You, My Devil - Chapter 25

The figure said nothing. It was a man wearing a mask that covered his face. The candles on the chandelier above them flickered, one by one extinguishing until the hallway was cloaked in darkness.

Most of the generals who had welcomed Yuri with a banquet had already drunk themselves into a stupor and retired for the night. This meant only a minimal number of guards remained inside the palace.

Yuri took a step back, his sharp eyes narrowing as he assessed the figure before him. The golden hair peeking out from beneath the mask made one thing clear—the intruder was not from Nike.

“You’re bold, aren’t you? This isn’t a place where a Constance slave should dare to crawl in.”

The masked man’s eyes gleamed with rage. Yuri, unarmed and without his armor, stood in a completely vulnerable state.

The man had climbed the castle walls and hidden himself in the shadows of the ceiling. He hadn’t gone directly to Heina’s room but instead intercepted Yuri when he appeared, an unavoidable choice.

When faced with the man who had caused the fall of his country, nothing could stop him. Rescuing the princess could wait until after killing this devil.

With a voice full of venom, the masked man spat at Yuri,
“How dare you speak of boldness when you and your filthy Nike scum have taken over this palace? Are we supposed to just stand by and watch?”

The murderous intent radiating from the man made Yuri grin wickedly, his sharp eyes glinting with cruelty.

“So much complaining. Constance people are pathetic. You lost because you were weak, and now you’re whining to have it all back? Such childishness. Slaves to the bone, aren’t you?”

“Shut your mouth!”

The man’s eyes blazed as he swiftly drew his sword, slicing through the air with precision. Yuri narrowly dodged the blade, stepping back just in time, but the assassin’s movements were faster than he expected.

Wasting no time, the man thrust his sword again, this time aiming for Yuri’s abdomen. Yuri rolled on the floor, barely avoiding the strike, but the man’s sword came down again, forcing him to kick out with his foot. The powerful kick knocked the assassin off balance, making him stagger, and the sword missed its target, plunging into the carpeted floor instead.

The soft carpet covering the corridor scattered its fibers as the blade hit it. As Yuri got to his feet, the man’s sword sliced the air above him, the sound of its swing sharp and dangerous. Yuri dropped to his knees, then bent his body backward to avoid the blow, lying flat on the floor as the sword narrowly missed him.

This one isn’t an amateur…

A bead of sweat formed on Yuri’s pale forehead. He quickly calculated the nearest guards’ location within the castle. The two soldiers standing outside Heina’s room were the closest, just down the hall.

But he had no intention of calling for them. He didn’t want to create a commotion that might alert Heina in her room.

She must not know that a Constance citizen had infiltrated the castle. False hope was best crushed before it could take root.

“Die!”

The man lunged again, his sword aimed at Yuri. But Yuri grabbed the man’s collar and twisted, throwing him backward with a heavy thud. The man’s back hit the floor hard, and the impact caused his sword to fly from his grasp, clattering to the side.

Yuri smirked coldly.
“You’re the one who’s going to die.”

“Ugh…!”

The man reached out desperately for his fallen sword, but Yuri was faster. He kicked the blade away, sending it skidding across the floor with a metallic clang as it collided with a nearby statue.

“Damn it…!”

The man tried to scramble to his feet and run toward the sword, but Yuri’s foot slammed into his back, knocking him down again. The force of the kick sent pain shooting through his ribs, drawing an involuntary scream from the assassin.

“Argh!”

“Shut up. You’re making too much noise,” Yuri muttered, grabbing the man by the collar and driving his fist into his abdomen. The man let out a choked gasp, coughing violently as the air was knocked from his lungs.

“Now, answer only the questions I ask you,” Yuri ordered coldly.

The man coughed and wheezed, struggling to catch his breath. Yuri straddled him and reached for the mask covering his face, intending to pull it off.

But before he could, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor. The guards stationed outside Heina’s room were running toward him.

“Lord Yuri, what’s going on?! Are you all right?!”

“It’s an assassin! Quickly! Hurry!!”

Yuri scowled at the commotion and snapped at the soldiers.

“Go back! Guard the girl’s room!”

The breach in security meant there could be more infiltrators hiding elsewhere in the castle. If the masked man was indeed from Constance, there were only two possible objectives:

Either they had come to assassinate Yuri, the prince of Nike and commander of its army, or they were here to rescue Heina, the last remaining member of Constance’s royal family and a symbol of hope for its people.

“Hurry back… ugh!”

While Yuri was barking orders at the guards, the assassin beneath him took advantage of his brief distraction and delivered a sharp punch to Yuri’s jaw. Yuri’s head jerked to the side, and blood spurted from his lip.

Momentarily losing his balance, Yuri staggered, allowing the assassin to shove him off with tremendous force and break free. Without hesitation, the man sprinted down the palace corridor toward a large window set into the castle wall. His movements were shockingly swift and agile. Yuri cursed under his breath through clenched teeth.

“Damn it!”

“Lord Yuri! We’ll kill him for you!”

The guards unsheathed their swords and prepared to pursue, but Yuri, his voice filled with rage, shouted,
“I’ll handle this! Get back to Heina’s room immediately!”

Crash!

The masked man leapt through the window, shattering the glass into pieces. Shards rained down as the startled guards exchanged uneasy glances before rushing back toward Heina’s room as ordered.

Yuri took off after the fleeing assassin, sprinting across the corridor and vaulting through the broken window. Shards of glass tore through his clothes, leaving a long rip down his side and cutting his knee, but he paid no attention to the injuries. With the speed and ferocity of a predator on the hunt, Yuri pursued the intruder relentlessly.

You’re dead, you foolish Constance dog, Yuri thought as he ran.

Though Yuri prided himself on his speed, the assassin proved to be just as swift and capable. The masked man darted toward the palace’s rear, where a grand fountain spewed water under the moonlight. What astonished Yuri even more was the man’s apparent familiarity with the castle’s layout.

Who the hell is this guy?

Grinding his teeth, Yuri picked up his pace. He hadn’t killed the assassin outright or unmasked him because he needed answers.

Yuri was no stranger to the rumors circulating among Nike’s slaves—whispers of a Constance resistance forming in secret. If such an organization existed, he needed to know who was at its helm.

Haa… Haa…

Yuri’s breathing grew ragged as the humid night air filled his lungs, so different from the dry, chilling winds of the desert. As the distance between him and the assassin gradually shrank, Yuri’s thoughts spun.

How did they find out?

It had been less than 24 hours since Yuri and Heina had set foot in Constance. The official announcement of his arrival wasn’t scheduled for another five days.

Yet, somehow, the intruder had received precise and timely information. He had infiltrated the castle during the banquet, exploiting the weakened security—a testament to how well he understood Yuri’s habits of throwing large feasts for his soldiers after long marches or battles.

“Damn it…” Yuri hissed through gritted teeth.

By now, the assassin had reached the rear of the palace and was climbing the towering walls surrounding the castle grounds. The wall was at least three times the man’s height, but he scaled it with the speed and grace of a wild animal.

Yuri pulled the small dagger tucked into his leather sandal. The man, now at the top of the wall, began running along its edge precariously. Yuri chased him from below, their shadows overlapping on the ground.

Still running, Yuri aimed his dagger at the assassin. If he wanted to bring him down quickly, the best target would be his legs, but if the dagger missed, it would all be for nothing. It was safer to aim for a vital point—the heart.

Without hesitation, Yuri hurled the dagger at the man’s upper body. The blade flew through the air with precision, but the assassin bent his body at the last moment. Instead of piercing his heart, the dagger embedded itself in his left shoulder.

“Damn…” Yuri muttered, realizing his plan to kill the man had failed.

“Ugh!”

With a groan of pain, the assassin lost his balance and tumbled off the wall, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Yuri, still climbing the wall, paused for a moment to catch his breath. The assassin, injured, wouldn’t be able to get far. It would be easy to send soldiers to follow the trail of blood he’d undoubtedly leave behind.

Of course, Yuri knew there was a chance the soldiers might lose him, given the assassin’s speed and cunning. But leaving the castle himself to pursue the man further would be far more dangerous.

Next time, I’ll make sure the blade finds your neck, Yuri thought bitterly.

He turned and began sprinting back toward Heina’s room at a terrifying speed.

***

In the reception room of the emperor, located on the top floor of Granada Palace, the capital of Nike, a heavy tension filled the air.

“Yuri has finally arrived in Lucina, the capital of Constance and its First District,” said Nadine, snapping his fingers as he spoke. “Until now, there hasn’t been anyone reliable to oversee the situation there, which caused a lot of unrest. But now, we can breathe a little easier. The volume of tributes coming from there will surely increase.”

Nadine sat across from Fessis at a table near the emperor’s feet. His healthy complexion, dark curly hair that slightly covered his ears, and downward-slanting eyes made Nadine look younger than his actual age.

He had always seemed indifferent to the struggle for the throne, living a life of leisure. His hobbies included watching dancers perform in a room adorned with luxurious decorations, a space overflowing with objects of indulgence—be they carnal or material.

But Fessis, who had grown up with Nadine in the palace, was well aware of the hidden ambitions behind his carefree facade. His earliest memory of Nadine was hearing him spew unspeakable curses at Fessis’ mother.

“I’ve heard that even now, Constance’s slaves send the most tributes of any colony to Nike. What makes you think Yuri, who isn’t a god, can increase that volume further? If that child can simply prevent any potential revolts from breaking out, that alone will suffice,” Fessis said with a sneer, his lips curling in disdain.

Nadine clicked his tongue softly and reprimanded him in a gentle tone.
“Fessis, I understand your concern for our youngest brother, but surely the emperor didn’t send Yuri all the way there just to act as some puppet.”

“And what do you think the reason is, Chancellor?” Fessis asked, his voice sharp.

“You’re clever, Fessis. Surely you can see Father’s wisdom. All of this is done for Nike and for the gods who protect it. In other words, it’s to strengthen the nation,” Nadine replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

A subtle tension hung between the two as Fessis glared at his older brother. A small scoff escaped Fessis’ lips.

He found Nadine’s behavior insufferable—one moment proposing foolish ideas like exchanging the throne for a Constance slave girl, the next flattering the emperor with sycophantic remarks. But now was not the time to let his emotions show.

Bowing his head respectfully toward Nike, Fessis raised it again, his long, sleek black hair cascading over his shoulders.

“Forgive my insolence, Your Majesty. It seems I lack the wisdom to fully grasp the depth of Nike’s intentions, as my brother so astutely points out.”

Seated on the raised platform, the emperor, Nike, silently observed the unspoken clash between his two sons. As always, his expression was inscrutable, making it impossible to discern his thoughts.

What is Father thinking?

A faint crease appeared on Fessis’ forehead. Ever since he had consulted the court astrologer, he had been unable to shake his suspicions about his father.

His mind worked furiously, trying to decipher the emperor’s true intentions. His dark eyes gleamed with sharp calculation.

Was it Nike who sent soldiers to kill Yuri? If so, why? Could Yuri’s presence really be so threatening that it warrants eliminating him?

The emperor’s voice cut through Fessis’ thoughts like a blade.

“I have one question for you, my proud princes of Nike.”

The emperor, who had been silently seated until now, finally spoke. His deep, weighty voice filled the room, prompting Fessis and Nadine to rise from their seats and bow to their father and emperor, Nike.

“Speak, Your Majesty,” they responded in unison, kneeling before him.

Nike looked down at his two sons, who were now prostrated before him, and slowly asked,
“There was a small… incident while Yuri was on his way to Constance, wasn’t there?”

Both princes, still bowing with their faces toward the floor, stiffened simultaneously.