Chapter 331: The Prince and the Thief

Azriel’s eyebrows rose.

"Leonardo?"

Nol nodded.

"Yes. He was... well, a kind person, I guess?"

Azriel blinked.

"Was?"

A shadow passed through Nol’s eyes.

"Well... yeah. He died."

"Oh."

Nol looked up again.

"Maybe the scenario was built to give me a chance. I didn’t know why I was a slave back then, but Leonardo was because he’d been caught stealing from the palace."

"Stealing from the palace?"

Nol nodded.

"Yeah. He had ridiculous thieving skills for a kid—fourteen or so. He managed to sneak into the palace and steal something that apparently belonged to the king. Funny enough, Master, the thing he stole ended up replacing the key to my collar."

"That’s... convenient."

’What are the odds that the one thing that Leonardo stole would also free Nol’s collar?

It all felt too smooth.

Is it because Nol is so relentlessly social that, even caged, he keeps talking, keeps finding angles?’

He was, in so many ways, still a baby. Cage or cliff, it made little difference to him. Fear didn’t reach him; annoyance might, irritation might—but not fear. Like a curious child, he would keep stepping forward, always asking why.

Nol nodded again.

"I still had to fight, though. It was a mass battle—twenty of us thrown in until only five were left alive. I fought while protecting Leonardo, and I killed five myself. Losing would’ve been spitting on Master’s teaching, which I can never do. So I won. Leonardo was... traumatized. They shoved us back into our cages and washed the blood off with buckets of cold water, then left. I planned to unlock my collar when the sun rose and the guards were presumably going to sleep—"

As Nol spoke, Azriel’s expression soured. He cut in.

"Wait. Why take that risk? You were an Intermediate then, no? I’m sure you could’ve fought your way out by taking down the guards. They wouldn’t be much stronger than you; most were probably only Awakened."

Nol nodded, then his face darkened and his lips pressed thin.

"You’re right, Master. I would have. Most were only Awakened. But there was one... he wasn’t."

"An Intermediate?"

Nol shook his head.

"Then... Advanced?"

Another slow shake. A bad feeling inside Azriel swelled.

"...an Expert?"

Nol lowered his gaze and said nothing. A cold crept through Azriel’s veins, as if his own ice affinity had turned inward against him.

"A master?" Azriel asked, forcing his voice to stay steady, refusing the tremor.

Nol nodded immediately.

Azriel’s face darkened as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

’They have a master as well... but I heard the former Captain of the Royal Knights was killed by Lioren. I don’t know the king’s rank, but if it isn’t him, then it must be one of the royal family’s personal guards.’

That was what Azriel hoped. From the whispers he had gathered, the royal family had a handful of personal guards—elite knights, each rumored to rival the former captain. If that was true, it had to be one of them.

...And Azriel really hoped that was true, because while little was known about their ranks, the guards’ names were public.

"Do you know the guard’s name—or at least what he looked like?"

...Azriel’s hope shattered.

"They called him Sir Évrard Desmarais," Nol said quietly.

"The one responsible for the entire colosseum."

’...Shit.’

No personal guard—no knight of any renown—bore the name Évrard Desmarais. Which meant—

"From what I could gather," Nol continued before Azriel could speak, "he belongs to a secret order of the strongest knights, called the Sun’s Shadows. As the name suggests—they’re extremely secretive. Only a few nobles even know of them. They’re impossibly strong and answer only to the king. They’re used for the highest-level missions: conquering kingdoms, slaying kings, burning the strongest enemies."

Azriel rubbed his face with both hands and let out a slow breath.

’No wonder the king hasn’t answered the war raging so openly and so ruinously... he doesn’t need to move. There are still his personal guards, and these shadowed knights—then the prince himself, the new captain, the dukes, and the rest of the powerful nobles.’

And the Revolutionary Army’s lineup wasn’t any weaker. At the level of high command, it was filled with broken, terrifying people—enough to make even Azriel think twice about a direct fight.

"I am sorry, Master..."

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Nol. The boy stared at the floor. Azriel frowned.

"For what?"

Azriel’s face showed his confusion, but Nol didn’t lift his gaze.

"For... for being a disappointment, Master."

Azriel’s expression hardened, his eyes fixed on him.

"What..." he whispered.

"I—I only saw him once, Master," Nol said, his voice shaking.

"When I was in my cage, he came—just once. He didn’t say anything. He only looked at me, and then he left. But from that one look I could tell he was strong. Really strong. I knew I couldn’t win. And at that time I didn’t understand anything—what was happening, where I was, why I was there, where Master was, whether anyone I knew was alive, or what the right choice even looked like. I thought I should at least survive and figure it out afterward. I... I am sorry, Master. I’m really sorry—sorry for being a disappointment..."

Azriel stared, wide-eyed as Nol’s voice thinned, on the verge of tears.

"Wait—wait, Nol. Why are you apologizing to me for that? I don’t understand."

"B-because I didn’t win!"

"...!"

"Every time Master does something, he wins! Every time, Master comes out on top! Master always knows what to do—what’s best! But I didn’t! I didn’t know what to do. Master wasn’t there and I was alone again. I felt like I was being dragged back into [White Haven], to be a prisoner there forever. I—"

"Nol."

Azriel set both hands firmly on his shoulders. His voice was stern enough to halt the spiral. Nol flinched and fell silent.

’I was wrong,’

Azriel thought.

Nol was someone who could feel fear, in the end—someone who could feel it more sharply than most.

Azriel’s expression softened.

"Look at me, Nol."

Slowly, Nol lifted his face. Tears rimmed his eyes, ready to spill.

Azriel gave him a small, steady smile.

"You are not a disappointment."

"But I—"

"Nol," Azriel said gently, "wanting to survive—no matter the cost—doesn’t make you a disappointment, and it doesn’t mean you failed me. Look at me. I just told you how I was forced to give up on taking down Corven. Even with Instructor Ranni at my side, he was that strong. If I wanted to survive—and live to fight another day—there was no choice but to withdraw. Sometimes there isn’t another choice."

Sniffling, Nol turned his gaze aside.

"But you were fighting one of the strongest masters in history, probably. And you’d already done so many incredible things before that. I should have been capable of doing at least something useful. I—I haven’t been useful to you at all, Master. I’m only a burden."

"You aren’t."

"I—"

"You aren’t."

Azriel repeated it, smiling without a flicker, his words free of any deceit.

"Because of you, Jasmine, Celestina, Lioren, Caleus, and the others are alive. I wasn’t there—but you were. Your choices made them understand their situation. You helped them see they had to survive. You helped them—and you helped me."

"But... how did I help you, Master? I thought you weren’t even in this scenario. You were—and I was useless to you."

Azriel chuckled under his breath.

"Who knows what would have happened if you hadn’t gathered them in [White Haven]? Most would have been lost—alone, confused, separated—and would have died for it. Your actions changed that. You let them see their options, steady their fear, and even push some to work together and help one another. You saved me a great deal."

Nol blinked rapidly, holding his tears at the line of his lashes as he listened. Yet Azriel could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. Nol wanted to be useful, and running from the colosseum had taken root in his mind as proof that he had failed Azriel. Azriel sighed, still smiling.

"Winning is not always about haste, but about who can endure the longest on the path to the finish line."

Slowly, Nol’s eyes widened.

"You mean..."

Azriel nodded.

"You haven’t won, Nol—but you haven’t lost, either. That colosseum still stands, doesn’t it? And so do you. No one has reached the end yet."

Nol’s eyes began to tremble.

’Of course,’

Azriel thought.

’Troublesome, and my fault for not seeing it sooner. The more he sees, the more he learns—and with learning comes feeling.’

A boy caged all his life, then suddenly handed a single anchor outside that prison—knowing nothing, forced to learn everything, even himself. Azriel should have noticed earlier. Nol was becoming human in all the ways that hurt. Thrown without warning into an unfamiliar world, how could he not be shaken—how could he not be afraid?

"I know you won’t agree with me on this, Nol," Azriel said quietly, "but I will always want you to prioritize your life above all else—even mine."

"I—I can’t do that, Master. I—"

"I know you think you can’t. I’m just saying what I wished for, because..."

Azriel averted his gaze, his voice growing quieter and softer:

"If you were to die, that would be my greatest loss."

Tears spilled immediately down Nol’s cheeks. Azriel looked up, startled by the sudden shine in the boy’s eyes, and flushed, flustered.

"W—wait, why are you crying? I didn’t mean to make yo—"

"Master!"

"What the—!"

Before he could finish, Nol launched himself at him.

"Waaah! Master!"

"Nol—!?"

They tumbled over the dirt and rolled until Nol ended up on top of him, clutching him with both arms, wailing into his shoulder like a child. Azriel went rigid—statue-still, as if Medusa herself had laid a hand on him—unable to move, unsure what in the world to do as Nol sobbed without restraint.

"M–Master," Nol hiccuped, "I—I never knew you actually c–cared so much for me. Y–you must r–really l–love me, Master, right?"

Azriel’s brow twitched.

"...I never said that."

Nol kept crying. Azriel tilted his head back and stared through the weave of leaves at a pale patch of sky.

’Love, huh...’

"Well," he said at last, "I suppose I do see you as family."

"Master!"

That only made Nol clamp down tighter and cry harder. Azriel managed to free one hand and gave an awkward pat between the shoulder blades. Nol’s tears fell onto Azriel’s bare shoulder, leaving it damp.

’This is going to last forever if I don’t steer it somewhere else...’

Instead of waiting it out, Azriel asked, gently,

"I understand most of what happened, Nol. But how did that Leonardo die? Didn’t you two escape successfully?"

The sobbing eased at once. Nol swallowed, gathered himself, and spoke in a hoarse whisper without lifting his head.

"It wasn’t successful. After we broke the cages and reached the mouth of the caves—the ones leading towards the colosseum—he was there. That master. He stood at an exit."

"...!"

Azriel’s eyes widened. Nol’s ragged voice went on.

"I thought it was over, Master. There was no way to win against a master. I was sure I would die there. His aura was so heavy we couldn’t move an inch."

"....Then how did you escape?"

Nol was silent for a long breath. When he spoke again, his voice had gone quiet, almost distant.

"I told you I had no idea why I was a slave. That was true—until that moment."

Nol pushed himself up on his arms and hovered over Azriel. Azriel looked up at him; Nol looked back down, eyes still shining. Azriel’s mouth twitched.

"Nol, before you continue, could you get o—"

"That Évrard Desmarais," Nol said, ignoring it, "he told me what I was before I became a slave."

Azriel’s lips trembled. ’

Is he doing this on purpose?’

Pinned awkwardly to the ground, he watched Nol’s damp lashes and steady stare.

"I was frozen," Nol whispered. "I couldn’t move. He spoke anyway. He knew Leonardo had the key to my collar. The king knew too. They put us together on purpose."

"What?"

Azriel’s eyes went wide.

’They knew—? All along?’

"The point was to kill me," Nol said. "Either I died in the colosseum, or I escaped—and then they had their excuse to end my life immediately. But they could’ve killed me at any time. They chose this because they liked it better, I thought at that moment."

"Why would they do that?"

Nol let out a short, thin breath.

"Apparently... before I became a slave, I was a prince of Ismyr."

"...!"

’What?

’ Azriel’s thought flashed and burned out. Nol continued, steady now, as if repeating someone else’s sentence.

"A prince neglected, hidden, and forgotten—that’s what he called me. For some reason the king wanted me gone. Maybe he thought I was a waste. Anyway, the key Leonardo stole was planted. That Évrard planted it—he was the only one who noticed Leonardo slip in."

Complicated feelings moved behind Nol’s swollen eyes.

"He didn’t kill me in the end because he didn’t want to. "Royal blood must not stain these stones," he said. He arranged it all—convinced the king to ’allow’ my escape. I don’t even know why. Pity, maybe. But it had to look convincing. So before I could even finish a blink, he was beside me with Leonardo’s heart in his hand. He gave me the key, told me to protect it with my life and live long enough to die of old age somewhere far away... and then he left."

Azriel looked up at him and pressed his lips together.

"Nol..."

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t.

’Why let him go? Why go so far? What is that key? Why?’

He drew breath to ask, to see the key for himself—when a voice drifted through the trees and tightened both their bodies at once.

"It seems you are finally awake."

Azriel and Nol snapped their heads toward the thicket. A familiar man stood there.

Azriel grimaced, then, realizing the position he was in—with Nol still sprawled across him—grimaced harder.

’...Dammit.’