CHAPTER 01
“Over there! After him!”
Bounty hunters with swords came swarming like a pack of dogs.
A man wearing a mask made of animal hide darted nimbly between the trees.
Arrows rained down. The man sprinted like lightning and slashed through a rope tied to a tree. Startled, the tethered horse reared up with a loud cry.
But the man paid it no mind. He calmed the horse, leapt onto its back, and rode off. His pursuers were left speechless at his speed.
Just as he was about to break out of the forest path, a golden arrow aimed for his head. He ducked, but the arrow sheared off the tie and hood that had covered his hair.
Platinum-blond hair scattered in the wind. It was neither glossy nor thick, but as it fluttered freely, it looked more unrestrained than anything else in the world.
The man glared toward the direction the arrow had come from, then hurled throwing knives at the hunters still chasing him. Eight blades whistled through the distance, striking arms and legs.
“Ugh!”
One after another, pursuers stumbled and fell. The whole group had reputations as tough mercenaries, but before him, they were powerless.
“Damn it, we almost had him this time!”
“But are you sure it’s really him? I mean, the hair color fits…”
One man, supporting his injured comrade, spoke up. The wounded man nodded hard.
“It’s him. No mistake. Roberto Brida.”
He pulled a torn wanted poster from his clothes. On it was the sketch of a wanted man.
Platinum-blond, long curly hair. Short and thin. Blue eyes. Suspiciously exceptional swordsmanship.
Every detail matched the fugitive they had just seen.
The bounty hunters clicked their tongues at the reward written beneath the name Roberto Brida: ten thousand gallons. Enough money to change anyone’s life. That was why so many hunted him, yet no one had ever caught him. Many had nearly lost their lives instead, walking away shaken.
“No wonder the reward’s that high. He’s no man—he’s a phantom. Fast as a squirrel, maybe faster.”
“Bet he’s got eyes in the back of his head. How else does he swing his sword without even looking?”
The bounty hunters slumped down where Roberto had vanished, passing around flasks made of dried pig bladders. They drained quickly.
“Ahh… finally, I can breathe.”
“He’s suspicious, that one. With skills like that, he could’ve polished them and joined the Imperial Knights. Why torment others instead?”
“Right? I hear even the knight apprentices are obsessed with finding him. Idiots.”
The hunters laughed crudely.
“Still, if someone does catch him, they get Gunter Butler as their mentor. Straight promotion to elite knight.”
“I don’t need a mentor. I just want to wipe my record clean in one go—I’m sick of living in hiding!”
“Same here!”
Most of the hunters had committed serious crimes they couldn’t speak of openly. For them, this bounty wasn’t just money—it was a chance at amnesty. They wanted it badly. One man cracked almonds from his pocket as he muttered:
“What crime could he have committed against the Empire? His Majesty usually forgives most things… wait. The bounty was issued right after he took the throne. That makes it six years of pursuit, by now, doesn’t it—gah!”
Their chatter stopped in an instant. A golden arrow had slammed into the ground right beside a man’s face.
Trembling, they turned their heads. From the direction the arrow had flown came proud riders on white horses. The horses’ heads were draped in dark blue cloth embroidered in gold thread—the mark of the Imperial House of Delion.
“So, these chirping birds with light tongues turned out to be… beggars.”
“Marco. Using words that judge by appearances doesn’t suit your station.”
“Are you kidding me? The issue isn’t words—it’s that these bastards were bandying my name around!”
Three men surrounded a hooded rider, bickering loudly. To onlookers it sounded like a quarrel, but the speakers themselves seemed unconcerned.
The bounty hunters swallowed hard and bowed low. Just from that short exchange, they knew who these men were. The charisma was unmistakable.
Marco Griffin. Cesario Wood. Gunter Butler.
The Emperor’s most trusted knights, the elite Triad of the Imperial Order. Known as the “Three Musketeers,” they had been hand-picked and tested by the Emperor back when he was still Crown Prince. Fiercely loyal and unrivaled in skill, they were just as infamous for their difficult temperaments.
The bounty hunters feared they would die meaningless deaths here. Their legs shook as the Triad continued their banter.
“Huh? Why’d they suddenly go all stiff?”
“Because Gunter barked at them. Of course commoners would be afraid. You should apologize.”
“It wasn’t me! Cesario, why do you always blame me? Marco’s the one who called them beggars first!”
“Enough.”
The hooded man spoke softly, yet firmly. At once, the three knights fell silent. He lifted his hood.
Beneath it was wavy black hair, streaked heavily with gray, and eyes of deep green that seemed to change with every blink, like shifting jewels.
One hunter, caught by curiosity, looked up—and was ensnared by that gaze. His neck stiffened, as if paralyzed.
The man without his hood fixed him with a stare.
“Did you see his face?”
“N-no.”
“Did you see his hair?”
“Y-yes. It was platinum blond, down to his waist.”
“Did my arrow strike him anywhere?”
“I-I’m not sure… ugh!”
Before he could finish, blood spurted from his neck.
“Y-your Majesty! Please, don’t kill them just because you dislike their answers!”
Your Majesty?
The bounty hunters flattened themselves against the ground, realizing in horror who stood before them.
“No matter if they are condemned criminals, there are still procedures to follow, sire,” Marco and Cesario pleaded.
The Emperor waved his free hand idly.
“Charges: worthless. Sentence: death. Satisfied? Next.”
Blood dripped from his blade as he tapped the head of another man with its flat.
“S-s-spare me!”
“Where did my arrow strike him?”
“Th-the hood! It knocked the garment off his head.”
“Did you see his face? Any freckles?”
The Emperor pressed insistently. The hunter dared to peek up at his boyish-sounding voice.
“Eh? N-no. He threw his knives right away, I didn’t get to see—!”
“Tch.”
The Emperor’s blade flashed mercilessly. Another man collapsed. He flicked the heads of the rest with the flat of his sword, almost playfully, though two corpses lay cooling beside them. One man nearly wet himself with fear.
The Emperor’s tone hardened.
“On our way here, I learned that a band of hunters harassed women and stole coin. Was it you?”
Silence. But their trembling confirmed it.
“W-we’ve committed unforgivable crimes!”
“Good.”
He answered, then danced his sword lightly through the air. A blur, elegant as a waltz. Before the stench of blood even spread, the hunters lay dead.
“Your Majesty! Procedures! Think of the paperwork! Cesario, back me up here—this isn’t lawful. And I’ll be the one writing the report!” Marco groaned. Cesario stayed quiet, while Gunter ordered soldiers to clean up the bodies. The Emperor wiped his blade and spoke again.
“They confessed with their own mouths. That’s enough.”
“They didn’t ask for death, though!”
“Same thing.”
“Your Majesty!”
“They delayed our pursuit. That alone is reason enough.”
The Emperor turned his horse toward the path where the knives had fallen. Soon he found a torn, arrow-pierced hood, tangled with strands of long hair.
He clenched it in his hand. His face never twisted, but the icy fury beneath was palpable. The Triad pulled up beside him in silence. Finally, Cesario spoke gently.
“Are you certain it was Roberto this time?”
“I am. I’d know the way he rides anywhere.”
“Gunter, quiet!” Marco cut him off sharply. The Emperor said nothing, staring at the tracks carved into the earth. At last, he murmured:
“If this time proves false, I will abandon the chase.”
“Then you are that certain.”
“Yes.”
He tossed aside the hood. It fluttered down into the pool of hunters’ blood, staining red—like rose petals scattered by the rain.
Gazing at it, the Emperor remembered that day.
Six years ago, at the ceremony of investiture.
On that day, squire Roberto Brida disappeared. The first betrayal that pierced the heart of Crown Prince Dantes Belkin.
Since then, not a single moment had passed when Dantes had forgotten him.
Not until he found him with his own hands—and killed him.
The Emperor’s gaze followed the path where Roberto had vanished.
The desert wind howled.
