The hood was pulled low, hiding the face beneath the black robe. The figure was smaller than the Red Eagle Prince. Small for someone from Stol—but if this one was the wolf-man’s companion, that didn’t mean weak.
Either way, this was the chance. Grab the prince and run—
The men circled the wolf-man and shouted this way.
「We’ve got this one! You kill the prince!」
Weapons whipped back toward Wolf. There wasn’t even time to flee.
「Die—!」
Four men lunged at once.
“Wolf!”
The Red Eagle Prince howled and clung to one of Wolf’s legs. Wolf squeezed his eyes shut.
I don’t want to die.
But I’m going to.
…….
…….
Strange.
Why doesn’t it hurt?
Did my head come off so fast I didn’t feel it? But I can still feel the prince’s arms wrapped around my leg—
Wait.
Am I… not dead?
Wolf cracked his eyes open.
In the distance, the wolf-man was tangled in a melee, fighting several opponents at once. Clang, clang, screech—the sharp crash of axe, sword, and spear rang through the air.
The wolf-man swung the axe and shouted at the robed figure.
「Silver! Damn it, what are you doing? Help!」
「I did. The rest is yours, Ice-Armored Beast.」
The black robe flicked a hand and stepped forward. The attackers were already overwhelmed just trying to handle the wolf-man; none seemed able to spare attention for the robed figure.
Wolf looked down.
The four men who had charged him were sprawled neatly on the ground. Each had a dagger buried in the back of the neck.
The black robe’s doing?
From that far away… how?
The black robe approached. Backlit by the glare, the hooded face remained hidden.
It had to be the one who threw the daggers.
The wind howled hard enough to whip everyone’s heavy cloaks and hems like linen handkerchiefs. Yet the black robe barely moved, only the lower edge stirring faintly. Probably weighted down by multiple daggers hidden inside.
As the figure drew closer, Wolf went blank.
The shadow beneath the hood thinned, slowly revealing a face.
A boy.
Platinum blond.
Eyes the color of Alice blue.
A long looped tattoo stretched from above the right eye down to the middle of the cheek.
The face was cold and sharp, like a blade fresh from honing. And the instant that blade sliced across Wolf’s retinas, his body burned as if seared.
As if someone had poured oil inside him and set it on fire.
What’s wrong with me?
The boy stopped before the corpses, only a few steps away. Those Alice-blue eyes swept the surroundings in a casual glance—then halted on Wolf’s face.
Their eyes met.
The gaze did not break.
It held.
Wolf endured the stare, awkward and stiff. Even after a long moment, the boy didn’t look away. It felt like his face was soaking into blue paint.
In the end, Wolf twisted his head aside first.
Why is he staring like that? Because there’s blood on my face?
Would it feel this strange if noon passed and the sun never rose?
From the moment he saw that face, something impossible to define had taken over his body. Not heat. Not energy. Not tremor. Something too bizarre to name—like a black moon.
And that wasn’t the only change.
Dizziness.
A pounding heart.
A mind gone still.
Like being under a spell.
He had no idea how much time passed. Keeping his head turned, Wolf shifted only his eyes, cautiously glancing back.
The boy was still staring.
Wolf quickly lowered his gaze.
Nothing made sense.
Why had he been so desperate to know whether the boy was still looking?
Why had he needed—insisted on—checking?
And why, the instant he confirmed that gaze was still there, had a deep relief washed over him…?
Had the boy felt the same?
Had he wanted to be looked at?
Stop.
What the hell are you thinking?
At last, the boy withdrew his gaze.
He crouched and began pulling the daggers from the men’s necks one by one, slowly. The motion was absent-minded—like yanking carrots from a garden.
Blood streamed down the blades. The boy wiped each dagger against the bracer on his forearm before sliding it back inside the robe.
As Wolf had guessed, several daggers were fixed into the lining.
There was also a sword at the waist.
Oddly, it was about one-third shorter than a standard blade.
Only then did a chill run through Wolf.
The boy was beautiful—like some spirit from a fairy tale.
But he was a killer.
Someone from an entirely different world.
The so-called world of adventure.
After wiping the fourth dagger, the boy lifted his head.
“Hmm……”
He tilted it slightly.
The dagger pointed at Wolf.
｢You. Brown Goose Prince?｣
“Huh? What?”
Wolf blinked stupidly.
The boy frowned and tried again.
“You. Purple Hen Prince?”
Wolf gasped.
The pronunciation was clumsy—but it was unmistakably the Atanian common tongue.
“You speak our language? Are you from Atania?”
“Me? You blind or something?”
The boy tapped the tattoo near his eye with the dagger and smirked.
Wolf flushed and hunched his shoulders.
“Hey. You listening? White Rooster Prince—you?”
“……I’m not a prince. And the prince’s name is Red Eagle. Your Highness, are you all right?”
Wolf helped the Red Eagle Prince to his feet. The prince only stared blankly at his own toes.
The boy pointed the dagger at Wolf again.
“Fine. Red Pigeon Prince, whatever. Then what are you?”
“A servant. And why do you keep butchering the prince’s name?”
“’Cause it’s fucking long, asshole. In Stol it’s Neordor. Four damn syllables. You mix it up too, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Honestly, I do.”
Wolf played along. Whoever this was, he’d just saved them.
“Whatever. Name doesn’t matter. You can fight, right?”
“No.”
“Bullshit. I saw you. You’ve got good eyes.”
The boy’s mouth was filthy, like a corpse cart driver’s.
Wolf waved a hand.
“No, really. I can’t fight. That was luck. But who’s that warrior?”
He asked what he wanted to know most.
The boy tapped his own cheek with the dagger.
“You didn’t hear the guy whose head got blown off? The prince’s mom hired Ice-Armored Beast as a bodyguard. Paid him enough gold coins to stuff a fleece.”
“Ice-Armored Beast—that’s him?”
Wolf pointed at the wolf-man.
Amazingly, the wolf-man had already finished off every opponent and was shaking blood from the axe.
“He took all of them alone? That’s incredible. What’s his name? Is Ice-Armored Beast his real name?”
“No. I gave him that. His real name is…”
The boy stopped.
He stared into the air for a moment.
Then shrugged.
“Probably more than four syllables. I just call him Ice-Armored Beast.”
Whether that applied to all Stol people or not, this boy didn’t seem very bright.
At the very least, his memory was terrible.
Wolf pulled on the Red Eagle Prince’s shoulder.
“You heard him, Your Highness? We’ve got a solid bodyguard protecting us.”
“Oh. Right.”
The prince nodded blankly.
The boy looked between the two of them—then suddenly burst out laughing.
“Pfft—HAHA! Hah! Hahaha!”
“Why are you laughing?”
Wolf stared.
The boy drew a straight line across his own forehead with the dagger.
“Your bangs. Fucking hilarious. That’s how toddlers wear their hair here.”
“What?”
Wolf bristled.
From his perspective, the boy’s hair looked like something off a beggar crouched beneath a statue in the square. The hood hid most of it, but the messy fringe alone was enough to make any Atanian mother say, Don’t associate with boys like that.
“We’re from Atania! Atanian boys keep their hair neat! Don’t you dare mock—”
“You and the prince. You’re Stol.”
The boy cut him off.
Wolf hesitated—then forced strength into his voice.
“No! The prince is Stol. I’m Atanian.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. One look and it’s obvious—you’re Stol. Your features scream Stol man.”