Andre caught the grin stretching across Garlan’s face from the compliment, and right before he launched his next strike,

The greatsword was already crashing down over his head.

Blocking it wasn’t an option. Doing so would’ve shattered his blade,and possibly his bones.

He darted to the side and thrust his sword like a flash of light, angling it just right to deflect the flat of the falling weapon. Sparks exploded as the two blades collided.     It was far too brutal to be called a sparring match.

“You underestimate my sincerity!”

“That kind of sincerity is outrageous! I’m only satisfied when everything is beneath me!”

“It is my solemn duty to keep Your Highness from growing complacent!”

And still, the bastard wouldn’t stop talking. Looking at him now, it made perfect sense why the tyrant had cut his arm off. He must’ve mouthed off like this back then, too.

“Commoner, take the blade!”

The brief clash ended, and Garlan spun Breaker again like a cyclone. The sheer weight of it sent power surging through every muscle in his body. His toes clawed into the earth, anchoring his stance. Weight loaded into his legs, tension coiled through his core, and his shoulders and wrists held rigid, perfectly wound.

He had replaced his strength training with swordplay long ago. Swinging this weapon was enough to build muscle. Of course, Andre never tried to parry it head-on. Not because he couldn’t, but because it would ruin his sword against the jagged edges of Breaker’s cursed blade.

“Where in the world did Your Highness learn that style?”

“I knew it from birth.”

“…Ah.”

The look Andre gave was as if he was uncertain if he was hearing sarcasm or truth, it made Garlan smirk.

In reality, he’d learned this swordsmanship in a past life. It was brutal, predatory, designed only to tear enemies apart. Alfred had drilled it into him mercilessly. It suited Breaker perfectly.

This was the sword style the Emperor had trained in daily, preparing for the unknown. And now, wielded by a real, living body, not a reincarnation or a mask, it felt like something long buried had awakened.

They weren’t using mana in this match, which meant Andre wasn’t fighting at full power. But Garlan didn’t care. For the first time in ages, his laughter wasn’t tainted by madness. It was clear and sharp.

As Garlan’s movements picked up speed, Andre flowed with him, dodging, timing, and keeping rhythm.

“Your Highness, if you keep burning energy like that, you’ll wear yourself out.”

“Every swing has its own flavor.”

“With a sword like that, I believe it. Still, it’s massive. Looks like something only giants would wield.”

He was right. The sword hadn’t originally been Garlan’s. In his previous life, it had belonged to the First Prince. 

He’d been crushed in the Northern front, and it was said this sword had saved his life. But oddly enough, the First Prince, once a rising star, began to crumble the moment Breaker fell into his hands. He lost battle after battle, surviving each time, but always alone. And slowly, he collapsed.

Eventually, people called Breaker “the Blade of Defeat”.

After the First Prince died, the tyrant took it up. When he too fell, it finally came to Garlan. Only then did the blade reveal its true nature.

“Eyes forward, Andre. Focus.”

“Yes, sir. Apologies.”

Andre straightened his stance, his expression returning to formality. Right then, 

“Is the Eleventh Prince Aziel present?!”

Garlan didn’t even flinch. He’d been waiting.

At the front gates of House Royce, a squad of soldiers marched in an arrogant posture, steps loud and deliberate. Whether they were sneering at the viscount’s home or at him personally, he couldn’t tell.

“We come bearing an assignment from the Imperial Palace! Where is His Highness?!”

The arrogant voices grated against his ears, and his good mood evaporated.      They weren’t calling on the prince, they were commanding him to appear. A haze spread over his vision, and madness surged in his veins.

“Now.”

At his word, Andre leapt back as if dodging a blow, then immediately rushed toward the intruding soldiers instead.

“Move! Get in my way and die!”

Garlan followed, leaping after him, Breaker raised high. The monstrous blade blocked out the sky as it arced downward.

“W-Wait! Wait, Your Highness!”

“Please…!”

“Aaaugh!”

The soldiers scrambled like startled mutts, rolling to escape. When the sword struck the earth, it sank deep, shaking the ground. Dust erupted into the air.

“Cough, cough …ugh!”

“Y-Your Highness! What in the world …?!”

Still sprawled across the ground, the soldiers tried to protest, but their voices trembled.

“What? Accidents happen in training, don’t they? Anyone dead? No? Then stop whining.”

The shameless response silenced them. It helped that Breaker was still embedded in the floor. One of the less shaken soldiers approached more cautiously, this time with a bowed head.

“Your Highness, we bring a mission directive from the Imperial Palace.”

“A holy decree?”

“No, sir. It’s a formal order to address internal disturbances in the Empire.”

“You’re not even here with a holy decree, and that was your tone? I should’ve just killed you.”

The ones who’d dared act arrogant winced under the implied threat.

A holy decree was the Emperor’s direct command. Ignoring or mocking it was like spitting in the Emperor’s face. It bordered on treason.

But this? This was a mandate. Orders agreed upon by imperial ministers and approved by the Emperor. They carried authority, yes, but not divine weight.

In other words, these messengers weren’t the Emperor’s voice. They were errand boys. 

And they came in strutting?

“All of you. Kneel and wait. Where do you think you are, standing tall like that?”

His eyes narrowed. His voice was steel, they dropped instantly, pressing foreheads to the ground.

He and Andre had planned this little spectacle thinking a holy decree would arrive. No need for that now, and that irritated him more than it should have.

He took the scroll with a scowl, unrolling it, 

“Your Highness!”

Even the Viscount of House Royce had come running at the commotion. But seeing Garlan’s face, he said nothing.

Andre, too, seemed surprised. Or maybe just worried, he had reason to be.

The order listed three ongoing crises threatening the Empire:

1. Apprehension of fugitives involved in skirmishes on the Eastern Front.

2. Hunting of giant monsters in the Western wastelands and investigation of the Red Lotus tribe.

3. Assassination of a campfire keeper in the Northern territories.

“Choose one. If you resolve it, His Majesty will lift the restriction placed upon you and offer additional rewards.”

All three were familiar, But the third one caught his eye immediately.

“So the time has come.”

He looked at the weapon in his hand. Flakes of deep red rust crumbled at his grip.

Fate truly was a strange, terrifying thing.

Originally, the First Prince had carried this blade to the North ,and returned in defeat, but destiny had twisted. Breaker had ended up in Garlan’s hands. 

And now, to the frozen lands where the First Prince should’ve gone.

“I’ll take the third. The North. Hand the full documents over to Alfred.”

His decision was final. Not just the messengers, but even Andre, Aindel, and Sophia looked stunned.

Winter hadn’t yet arrived, but the air suddenly turned cold, as if to mark the beginning of something greater.

[A new fate awaits you: Bitter Cold, Poverty, Assassination, Death, Armies, Defeat.]

[The Flame of Fate burns brighter.]

[The rust on the greatsword flakes away, revealing a glimpse of its destiny. You have glimpsed a Great Triumph.]

“Alfred. Andre. Get ready to travel. Tell Sol to start packing. It’s going to be a long trip.”

As he watched flakes of crimson rust fall from Breaker’s blade, the truth settled in.    It was time to feed again, and Garlan was ambitious, insatiable and was still hungry.

“I’ll take care of the first problem while I’m at it.”

Two problems, and one journey.They looked like separate tasks. But they were one.

Only he knew that.