Icarus hid behind a rock as he watched the envoy—the same one who had read the declaration—walk toward the sea.
It was time for his second move.
The envoy had removed his armour. Without it, he looked… human. Almost ordinary.
Unguarded.
Icarus stepped out from behind the rock and walked toward the shore, his expression distant, unreadable.
The waves lapped softly at his feet, cool against the sand.
The sun was rising.
Its light caught in his golden hair, reflected faintly in his pale eyes.
For a moment—
he looked like something untouched by the world.
["The Oathbound Knight" is looking at you.]
Icarus turned.
The envoy's gaze rested on him, curious.
"Who are you?"
Icarus looked away. "Who are you?"
The envoy chuckled.
"You know very well who I am."
Silence.
"We want you to leave," Icarus said quietly. "But I suppose you won't."
The envoy shook his head.
"I can't. The Crown of Morvane has ordered me."
"Then disobey it."
A hollow laugh.
"I would be killed."
"So will we."
Silence settled between them, heavy and inevitable.
"I don't want to do this," the envoy admitted. "But it's the only way for me to regain my title."
Icarus' voice remained calm.
"How did you lose it?"
The envoy covered his face briefly.
"The last coup I led… was against a kingdom called Solmara."
Icarus didn't move.
"We killed everyone," the envoy continued. "But the prince survived. Disappeared."
A pause.
"For that failure, I was stripped of command. Reduced to a lieutenant."
Icarus' fists clenched—
then slowly relaxed.
"I see."
I'll give you something worse than death.
"What's your name?" Icarus asked.
The envoy blinked.
"Skye."
"I see."
"And yours?"
"Icarus."
Skye paused.
"…I've heard that name before."
Icarus met his gaze.
"Maybe you met someone else with it."
"…Perhaps."
Skye turned back to the horizon.
To the rising sun.
Icarus turned away.
Let him have this moment.
It's his last.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The council hall felt… wrong.
Too quiet.
Too still.
Like the air itself was waiting.
The four envoys of Morvane stood at the center.
Black armour.
White flag.
Sharp, confident smiles.
Skye stepped forward.
"The Crown of Morvane appreciates your cooperation."
Seren stood before them.
Rigid.
"We ask that you follow us inside," he said slowly. "The agreement will be signed privately."
A pause.
Skye smiled.
"Of course."
They walked.
Boots striking wood.
A steady rhythm.
Like a heartbeat.
The inner chamber door closed.
Softly.
Click.
Silence.
For a moment—
nothing.
Then—
a breath.
Not theirs.
Skye frowned.
"Did you—"
A sound.
Soft.
Wet.
He stopped.
The man beside him blinked—
then tilted.
Too far.
Something warm slid across the floor.
No scream.
Just—
stillness.
The second envoy turned.
"Who's—"
The candles flickered.
A shadow moved—
and he was no longer standing.
The third staggered back, reaching for his sword—
but his grip slipped.
He looked down.
Red.
"Show yourself!"
Silence answered.
Not empty silence.
Watching silence.
The kind that listens.
"Something's wrong," the third whispered, moving closer to Skye.
Skye didn't respond.
His eyes had narrowed.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Another sound.
Behind them.
The third turned—
Too late.
A breath.
A step.
And he fell.
Three.
Gone.
The room felt larger now.
Hollow.
Only one remained.
Skye.
His gaze moved slowly through the darkness.
Not searching.
Understanding.
"You've gone through quite the effort," he said softly."For someone who can't even fight."
A pause.
"Come out."
Nothing.
Then—
footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
From behind.
The air shifted.
And then—
a hand.
Pale.
Steady.
Resting lightly on his shoulder.
Skye didn't move.
"…You're young," he said.
The hand tightened.
Barely.
"I expected that."
Silence.
"Do you think this changes anything?"
The hand slid from shoulder—
to throat.
Not gripping.
Not yet.
Just…
there.
Claiming.
Skye smiled faintly.
"…I see."
A whisper brushed his ear.
"You won't die."
For the first time—
he stilled.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Behind him—
movement.
Chains.
Ropes.
Hands emerging from shadow.
Skye exhaled.
"…Worse, then."
The hand left him.
The figure stepped back.
Still unseen.
"Take him."
The voice was calm.
Young.
Cold.
Skye did not resist.
As they dragged him away, he laughed softly.
"…I was wondering when you would appear."
The footsteps paused.
Just slightly.
"…Prince."
Silence.
Then—
movement resumed.
The doors opened.
Light spilled in.
And then—
nothing.
Only bodies.
And quiet.
Icarus looked down at his hands.
They were stained.
They didn't feel like his anymore.
"…Whatever."
[You have gained the skill, "Tactical Execution(Lv.1)"]
He exhaled slowly.
A knock.
Soft.
Agatha stepped in.
"Are you hurt?"
He shook his head.
"No."
Her gaze moved over the room.
The bodies.
The silence.
When she looked back at him—
she looked away.
"Icarus…"
A pause.
"…Is something wrong?" he asked.
She hesitated.
Then shook her head.
"…It's nothing."
But her voice didn't match.
And he noticed.
He always noticed now.
"…Alright."