Worries

Snow.

Heavy, suffocating snow.

Lucius still remembered that day as if it had just happened. The way the cold bit into his skin, the way his breath came out in harsh, ragged puffs as he ran.

His boots sank into the thick snow with every step, but he didn't stop.

He couldn't.

Not when his mother was dying. Not when his little sister was crying, clutching onto his sleeve with tiny, trembling hands.

"Luci… Mama… Mama's not waking up…" Cassandra's voice had been so small, barely a whisper against the howling wind.

Lucius had swallowed hard, kneeling in front of her. He forced a smile onto his face, even as his fingers trembled when he cupped her cold cheeks.

"Stay with Mama," he told her, his voice steadier than he felt. "I'll bring help, I promise."

His little sister nodded, her violet eyes glistening with tears.

Then he turned and ran.

He ran past the alleys of the Light District, past the towering manors of noble families.

And finally, he stood before the grand estate of Marquis Hansford.

His father.

He pounded on the heavy doors, ignoring the biting pain in his knuckles. "Please!" he shouted. "Please, let me speak to the Marquis!"

The guards sneered at him.

A filthy, half-starved street rat covered in snow and desperation.

They shoved him away.

Again, he came back. Again, he was thrown out.

But he kept trying.

Because his mother and Cassandra were waiting.

It wasn't until the Marquis' eldest son died in an accident that things changed.

Suddenly, Lucius was acknowledged.

Not as a son.

Not as family.

But as a replacement.

"I will pay for your mother's medicine," the Marquis had told him with a cold smile. "In exchange, you will learn to be a proper noble."

So Lucius endured.

He started from nothing, humiliated at every turn, mocked by his so-called half-siblings, treated like filth.

None of it mattered.

As long as his mother and Cassandra were safe.

But then, one night, he snuck out of the estate.

Just for a moment. Just to check on them.

And that was when he learned the truth.

The medicine never came.

His mother had died alone.

His three-year-old sister… gone.

"Sold," they told him. "There was no one left to take care of her."

That night, something inside Lucius shattered.

He walked away from the Hansford estate and never looked back.

He would find Cassandra.

No matter how long it took, no matter what he had to do.

And at some point, without realizing it, the information network he built became everything.

He climbed higher and higher. From a lowly informant to the King of the Underworld.

But despite controlling every whisper in the empire, he still couldn't find his sister.

Then, one day, a woman appeared before him.

A foolish, lovesick Empress.

Or so the rumors said.

She was unlike any noblewoman he had ever met. Her mannerisms, her gait, the way she watched people—she was no delicate flower of the court.

Not a knight. Not a mercenary.

A soldier.

She was older than him, yes. But she had the presence of a ruler.

For once, perhaps he had made a mistake in his information gathering.

And then she gave him a task.

"Win the bid for the mermaid necklace," Diana had said with a knowing smile. "It's a gift."

Lucius had been baffled.

Why would an Empress send him—a man who could topple economies overnight—to bid on some cheap trinket?

Still, he accepted the task.

And then he arrived at the Holy Empire's auction.

That was when he realized.

It wasn't about the necklace.

It was never about the necklace.

Because in that same auction house…

In a slave cage…

His sister stood, trembling and thin, her golden hair tangled and unkempt.

A gift.

That was what Diana had meant.

Lucius had stood there, frozen, his mind blank.

He had searched for years.

And in a single night, the Empress had handed him the answer.

He should have felt grateful.

Instead, he felt… fear.

Because if Diana Hinsdale knew about Cassandra…

Then she must have also known about Marquis Hansford.

Lucius clenched his fists.

He didn't want to return to that place.

But Diana—damned, insane Diana—looked at him with a calm smile and said, "Don't you think it's time for a little revenge?"

And somehow, he found himself agreeing.

That was how he became Lucien's tutor.

At first, he thought it would be annoying.

Teaching a spoiled imperial brat?

He expected tantrums. He expected whining.

Instead, he was met with wide gray eyes, filled with innocence far too pure for this world.

Lucius had been confused.

This was Cassian's son? The same man who tossed aside everything for that pathetic Queen?

And yet, Diana—without hesitation—had said:

"Lucien must learn. Not just to obey, but to use the law. He doesn't have to take the throne. But he must be strong enough to reject it."

Lucius had thought it was nonsense.

Until Lucien beat him in chess.

And then in a bet.

And then, somehow, the kid even tricked him in information gathering.

For the first time, Lucius felt like he was losing.

To a five-year-old.

That was when he came to a single conclusion.

Diana Hinsdale must be a witch.

No, truly, it was the only explanation!

Who else could be this infuriatingly capable?

But despite everything—her insane requests, her knowing smirks, her ability to predict his every move—Lucius couldn't bring himself to hate her.

Because the Empress didn't just give him a job.

She gave him back his sister.

And she trusted him.

No one had ever trusted him before.

And for that, no matter how annoying she was, Lucius would never betray her.

Lucius didn't want to admit he was worried.

Not about her.

No, no, of course not.

Diana Hinsdale was a stubborn, crazy woman who could probably gut a man while sipping tea and somehow managed to raise the most obedient and intelligent little prince this empire had ever seen.

She wasn't weak.

But when Yulian arrived, bloodied and grim, Lucius felt something unpleasant crawl up his spine.

His instincts screamed.

And he didn't like that.

So, naturally, he put everything under the pretext of worrying about Lucien.

His cute, lovable disciple, who always called him 'Teacher Lucius' in that soft, innocent voice. The kid who looked at him with those big gray eyes, filled with trust.

Yes. That's why he was here.

Definitely not because he was worried about Diana.

But the moment he stepped into her room and saw her…

That smug, ever-confident woman, who usually looked at him like he was a mischievous child…

She was furious.

Not just anger.

Rage.

The kind that came from old wounds, from betrayals, from someone who had learned long ago that no matter how much they tried, they would always be the villain in another's story.

Her golden eyes burned, but underneath it, just for a moment, there was something else.

A flicker of uncertainty.

A trace of fear.

Lucius clenched his jaw.

Something terrible twisted inside his chest.

And that's why he was here.

He could've sent his subordinates. He had a hundred ways to make this problem disappear.

But no.

Not this time.

Tonight, Lucius would deliver a personal message.

They thought they were untouchable.

Hiding in the shadows, protected by unspoken laws.

The Assassin's Guild under Count Rubein had thrived for years because it knew its limits. It never stepped into the wrong territory, never targeted the wrong people.

But today, they made a mistake.

Today, they touched something that belonged to him.

The underground lair was bustling, torches flickering against stone walls. Men sat around, drinking, laughing, discussing their next job.

Then the doors slammed open.

Lucius didn't bother sneaking in.

He wanted them to see.

The first man barely had time to stand before a dagger embedded itself in his throat.

Silence.

Then chaos erupted.

Lucius stepped forward, graceful and unhurried, his golden hair catching the dim light. The violet in his eyes gleamed dangerously as he pulled his dagger free, flicking the blood off with a casual motion.

"G-Guild Leader—!" someone stammered.

No one called him that.

Lucius was a King.

A king of the underworld, and these rats had forgotten their place.

Before the man could finish his sentence, Lucius moved.

A blur.

A flash of silver.

The next second, the man's hand was gone, severed cleanly at the wrist.

A scream rang out.

Lucius exhaled, annoyed. "That was for touching my student's home," he said conversationally.

Another rushed at him with a sword.

Lucius ducked, twisted, and drove his dagger up into the man's ribs.

A choked gasp.

Then he ripped the blade free, blood spraying onto the stone floor.

Two down.

More to go.

Some tried to run.

Lucius sighed. "Really? Running? How disappointing."

With a flick of his wrist, another dagger flew.

Straight into the back of a man's knee.

He collapsed, howling in pain.

Lucius stepped on his back, pinning him down with casual ease. "Didn't you hear?" he murmured. "You don't get to run."

More came at him.

Too slow.

Too weak.

Lucius danced between them like a shadow, his daggers carving through flesh with effortless precision.

Screams filled the room.

Blood splattered the walls.

And still, he was calm.

Unbothered.

He was only getting started.

The door at the far end burst open, and Count Rubein stumbled in, pale and frantic.

"What—WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" the Count bellowed. "NIGHTBANE! ARE YOU MAD?!"

Lucius finally stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

His violet eyes glowed eerily in the torchlight.

"Mad?" he repeated.

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent another dagger flying—this time straight through the Count's palm.

Rubein screamed, clutching his bleeding hand.

Lucius stalked forward, slow, deliberate. "You sent men to her palace," he said, voice dangerously soft. "To attack a mother and her child."

The Count's breathing was ragged. "T-The Queen—she ordered—"

Lucius smiled.

It wasn't a pleasant smile.

"Oh, I know," he said. "But you accepted the job."

He grabbed the Count's wrist.

And with one swift motion—

SLASH.

Rubein's arm hit the ground.

The man screamed, collapsing onto his knees.

Lucius crouched in front of him, tilting his head. "I hope you remember this moment, Count," he murmured. "Because the next time you step out of line…"

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper.

"I'll take your head."

Then he stood, turning to the rest of the bloodied, trembling assassins.

"This is your warning," Lucius announced, voice sharp as steel. "You think I care about the laws? About benefits?"

His violet eyes darkened.

"I don't."

Someone whimpered.

Lucius twirled his dagger, the silver blade gleaming.

"Touch what's mine again," he said, voice as smooth as silk.

"And I will erase you all."

Silence.

Terror.

Good.

Satisfied, Lucius flicked his bloodied dagger to the ground and strode towards the exit.

Yulian followed without a word, but Lucius could see the knowing smirk on his face.

Lucius sighed.

Damn it.

He was worried about her.