Chapter Four: Captains

The stench of scorched leather curled with the wind. Kael sat with his back to a broken cart in a body that wasn't his.

Around him, the remnants of battle clung to the earth: shattered blades, scorched armor, the bitter stench of burned flesh still rising from the field. Soldiers passed him warily, almost scared, their eyes lingering just a beat too long.

He didn't blame them.

He still felt the echo of the Jack. His veins thrummed with something cold, something wrong. Every movement took more effort than it should. His hands trembled when he tried to make a fist.

And beneath that cold, humming magic, a sharper, far more familiar ache had started to gnaw at him.

Damnit. He needs to go home.

He had won. Millions. The kind that wiped out every loan, bought him a condo and a car—maybe even a coffee that didn't taste good. The kind of money that can change everything.

And just when it should have been his moment, when he should have been walking away with his middle fingers up and champagne in hand, he was taken to the warehouse and now he'd woken up here.

In someone else's body.

He let out a bitter snort and pushed himself upright.

A sword lay nearby, half-buried in ash. He picked it up out of reflex, then caught his reflection in the broad side of the blade.

He stared.

Sharp cheekbones. White hair tousled like it had been styled and amber eyes that looked like they belonged to a model. Even dirt-smeared and half-broken, the guy in the reflection looked like he belonged on the cover of a fantasy novel.

So, he was a prince here, gorgeous, dangerous, with magic cards and a title.

It was almost tempting.

He could stay.

Wield swords and command respect. Maybe even find out what a feast felt like without needing to count bills after.

He looked at the fallen monster, the smoke still curling from its ruined body, and said flatly, "Fuck no. I want my normal world."

He wasn't about to let some freak magical universe steal that from him.

The cards hovered in the air before him. The fifth, Lucky Draw, had returned to its gray state, but now a new glow pulsed faintly from the next one in the sequence.

The sixth card floated forward. Kael focused on the words flashing.

Card 6: Shieldwall

Effect: When activated, creates a curved magical barrier in front of the user for 10 seconds. Blocks both physical and magical attacks. One use per hour. Cooldown applies.

Kael let out a dry, humorless breath.

"Great. A wall," he muttered. "About damn time."

A breeze tugged at the smoke. Somewhere behind him, footsteps crunched closer.

He stared at the floating card until the glow dimmed. A distant shout echoed across the ruined field, and the rhythm of bootsteps grew louder. One of the soldiers had finally worked up the courage to approach.

"My prince," the man said, voice stiff. "The commander requests your presence in the war council."

He wanted to say no but couldn't.

Kael got to his feet slowly, still feeling the weight of exhaustion in his limbs. The soldier led him across the camp, past tents and watchfires, toward a massive red tent at the center. It towered above the others, its canvas walls taut and sun-faded.

The front flap was open where he could hear voices inside—strained, low, arguing.

He stepped through. The voices stopped. He crossed to the nearest empty chair and sat down, his limbs heavy, the weariness etched bone-deep. The others cleared their throats and, one by one, sat down as well.

There were seven of them, each marked by battle in their own way. Scarred, broad, commanding. One wore battered gold-plated armor and hadn't spoken yet. Another, a man with ink-stained gloves, adjusted his sleeves without meeting Kael's eyes. One kept drumming his fingers like the table owed him money. Kael, for his part, had no idea who any of them were.

The hulking man with the shield, who Kael remembered from the battlefield, was the first to speak.

"Your Highness," he said, voice steady but curious, "what was that skeleton that kneeled at your feet?"

Kael blinked once. He hadn't expected the question, and for a moment, the only answer that came to him was the thrum still running cold beneath his skin. The Jack's cold still lingered under his skin. Not something he could explain without sounding insane.

"I don't know what it was," he said finally, voice low. "It showed up. It helped. And I almost collapsed after. That thing hadn't come free."

It wasn't a lie, not really. Just not the full story.

"Magic that commands the dead..." someone murmured, not bothering to hide their discomfort.

And he sure as hell wasn't about to tell them about the cards still floating in front of him.

"It kneeled to you," the man with the black hair and beard pressed. "It followed your command."

Kael gave a half-shrug, the corner of his mouth tugging up. "Yeah. Follows better than most people I know."

There was a pause. An awkward one.

Kael blinked, realizing too late that what he'd meant as a joke now hung in the air like an insult. He wasn't sure if they thought he meant the soldiers in the room or the kingdom, but he'd meant people in general.

He cleared his throat and leaned back slightly. "That was supposed to be funny."

"Forgive me, Your Highness," a man with a scar on his face and eyepatch said, stiff with practiced deference, "but if you had magic like that… why wait until now to use it?"

The question came soft, but it landed hard.

Kael stared at the table, trying to think of a reply that wouldn't spark more questions or panic. He'd nearly collapsed after. That thing hadn't come free. His body had barely stopped shaking, and they wanted to know why he didn't unleash it like some party trick. And he didn't know how to answer that.

Well, he is a prince here. A man in power. And if he knew anything about power, it was that it could silence.

"I think that's enough questions," he said, tone even but unmistakably firm. "We are here for other things. Aren't we?"

They exchanged looks, but no one spoke against him.

"Good," Kael said, and leaned back like it cost him nothing at all.

The only woman in the tent spoke up next. She had sharp eyes and a voice that didn't waver. "Gwedlyn," she said, rising slightly from her seat. "Medic-in-chief."

Kael glanced at her, noting the blood-stained sleeves, the no-nonsense posture. He didn't trust that calm. She was laying a trap and smiling through it.

"One of the medic reported about your memory loss, your Highness." Kael stiffened.

Kael felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, a prickling that screamed danger. It was just a statement, but the room had stilled in a way that made his instincts go cold. Their eyes weren't just curious now—they were evaluative, calculating.

It felt like confirming it would sign his death warrant.

But before he could say anything, a heavy voice cut across the room.

"If that is true, it can wait."

Everyone turned.

"Commander Rellan..." Gwendlyn muttered.

So this is the commander. He stepped forward, tall, broad-shouldered, with long gray hair and a beard that looked like it had weathered storms. His armor was scraped and dark with wear. He didn't shout, but every word carried weight.

"We have more pressing concerns. Griffyn hasn't sent a single message from the wall."

He glanced around the room. Kael caught the worry lining their faces, the stiff set of shoulders that were supposed to look unshakable.

"We have to assume they were attacked. Possibly overrun. And if they were, then the breach point must be near them," the man with the eyepatch said.

The commander nodded once, as if that settled it. "We're sending a party. We need eyes on that wall. And we need to find the breach."

The eyepatch man stood up. "We must also assume that other beasts are already roaming inside the wall as we speak. I'll take my unit and scout the towns near Griffyn's outer posts."

The commander nodded once. "Then Affkar division will scout the areas near the breach itself."

Affkar. Sure. Whatever that was. Kael gave a nod like it meant something to him. Bluffing was still survival. Fake it. That's the first rule of bluffing.

"How are the mages?" the gray-haired man asked.

"They're ready," the quiet man seated at the table, spectacles perched low on his nose said. "But we'll use horses. No sense wasting their mana teleporting us if there are still beasts lurking. We'll need their strength intact once we reach the wall."

The commander's gaze turned to Kael again, lingering this time. Kael straightened his back, suddenly aware of how many eyes were on him. They were watching him like opponents at a table. Waiting for a tell. He gave them none. What did this guy want from him, exactly? Permission? A plan? A miracle?

He cleared his throat. "Then I'll be coming as well."

Silence.

Kael felt the quiet stretch like a drawn blade. Oh God. Was that wrong? What then must a prince do?

"It's dangerous out there," someone muttered.

"Safer if you stayed in the camp," added another.

Well, fuck it. He'd already said it. He couldn't let a prince back down. Not when he already wasn't acting like one. Kael set his jaw, leaned forward, and brought his fist down once against the table.

"I've decided."

Chairs creaked, but no one replied. Kael felt the silence press like armor around him.

So this was the power of a prince.

He stood, turned without asking permission, and walked out of the tent.

He didn't know if he'd made the right choice. He wasn't sure if that mattered anymore.

Outside, the sky was still gray. Kael looked up with a bitter smirk.

"Keep me alive, God," he muttered. "I won that table. This one's next."