The question about identity was asked with a hint of mischief. In response, the stranger let out a low chuckle, voice curling with amusement.

“Oh, it wasn’t a request for permission. Merely a question. Felt a bit irritated, seeing someone hog so much space.”

The tone carried the weight of a threat, bold and deliberate.

A reply followed immediately, sharp and clear.

“If you want to sit here, show your face. Or is there a reason you can’t? A wanted fugitive, perhaps. Or a criminal. Or on the run. One of the three, certainly.”

The stranger paused at the directness of the voice, then reached up slowly and drew back the robe. Blood-red hair spilled out like a slash of fresh paint. Crimson eyes followed, sharp and unblinking.

The beauty was otherworldly, detached from the laws of nature. But no matter how stunning the face.

“Bloody!”

“Wh,!”

Andre and Sol recoiled in shock. One of the Empire’s most-wanted fugitives. A red-class top-priority criminal. Known as the Bloody Elf, more commonly just “Bloody.”

A half-elf who had once annihilated a southern military encampment, one mage battle corps and two knight divisions, alone, in the great southern forest. A monster whose infamy had only grown through acts of terror that shook the Empire itself.   Her gaze, sharp and playful, locked on her company.

“So, hunting someone is disturbing order, are you?”

A simple question prompted a gleam in her eyes.

“Interesting. The future surrounding you is fascinating. How about a little conversation?”

Without waiting for agreement, the Bloody Elf sat down. The cabin filled subtly with the metallic sweetness of blood. Sweat traced down Andre’s temple. His fingers clenched the sword hilt tightly enough to go pale. His eyes calculated. A single, silent question weighed in his expression, “Would a clean strike be enough?”

A slow shake of the head signaled him to stop. A moment passed. Then, 

“Just a brief exchange of words. But if the answers are disappointing, death will follow. Can you handle that?”

The blood-rimmed eyes stared, daring a reaction.

In answer, a cloak was removed. Platinum-blond hair cascaded downward. Crimson eyes, even deeper than hers, caught the light.

“…Royalty?”

Shock flickered across her expression. The smile that responded was laced with a vicious curl.

“Claiming you’ll kill me, Bloody? Not your decision. You can’t kill me,and you shouldn’t.”

“Really? What gives you that certainty, Your Highness?”

“Because the one person who can twist the future you saw stands before you.”

“…The future?”

“The one where everything burns.”

“You…”

“Quiet. Inside me is the mystery capable of igniting or halting it.”

“……”

“A proposal will follow. Listen carefully, red elf.”

Crimson eyes burned as brightly as firelight reflected in blood.The one being sought, now met, face to face, inside a train.

Fate, ever playful, made its move.

[The target’s fate is changing. VIP train avoided destruction.]
[Destinies of Bloodshed, Murder, and Predation have been sidestepped. Alteration Points acquired.]
[Minor destinies of Decadence and Temptation have drawn the target in. Destiny “Worship of Beauty” has been fulfilled.]

The last part was unexpected.

-This is the final stop. Arriving at Red Hawk Fortress, eastern stronghold.-

The voice from the mana speaker echoed throughout the train.

Steam billowed outward as passengers disembarked.From within the pale haze, the Bloody Elf turned.

“See you again, prince.” Her crimson eyes curved with charm. Fingers waved casually.

The prince and his companions departed. Until the very end, not a trace of urgency or haste marred the prince’s composure. Distant footsteps disappeared into the mist, and the Bloody Elf’s tongue traced her lips.

“Perhaps killing him would’ve been wiser.
But that face is too beautiful to waste. And he knew too much.
He was dangerous. But the danger was sweet. Addictive.”

A rarity, even after her many years alive.

“Someone ungraspable. That alone earned him a temporary reprieve.
What if his words had been true?”

“Would truth come out if he were kidnapped, bled dry, and interrogated?”

A cruel thought flashed, but was quickly dismissed with a shake of the head. He had claimed he would help capture the one being hunted. A tempting offer. Perhaps too tempting. If it turned out to be true, he would be spared. If not …

“Then I’ll just take him for myself. I wonder… what a prince’s blood tastes like.”

A breath, half-sigh, half-moan, slipped between her lips. Days passed after the encounter with Bloody.

The road led beyond Red Hawk Fortress into a deeper region of the Eastern Front. The area housed remnants of collapsed nations, their descendants now turned resistance fighters, locked in endless battles to reclaim their lost homelands. Among the hidden bastions, a nameless fortress stirred.

“Form up! Enemy attack incoming!”

As dawn broke, the fortress braced for battle. Rumors of other outposts falling to recent assaults had reached them, some taken, others crippled. Many believed those defeats stemmed from the assassinations of commanding officers. Yet this fortress, confident in its preparations, believed itself better off.

Fate had different plans.

“Commander! The commander’s been assassinated!”

The cry ripped through the morning air.

Shock contorted every face in earshot. The heart of the fortress had been cut out. Despite their vigilance, panic spread, stifling breath and order alike.

The chain of command shattered.

“Enemies! Enemies approaching!”

Beyond the stone walls, dark shapes surged through alleys and forests. Enemy forces advanced from all directions. And more crept across the distant ridge, another wave, perhaps the same one that had crushed nearby fortresses.

Unease swelled into dread.

The fortress filled with whispered doom.

“Someone’s at the rear gate!”

“Reinforcements?!”

Faces brightened with cautious hope.

“His Highness the Prince has arrived!” The announcement struck like thunder.

A prince? Then surely knights and battle mages followed.

Could it be the Iron Lion?
The legendary First Prince. With even a few of his knights, the fortress would hold.

Or the Sixth Prince?
The famed strategist with his cavalry and military geniuses.

Perhaps the Seventh?
Said to possess the qualities of a great archmage, leading the 4th Mage Division.

Cheers rippled through the fortress. Then, 

“His Highness the Eleventh Prince, Aziel, has arrived!”

Voices dropped. Confusion swept through the ranks.

“W-Who?”

“What number?”

“Didn’t they say First?”

“There was another digit before that, right?”

Uncertainty turned to disbelief. And then, one final declaration:

“His Highness the Eleventh Prince Aziel has come to defend this fortress!”

Recognition spread.

Some who had never heard of him whispered in unease. Others, those who had, withered in dread. Enemies outside the gates. A lunatic prince behind them. 

A candle, flickering in a storm. Whether he understood their fear or simply ignored it …

“Open the gates. This fortress needs saving.”

A single figure entered, bearing a monstrous greatsword across his back.

[Analyzing location’s fate… glimpsing fragments: Defeat and Collapse lie in wait.]

[Your minor fates of Luck and Narrow Survival attempt to balance the scale.]
[The greatsword’s fate of Victory burns brightly. The Fire of Fate intensifies.]

As the robe fell, platinum hair shimmered beneath the light. Deep crimson eyes gleamed above a sharp, composed smile. 

Three figures arrived to save a fortress on the brink. But for the Eleventh Prince, that was more than enough. And all that remained was to prove it.