"Hello. Do you mind if I sit?"
"Not at all."
"Thank you."
Clana sat beside Sansa, both of them staring at the field of corpses sward by crows.
"We're far from ho..."
"Yeah."
Clana chuckled softly, reclining against the solid rock she was using as a seat.
"If soone had told yesterday that I'd end up here like this… I'd have called them insane."
"It's the worst fate imaginable."
There was a deeper aning behind Sansa's words—one that Clana imdiately picked up on.
"This is your second ti here... are you alright?"
Clana asked gently, while Sansa kept her gaze distant and grim.
The princess had no fond mories of this place. She didn't even know what the rest of the Ultras continent looked like, having spent most of her ti imprisoned in a cell. But that didn't change the fact that she was back on the land where she once suffered.
Of course it wasn't easy for her heart.
"I'm fine... really."
Clana nodded at her response.
"Do you think we'll survive this ti?"
The princess had survived once. But what about now?
"I don't know… I hope we do."
Silence fell between them for a mont as their eyes returned to the bodies scattered before them—particularly one young man dragging a corpse, having found sothing useful in its pockets.
"I think so of us will survive… the strong ones at least. Like you, Sansa. And Frey—standing over there."
Sansa turned the mont Frey's na was ntioned.
"Tell , Princess… what does he an to you?"
"...What?" Sansa asked, a bit surprised by the sudden shift in the conversation.
"I'm talking about Frey. You were watching him the entire ti."
"What kind of question is that, all of a sudden…?"
Sansa asked as Clana tilted her head, resting it on her knees.
"Call it curiosity. You're free to ignore it if you'd like."
Sansa frowned. This wasn't the ti or place for a question like that.
"What does Frey an to …"
Friend. That was the first word that ca to mind.
Having lived her entire life as a princess, always pursued by people looking to benefit from her status, Sansa had beco used to reading hidden intentions. The manipulation and false smiles left deep scars during her childhood.
She'd developed a strange ability—to read faces.
But Frey... Frey was the only one who approached her without hiding anything.
He was rude. Annoying. But he didn't try to use her. That alone made her consider him her only real friend. Still, things had changed since they entered the Temple.
He saved her. Again and again.
When everything around her fell into darkness and all hope faded—he was there.
At so point, his presence had beco as important to her as Oliver Khan, her only other true ally.
So… what exactly was Frey to her?
She wondered, recalling all their monts together. That brooding young man who always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world.
Sansa Valerion
Affection Points: 70… 71… 72… 73… 74…
…75
"Soone I can't afford to lose..."
That was the answer Sansa ca up with. And from the surprised reaction beside her, it clearly wasn't the one Clana had expected.
"Seriously... why would you even ask sothing like that?"
Sansa spoke, finally turning to take a proper look at Clana's face—reading her emotions without even realizing it.
Her eyes slowly widened in surprise.
"Clana… you…"
She was about to say sothing, but a terrifying scream tore through the air, sending the crows flying in panic.
Everyone imdiately turned toward the source, only to see the mage Xevier Adams writhing on the ground—sothing latched onto him.
"That's…"
"A mutated human?!"
Xevier, assuming all enemies were dead, had let his guard down—only to be ambushed by one of the mutants that had sohow survived.
The creature sank its fangs deep into the young mage's chest. Xevier thrashed in agony, unable to muster enough strength to resist.
Slash!
With a blur of motion, Frey—who had been nearby—sliced the mutant's head clean off in a single strike, ending its assault.
But the damage had already been done.
The creature had bitten deep, infecting Xevier's chest with a strange, spreading black rot.
He winced in agony as everyone rushed over, with Emilia at the front, healing him without hesitation.
"Idiot… did he really drop his guard just because he thought they were all dead?"
Daemon Valerion scoffed, watching as everyone gathered around Xevier while Emilia tended to his wounds.
"They're inexperienced…"
A sudden voice made him turn sharply—Ghost was standing behind him, still looting the corpses with cold efficiency, completely unfazed by the chaos behind him.
Daemon raised an eyebrow. He hadn't sensed anyone nearby—if Ghost hadn't spoken, he would've never realized the silent killer was there.
Apparently, Ghost had assud Daemon's words were directed at him.
"Inexperienced?" Daemon sneered. "When it cos to experience, I doubt anyone here has more blood on their hands than a filthy assassin like you… Ghost Umbra."
Ghost remained silent.
Daemon chuckled.
"Tell , Umbra. What do you think? Look at them… who do you think will survive? And who's going to die?"
Ghost didn't answer right away. Instead, he finished stripping the nearby bodies, carrying out his task with disturbing precision.
Then, he walked past Daemon, until they stood shoulder to shoulder. Only then did the assassin speak.
"Death spares no one, Daemon Valerion. Whether they have experience like us... or none at all like them... no one truly knows how this will end."
With a dark look, Ghost stepped past him, leaving behind a final remark:
"But if my instincts are right… the number of survivors here won't exceed the fingers on one hand."
Daemon couldn't help but laugh aloud, a chill running down his spine at Ghost's ominous words.
"What a cursed fate you're trying to place on us, Ghost Umbra…"
Between the crows' caws and Xevier's groans of pain…
The hour set by Phoenix had passed—signaling it was ti to move again, venturing deeper into enemy territory… into a continent that had been lying in wait all along.
...
...
...
– The Tea Party –
In the midst of a beautiful garden, Beatrice leaned on one hand, gazing at the chessboard before her with a smile.
"The first round is over."
The mont she finished her sentence, the man across from her—an older gentleman in his fifties wearing a tall hat—replied imdiately.
"With your loss."
He sipped from his cup, savoring the variety of teas Beatrice had offered at her little tea party.
Beatrice smiled calmly.
"Was it really a loss? I achieved what I wanted, after all."
At that, the man's sharp eyes narrowed.
"So the second round has already begun?"
Beatrice nodded, her smile soft but knowing.
"That's right."
"Tch… just how long do you plan on dragging out this silly ga?"
"As long as possible," she replied cheerfully. "You know how boring it gets around here."
She truly looked entertained—like a six-year-old who'd just discovered a new ga to play for hours on end.
"Gavid Lindman won't be pleased when he hears about this…"
The mont his na was ntioned, Beatrice shrugged.
"Who cares what that pompous man wants? He won't be around anyti soon anyway."
After kidnapping the empire's most precious jewels, the Ultras were expecting a fierce response.
It was only natural for their forces to mobilize, bracing for the all-out war the empire would inevitably launch—a repetition of the war from seventeen years ago.
Only this ti, the Ultras were the ones who lured the empire in.
Thanks to the looming conflict...
Beatrice was free to toy with Frey and his companions however she pleased.
The Eternal Witch observed the teenagers with deep interest and careful attention.
She watched as bonds ford between them—friendship, respect, love, hatred, rivalry…
The Elite Class had beco fertile ground for every kind of drama, and the witch enjoyed watching every bit of it.
Her gaze reflected Frey and his comrades, from a place much closer than they ever imagined, and her grin widened.
"The second round begins now."
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