Chapter 63: The Crown Prince

"Someone, something, will open the doors to the Dream and Nightmare Planes. And the critical moment will be here, in the Imperial Academy."

A blessing or a curse, the ability to witness an unalterable future often ransacked men's minds with wild bouts of fear. And as his trembling eyelids opened to the light of the real world, Kilian didn't doubt the precision of his Revelation.

Oddly, instead of the cold ground, a cushy bed sheet supported Kilian's back, with a warm blanket wrapping his form. Jezebel lay at his right, while Lena sat at his left.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Jezebel began, supporting her cheek in her left hand as she stared at Kilian's face. Seeing her master awaken, Lena's Hellhound heart teemed with joy, and she pounced onto Kilian, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Master!" Lena screamed with glee. Although Jezebel ensured that this was nothing more than a temporary condition, she couldn't help but dread the worst—fearing that before she could prove her value, her master would vanish from this world.

"Hum, hum, not that I dislike the show of affection or the comfort of your breasts, but if you bury me under them for too long, even I may not survive," Kilian jested, and instantly, Lena leaped back, smacking her face in shame.

"I'm s-"

"You apologize for wrongdoings, I didn't see any," Kilian cut, preventing Lena from finishing her words. He then turned to face Jezebel, who all along stared at his eyes with her lips curved in a warm smile.

"Such an angelic smile does not befit a demoness," Kilian jested, and seeing how his way of simultaneously complimenting and cussing remained unchanged, she heaved a sigh of relief.

"Humph, I'm a daemoness, not a demoness, which de facto makes me a deity. Get your facts straight," the minx snorted in a tone mixing false loftiness and amusement.

"Humble, just how I like them. How long have I been out for?"

"Three hours, you missed the whole disembarkment, and an opportunity to befriend von Skoll blood," Jezebel replied, and alongside Lena, proceeded to tell Kilian all that occurred during his blackout. Tristan von Skoll again attempted to pay him a visit but met his unconscious form instead.

To prevent needless talks, Jezebel blamed it on overexertion and drug abuse mid-sex. Hearing this, Kilian felt a plethora of black lines contort his brows, a frown took form.

"How many heard that explanation?" A man of clear priorities, Kilian never missed the core point, and as his hazel eyes darted between Jezebel and Lena, the former relished in her move, while the latter dared not face him.

"Everyone, of course. Due to the disembarkment, we had to give the officials an explanation. To prevent further probes, I even stressed that for you, this is a common occurrence. Fortunately, we weren't particularly discreet last night, so all bought the words.

Congratulations, you have not even set foot in the academy proper that you hold the title of number one rake and debauched lowborn student. No need to thank me," Jezebel replied, spinning her head with impish delight. Considering that since they left the cabin, Jezebel, in public, disguised as a man, one could only imagine the current rumors.

At first, Kilian didn't know whether to laugh or cry. But then he reckoned that considering his background, such a reputation changed nothing.

At worst, it would put him in the limelight for 72 hours. Why did he keep his hair tied in dreadlocks when he knew full well the kind of attention it'd draw? Three reasons.

First, it'd serve as a signal for a certain someone. Second, reminiscence. Kilian's dreadlocks reminded him of his lost parents, they mirrored Viktor's style, and were tied following Alina's guidance. Every time he faced a mirror and tied his hair, warmth surged in his chest.

Third, it didn't matter.

As long as the "Kilian" name was followed by "zu Verden," the best he could hope for in the academy was ostracization. The great majority of twilight children came from a commoner background, with only a scant few picked from fallen houses.

Orphaned nobles often held disturbing claims to land and titles, or carried with them ancestral enmity. Adopting them required too many political considerations. Arcane gifted commoners, however, brought no such burdens and had nothing to rely on beside their new parent. The choice spoke for itself.

"Never mind, better to live as Don Juan, than die the Commander," Kilian stated, triggering a wave of confusion in Lena's mind. It was one of those moments where she wholly couldn't relate to her master's words—and if she didn't know better—would think him insane.

"The banquet should be starting as we speak. Let's go." Without further ado, Kilian stood up, not bothering to discuss the Revelation he just went through. That could wait another time.

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Using a "minor" trick, Jezebel changed her appearance and clothes to a male version, with shorter hair, flat breasts, and narrow hips. This was the appearance she used to face Tristan and the other noble scions mid-disembarkment. Clearly, she'd not forgotten Kilian's old request.

But as she stared at Kilian's back, for the imperceptible split of a second, Jezebel's brows creased.

...

While Kilian, Lena, and the crossdressing Jezebel headed toward the banquet hall, in the Imperial Island's most honorable suite, reserved only for the highest-ranking members of the imperial family, a 21 years old man sat on a mahogany throne chair, legs crossed, and eyes shut close.

Dressed only in turquoise sleep pants that left his slender, but muscular torso wholly exposed, he wore his hairs in short black curls, and even with his eyes closed, bore a striking resemblance to the emperor, Niklas. His eyes opened, showing the amber hue of the von Skoll, and shifted toward a naked woman of great beauty that knelt on the ground, with tears trickling down her face.

"Ayden, you can't do this to me! With all the things I've done for you, even, even...how can you do this to me?! You can't! I won't accept it! I won't!" She sobbed, and her warm tears tumbled incessantly. Though by seven years his senior, and of incomparably lower status, she'd come to believe that Ayden held unique feelings for her, that one day, they would no longer have to romp in shadowy corners.

For him, she didn't hesitate to betray her spouse, and brought him to the brink of death, with his life now in sole control of Ayden. And this vile deed was only one of the many she'd committed to stand by his side. So how, how could he forsake her?!

But faced with the noblewoman's protests, Ayden arched an eyebrow.

"To this point, you still don't understand? Imbecile, this was just a game, one of the many I play to study human psychology.

I target noblewomen with doting husbands, wondering if and when they'll crumble before my looks, honeyed words, and status. So I suppose you can say that I selected your husband, and played with you.

Each time, I bet a finger on how far they will go for me, and always end up with the same result—my disappointing victory. Frankly, I had great hopes for you, but you spread your legs far too easily. How difficult is it to not betray the love and trust of a decade? I wonder.

Anyways, I've got all I wanted from you, and your presence now serves no purpose. Oh and by the way, I never touched you. It was all magic," Ayden stated in a distant, inexpressive tone.

Each word was like a dagger stabbing and twisting the noblewoman's heart. Her teary eyes widened, staring dazed at Ayden's matchless face. Seeing this, he shrugged.

"Don't give me that look, I never forced you to do anything, your very choices led to this point.

The times when you could refer to me by my name are over. Hang yourself, put a bullet in your brain, or jump into the Wailing Sea, I do not care. But if you dare waste another minute of my time, or address me with such familiarity, I will have you paraded naked across the Imperial City for the high nobility to feast on," Ayden pursued, and waved his right hand, causing a surge of telekinetic forces to embroil the noblewoman and hurl her past the door.

Cracking his neck, he stood up, snapped his fingers, and donned a purple-gold wizard robe with the golden winged lion crest of the Imperial Academy. Stretching out his hand, Ayden summoned a palm-sized mirror in which several amber-eyed figures appeared.

"Since his imperial majesty's collapse, many of the dukes and grand dukes have been making covert moves to strengthen their houses at the expense of the empire.

We ought to remind the ants that even without the emperor, our von Skoll dynasty can squash each and every single one of them in the blink of an eye.

On the ground of investigating an assassination attempt on his imperial majesty, I declare Martial Law.

Dispatch the Golden Army, put all noble houses above marquis rank on a lockdown, ready the NL-97 for long-range nukes, and await further instructions. If anyone dares resist, you have legal authority to exterminate their house," Ayden commanded, and instantly, the von Skoll scions bowed in submission.

"As you command, your imperial highness!"

The von Skoll kinsmen vanished from the screen, and the mirror dived into Ayden's sleeve.

Turning heels, he walked out the door, ignoring the noblewoman who still quivered, unable to accept reality. Later that day, she hanged herself.

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