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Chapter 86: ’A Traitor, Perhaps?’

Chapter 86: ’A Traitor, Perhaps?’

The empty white room was eerily still, its silence pressing against Aden’s ears like a heavy weight. He sat cross-legged on the ground, staring blankly at his sister’s iPad, his finger trembling as he scrolled through the last few lines of the novel.

"Hey, Kaz..." Aden’s voice wavered, breaking the oppressive quiet.

Without warning, Kaz appeared in front of him as though she’d always been there. Her wide smile gleamed unnaturally bright against the stark whiteness.

"Yes, Aden?"

Aden blinked, trying to steady his breathing. "What happens in the end?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Kaz tilted her head, her smile unwavering but her expression puzzled. "Eh? What do you mean?"

"After Florian dies... what happens to Heinz? To Lucius and Lancelot? Cashew? Everyone?"

Kaz’s smile faltered just a fraction. Her eyes darkened, though her tone remained light. "Why do you need to know?" she asked again.

Aden shifted uneasily. "I-I don’t know? It feels... abrupt, just ending it with his death."

Before he could say more, Kaz vanished. Gone in an instant, like a flickering light snuffed out.

Aden’s heart skipped a beat. "Kaz?" he called, his voice rising. Panic clawed at his chest as he stood up, spinning around. "Kaz? Where are you?! Kaz, this isn’t funny!"

Only endless white greeted him. The floor beneath his feet had no texture, no definition—it was as if he stood suspended in a void. Aden broke into a run, his sneakers scuffing against the featureless ground, his breaths coming faster with each step.

"Kaz! Answer me!"

His voice echoed into nothingness.

Desperation gnawed at him. He kept running until a shadow flickered in the distance—a solitary figure hunched over, trembling.

Aden’s pulse raced. "Kaz?" he called out, his voice uncertain.

No response.

As he drew closer, the figure became clearer. Thin build. Purple hair.

Aden’s steps faltered. "Florian...?" he whispered.

The figure’s shoulders shook with silent sobs. Slowly, Florian lifted his face, tear-streaked and desperate. His eyes, wide and glassy, locked onto Aden’s.

"Florian, what are you—?"

Aden’s words died in his throat as his gaze dropped to Florian’s neck. Blood seeped through dark stitches, thick and glistening. The wound wasn’t clean; it was ragged, as though someone had crudely sewn his head back onto his body. Fresh crimson dripped down, staining his pale skin.

Aden’s stomach twisted. "Oh god... Florian—"

"Save him," Florian whispered, his voice cracking, raw with anguish.

Aden stumbled forward. "Save who? What are you talking about? Are you okay?"

Florian’s lips trembled. His fingers dug into Aden’s arm with a strength that belied his fragile appearance. "SAVE HIM!" he screamed, the sound echoing through the endless void.

Aden flinched, his ears ringing. "Florian, calm down—"

Before he could finish, something horrifying happened.

The stitches along Florian’s neck strained, pulling taut. Then, with a grotesque tear, his head slid to the side. Blood gushed from the wound, spraying across Aden’s shirt. Time seemed to slow as Florian’s head toppled, his face contorted in a scream.

Aden’s breath hitched. His legs went weak, nausea surging up his throat. "No—NO!"

Florian’s body collapsed to the ground, twitching violently. But his head—his severed head—continued to scream, eyes wild with terror.

Aden’s own scream tore from his chest, raw and primal. He stumbled backward, heart slamming against his ribs, bile rising in his throat.

The screaming wouldn’t stop.

Florian’s disembodied voice echoed through the void, high-pitched and unrelenting.

"Save him... Save him... Save him..."

Aden clutched his head, shaking, unable to drown out the sound. His vision blurred as the horror pressed in on him.

"STOP!" he shrieked. "Please—"

"—stop!" Florian’s breath hitched as he bolted upright, sweat dripping down his forehead and matting his hair to his skin. His heart raced erratically, pounding against his ribcage. The sharp ache in his limbs and the throbbing pain in his skull made him wince. He clutched his head, muttering through clenched teeth.

"Fuck. My head." He grimaced, fingers pressing against his temples. "Fuck, fuck, fu—"

A dry voice interrupted his spiraling.

"What colorful language you’ve got there."

Florian froze, his breath catching in his throat.

That voice.

Slowly, as though afraid to confirm his suspicion, he looked up—and his heart plummeted.

Heinz sat in a chair beside him, a stack of papers in hand, his legs elegantly crossed as though this were just another bureaucratic meeting. His gaze was calm, analytical, and utterly composed. Florian’s eyes darted around the room, his mind struggling to catch up. Rows of beds lined the space, various instruments glinting under soft lantern light. The distinct scent of antiseptic lingered in the air.

He wasn’t in his room. This was the palace infirmary.

"You are in the infirmary," Heinz said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Do you remember what happened?"

Florian blinked, his daze fading into alarm. His instincts kicked in, and despite the agony wracking his body, he forced himself to bow his head.

"Y-Your Majesty!" he stammered, panic lacing his voice.

"No need for formalities," Heinz said curtly. "You’re injured. Just answer my question. Do you remember what happened?"

Florian hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. "I... think so," he mumbled.

The memories surged back like a tidal wave—the ambush, Charles, Arthur, and Levi. His breath caught in his throat as a vivid image of Levi’s mangled body pierced his mind. Blood everywhere, branches impaling him like a grotesque work of art. Florian’s face darkened, his expression clouded with guilt and grief.

Heinz’s steady gaze pulled him back to the present.

"You seem lost in thought," Heinz observed. "But I need information before the others return."

Florian’s brow furrowed. "The others? You mean Sir Lancelot?"

Heinz inclined his head. "They haven’t returned yet. What do you know?"

Florian clenched his fists, ignoring the sting of his bandaged palm. "The rogues weren’t acting on their own."

Heinz’s eyes sharpened. "Go on."

Florian swallowed, the weight of the revelation heavy on his shoulders. "I know it might sound strange, but... they had a boss."

"A boss?" Heinz’s tone was measured, but there was an undercurrent of interest.

Florian nodded firmly. "Yes, Your Majesty. This wasn’t some random kidnapping for money. They had information—detailed information—about our travel route, the guards, even the princesses accompanying us."

He faltered, doubt creeping into his mind. Should he mention the most unsettling part? Heinz was being unusually patient and kind—likely because of his injuries—but would he believe this next part?

Heinz’s head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable. "And?"

Florian took a breath, forcing himself to continue. "Apparently... I was their main target."

Heinz’s brow lifted imperceptibly. "You?"

Florian studied his face, searching for signs of disbelief or anger, but Heinz remained stoically composed.

"I-I don’t know why," Florian admitted, his voice wavering. "Maybe they thought I was an easier target? They never explained it..."

Heinz’s hand rose, halting his rambling. "I do not suspect you if that’s what you’re worried about."

Florian blinked, his heart skipping a beat. ’He doesn’t suspect me?’ He frowned, now suspicious of Heinz himself. ’He’s being weirdly... understanding.’

"Did they mention who their boss was?" Heinz asked, bringing Florian’s focus back to the conversation.

Florian shook his head. "I tried asking Levi—the rogue who helped me—but he said only Charles knew. And Charles is..."

"Dead?" Heinz finished, his tone clinical.

Florian nodded grimly, the memory of Charles’ demise flashing in his mind.

"That will do for now," Heinz said, rising to his feet. "Lancelot will be bringing back one of the rogues for questioning. The one you stabbed, I believe."

Florian winced. "Uh... I actually stabbed two."

Heinz raised an eyebrow, a faint glint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Good job, then."

Florian blinked in disbelief. ’What the hell? Did he just... compliment me? Is this still a dream?’

Heinz adjusted his papers, preparing to leave. Florian bowed his head out of habit but hesitated, remembering something crucial.

"Ah, Your Majesty—if I may?"

Heinz paused, gesturing for him to continue.

"I’m not sure if it’s my place, but considering I was involved, I think it’s worth mentioning..." Florian’s voice hardened, his expression serious. "I believe the boss might be someone from the palace."

Heinz’s eyes flickered briefly, his reaction almost imperceptible.

Florian pressed on. "The information they had was too detailed. They even knew about the change in our plans the night before we left. That kind of knowledge had to come from someone inside."

There was a long, tense silence. Heinz’s gaze was unreadable, but something in his demeanor shifted subtly.

"I had the same thought," he said quietly. "Now get some rest. You have had a long day."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Florian sitting there with his thoughts swirling in the oppressive silence of the infirmary.

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