We arrive back at the palace at dusk two days later.

Lanterns are being lit along the outer walls, their glow catching on white stone and gilded trim. The city hums below—louder than the river village, safer, busier. The air smells like oil and warm stone instead of damp earth and ash.

Guards straighten the moment they spot Cassian. A few look twice at Iseph—at the staff, the plain cloak, the absence of insignia—then decide not to ask questions they don’t want the answers to.

We’re waved through without ceremony.

Inside, the palace feels awake in a different way than it did when we left. Purposeful. Focused. Less posturing, more movement. Servants pass with stacks of parchment. Couriers jog down corridors with ink-stained fingers and tight expressions.

They lead us to a high chamber lined with maps and open windows.

The Brain Team is already assembled.

Scrolls cover the central table. Books are stacked in precarious towers, cross-referenced, argued over, abandoned, and reclaimed. Chalk marks crowd a slate wall, half-erased and rewritten over themselves. Edrin stands mid-lecture, one hand gripping a folio, the other gesturing sharply at a marked river route.

Alaric stands at the center of it all—jacket off, sleeves rolled, crown nowhere in sight—listening with absolute focus.

The moment we enter, the room stills.

Alaric’s eyes move first—to Cassian, to Rook—and then stop on Iseph.

“…You found someone,” he says.

Edrin blinks, then turns fully. Stares.
“That can’t be—”

Iseph inclines his head slightly. “Don’t,” he says. “I left for a reason.”

Edrin opens his mouth, then closes it again. Whatever he was about to say dying on his lips.

I take a solid ten seconds to appreciate the way Alaric’s forearms look with his sleeves rolled up. That image alone is enough to fuel me for at least three weeks on the road.

It’s the little things.

“No time for drama,” I state, cutting in before Edrin can recover. “And you can call off the search for a saintess.”

I drop my heavy pack on the table, and the books and scrolls from the church ruins spill out across its surface.

“We brought souvenirs. We will stay for three days to plan and then head out again.”

Alaric’s attention snaps from Iseph to the spill of books and scrolls as they slide across the table. He doesn’t touch them yet—just looks, sharp and assessing—then looks back at me.

“Three days,” he says. Not a question. He nods once. “Agreed.”

Edrin is already moving, hands hovering over the materials like he’s afraid they’ll vanish if he blinks.

“These are Radiant Accord bindings—pre-collapse annotations—how did you—”
He stops himself, swallows. “I’ll catalog everything.”

Iseph doesn’t sit. He stays near the window, arms folded, watching the city like it might argue with him.

Cassian leans against the wall, relaxed but alert. Rook claims a chair and props his boots up, satisfied.

Alaric finally meets my eyes again. Sleeves still rolled. Forearms still unfair.

Outside, the city lights come on one by one.

“You look done,” he says. “Is there anything else before we stop for the night?”

“Please tell me you have baths in this world,” I say, rubbing at the back of my neck.

Alaric blinks—then laughs, short and real.

“Yes,” he says. “We have baths. Hot water. Privacy.”

Edrin looks up from the scrolls, distracted but sincere. “And soap. Infused, if you want.”

Alaric gestures toward the door. “You’ll be given a room. Eat, wash, sleep. Planning can wait until morning.”

I pause as I consider the offer.

“What are the odds I can use the royal baths?” I ask. “I am a special guest, after all.” I slide an inviting gaze toward the prince. “Oh—I don’t mind sharing.”

Alaric’s brows lift—then he pauses, clearly weighing whether this is a diplomatic incident or a personal one.

“High,” he says. “The odds are high.”

I raise a brow.

The corner of his mouth curves, slow and deliberate. “But the royal baths are… communal. Very public. Nobles, officers, visiting dignitaries.”

Cassian coughs. “He means there are witnesses.”

Rook grins. “And stories.”

Alaric keeps his gaze on me, unflinching. “If you don’t mind sharing that way,” he adds evenly, “I can see to it you’re granted access.”

He gestures toward the hall with a knowing smirk. “Your room is prepared. And your private bath is ready whenever you are.”

I give a disappointed tsk but retreat toward the direction he’s indicated. “No matter. I’ll just settle for entertaining myself later by trying to find the secret corridors that connect the bedrooms.”

Alaric watches me go.

Cassian shakes his head, amused. “You’re going to give the guards ulcers.”

Rook’s grin widens. “If he finds one, I want a map.”

A servant steps in to guide me down a quieter hall—warm light, polished stone, the distant echo of running water growing clearer with each turn.

Behind me, the war room resumes in low voices. Plans overlapping. Decisions already in motion.

Ahead, steam breathes through open stone arches.

I dismiss the servant at the threshold and step inside alone.

The chamber is already warm, steam rising in slow curls from the broad stone basin sunk into the floor. I set my pack aside and undo my armor first—buckles loosened, weight shed piece by piece. Boots come off next, then the rest, until I’m left with nothing but heat on my skin and the faint ache of muscles that have earned it.

I step down into the bath.

The water closes around me, hot enough to sting for half a heartbeat before easing, tension bleeding out of my shoulders as I sink back against the smooth stone. I exhale slowly, letting my head rest against the rim, damp hair pushed back from my face as the steam thickens and the world finally quiets.

Steam curls lazily through the tiled chamber, clinging to carved stone and turning the lamplight soft and forgiving.

Water beads on my skin, tracing lines over muscle. One arm drapes over the edge of the tub, fingers slack, water dripping slowly back into the bath. The other rests across my stomach, rising and falling with an easy breath I haven’t had all day.

I breathe once more, slow and deep, then shift my focus inward.

“System. Open the Quest Log.”

The System responds immediately.

[QUEST LOG — UPDATED]

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE:
▸ Disrupt the Demon King Cycle
Status: Ongoing
Urgency: Escalating

ACTIVE QUESTS:
▸ Investigate the Broken Church — Complete
Outcome: Records recovered.
Notes: Additional sites likely viable.

▸ Secure a Purification Specialist — Complete
Outcome: Iseph (former priest) recruited.
Limitations: Mobile purification only. No mass rites.

▸ Coordinate with Royal Knowledge Team — In Progress
Time Remaining: 3 days
Objectives:
– Strategic planning
– Resource allocation
– Saintess research (paused)

I scan through the entries before the interface dims.

“System.” I say, brows knitting. "You have the saintess search paused. Is it something I should continue to pursue? I thought the priest was enough.”

The System answers without urgency.

[SAINTESS SEARCH — ADVISORY]

STATUS: Paused

CLARIFICATION:
A priest is sufficient for containment, cleansing, and survival.
A saintess is not required to defeat the Demon King.
Saintesses enable large-scale purification at extreme cost.

Another line appears, more precise.

RISK ASSESSMENT:
▸ Saintess summoning has a high mortality rate
▸ Historical outcome: Burnout, loss of autonomy, political exploitation
▸ Emotional cost to allies: Severe

Then the recommendation.

SYSTEM RECOMMENDATION:
Do not pursue unless escalation becomes irreversible.

The last line settles gently.

SYSTEM NOTE:
The priest is enough—for now.

I lean my head back against the stone rim of the bath and stare up at the steam curling toward the ceiling.

Enough…for now…

A saintess wouldn’t be useless. Just expensive. Lives burned fast to slow a problem that refuses to end. A blunt tool you only reach for when you’re willing to accept what it costs—and who pays it.

Suppose I can worry about it later.

I exhale slowly and let the thought drift, unresolved.

Then I sigh.

“System. I feel weak.” I thumb the two rings I wear on my right hand. “It bothers me I have no mana and my artifacts don’t work.”

The System answers immediately.

[STATUS ACKNOWLEDGED]

ARTIFACT NOTE:
Your rings are not inert.
They are waiting for charge.

Then, more directly:

MANA ASSESSMENT:
You do not lack ability.
You lack a native interface.

The interface dims.

I sigh. This has never been an issue before. What the heck is up with this world?

I stare down at the scars decorating my torso, remembering the battles fought. The allies lost.

If I don’t have power, I’m gonna need something else to distract myself with while I’m here.

“System… What are my romance routes?”

The System answers immediately—light, precise, a little amused.

[ROMANCE ROUTES — INITIAL SYNC]

AVAILABLE (ACTIVE):
▸ Alaric Aurelian — Crown Prince
Status: Slow Burn
Traits: Authority, restraint, yearning, catastrophic if interrupted
Risk: Political fallout, mutual distraction
Compatibility: High

▸ Cassian Vale — Knight-Captain
Status: Tension / Guarded
Traits: Loyalty, steadiness, emotional honesty
Risk: Self-sacrifice patterns
Compatibility: Moderate–High

▸ Rook — Rogue
Status: Flirt / Unstable
Traits: Humor, misdirection, adaptability
Risk: Disappears when things get real
Compatibility: Moderate

LOCKED / CONDITIONAL:
▸ Iseph — Former Priest
Unlock Condition: Trust over time, shared loss
Risk: Guilt, refusal to want happiness
Compatibility: Unknown

UNAVAILABLE:
▸ Casual attachments (non-persistent)
Reason: Narrative instability

The interface fades.

I tap my lip absently, watching steam curl and thin against the ceiling.

“Honestly shocking there are options at all. People here seem very… high stakes.” I mumble to myself, shifting slightly, the water, lapping against my ribs. “I mean. Crown Prince of the kingdom with no siblings and his steadfast knight who doesn’t accept less than a lifetime commitment? Yeesh.”

I smile despite myself.

“Sounds like fun.”

I dry off, dress, and move through the palace halls as lanterns dim and servants retreat. My room is simple by royal standards—wide bed, clean linens, a window cracked to let night air in. The city murmurs below, distant and alive.

I stretch out, muscles finally giving in to rest.

As I drift off, I issue one last command. “System. I want to corner the prince in a kabedon before I leave the palace again.”

The System responds softly, almost indulgent.

[NEW QUEST - ACCEPTED]

OBJECTIVE: Kabedon — Crown Prince Alaric Aurelian
STATUS: Feasible
WINDOW: Before palace departure
CONDITIONS:
▸ Privacy: Partial
▸ Emotional tension: Sufficient
▸ Political fallout: Manageable

Sleep takes me as the palace quiets around me.

Tomorrow is close.

And somewhere in this palace is a Prince who is about to get wall-slammed.