They'd asked me a lot of questions.
The kind that weren't really questions—just the same suspicions phrased differently.
They didn't say if I was free to go or if I was being held. They just told me to sit in a room and wait.
So I did.
The room was small. The walls were plain. The chair was uncomfortable. And the silence… dragged.
I wasn't tired. Just wired. My legs wanted to move. My fingers tapped against my knee.
Then I heard it—boots, quick and sharp.
Not military. Not heavy like the knights.
They moved with purpose. Confidence.
The voices followed.
"Your highness, you can't just—"
"He's not dangerous."
"But the council hasn't—"
"I'll take responsibility."
The door opened like it had been holding its breath.
She stepped in—not rushed, not dramatic—just there, like she belonged in every room she walked into.
Gold-trimmed cloak trailing behind her. Hair pinned, posture straight, chin slightly raised. Her gaze swept the room once, then landed on me like it had always known where I'd be sitting.
Princess Lana.
Everyone else behind her looked like they were catching up to her decision five steps too late.
She didn't wait for permission.
"I'm placing him under Royal Guard supervision," she said, voice smooth but cold enough to quiet the room. "Tell the council that Royal guard commander Celyne will take it from here."
One of the men tried to argue, but she didn't even glance at him.
"This is a royal decree," she added. "Not a suggestion."
A few mumbled something. Then footsteps retreated.
The door shut behind her.
Only then her eyes softened, the sharpness in her tone fading into something more familiar.
"I figured you'd still be here," she said.
I blinked. "You figured they'd trap me in a chair?"
She gave a small shrug. "You're interesting. And this place hates interesting things."
I didn't know how to reply to that statement.
"Come with me,"
---
And just like that.
We stepped out of the stone building and into the golden glare of afternoon. The air smelled like spice bread and metal. Somewhere nearby, a bell was ringing—slow, steady.
Waiting at the bottom of the steps was a white carriage so shiny I could see my reflection in the door.
A servant moved fast to open it. "Your Highness—"
"I'll walk," she said, already breezing past him.
He blinked. "...Walk?"
"I want to show my friend around."
I choked on air.
Friend?
She didn't even look at me when she said it. Just kept walking like she hadn't just nuked half the capital's noble etiquette with a smile.
One of the knights stiffened. "Your Highness, we should escort—"
"You may follow," she replied without missing a step. "But keep your distance. I'm not unguarded."
She nodded ever so slightly in my direction.
The guard looked at me. I looked back. He muttered to another knight, "That's the guy, right? The one who ripped a whispering demon in half?"
"Like bread," the second whispered.
I pretended not to hear.
The streets buzzed with life—bakers yelling prices, shopkeepers slapping awnings, kids playing with rings on sticks. Some people glanced our way, did double takes. Lana didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she just didn't care.
She moved like the whole kingdom was her backyard.
We passed a long row of tightly packed stalls selling fruit, cloth, and these weird blue drinks in glass bottles that were definitely illegal in my world. Then, the buildings widened. The roads opened. And then came the jewelry street.
Crystals. Gems. Golden bangles stacked like snacks.
Jewelry...
I stopped without realizing.
"You like jewelry?" she asked.
"No," I muttered, face twisting. "I uh.. hate it."
That got her attention. "Oh?"
"I don't know why. I just do. Feels… fake. Useless. Shiny for no reason."
"Sounds personal," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"It might be."
She was quiet for a beat, then smirked. "I hate wearing them. Heavy and annoying. I once had a crown with little rubies that jingled when I turned my head."
"Sounds painful."
"Emotionally and physically, yes."
We kept walking. The city shifted. Stone gave way to marble. Roofs curved higher, guards stood straighter. The noise faded.
Then we turned a corner and bam—there it was.
A palace.
Grand, sleek, symmetrical. Tiled rooftops that caught the sunlight just right. Banners in royal blue. And guards. Lots of guards.
I stopped walking again.
"…What's that?" I asked, already dreading the answer.
"My place," Lana said, like she was talking about a shack on a hill. "Palace of the Third Princess."
I turned to her slowly. "You brought me… to a royal palace?!"
"You looked like you needed somewhere secure."
"You didn't think to mention it?"
"I said 'come with me.' That's basically the same."
I stared up at the towers.
"…Are you allowed to do this?"
"Who's going to stop me?" she said with a smile that could've gotten someone executed.
Fair enough.
I adjusted the strap on my shoulder. "Is anyone else inside?"
"No. My brothers and sisters have their own estates."
I blinked. "Each of them?"
She nodded. "Separate wings. Entire palaces."
I whistled. "Your kingdom's either loaded… or compensating."
She laughed. "Little of both."
I followed her toward the gates, guards saluting as we passed.
Somewhere in the back of my head, a version of me was grinning like a fool.
I strangled him.
---
The gates of the palace looked like they could flatten a dragon.
Or maybe just me. Definitely me.
Two guards in shiny silver armor stood at attention. Then — just like that — they bowed.
Not to me, obviously.
Lana didn't slow down. She walked like the ground was paid to carry her.
The gates swung open.
Marble steps. Gold-lined pillars. A courtyard with a garden that looked like someone had bullied the plants into perfect shapes.
I followed her in, trying not to stare at the flower beds trimmed like chessboards. Or the clean fountains. Or the trees that probably had individual names and birth certificates.
Everything smelled expensive.
She kept walking. I kept walking. My shoes probably looked like they were committing a crime.
Then she stopped.
"…Almost forgot," she muttered.
I looked up to her.
She turned around like she just remembered we were in the same scene.
"There's someone who's been dying to meet you."
Before I could ask, she spun back around, looked up at the sky—
—and raised her hand.
Then boom.
A blinding flash of golden light shot up like a flare.
"What are you—"
I didn't even get to finish.
The temperature dropped. I felt it before I saw anything.
A chill ran down my spine like cold steel.
Then—
BOOM.
Something slammed down from the rooftop.
Dust flew. The stone tiles cracked. One knee, one fist — she landed like gravity was just a suggestion.
A woman stood up from the crater she made with her own entrance.
She wasn't tall, but she felt six feet from where I stood.
Silver hair in a high braid. Light armor that shimmered like frost.
Her eyes? Cold. Calculated. Like she was deciding whether to kill me or not.
Her cape fluttered behind her like it had a personality.
Lana pointed casually.
"That's Celyne. She's the royal guard I told you about."
I stared.
Celyne stared back.
Lana smiled.
The knight shake off the dusts on her shoulder with her hands. Then started to walk slowly toward us.
Stopped in front of me.
Deadpan face. Blade on her hip. Eyes sharp. The rest? Blank. Like someone carved her from snow and forgot to give her emotions.
"…You're the one?"
"Am I about to get stabbed?" I asked.
No reaction. Not even a blink.
"He doesn't look like much," she said.
"I've been told."
Lana smiled. "He tore a whispering demon in half."
That got her attention—for half a second. Her eyes narrowed. Still no expression.
She looked at me again. "Your body's… well-trained."
I blinked. "That's a weird way to say I'm not fat."
Then it hit me.
Oh, right. I'm not.
She turned. "Let's go."
Just that. No more words.
Lana followed, humming. I dragged my feet behind them, still processing the fact I had abs now.
---
Perfect—now I get what you're aiming for: a layered joke where Lana casually drops a bomb ("she wants to spar with you"), follows it up so naturally that it disarms Ark, and only a beat later does he realize what she actually said. Here's that moment with clean pacing, dry humor, and light emotion, no over-explaining, no unnecessary narration:
---
As we walked, I leaned closer to Lana and muttered,
"Where are we going? Did I mess something up?"
She gave a small shrug. "No. Celyne just wants to spar with you.She's always like that to people. You're not in trouble."
I let out a breath. "Oh. Good."
Took two steps.
Then blinked.
"…Wait. What do you mean by spar?"
I turned to her, eyes wide.
She looked suspiciously composed.
"You just said she wants to spar with me?!"
"I did."
Still smiling.
"Did you just tried bury that under the calm part?"
"I thought it'd go down smoother."
"I don't wanna fight," I muttered, glancing ahead at the silent knight walking like she was headed to a funeral.
Mine, probably.
"She won't seriously harm you," Lana said. "It's just a test."
"Oh. Great." I nodded slowly. "Just a casual test. From the royal guard. Who looks like she eats iron for breakfast."
"She prefers grilled fish, actually."
I shot her a look. She didn't even flinch.
This girl was enjoying herself.
---
We walked.
And walked.
And kept walking.
Lana sighed. "I'm tired."
The deadpan voice beside her replied, "Then go rest."
"I would. But I don't want to miss the show."
Wait.
Is it like a show to her?
I looked between the two of them. One walking like death on legs, the other smiling like she knew exactly how many brain cells I had left.
It wasn't many.
Eventually, we turned a corner and stepped into what looked like a training ground—stone floor, weapon racks, hay dummies lined up like they were waiting to get wrecked. A few knights were mid-swing, sweat flying, their armor clanking loud under the sun.
Then they saw her, Celyne.
They flinched. One of them dropped his sword.
She didn't even look at them.
Then their eyes found me.
Voices lowered.
Someone whispered, "Is that the guy?"
"Yeah. Whispering demon haunter."
"Ripped it in half, I heard."
"No—tore its jaw off."
"Barehanded?"
"No, with his fangs."
"…He's not a vampire."
"You don't know that."
I suddenly understood what a zoo animal must feel like.
And I wasn't even inside the cage yet.
Before I could sink into the whole "zoo exhibit" feeling, a sharp but calm voice cut through the whispers.
"Move"
Everyone snapped to attention.
It was her—the cold one. The deadpan commander Celyne.
The crowd shuffled back like they'd just seen a storm coming.
But the rumors? They were wildfire.
Within minutes, knights, soldiers, even a few nobles appeared—curious, eager, buzzing like they'd heard a legend come alive.
I stood there, thinking:
Great. Just what I wanted. An audience.
Celyne glared at me. "Pick a weapon."
I looked around. Blades, staves, even a spiked flail that looked like it belonged in a dungeon boss fight.
Instead, I pulled the long stick from my back.
It was worn. Scarred. Splintered near the tip. But still solid.
Celyne ,still expressionless. "You're mocking me."
"No," I said. "This is what I use."
She stared at it.
"It's basically a spear," I added. "Just… without the metal part."
Still nothing from her.
I scratched my neck. "Feels weird using anything else."
For a second, I thought she might call it off.
Then she gave a small nod. "Fine. Use what you know."
She turned and walked to the center of the arena like that settled everything.
---
We stepped into the center of the ring.
No words.
Just the sound of boots scraping dust.
She stood tall—back straight, sword drawn, expression unreadable.
I held my stick like a spear. Both hands. Point angled slightly down.
A few knights leaned in from the edge of the field, whispering.
Someone muttered, "He's really using that?"
I ignored them.
She didn't move.
Neither did I.
Then—
Her foot shifted.
A blur.
She was already in front of me.
Steel flashed.
I brought the stick up just in time—blocked the strike.
Crack.
It jolted through my arms.
Strong.
Way stronger than I expected.
Stronger than the monsters, even.
And she was still holding back.
Another swing.
I barely dodged. Wind from the blade kissed my cheek.
My stick came around in a low sweep—she jumped back, light on her feet, like gravity didn't apply.
The knights watching let out a small gasp.
She darted in again. Fast. Precise. Like a machine.
I blocked another hit, skidded half a step back.
This wasn't just training.
She was testing me.
And I was barely keeping up.
Another strike. I dodged—barely.
She's faster than the monsters, I thought. Stronger, too.
My body moved on instinct, but there was no technique. Just panic wrapped in reflex.
She stepped in again—sharp, clean motion.
I paused.
Then copied her stance.
Step. Pivot. Thrust.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "hm?"
I wasn't sure if that meant "not bad" or "you're about to die."
Either way, I kept copying.
Still no idea what I was doing. But it was better than nothing.
But then she start slashing a complex form. I tried to copy but almost ended tripping over by myself.
I gave up on copying her form. It wasn't me.
Instead, I focused.
Eyes sharp. Legs light.
Just dodge. Observe. Learn.
She moved like water with a blade—each strike clean, efficient, and far stronger than anything I'd faced. Even the strongest monsters back there hadn't hit like this.
But they were slower.
She wasn't.
Steel blurred toward me—I leaned back.
Another blow—I stepped to the side.
Again—I ducked.
Again—I twisted around it.
I kept moving. She kept pressing.
I started to see it. A rhythm. A faint delay before her heavier swings. A shift in her left foot when she turned her wrist a certain way.
That was the one.
The next time I saw it, I moved before she did.
Pivot. Lunge. Full force.
I slammed my stick forward like a spear straight toward her shoulder—aiming where she was going to be.
But she saw it and blocked it.
Crack.
The sound didn't register at first.
Then I saw it.
The blade of her training sword—snapped in half.
She froze.
So did I.
The broken piece of her sword clattered onto the stone ground.
For a long second, no one said a word.
Then I lowered my stick slowly.
"..ahh?." I accidentally let out a sound.
I looked around.
Mouths open.
Eyes wide.
Some knight dropped his helmet with a clang.
Even Lana—Lana, who had just casually paraded me through a royal palace—stood frozen with her mouth slightly open.
She blinked.
Twice.
"…Did he just—?"
No one answered.
I rubbed the back of my neck, glancing down at the snapped blade on the ground.
"I, uh… wasn't trying to break it."
Still nothing.
Not even from her.
She just stared at the broken sword in her hand like it betrayed her.
I held up my stick awkwardly. "It's… really sturdy?"
One of the trainees near the edge of the field whispered, "Is that even a real weapon?"
"No idea," someone else muttered. "He said it's a stick."
"A stick broke her sword?"
"…I think I saw him punch a demon in half."
I slowly turned back toward my opponent.
Still no expression.
Just cold eyes flicking from her broken blade… to me.
And for some reason, that was when I started sweating.
She finally spoke, calm but sharp, "Not bad."
Suddenly, a cold pulse rippled through the air.
Her aura shifted, turning icy and heavy.
Ice formed around her arms, molding into gleaming armor that clinked softly with each movement.
The ground beneath us began to frost over, tiny crystals spreading like a slow poison.
In her hands, a sword of pure ice materialized—sharp, jagged, and humming with raw cold power.
I'd seen ice magic before—mages throwing up walls to block attacks during the village accident.
But this... this was different.
The chill wasn't just cold.
It was lethal.
Like it could freeze me solid in a heartbeat.
The pressure in the air tightened.
I tightened my grip on my spear—everything had just changed.
She asked quietly, "Ready for round two?"
She took a single step forward.
Just one.
But ice burst from under her foot like a living thing—veins of frost spiderwebbing across the training ground, creeping fast, devouring the stone floor.
The temperature dropped again.
I could see my breath.
And my instincts—those raw, sharpened things honed by months of surviving hell—screamed at me.
Danger.