their high social standing. Four knights shadowed behind them. Upon their arrival, the six of them, excluding the white-haired man—presumably the Emperor—bowed reverently toward the Empress.

The Emperor fixated on the crying Empress before turning to the physician. “How fares my son?”

“His Highness has been stabilized. However, as a result of the traumatic event, Prince Cassian appears to have suffered amnesia—"

“What?! How is that possible?!” Julius exclaimed, disbelief lacing his voice and features.

The Emperor raised his hand, signaling Julius not to interfere, “Can you devise a solution?”

The Physician shook his head apologetically, “I fear such a feat is beyond my capability. While blood manipulation can, indeed, hasten the healing process, memories reside in the mind, not the blood, and cannot be mended by physical means.”

“…I see,” the Emperor murmured thoughtfully, his hands clenched tightly.

“How can this be…?” Julius muttered, barely audible.

Julius glanced at him, frustration painted his face, teetering on the edge of fear. But he couldn’t tell whether it was genuine or just an act. Suddenly, Julius’ figure was obscured as the Emperor approached.

Sitting beside the Empress, he offered him a warm smile and gently stroked his hair, “Fear not. All will be well. Your memory shall return shortly.”

With the last sob, the Empress released him and wiped away her tears. Rising to her feet, she faced the Emperor with an indifferent demeanor. “Cassian must rest. Please, return.”

Silence. The Emperor didn’t say a word and just stared at his wife with an indescribable expression. The atmosphere grew dramatically heavy and suffocating with tension as their eyes remained locked.

People exchanged nervous glances; of course, they weren’t foolish enough to miss the simmering rage beneath the surface. Though Cassian didn’t know the inside story, he could tell it was far from trivial.

After what felt like an eternity, the Emperor eventually broke the silence with a long and deep sigh. Standing before her and staring fearlessly into her cerulean eyes, he spoke with an icy tone, “My wife is right, Cassian must rest.”

The Emperor cast a last glance at him before marching toward the entrance. Those present instinctively bowed as he passed while two knights quickly positioned themselves behind him.

Julius—whose eyes still lingered on him—stepped forward and mustered a strained smile, asking apprehensively, “Dear brother, is there a chance you might… remember me?”

He held his gaze apathetically before shaking his head. “I apologize, but I’m only familiar with your name.”

Julius froze, disbelief dyed his face as though the world crumbled, “I… I see.” After a brief pause, he forced a smile, “Then, we wish you a swift recovery, my dear brother. Please, rest well and recuperate.”

Cassian nodded curtly, “Thank you.”

With a final bow toward the Empress, Julius, and Samuel, accompanied by their knights, made their way to the entrance. Julius cast him one worried glance before vanishing behind the door. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but click his tongue inwardly, had he not read the novel before being thrown into this world, he might have undoubtedly believed Julius was a truly caring brother.

The Empress turned to the elderly butler. “Sanchez, please prepare a basin of warm water for my son’s bath.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you require?”

While the Empress conversed with Sanchez and the physician, his mind drifted back to the glimpse he had seen. Given the severity of the Empress’ wound, she was unquestionably dead on the spot. Yet, here she stood, alive and well, so it couldn’t have been a recollection of Cassian’s memories. This left only one conclusion: it was a vision of the future.

If that was the case, then it perfectly aligned with the storyline: just like her son, the Empress also died before the novel began. But… why did he suddenly see a sight of the future? An Extra like him, no less? Not only that, but the fact that he couldn’t control Cassian’s body during the vision—did that mean the real Cassian would eventually regain control of this body, leaving his soul trapped inside?

He clutched his head at the surge of unbearable headache. As if being thrown into the world of the novel and fated to be killed by his half-brother wasn’t bad enough, now he had to contend with the soul of ‘the real’ Cassian. Whether Julius ended his life or his body was overtaken, it seemed he was destined to perish either way, huh?

The grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling, emitting a soft glow that cast long shadows across the regal study. The air was filled with the musky scent of candles, while the rhythmic chirping of crickets and hoot of owls created an eerie nocturnal symphony.

Seated behind his desk, Julius withdrew a small, ornate box from his magical ring. Opening it, the container filled with fine tobacco powder was revealed. Shifting his eyes toward a platinum-blonde middle-aged man standing next to the balcony door beside him, he asked. “Fancy a pinch of snuff?”

Gilbert bowed respectfully, “I appreciate your offer, Your Highness, but I shall decline.”

Julius shrugged indifferently and took a pinch of the powder. Bringing it to his nostrils, he inhaled sharply. A surge of cool menthol flooded his nasal cavity, followed by a gentle burn at the back of his throat. The bothersome thoughts clouding his mind dissipated into a soothing wave of catharsis.

He took another pinch and sniffed it, letting the numbing sensation wash over him. For a moment, the room seemed quieter, and the weight on his chest lighter. He set aside the container aside and leaned his head against the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

‘This… didn’t occur in the past.’

There was no such a thing as assassination during Cassian’s training, or a case where his brother had amnesia—those never happened. He knew he had altered many events in the timeline, but he never expected it would impact Cassian’s life. Thanks to his very dear mother, she succeeded in severing his bond with his brother this time—just as she always wanted.

“Your Highness, it is not your fault,” Gilbert rang in.

He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “How could it not?” Straightening his back, he ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head in disbelief, “I swore to protect Cassian this time, yet I failed miserably.”

“Your Highness, it is unjust to bear the blame yourself,” Gilbert stepped closer and knelt, locking his golden eyes in him. “You did everything within your power, even rushing here despite the distance. Furthermore, the fact that both the mercenaries you assigned to watch over Prince Cassian and his escort knights were wiped out suggests the perpetrators were far from ordinary.”

Julius sighed and brushed his face in frustration. Though Gilbert’s words were logical, they did little to ease the knot tightening in his chest. “But his memories of me are gone. His trust in me is gone. How am I supposed to mend that?”

Gilbert smiled benignly at him. “You cannot fix it all at once, Your Highness. Trust is built over time. Perhaps this is a new start, a chance to prove to him, not just through words but through deeds, that you are someone he can rely on.”

Truthfully, Julius wanted to believe those words. He wanted to hope. But deep down, a fear lingered: what if it was too late? What if, no matter what he did, his little brother could never see him the way he once had? Especially when their factions were enemies.

Letting out a sigh for what felt like the thousandth time, he eventually nodded and offered him a faint smile. “You’re right. It is premature to give up.”

Gilbert returned the smile and inclined his head proudly at his response. However, the whole atmosphere shifted to serious when a presence appeared on the balcony. Rising to his feet, Gilbert approached and opened the balcony door, letting the figure in a black robe slide into the room.

Arriving before him, the man knelt. “Greeting, Your Highness.”

Without beating around the bush, Julius asked, “How is it?”

The man lowered his head further. “The one who carried out the assassination is from the Liberation Agency.”

Julius arched an eyebrow. “Them? Again?”

Previously, the mercenary of the Liberation agency had attempted to assassinate Cassian several times, but his mercenaries easily thwarted them. What he didn’t understand was, how they could manage to wipe out his high-ranking mercenaries and Cassian’s escort knights this time. Where did they find those skilled assassins?

“Yes, Your Highness.” The man’s voice pulled him back to reality, “And just as you expected, the Vazquez family has become their primary sponsor secretly for the past few years. They carry out all of the Duke Vazquez and Her Highness the Consort requests without question.”

His jaw tightened, anger seething within him, fists clenched tightly, “So, in other words, the Liberation Agency has become my grandfather and my mother’s loyal dog, huh?”

Stillness enveloped the room as the man remained silent to his profane remark. Exhaling deeply to alleviate his rage, Julius leaned against the chair, his fingers drumming the armrest impatiently, “How about the evidence?”

“The Emperor disposed of it all before the Marquis’ heir—Lord Samuel, could start his investigation.”

Julius massaged his temples at the excruciating headache. ‘Again, it has always been like this.’ It was an open secret that Gideon—the Emperor—despised the Vazquez household, yet each time his family caused trouble, he swiftly covered it up. ‘Just… Why?’ Was it merely to maintain the Empire’s delicate balance, or was there something else that he wasn’t seeing?

After a long pause, Julius broke the silence. “You’ve done a great job.” He glanced at Gilbert, who nodded, stepping forward to hand the man in black a small pouch of gold to the man. “Take it as a token of gratitude.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” the man replied, accepting the bonus with a bow.  Julius nodded and ordered, “Continue monitoring my grandfather and mother.”

“Understood.” The man bowed once more before vanishing toward the balcony.

The moment Gilbert locked the door, Julius spat his mind, “I’m thinking of attacking the Liberation Agency.” The only way to stop the assassination from coming was to raze the door where they came from. He couldn’t afford to let the same thing happen again to his brother.

Surprise etched on Gilbert’s face. Making his way toward him, he knelt, “With all due respect, Your Highness. You have every right to be angry, but acting out of fury will not serve you well. If His Majesty learns of you owning a mercenary agency, it could have grave consequences.”

Julius shut his mouth tightly as Gilbert’s words sank in. Any conflict between mercenary agencies had to go through arbitration first; launching an outright attack was strictly forbidden and could result in the agency being banned across the continent.

His mercenary agency was his lifeline—an area his mother and grandfather couldn’t touch or reach. Losing it would also mean losing the power to protect Cassian from his family, which was doubtlessly a devastating loss.

After a deep rumination, Julius eventually nodded, his frustration slowly ebbing away, “You’re right. I cannot act rashly.”

Gilbert rose and bowed reverently, “It is my honor to serve you, Your Highness.”

Julius nodded in acknowledgment, and instructed, “Also, sent words to my agency to choose new people to watch over Cassian.”

“As you wish—”

Knocks reverberated into the room, pulling their attention toward the entrance. A man’s voice followed, “Your Highness, this is Sanchez. I’ve brought the medicine you requested.”

“Enter,” Julius responded.

The door creaked open, revealing an elderly butler along with a maid holding a tray entering the room. Upon reaching the desk, they bowed and the maid carefully placed the tray on the polished surface before stepping back.

Julius glanced at it, showing a teacup set and a glass bottle filled with black pills. Picking up the bottle, he asked while inspecting the label. “How fares my brother?”

Sanchez’s expression softened at his question. “Prince Cassian is resting well, Your Highness. The physician reported no complications thus far, though he has advised continued observation.”

Julius nodded in acknowledgment, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “I see. If anything changes, I want to be informed immediately.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Sanchez replied.

“Then, that will be all,” Julius concluded.

Sanchez and the maid bowed again. “As you wish, Your Highness. Should you require anything else, please do not hesitate to call upon me.”

With that, they exited the room. Once the door closed, Gilbert whirled to face him. “Will you be retiring for the evening, Your Highness?”

Julius nodded. “Yes, I think I will. It’s getting late.”

“Understood.” Gilbert approached, pouring tea into a cup before stepping back and bowing. “Then I shall take my leave. I wish you a restful night, Your Highness.”

“Thank you. The same to you.”

As the door closed with a click, the room steeped with quietness, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl. Fixating his sight on the glass bottle in his hand, his mind whisked away to the past—remembering how the sharp edge of his sword grazed Cassian’s body, the way blood spurted from the wound and splattered on his face.

Shaking his head to dispel the memories, he extracted a pill with trembling hands and swallowed it. Letting out a long sigh, he ran his hands over his face in frustration. Despite having turned back time, the day he killed Cassian remained vivid in his mind, and he couldn’t sleep without the pills.

‘Cassian, I promise—I will protect you this time, no matter what.’