sorry for the late upload guys.
***
The brown salt crunched beneath Atlas's boots as he completed the final loop around their makeshift camp. The air smelled faintly of sulfur—an unpleasant reminder of its origin—but it was worth every coin. The mountains of Dragon Peak weren't just treacherous; they were cruel. Their salt carried a magic that repelled monsters, though no one outside his circle understood why he'd chosen 'this' particular precaution.
He could feel the weight of curious stares on him—guards whispering behind cupped hands, soldiers exchanging nervous glances. They thought him paranoid, maybe even mad. But paranoia wasn't madness when survival depended on it. He knew better than everyone here, how monsters pray on humans.
"...You know much about monsters?" the captain asked finally, her voice cutting through the hum of cicadas and distant howls. Her tone hovered somewhere between curiosity and mockery, sharp enough to slice through steel.
Atlas turned slowly, brushing off the last remnants of salt from his gloves. He met her gaze head-on, letting silence stretch taut like a bowstring before she corrected herself with an awkward cough.
"I mean—you know much about monsters, your highness," she amended hastily, bowing slightly. Respect layered over sarcasm, but not by much.
Her hair caught the firelight again, strands of gold flickering like embers against the night sky. She had a Goddess's face—sharp angles softened only slightly by exhaustion—and yet, there was something fragile about her too. Fragile and misplaced, like a porcelain doll shoved into armor three sizes too big for her soul.
Atlas smirked faintly, dusting his palms together. "I am just afraid," he said softly, his voice carrying farther than expected in the stillness. "Afraid of death so much so, that book in your pocket was born." His eyes flickered toward the leather-bound tome tucked into her belt that Atlas gave everybody, then back to hers. "As a prince, and more so as the future ruler…" He paused, glancing down at the ring on his finger. A sigil ring, heavy with promises and curses alike. "My life is precious—not to me, but to my kingdom."
Her lips parted slightly, surprise flashing across her features before she masked it under professionalism. For a moment, she looked almost…impressed.
"Your majesty is a people's person then," she murmured, tilting her head ever so slightly. "Rare to see such nobility within royalty." There was sincerity in her words, buried deep beneath layers of skepticism. "But a ruler should not think solely of others—they must also focus on themselves. How good can a foundation be if it cannot hold the building above it?"
Atlas laughed—a low, bitter sound that scraped against the edges of sanity. Of course, she wouldn't understand. She couldn't. Not unless she'd lived through what he had. Through games and lives and deaths stacked atop each other until reality blurred into fiction and vice versa.
"You're right," he admitted, stepping closer. Close enough to see the faint scar running along her jawline, close enough to smell the metallic tang of blood clinging to her sword hilt. "A weak ruler isn't fit to lead. And yes, status means nothing when you're dead. But tell me, Captain…" He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "…do you truly believe I'm weak?"
Her hand twitched toward her blade reflexively, knuckles whitening around the hilt. "No hard feelings, your highness," she said evenly, though her pulse betrayed her. "It's just that, in my mind, perfection doesn't exist. People like you…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "They make the world tilt sideways. Breaking the Balance."
"And here I thought warriors valued strength above all else," Atlas shot back, his grin widening into something feral. "Seems you're more philosopher than soldier after all."
She snorted, rolling her eyes. "Philosophy keeps us alive longer than brute force does."
"Fair point," he conceded, gesturing casually to his own guards. Two swords crossed paths mid-air, offered respectfully to the captain. "Then let's settle this with action instead of words. One match. No holding back. If you win, I'll stop calling you 'Captain' and address you properly by name. If I win…" He trailed off deliberately, letting the implication hang thick in the air.
Her brow furrowed, suspicion mingling with intrigue. "And what do you stand to gain, your highness? What makes this wager worth your time?"
Atlas shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Entertainment, mostly. A chance to prove that even perfection has flaws." Then, quieter, almost to himself: "Besides, someone needs to teach you humility. I sense nothing but Burning authority and over confidence from you."
The challenge hung between them, crackling like lightning before a storm. She hesitated, weighing her options, before nodding sharply. "Fine. But don't cry when I knock you flat on your ass."
"Oh, sweetheart," Atlas drawled, baring teeth in a wolfish grin. "That's exactly what I'm counting on."
Clash!!
The sound of steel meeting steel rang out like a bell tolling doom, echoing through the camp and scattering shadows into chaos. The fake prince stood frozen, his mouth hanging slightly open as if he'd just realized how utterly useless he was in this moment. The guards shifted awkwardly, unsure whether to cheer or run for their lives. Only one man—a grizzled veteran with eyes like storm clouds—watched with something resembling awe. He had seen Atlas train once, under Kury's brutal tutelage, where every swing of her blade felt like a promise of death. This fight? It wasn't so different.
Atlas's gaze burned brighter than the firelight behind him, his pupils dilating unnaturally wide as they locked onto hers. To him, she wasn't flesh and bone anymore—she was green. Clear, vivid green, glowing faintly around the edges like sunlight filtering through leaves. His system analyzed her movements faster than thought itself, predicting strikes before they even left her fingertips. Yet still, he let her come at him.
"...you can go all out, Captain," Atlas muttered dryly, deflecting another strike with an almost lazy flick of his wrist. His tone dripped mockery, but there was no malice in it—just that razor-sharp edge of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. "I know you're still holding back."
Her lips twitched upward, sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. She didn't respond verbally—not yet—but her mana flared violently, painting the air between them electric blue. Her body hummed with power, each movement calculated and precise. She got it now. Got 'him'. Whatever facade he wore, whatever mask society demanded he don, it meant nothing here. Here, he was raw skill wrapped in arrogance sharp enough to cut glass.
And gods help her, she liked it.
Light Legs!
Indomitable Scales!
Lion's Heart!
Sharper Edge!
Advance Sharper Edge!
Five warrior spells stacked on top of each other, cascading like a waterfall of pure energy. The woman before him transformed—her armor shimmering orange, her sword gleaming like molten gold. If Atlas hadn't been born with cheat codes running through his veins, he might have hesitated. Instead, he smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly.
"Ready?" she asked, breathless but steady, her voice carrying a challenge that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"…always," he replied coolly, activating his own abilities.
'Hypermind!'
She moved like lightning, closing the gap between them in an instant. Her blade sliced through the air with a keening whine, carving invisible scars across reality itself. But Atlas didn't blink. Didn't flinch. With a grace that bordered on obscene, he caught her wrist mid-swing, redirecting the blow with such effortless precision that the tip of her sword grazed his cheek instead. Blood welled briefly, scattering in the air.
He spun fluidly, dropping his right-hand sword and grabbing the hilt with his left-hand in one seamless motion. Before she could react, its point hovered dangerously close to her stomach, poised to pierce deep if she dared take another step forward.
But she didn't need to. Not because she was afraid—but because she saw the truth written plainly in his stance. In the way his muscles coiled and uncoiled like springs, in the predatory gleam of his eyes. This wasn't luck. This wasn't bravado. This was mastery.
"...I yield," she said finally, lowering her weapon. Her voice carried a weight that silenced the entire camp. No theatrics, no dramatics—just honesty stripped bare. "I underestimated you," she admitted quietly, though her smile never faltered. "I underestimated Berkimhum. A person who defies my philosophy does indeed exist." She paused, looking at him directly, her gaze piercing. "So what does the prince want?"
Atlas stepped closer, his sword resting casually on his shoulder. For a moment, he simply stared, letting the silence stretch taut like a bowstring. He wanted to end it there—this battle was merely a show, a performance to sway the crowd and seize leadership. But ever since he'd set eyes on her—her sharp mind, her ineffable beauty, her borderline-genius skills—his royal blood flared with want. His heart desired her, may it be lustfully as so. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and cupped her chin in his hand.
"You fought well," he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel grinding against stone. "Too well. So much so…" His thumb brushed lightly over her jawline, sending shivers racing down her spine. "…I feel like I want you now."
The Captain laughed—a sharp, startled bark that dissolved into genuine amusement. Such words, delivered with such brazen confidence, should have offended her. Should have earned him a slap. But instead, she found herself smiling despite herself, pushing his hand away half-heartedly.
"You don't know m—"
But before she could finish, he pulled her flush against him, her light armor clinking sharply against his leather coat. His lips crashed into hers with ferocious intensity, devouring her protests before they could form fully. The kiss was savage, possessive—like claiming territory rather than seeking permission. And when he finally released her, her cheeks were flushed crimson, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
"...you," she whispered, stunned. "Youuu do you know who I am?"
Atlas leaned back, his expression unreadable except for the faint curve of his lips. "Don't know," he admitted, shrugging carelessly. "But we still have time to learn more about each other." His fingers trailed lazily down her arm, igniting sparks of sensation wherever they touched. "So I'll ask again—I want you. i will give you any position you want within my kingdom, you just have to become mine."
Clap!
clap!
clap!
The sound shattered the charged atmosphere like ice breaking underfoot. Both Atlas and the captain turned sharply toward the source—a lone dark figure standing just outside the salt circle, cloaked in shadow but unmistakably demonic. Its voice slithered into their ears like oil dripping onto water, slick and revolting.
"Is this the start of a new romance…?"
Atlas stiffened, his golden eyes narrowing dangerously as recognition hit him like a freight train. Red. Dark red. Burning red. The kind of red that didn't belong in any human spectrum. His truth eyes declaring an absolute danger.
'...A demon... a fucking demon...?'