Mordred

I knew the escape routes under the Royal Capital like the back of my hand.

It was part of the "Princess 101" curriculum—always have a backup plan for when the kingdom inevitably goes south. Unfortunately, the Detention Center wasn’t originally on the grid, but my squad mates had put in the literal legwork, digging a tunnel to connect the dots.

I led Clara and the Royalist Faction Prisoners through the dark, cramped hole.

Whatever was happening on the surface, I figured I could leave it to Shadow. I mean, the idea of him losing to a guy like Maximilian was actually laughable. If I hadn’t met Cid, I probably would’ve worshipped the ground Shadow walked on. His whole "enigmatic powerhouse" vibe was basically top-tier aesthetic.

But then there was Cid. Was he actually safe?

The anxiety started gnawing at me again.

I had to trust Shadow’s word, though. I couldn't just ditch my mission and go on a frantic boyfriend-hunt—not when people were counting on me.

Still, if Cid really was fine, it raised a pretty big meta-question: why did Shadow feel the need to craft a perfect slime-body double of him? What was the point? Was it just for the dramatic flair?

I couldn't wrap my head around it.

Maybe they’re connected? I tried to picture Cid and Shadow in the same room, but my brain just hit a 404 error. No way.

Eventually, we reached the rendezvous point to regroup with the rest of my squad. A pathetic sliver of light from the surface managed to poke into the gloom of the tunnel.

There was a dark silhouette slumped against the wall.

"Number 664...?" I called out.

I set Bart down—turns out carrying a grown man through a tunnel is a great workout—and cautiously approached the shadow.

"Where’s 665? Wait... what the—!?"

It was definitely Number 664, our squad leader. But she wasn't just resting; she was a mess. Dark, nasty-looking blood was smeared all over the stones behind her.

"664! What happened?!" I caught her before she could slide further down.

"Run..." she wheezed.

Okay, she was still breathing. Small victories.

"Don't talk. I’m patching you up right now!"

"Run... 666... get out of here!"

"Huh?"

Then, the atmosphere shifted. Someone was there.

A man suddenly appeared right in my line of sight, occupying space that had been empty a millisecond ago.

"Wh—!?"

I didn't feel a flicker of Ki. No footsteps, no presence, no nothing. It was like he’d been edited into the scene during post-production. It just felt... wrong.

"So, Maximilian botched it," the man said.

His voice was like a bucket of ice water. He was tall, with snow-white hair swept back in a slick style that screamed 'villain with a high budget.' Honestly, between the hair and the face, he was almost distractingly beautiful in a cold, 'I'll kill you without blinking' sort of way.

"Number 665!?" I screamed, the sound echoing off the damp walls.

The newcomer was dangling Number 665 from one hand like she was a piece of dry cleaning.

"This one was a letdown," he remarked, casually tossing her toward me like trash.

I scrambled to catch her, immediately checking her vitals. She was out cold, but her heart was still thumping.

"How dare you..." I growled, reaching for my hilt.

"No... 666... don't," 664 groaned, trying to stop me.

"But look at them!"

"You can't win... not against him," she whispered. "That’s... Lord Mordred."

"What!?"

I stared at the white-haired man. He gave me a graceful little bow, perfectly composed.

"I am indeed Mordred. A pleasure to finally meet you, Princess Rose."

A ripple of panic went through the prisoners behind me. I barked a quick order to Clara to get everyone back to a safe distance.

"You’ve got the wrong girl," I snapped.

"I see. Well, if that’s the story you’re sticking with, I’ll play along for now." Mordred watched me with the kind of amused look you give a kitten trying to roar. "Shadow Garden... I never expected a real rival organization to actually show up. To be honest, I find you people much more fascinating than the Key of the Oriana Kingdom."

"The... Key of the Oriana Kingdom?"

"Oh? I assumed Shadow Garden moved in specifically to snatch it. Don’t tell me you’re out of the loop?"

I kept my mouth shut.

Sure, I was in the Garden, but I was basically an entry-level intern compared to the heavy hitters. The organization was massive. The Seven Shadows were literal monsters of efficiency and power, and even the Numbers were mostly better than me. I was just a grunt.

But the 'Key'? If it involved my kingdom, why was I the last to know?

"I'm not here to play twenty questions," I said, trying to sound tougher than I felt. "We’re leaving."

My friends needed a doctor, and fast. I knew Mordred was in a different league, but I figured I could at least buy them enough time to crawl away.

"Don't... leave me and run..." 664 stammered.

"Squad leader..."

"I’m in charge... so listen to me for once..." She forced her shaking body upright and stepped in front of me.

Mordred just stared at us, his eyes cold and clinical.

"Like I said, I’m interested in Shadow Garden. Way more than that Key."

"Is that your way of saying you're blocking the exit?"

"The Cult would probably prefer I didn't let you scurry off. But personally? I think it’ll be way more entertaining to see what you do next."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I want to see more of Shadow Garden. Specifically, the Seven Shadows." He let out a chilling little smirk. "It’s been a while since I’ve had that much fun."

"Fun...?"

"Indeed. And for her sake, I’ll let you pass today."

Mordred reached into his coat and pulled something out. He opened his palm, and something cascaded through the air. It was a lock of hair—shimmering and translucent, like sunlight hitting a clear spring.

I felt my stomach drop. I knew that hair. Epsilon was constantly bragging about how perfect it was.

"She was... quite the entertainment," Mordred chuckled.

My blood ran cold.

"By all means, proceed," he said, stepping aside. "The scrap between the Doem Faction and the Royalists is about to kick off. It looks like a standard Civil War from the outside, doesn't it?"

His body began to shimmer, turning translucent like a desert mirage.

"But it’s not. This is a Proxy War between the Cult and Shadow Garden. I can't wait to see how it ends."

He vanished, leaving nothing behind but the echo of a cold, condescending laugh.

"Lord Mordred..."

The sheer weight of his presence left me with a sinking feeling. This wasn't just a local skirmish anymore. Things were about to get very, very ugly.