When he woke up in the morning, he noticed that the familiar yet undecipherable emotion that he felt when killing that monster the other day had returned. It was an emotion that followed him throughout his missions – it had been there at the Siege of Rove, the Battle of Wetshard, and many other times. The best way he could describe it was that a numbing calmness overtook his mind while the physical world became hazy to him.

And while he was in this state, his body seemed to move of its own accord to complete the mission. He marched alongside Prince Ghislain for a few hours before breaking off to meet up with Lady Cleo.

The Berine wolves, sometimes considered the spawn of canine-like monsters, lived in rock cavities, so they scoured the steep hills in search of their dens. Once they found them, they’d wake them up either by making a loud noise or by taking one of their pups. The wolves, almost as large as horses and with sleek coats of gray and brown fur, were a fearsome sight, and they bared their fangs at the two of them upon being awoken.

Their fangs, though, would never pierce through his blessing, and he easily fought them off with his fists. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the other paladin. Lady Cleo’s movements with her quarterstaff were still awkward as she would often swing it with one hand instead of balancing her swings with both hands. However, the Lord’s Favor covered up all her deficiencies. There was no need for technique when every swing of her staff was a golden blur that broke bones and elicited pained yelps.

They’d fight the wolves off for a few minutes, never pressing for a win or defeat, and then retreat as if they feared the wolves. This routine occurred several times throughout the afternoon until Roel felt satisfied that they had angered enough of the packs.

“When you fight, you’re more like a wizard than a paladin,” he said with a chuckle as they were heading back to the camp. In one hand, he held a dead wolf by the scruff of its neck. The exposed wound on its back would give the enraged wolf packs a blood trail to follow and further fuel their rage at having one of their kind disgraced in such a way.

“Oh, you mean my staff,” she said with a hint of embarrassment. “I was told to practice my control over the blessing by using a blunt weapon.”

“That’s good advice.” If a paladin weren’t careful, he could use too much force and break his weapon. Using the right amount of strength was important. “Who told you that?”

“Sir Prosper.” She said his name with reverence. He searched through his memory, but he didn’t remember such a name, which probably meant that he was a lower-ranking paladin.

“Ah.” They lapsed back into silence. She seemed to feel uncomfortable around him, perhaps from their discussion last night. He wondered if she was still trying to think of an alternative plan to assassinate the prince that didn’t involve other casualties, but she didn’t broach the subject.

The sun was starting to set by the time they found the army, and they stood on the thick branches of a large oak tree near the east side of the camp. The encampment was situated in a heavily wooded area, and although the soldiers were hastily clearing away trees, making sense of one’s surroundings would be difficult at night. It was an ideal location for his plan.

“Let’s meet around here tonight,” he said. “I’ll bring the monster pelt and hang it on one of these branches. Sound good?”

“Yeah, but…” There was an anxiousness to her voice, and she must’ve realized it because she cleared her throat. “I know I’m still inexperienced. In fact, I was really shocked when King Mathieu told me that the prince could be a threat to the kingdom unless he was killed. But it still doesn’t sit right with me to endanger the soldiers. So, I have to confirm with you: this plan is absolutely necessary?”

Her question seemed to be for the sake of her own conscience. It would be easy to just answer her affirmatively, to reassure her that it was for the good of the kingdom. But he knew Lady Romane, his own mentor, would frown at him for doing so. So, he did what she had done for him and answered a question with a question.

“What do you think?”

“Huh?” Her voice came out as a squeak, and he was reminded of how young she was.

“Some part of you feels that there’s something wrong with this, right?”

“Yeah…well, no, but…” She bit her lip.

“How long have you been a paladin? You have a numerical ranking, so I assume at least a year?”

“Just a little over. Though I haven’t been on too many missions because most of my time was spent training and controlling my powers,” she said with a frown.

“You’re dissatisfied?”

“Um, a little, I guess. I just thought I would be doing more by now.”

“So, what does being a paladin mean to you?”

“That’s simple.” The anxiety left her face, and it was replaced by the same pride that she had shown when she had introduced herself. “Protecting the people of Calorin above all else.”

“Then, think carefully about what happens tonight and never forget what you just said.”

“Huh? But –”

He ignored her confusion and headed back to the camp on his horse. It wasn’t his place to tell her how to think or to criticize the way she thought. Besides, the plan was already in motion; regardless of her internal struggle, the prince had to be killed tonight.

However, he couldn’t deny that he admired the fledgling paladin’s ideals. Not only that, but she was given the ranking of 24th. That amount of power might be enough to give her the freedom to pursue and live by her own ideals.

That was the thing about having power: you either had absolute power or you didn’t. The moderate amount of strength he had was meaningless because while he was stronger than most, he would still always be subordinate to someone else. In a few years perhaps, Lady Cleo would realize something similar about him and she’d no longer show him the respect or formality that she had shown him today.

When he entered the camp, the person who greeted him was the person he least wanted to see at the moment.

“Gone for a long time, weren’t you?” Prince Ghislain said. It was painful to see him so blissfully ignorant of his impending death. Power didn’t just mean physical strength, and while Ghislain held the title of prince and duke, that didn’t provide him enough power to overturn his fate.

“My apologies, Your Highness.” He held up the dead wolf in his hand. “This one was hard to pin down. I had to track it for hours.”

The prince glanced at the wolf, not realizing that he was looking directly at the trap that was being set upon him. “Did it occur to you to let it live?” he said wryly.

“It did occur to me, yes.” He really had wanted to let the prince live. “But I never have much of a choice.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, I suppose.” Again, he drew the prince’s attention to the wolf by setting it on the ground, exposing the long cut running down its back, but the prince didn’t spare it a second glance. “Besides, I don’t like to take risks. Better dead than alive.”

“A risk-averse paladin is a new one. Your kind is famed for your adventuring.”

“I’m assigned adventures, yes. But I am not adventurous.”

For some reason, the prince grew agitated by his words. “Do you really stand by your words? That even with all the senseless violence, this was the best possible world?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You said it when we first met again. That the Lord did His best to protect us. I’m asking you if you really meant that or was that just some religious rhetoric forced upon you?”

“Oh, that’s what you meant.” He wasn’t sure why the prince wanted to talk about that now, but he indulged him. “I like to believe it, yes.”

Judging by the prince’s scowl, that was the wrong answer. “Like to believe? That’s not the same thing.”

“Do you…do you not believe in the Lord?” He wasn’t sure if that were the right thing to ask a prince, but he somehow knew that he wouldn’t take offense to it.

“I don’t. You’ve been around the royal family long enough, haven’t you? You really think we’re the closest descendants of the Lord? If you grew up in the royal family, your faith in the Lord wouldn’t remain intact. I am the youngest child of twelve. And now, only my brother and I remain. Illness? Accidents? Do you believe any of that?”

The prince spoke with a dark anger, but it didn’t seem like he was directing it at Roel or anyone in particular. It was a resentful, helpless sort of anger, and it was one that Roel was most familiar with. It was the anger of people who had power, but so little of it.

“I’ll confirm your thoughts: they killed each other over the throne. Berthe, my maid, died from poisoned food that was intended for me. Hemlock poisoning. My sister Adele had intended to kill me because she knew Mathieu doted on me and she wanted to punish him for killing our eldest brother the previous month. Well, he got his own revenge when Adele happened to fall down an open well later that year.”

“And King Maxime permitted this.” He didn’t frame it as a question – he understood the previous king well enough.

“You know my father. He encouraged it. Shook with joy every time one of us died, I’m sure. If this is the Lord doing His best, then He’s useless to me.” And the anger left his face as quickly as it had appeared. “Anyway, I still expect your answer about last night.”

“Ah, yes. I–”

“Come by my tent tonight. We can talk about logistics.”

“Yes, Prince Ghislain.”

And that numbing calm feeling that he felt in the morning returned, and his body forced him to move onto the next step of the plan.