Kaiser awoke abruptly, his breath steady but heavy, sweat tracing a cool line down the curve of his spine. His eyes opened slowly, calm yet sharply focused, holding no emotion despite the obvious signs that his body was fighting to handle something his mind had accepted without complaint.

That song… whatever it had been… lingered strangely in the edges of his consciousness, unsettling him not with fear but with sheer confusion. He blinked once, twice, and then pushed the strange melody aside. There were far more pressing matters at hand.

He sat up, senses sharpening instantly, taking in his surroundings with the practiced eye of a man raised in luxury yet trained in war. He had grown up in rooms fit for royalty—palatial chambers that others could scarcely dream of. Yet, the room he found himself in now put every place he'd ever slept to shame.

It was magnificent, crafted entirely from beautifully painted wood of a gentle blue hue that reminded him of skies he'd seen only in paintings. The ceiling arched high above him in pure white, flawless and smooth, lending a serene balance to the room's vivid palette. But what drew Kaiser's attention most intensely were the walls and the floor: they pulsed softly with embedded crystals, tiny glimmers catching the light, twinkling like distant stars on a serene night. It was subtle, elegant, breathtaking in its tranquility. He felt oddly comforted.

At his feet, curled in a position more akin to a sleeping hound than a human being, lay Aria. Her small form was nestled comfortably, face peaceful, breathing slow. Beside her rested a dagger, lovingly set upon a plush velvet pillow. It was carefully sheathed, the silver hilt glinting gently, reflecting the soft, crystal-infused glow from the walls. Kaiser's eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation, curiosity flickering briefly behind his otherwise steady expression. Her presence here only deepened his confusion. What exactly had happened, he wondered, to land him in such splendor? What of that strange woman, who seemed both familiar and impossibly alien to him?

Before his thoughts could deepen into questions, a faint sound drew Kaiser's attention to the corner of the room, instantly shifting his focus. There stood a man—a butler by attire and bearing, older, yet impeccably groomed, with long, sleek grey hair bound neatly in a ponytail. His facial hair was trimmed with exact precision, a detail that would normally speak of discipline and meticulous care rather than strength or threat.

Yet Kaiser's senses immediately snapped into heightened alertness. His trained gaze assessed the figure rapidly, mind racing through practiced calculations of threat and value, analyzing the posture, the stance, even the way the man's gloved hands folded patiently at his sides. What unsettled Kaiser most profoundly was not something he saw clearly, but rather something entirely new: surrounding this seemingly harmless older man was a faint but undeniable halo of bright orange light. A subtle glow, a strange outline, yet clearly perceptible—something Kaiser had never before witnessed around another person, no matter how strong.

For a long moment, Kaiser said nothing, eyes locked intently onto the man as he struggled quietly with this new phenomenon. His mind buzzed with possibilities, his instincts whispering urgently that the man standing in quiet attendance was not merely strong, but perhaps unimaginably so. And yet, the butler had given no sign, no indication of threat or combat readiness. No posture of a warrior. No movements betraying hidden training.

"Good morning, Master Kaiser," the older man said smoothly, his voice gentle and warm, carrying a quiet dignity fitting of his appearance. He inclined his head politely and then, without hurry, produced a small, intricately decorated silver bell from his pocket, ringing it once—a clear, delicate sound that resonated softly through the room.

Kaiser straightened fully now, eyes never leaving the butler, his voice calm, composed, betraying none of the turmoil beneath. "Good morning," he returned evenly, measuring every word carefully. His posture relaxed slightly, presenting the outward image of effortless confidence. Yet inwardly, his curiosity sharpened into something more dangerous—a recognition of a mystery he could neither easily solve nor safely ignore.

He was awake now, fully alert in every sense. Aware that wherever he was, whomever he now faced, the rules of the game had changed again, and he would need every scrap of his cunning and control if he hoped to understand precisely how.

Before the older man could utter another word, Kaiser raised a single hand from beneath the thin sheets, his voice level and composed, though edged with unmistakable authority.

"Before you tell me your name," he said quietly, eyes narrowing slightly, "Kindly turn off that obnoxious orange light."

The butler froze.

It was only for a second, less than that, perhaps, but to someone like Kaiser, that brief pause was as loud as a gunshot. There was a flicker of silence between them, one heavy with unsaid implications. And then… the butler's stance shifted ever so subtly. Not into caution, nor aggression, but something else entirely, relaxation.

It was slight. It was refined. But Kaiser noticed.

With a low, almost sheepish chuckle, the butler dipped his chin and reached into the inner lining of his coat. He retrieved a small, rusted iron ring, plain and unimpressive save for the faint glow that clung to it like dust in morning light. Without a word, he slipped it onto his gloved finger, and just like that, the aura vanished.

"I do apologize," the man said gently, tone now notably more personable. "Few have ever commented on it. My name is Tristan. I serve as the steward of the Manor of the Sun… and more intimately, as a long-time companion and attendant to Lady Celestine."

Kaiser nodded once. The name, the place—it meant little to him now. Names were perfume in the wind: pleasant, but ephemeral. He'd been dropped into a world teeming with unfamiliar titles and history, and until he found firm ground, nothing would stick. Still, the way the man introduced himself said more than the words themselves. Close to Celestine… that was useful.

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"Of course," Kaiser murmured absently, gaze flicking toward the golden detailing on the furniture, his mind still processing the layout, the angle of the shadows, the ease of escape routes—just in case. He heard Tristan's voice continuing, but the cadence told him it was flattery and praise.

Kaiser's expression didn't shift, but his voice cut in smoothly, not unkind, just precise. "What happened after?" he asked, eyes shifting to meet Tristan's. "The last thing I remember was that thing… Chaos?"

There was a flicker in Tristan's eyes, respect, yes, but also a tinge of hesitation.

"Ah. Yes." He folded his hands behind his back. "Lord Chaos withdrew. For reasons unknown, he chose not to pursue Lady Celestine or your companions further. He left as swiftly as he came. You were found shortly after, unconscious but alive. By all accounts, the battle ended when he chose to let it."

Kaiser's brow arched, faint but deliberate. "Lord Chaos?"

The butler gave a polite nod, though his tone held something tighter now, less smooth. "Yes. I was informed you lack many of the basic political bearings of this world, so allow me to clarify. Chaos is not merely a beast or aberration, as he might appear. He is one of the highest-ranked Liberators alive. For over a millennium, he has served the Five Liberatoriums with unquestionable results—missions, campaigns, quests..."

Kaiser let out a dry laugh, though it never reached his eyes. "And that still counts if he attacks the princess?"

Tristan exhaled softly, his face briefly shadowed by something like personal distaste. "Unfortunately… yes. It does. As much as I may loathe it, Chaos is considered irreplaceable. His strength is such that he remains untouched by the consequences that would shatter anyone else. He will likely receive no punishment for this incident."

Kaiser leaned back against the pillow, his hands folding across his chest. His expression didn't change, but his mind sharpened instantly.

'So this world is exactly what it seems,' he thought. 'Strength above law. Reputation above morality. If a man like that can strike a royal and remain unpunished, then all the customs and banners are just dressing for the real power. Might makes right.... Good.'

He let out a breath through his nose, closing his eyes briefly—not to rest, but to think.

He could work with that. He preferred that even. It was a system without lies. A world where strength wasn't an illusion of courts or crowns, but leverage. And leverage… was his favorite kind of currency.

"Good," Kaiser murmured aloud, eyes opening again.

Tristan blinked. "Pardon, sir?"

Kaiser turned his gaze away from the butler, expression unreadable. "Pay it no mind," he said coolly, just enough to end the subject. He rose from the bed in a single, fluid motion, gracefully, despite the stiffness in his limbs. As he sat on the edge, the faint sensation of silk sheets clinging to his back made him pause.

Beside him, nestled into the creases of the bedding, were several thin needles—emptied now, their metal tips shining in the dim light. They were still connected by transparent veins to small glass tubes, each filled with a faintly glowing green liquid. They looked clean, clinical… foreign.

His fingers brushed one of them as he leaned forward, brow twitching faintly.

"Those are standard recovery tinctures," Tristan explained before Kaiser had the chance to ask, stepping lightly from his corner. "Alchemical mixtures. They accelerate muscle fiber regrowth and flush damage from the soul. Quite painful to endure, but effective."

Kaiser raised an eyebrow, examining the strange devices with fresh interest. Tristan continued, voice tinged with dry apology. "They were mostly ceremonial, truth be told. Your body rejected them almost instantly. I believe the full reaction time was under two seconds. The needles couldn't even remain in place. But…" He exhaled slowly through his nose. "Lady Celestine insisted."

Kaiser tilted his head slightly, staring down at the vials as if they might offer some cryptic clue into the woman herself. 'So she was powerful, prideful… and sentimental. That's a dangerous combination for a person to have.'

Her presence in the battlefield had been brief but unmistakable, as she moved with precision, power, and purpose. She was stronger than Milo, no doubt. And far too calm under pressure to be dismissed as a mere royal ornament. He couldn't yet tell if she outclassed him entirely, but she had his attention. And attention, for someone like Kaiser, was just a breath away from strategy.

Then his eyes flicked down, at the small shape curled up at the foot of the bed again.

"…Why is she here?" Kaiser asked.

Tristan followed his gaze to the sleeping girl, his expression softening by a fraction.

"Aria refused the personal room prepared for her," he said simply. "Or rather, refused to remain there. She claimed she was uninjured, and had no need of healing, since she did not participate in the battle. But she would not leave your side."

Kaiser said nothing, but his eyes lingered.

"She stole that dagger," Tristan added, nodding toward the blade now resting peacefully beside her pillow, "And held it tightly until she fell asleep. Once she did, I made certain it would not cause her harm. I... adjusted the placement slightly."

Kaiser said nothing at first. He looked down at the girl, her pink hair a mess, her mouth slightly open, one leg tangled in the sheets. She looked like a stray animal caught in the act of pretending to be something more. But there was something in the way she had placed herself here, guarding him with a knife she had no right to carry, that made his fingers pause midair.

After a long moment, he patted her head.

It was mechanical at first, the way one might pat a sleeping dog to avoid startling it. But the longer his hand rested there, the more he became aware of something unfamiliar shifting in his chest. Gratitude… And it was a rather inconvenient feeling.

Her actions had been reckless. Pointless. Unstrategic. And yet… they had not been useless. He pulled his hand back slowly, his voice a murmur in his mind.

'Foolish girl.'

"Your companions are safe," Tristan said, breaking the silence gently. "The twins are in their assigned rooms, resting. Their vitals are stable, though it will take time for their minds to normalize after exposure to Lord Chaos. Lady Elsie is… presently enjoying the royal chamber. Lady Celestine offered her personal quarters to express her apology and gratitude."

Kaiser's head turned at that.

Elsie.

He hadn't yet decided what to do with her, but this changed the calculation. The Princess, someone this powerful and influential, had offered her personal chamber to a girl who had only fought for her a single time. That was no ordinary apology. That was penance.

He bent down and reached beneath the bed. Black shoes, polished and simple, awaited him there. He slid them on, standing fully at last. The room accepted his height with ease. Its dimensions were large, yet intimate. A rare blend. As if designed specifically for someone like him.

Gently, he leaned forward and lifted Aria into his arms—carefully, precisely, as though holding something delicate enough to crack, and laid here in his place. The sheets caught the edges of her limbs like they belonged there.

Tristan stepped forward, as if sensing the moment's conclusion. He reached into his suit and removed a sleek, navy-blue satchel bound with silver cords. "This," he said, extending it with both hands, "Was prepared for you. Lady Celestine gave explicit instructions that it be handed over the moment you awoke."

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