I had created a clone of mine. His face was almost the same as mine, but his skin tone was a shade darker, his hair a little longer, giving him a slightly gloomy aura. On his left ear, he wore a silver earring—an artifact that allowed him to connect and report back to me whenever needed. If I were to cut his hair shorter, brighten his face a little, and remove that earring, he would be my perfect copy. I had named him “Cease.”

  Cease had already set out before my journey even began. He was my shadow, walking a different path, gathering information where my true self could not. Sometimes I wondered what he was doing now, how far ahead of me he had gone. But his silence was proof enough that the mission was going smoothly.

  As for the assassins, I had sent them to move ahead of us as well, blending into the undercurrents of the capital to prepare the ground. Meanwhile, our group traveled at a slow, lazy pace.

  Angelica and I still hadn’t faced each other fully since that night. Our eyes met only in stolen glances, and even when we spoke, the words always ended unfinished. The silence between us weighed heavier than steel.

  I still remembered the awkward conversations we shared—short, clipped, yet layered with unspoken truths:

  “Did you sleep well last night?” she asked once, her eyes avoiding mine.

  “...Not really,” I had answered, staring at the fire.

  “You’re driving the carriage again? You should rest sometimes.”

  “I’m fine. Someone has to keep it steady.”

  “You didn’t eat much.”

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  “You should talk with Sayo more. She’s been watching you.”

  “...I know.”

  “Why do you keep ignoring me?”

  “I’m not ignoring you. Just… keeping distance.”

  “Because of that night?”

  “…Yes.”

  “So it was a mistake to you?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “…Something I can’t explain.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “...I don’t know.”

  “Then look at me and say it.”

  “…I can’t.”

  Those conversations lingered, carving a gap between us that neither of us dared to cross. Yet her presence beside me, her glances, her sighs, all reminded me that the night had happened—and that it had changed us both.

  Sayo, however, was not blind. She continued to watch me with suspicion, her sharp gaze catching every small hesitation, every falter in my tone when Angelica was near. She didn’t ask outright, but her silence was its own kind of interrogation.

  The group around us carried their own rhythm. Marianne and her maid Reina remained mostly quiet, speaking only when necessary, their noble presence marked by silence rather than words. Angelica, Sayo, and Flora often conversed together, laughter occasionally breaking out from their circle. Rhea stayed buried in the book I had given her, reading with a hunger that suggested she wanted to devour its knowledge as quickly as possible.

  And Kael—he had already left on my orders, leading the assassin group to scout the atmosphere of the capital before our arrival. His absence made me the one to guide the horses, the reins in my hands, the road stretched endlessly ahead.

  So I found myself as the carriage driver, guiding my companions toward a destiny that none of them yet fully understood.

  A year ago, a rumour spread like wildfire across the world. It was about a man who walked alone into the depths of dungeons where even parties of skilled adventurers dared not tread. He was not part of any guild, not bound to any contract, nor reliant on companions. He entered dangerous lairs by himself, and when he emerged, the ground behind him was littered with the corpses of monsters no one else could hope to defeat.

  His feats became legendary in mere weeks. Dungeons known to consume lives, where entire groups vanished, became nothing more than trophies in his path. He fought with an aura that chilled witnesses, as though his very presence warped the battlefield into silence. Many who watched from afar swore that the monsters themselves trembled before his strikes.

  The adventurer’s name echoed in taverns, guild halls, and royal courts alike: Cease. His name carried a weight unlike any other—an embodiment of endings.

  Rich clans, guild masters, nobles, and even kings extended offers to him. Some came bearing riches, others with promises of status or companionship. But every invitation was rejected without hesitation. No one knew why. Some said he hated people, others thought he sought something greater than glory. Many believed he was cursed, unable to fight beside others. Whatever the truth was, Cease remained a mystery that no one could unravel.

  And yet, day after day, dungeon after dungeon, he continued his relentless path. His blade never dulled, his will never wavered. Every sunrise meant another species of monster faced its extinction at his hands.

  His name became more than a legend. It became fear, respect, and fascination all at once.

  His name was Cease.

  It had only been five months since Cease had arrived, and his life had become nothing but quests. Day after day, he entered dungeons, fought, and killed monsters. To him, the coins and treasures that came from these hunts held no meaning—money was worthless compared to the satisfaction of the fight.

  Now, he stood inside the notorious Cave of Serpents, his blade dripping with the venomous blood of the creatures that surrounded him. A serpent lunged at him, fangs bared, but with a single swing, its head flew into the air. Another hissed from the shadows, coiling to strike, only for Cease to dash forward, his movement a blur. His sword sliced through its scales as if cutting through paper, splitting the beast in two before it could even react.

  The cavern echoed with the sounds of steel tearing through flesh. Cease moved like a storm, calm and precise in his destruction. A serpent wrapped around his arm, sinking its fangs into him, but he didn’t even flinch. With a twist of his wrist, he drove his sword upward, splitting the creature’s body until it crumbled lifelessly.

  More serpents slithered from the cracks, dozens of them, but none could withstand his strikes. Each one fell, their bodies piling on the cavern floor. His blade gleamed under the dim dungeon glow, and his cold eyes reflected no emotion. This was not survival—it was domination.

  And at the end of the tunnel, he could feel it—the presence of the dungeon’s true master, the 12-headed Snake King. But for now, the mid-level serpents were nothing but toys to him, falling one after another beneath his relentless assault.

  He was continuously killing them.

  Cease wiped the blood from his blade, the crimson droplets sliding down the steel before fading into the darkness of the cave. Each battle left him sharper, more relentless, his body moving with the precision of a weapon forged for a single purpose. With every kill, he was not chasing gold or recognition—he was only carrying out his creator’s will. And yet, deep within that hollow shell of existence, a whisper remained. A desire not to fight for someone else’s command, but to one day choose for himself.

  The air grew heavier as he stepped deeper into the cavern. The earth rumbled beneath his boots, and the silence was broken by a hiss that echoed from every direction. Slithering from the shadows emerged the beast—the Seven-Headed Serpent. Each head twisted and writhed, its forked tongues lashing out, its eyes glowing with malice. The massive body coiled and struck, shaking the cave walls with its movements.

  Cease tightened his grip on his blade. The fight was no longer with the mid-level serpents he had cut down with ease. This was different. This was the trial.

  The first head lunged, its fangs glistening with venom. Cease dashed to the side, his blade flashing in a deadly arc that severed its throat before it could retreat. The beast roared, six heads snapping forward in fury, striking together with blinding speed. He spun, rolled, and sliced, his movements a blur of precision, his blade singing as it clashed against scales harder than steel. Each strike drew sparks, each dodge a brush with death.

  The serpent lashed out with its tail, sending a shockwave through the cavern. Cease staggered but refused to fall, slashing upward to cut down another head in a single stroke. Blood splattered across the ground, sizzling with venom as the air filled with the stench of decay.

  But for every head that fell, the beast’s rage multiplied. It twisted and writhed, its massive coils constricting the space, leaving Cease no room to retreat. The fight was becoming a storm of fangs and fury, and yet, his eyes burned with calm determination. He was the empty vessel, forged in shadows, yet with every strike he carved his own path.

  The battle between Cease and the Seven-Headed Serpent had only just begun.

  Cease stepped into the dimly lit chamber where the final boss awaited. From the shadows emerged a colossal snake with twelve writhing heads, each glowing with a different aura of power—flames, frost, lightning, poison, wind, stone, darkness, light, sound, illusion, gravity, and time. Its presence was suffocating, a storm of magic radiating from its massive body.

  The battle began with the fire head spitting torrents of molten breath, while the frost head countered with piercing icicles to trap him. Cease darted between the flames and freezing blasts, his blade flashing as he severed the frost head with a precise strike. The serpent roared, the remaining heads striking in unison.

  The lightning head crackled with thunderous arcs, nearly grazing him, while the poison head spewed toxic mists that corroded the ground. Summoning his magic resistance, Cease dashed through the venomous air and cleaved the poison head before its mist could spread further.

  Stone and wind heads followed, one attempting to crush him with boulders while the other launched razor-sharp gusts. Cease’s movements grew sharper, his sword cutting through both obstacles. With a leap, he struck the wind head cleanly, then spun his blade to shatter the stone head with a burst of force.

  The serpent, now with eight heads left, unleashed chaos. The darkness head cloaked the room in shadows while the light head blinded with searing brilliance. Fighting half-blind, Cease closed his eyes and relied on his instincts. He dashed forward, slashing through the source of the glow, silencing the light head. Then, focusing on the sound of scales shifting, he pierced through the shadows and destroyed the darkness head.

  The illusion head cast false images, warping reality around him, while the gravity head pulled him down with crushing weight. Cease gritted his teeth, breaking free with sheer willpower. Slashing through the illusions until only the true serpent remained, he lunged upward and cleaved the gravity head with a mighty strike.

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  The last two heads—sound and time—were the most dangerous. The sound head unleashed deafening waves, enough to rupture the eardrums, while the time head distorted his movements, slowing him unnaturally. Cease forced his body to adapt, pushing against the distortion. Enduring the unbearable ringing in his ears, he pushed forward. With a swift dual slash, he severed both heads in a final decisive strike.

  The massive body of the serpent collapsed, trembling before disintegrating into dark dust. Twelve glowing demonic stones hovered in the air, pulsing with an ominous light. Cease reached out and grasped them, his expression calm yet determined, knowing the path he sought had only just begun.

  Cease carefully returned every demonic stone to his master’s inventory, ensuring none of the immense power would be misused. The other magical stones he had gathered were securely stored in his dimensional storage, a safe haven where they could be accessed when needed.

  Stepping out of the dungeon, the sunlight hit him sharply. The chamber doors echoed behind him as they closed. The dungeon would remain open for another two days, enough time for the mining team to arrive once news of the dungeon clearance spread.

  Cease made his way back to the guild. The streets were busy, but he moved with the silent precision of someone who had faced countless dangers and survived. It had been seven months since his master had created him, and each day had honed him further for the ultimate showdown that lay six months ahead.

  Yet fate had a different plan. His moment of quiet preparation was interrupted by an unexpected invitation—the queen herself, Gizelotte, had summoned him for a meeting. It wasn’t a threat; rather, it was an opportunity too valuable to ignore.

  Cease entered the silent arena, his footsteps echoing against the vast stone walls. The air was thick with tension, as if the place itself anticipated the clash about to unfold. Without warning, a surge of energy shot toward him—sharp, fast, and merciless. Cease twisted his blade up, cutting through the strike with practiced precision.

  From the shadows emerged the figure of a woman cloaked in regal power—Queen Gizelotte, her crimson eyes gleaming. She wasted no words. Instead, she rushed forward, her weapon crashing down with force that made the ground quake.

  Cease braced himself, blocking her strike, sparks flying between their blades. The queen’s strength was overwhelming. Each blow carried not only her immense power but also her will to test the man before her. Rumors of Cease’s skill had reached her ears, and she would allow no doubt until she had seen it for herself.

  Their clash roared through the arena. Cease countered swiftly, weaving between her devastating swings, his own strikes sharp and precise. He summoned every ounce of skill he had, his blade moving like a shadow, pressing against the queen’s onslaught. For a moment, it seemed as though he could stand equal against her.

  But Gizelotte was unmatched. With a sudden burst of speed, she broke through his guard, striking him across the chest. Cease staggered, his knees buckling. The queen raised her weapon once more, but instead of delivering a final blow, she smiled faintly.

  The duel was over. Cease had lost. Yet in that defeat, he had captured something far greater than victory—the queen’s heart.

  “Serve me,” she commanded, her tone softer than the clash of their blades had been. Cease, catching his breath, nodded. He accepted her offer.

  Months slipped into one another, and before long, nearly a year had passed. Cease fulfilled his role faithfully, waiting patiently for the moment his true master would arrive.

  But time had a way of twisting emotions. Gizelotte found herself watching him more often, her thoughts entangled with feelings she had not known before. Slowly, inevitably, she began to fall in love—not with Cease himself, but with the face he bore. For Cease wore his master’s illusion, and his features mirrored the man she truly desired.

  Unknowingly, her heart was no longer bound to the knight before her, but to the shadow of another.

  Gizelotte was drinking whine. She was watching the moonlit night. That time Cease (Cease master in disguise) appeared.

  She gazed at Cease. She said, “Your face tone is more fair than used to.” He replied. “Is that so, your majesty?”

  She came closer to Cease’s side and kissed him. “You have made me feel something that I have not feel in many years. For the first time, I have fallen in love with someone in my life and it is you. I may be old but will you accept me?” She said and kissed him. He said , “Yes!”

  They are in bed. He has the body of a seasoned warrior, lifts Gizelotte, the voluptuous woman generous g-cup breasts and a wide, inviting hip. He lays her down gently on the bed, his eyes gleaming with desire.

  Their lips meet in a passionate kiss, tongues exploring each other’s mouths as they taste the sweetness of their lust. He begins to undress, revealing his toned, muscular body. Gizelotte watches him, her breath hitching as she takes in his firm chest and chiseled abs.

  She follows his lead and removes her own dress, leaving her in only her underwear. Her g-cup breasts bounce freely, nipples hardening with desire. He can’t resist the temptation and lowers his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. He sucks and grabs her breast at the same time, causing Gizelotte to moan with pleasure.

  His lips and tongue explore her body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He reaches her vagina and begins to lick and suck, driving Gizelotte wild with desire. She can’t help but grab his head and push him deeper, wanting to feel his tongue on every inch of her.

  Gizelotte’s turn comes and she takes his penis into her mouth, sucking and licking it with enthusiasm. She can feel him getting harder and bigger, and she knows he’s close. She increases her pace, wanting to taste his release.

  They move into different positions, each one more exciting than the last. He takes her from behind, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrusts into her. Gizelotte can feel him hitting all the right spots, and she screams out in pleasure.

  They switch to a position where she’s on top, riding him hard. She grinds her hips, feeling him deep inside her. She can feel her orgasm building, and she knows it’s going to be intense. She leans back, giving him better access to her clit, and he starts to rub it in circles.

  Gizelotte comes hard, her juices flowing down his dick. He can’t hold back any longer and he shoots his load inside her. They lay there, panting and sweating, enjoying the afterglow of their lovemaking.

  But they’re not done yet. He turns Gizelotte over and starts to rub her ass. He spreads her cheeks and starts to lick her asshole. Gizelotte moans with pleasure, never having experienced this before. He slides his dick into her ass and starts to thrust.

  The sensation is intense, and Gizelotte can feel another orgasm building. He increases his pace, driving deeper into her ass. He shoots his load again, filling her up.

  They lay there, spent and satisfied. They kiss, tasting each other’s juices on their lips. He sucks on Gizelotte’s breasts, drinking her milk. They rub their bodies together, feeling the heat and the sweat.

  As they lay there, Gizelotte can’t help but feel grateful for this young man who has shown her a new world of pleasure. And he knows that he has found a woman who can match his desires and his needs. They fall asleep in each other’s arms, ready for another round of passion when they wake up.

  The mission that Cease had been entrusted with one year ago had finally ended. Days passed quietly, but the certainty of his master’s return loomed close. Gizelotte carried herself with grace, yet her expression betrayed an unease she could not fully hide.

  “Why are you looking so down, Her Highness? Why are you so tensed?” Cease asked, his voice calm, though his gaze was sharp.

  “Me! No, no, I’m not tensed… Just. Nothing important,” Gizelotte replied, her words too quick, her tone wavering slightly.

  Her thoughts were elsewhere—haunted by dreams that disturbed her heart. She remembered the child she had abandoned long ago, the betrayal she had committed the day he was born. In her nightmares, a boy appeared before her during a grand ceremony, claiming to be her son. His words—“I have been waiting to see you”—echoed like a curse, sending shivers down her spine.

  A strange stirring of maternal instinct clashed with the shadows of her cruelty, leaving her heart conflicted and restless. Desperate to silence the unease within, she turned to Cease.

  “Let’s have a sparring match,” Gizelotte demanded suddenly, her crimson eyes sharp with determination.

  Cease, unshaken, gave a small nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  The sparring match began in the grand courtyard, the moon casting its pale light across the polished stone floor. Cease drew his blade calmly, his stance measured, while Gizelotte, the queen whose strength was known across the continent, unleashed a wave of mana that made the air tremble.

  Her first strike came swift—a flash of crimson energy shaped like a spear. Cease deflected it with a clean arc of his sword, the clash echoing like thunder. She followed up with a flurry of spells, fire weaving with ice, creating explosions that shook the ground. Cease countered with precise slashes, each strike cutting through the chaos, his movements sharp and efficient.

  They closed the distance. Gizelotte’s swordsmanship, elegant yet merciless, rained down upon him. Cease matched her blow for blow, sparks flying as steel collided. His speed rivaled hers, his blade dancing in controlled fury, but the weight of her experience pressed down like a mountain.

  A sudden burst of lightning from her palm forced him back, his boots skidding across the courtyard floor. Yet he lunged forward again, relentless, landing a grazing strike across her arm—proof that even the strongest queen was not untouchable. Gizelotte smirked at the sting, her eyes blazing with respect and something deeper.

  Finally, she surged her mana, unleashing an overwhelming wave of power that pressed Cease to his limit. His blade shook under the pressure, his body straining against the weight of her might. With one decisive strike, she disarmed him, her sword resting at his throat.

  The duel was over.

  The night sky was a canvas of endless stars, scattered across the heavens like tiny jewels. Our camp was quiet except for the crackling of the fire. Tents stood firm in the soft breeze, their shadows flickering against the trees. Angelica and Sayo had finished preparing dinner earlier, their laughter lingering faintly in the air. Marianne and her maid, Reina, had retreated into their tent. Rhea, as usual, had her nose buried in her book, her world far removed from ours. Flora stood with me for a time, practicing sword techniques. I corrected her stance, showed her the flow of offensive and defensive movements, and guided her through the rhythm of battle until she collapsed from exhaustion.

  Tomorrow, by nightfall, we would reach the capital. That thought hung over me, heavy yet certain.

  After dinner, everyone surrendered to sleep. I alone remained awake, sitting by the fire with my sword resting against my knee. I cultivated my dark-golden and silver mana, letting it circulate and temper itself against the infinite state it had reached. It was not something ordinary humans could understand. Sleep was no longer a necessity for me.

  It was then that Marianne emerged quietly from her tent. She stepped into the night with her blonde hair catching the fire’s glow, her golden eyes glimmering faintly like the stars above. She sat beside me, silent at first, her presence both fragile and strong.

  “Will you not sleep?” she asked gently.

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t need sleep every day.”

  Her brows furrowed slightly. “It is not good for your health.” A pause, then her voice softened, almost hesitant. “By the way, I want to ask you something. Can I?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Her gaze held mine, earnest and searching. “Why do you help me? I can’t offer you anything. So why?”

  I stared into the fire, its flames reflecting in my eyes. “Do you need any reason to save one’s life?”

  She blinked, confused, her expression wavering between fear and hope. I sighed and turned toward her, speaking more firmly. “Fear not. I will wipe that evil out of the royal family and bring peace for you. If you think too much, it will only become a burden.”

  Reaching into my cloak, I pulled out a Confederate Rose—white, delicate, pure. I offered it to her with both hands. “Let’s make an oath. This flower will turn red when I die. Otherwise, it will remain white as long as my heart is beating. So don’t fear. As long as I live, peace will come to you.”

  Her lips curved into a faint smile, and in that moment, her noble features softened into something radiant and warm. “Sometimes I feel,” she whispered, “that we have a deep connection even though the gap is far bigger than anyone can imagine. I feel like… you are my reliable little brother.”

  I turned my eyes away quickly, hiding the sting in my chest. Because even though she didn’t know the truth, what she said was true. Truth is really sour.

  The afternoon sun beat down on the Royal Knights’ training ground, glinting off polished armor and the sharp edges of practice swords. Masato Kanazaki, the vice-general, walked along the perimeter of the sprawling arena, a faint smile on his lips. The clanging of steel, the grunts of exertion, and the focused shouts of the trainers were a symphony of dedication. He watched the knights, men and women he had personally trained and led, practicing with a ferocity and discipline that filled him with pride. They were the kingdom’s shield, its honor. A fleeting thought of this honor was a stark contrast to what was about to happen.

  He arrived at the towering structure that housed the Prime Minister’s chambers and found himself before a large, ornate wooden door. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and knocked.

  “Come in, Masato,” a voice, calm yet sharp as a whetted blade, replied from within.

  Masato pushed the heavy door open and entered. The room was grand, filled with dark wood and heavy drapery that filtered the sunlight, casting long, dramatic shadows. At the center, behind a massive desk, sat Prime Minister Heron, a figure whose presence could fill any space with dread. Masato dropped to one knee, his head bowed.

  “Rise, Masato,” Heron commanded, not looking up from the documents he was reviewing.

  Masato stood, his gaze fixed on the prime minister. Heron finally lifted his head, his eyes, cold and calculating, meeting Masato’s. “I have a very important mission for you,” he said.

  Masato’s voice was steady as he replied, “Your wish is my command, Your Highness.”

  Heron’s lips curled into a thin, merciless smile. “Go kill the Princess. Before she steps foot in the capital. Otherwise, she will rebel against us. I want her dead as soon as possible.”

  A chill went down Masato’s spine. His heart pounded against his ribs. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you truly sure, Your Highness?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

  Heron’s expression hardened. “Don’t make me repeat myself. She is a stepping stone in my plan. Eliminate her. If someone gets in your way, finish them off too.”

  The air grew heavy with a suffocating, murderous intent. Masato felt the sheer weight of Heron’s aura, a cold malevolence that seemed to sap all the warmth from the room. He swallowed hard, his mind reeling. The mission was a direct contradiction to his duties as a knight, as a guardian of the royal family. Yet, a direct order from the Prime Minister, and one with such a deadly edge, could not be ignored.

  “Yes, roger that,” Masato said, his voice flat. He bowed once more and retreated, the heavy door closing behind him with a final, echoing thud.

  The next morning, under a sky gray with foreboding clouds, Masato led a small company of his most trusted and elite knights out of the city gates. The mission had begun. But as they rode, a grim silence fell over them. Masato knew the path ahead was fraught with moral peril. The question wasn’t just who they were hunting, but who, in the end, would be haunted by the outcome.