"Gideon, you son of a bitch."
The words ripped from Keiser's throat like a curse wrapped in fire.
He first heard a gasp—sharp and startled. His vision swam in and out of focus, as if his eyes were reluctant to see the waking world. But this wasn't a nightmare. No, it was far too familiar. It was memory. The kind etched into flesh and bone, like old wounds too deep to fully heal.
His eyes still stung as he tried to glance sideways, even though his neck screamed like it was halfway to snapping. Every inch of his body burned hot and cold. His muscles spasmed between coiling tight and giving out. It was like his body couldn't decide whether to seize up or fall apart.
It was the kind of exhaustion he'd only known once before—fighting three days straight on the border, his only rest the brief moment it took to flick blood off his blade. Just a breath. That was all a man could afford before the next beast came barreling from Sheol.
He groaned as he turned his head—his neck protesting with a crackling strain—and then he heard it.
"Your Highness! You shouldn't curse your older brother like that!"
Keiser blinked. The words took a moment to register. Then it hit him. He was the tenth prince now. And Gideon—that bastard—was the fourth. Technically, his older half-brother.
He grimaced.
That thought alone was almost worse than the pain still flaring across his chest and back.
Lenko, beside him, gasped again. "My gods… your head sickness must be getting worse! You're cursing people now! Even… even fighting a beast!"
His voice cracked with equal parts shock and concern, and something about it—his whining tone, the nervous pacing—should've grated on Keiser's nerves. It would have, if this were still his old body.
But instead… it soothed him. Oddly.
This body—Muzio's—was used to Lenko's presence. Maybe even found comfort in it.
Keiser closed his eyes for a moment. He didn't want to admit it, but a part of him wondered…
Was Muzio still in there somewhere?
Somewhere, beneath it all, watching quietly from the dark?
Keiser sat still as Lenko fussed over him, muttering half-scoldings about cursing his older brother. The boy's hands were shaky but earnest as he tried to assess the prince's condition—though, ironically, the damage ran far deeper than bruises or bleeding.
Keiser wasn't paying attention to Lenko's flurry of words anymore. His mind was elsewhere—still tangled in the remnants of that memory. Or dream. Or… was it a memory? It felt too vivid to be anything else. Too familiar in its heat and pain to be fabricated.
Gideon.
Keiser's jaw clenched.
He was almost certain now—Gideon had something to do with the assassination of the tenth prince. Maybe even orchestrated it himself.
But why? Muzio had barely even entered the playing field. He hadn't made a formal claim in the King's Gambit. Not yet. Keiser had studied enough politics to know Gideon wouldn't kill a pawn without first seeing what it could offer. He was too calculating for a wasteful move like that.
The tenth prince was only eighteen when he died. A boy, really. But a prince nonetheless—young, noble, and from what Keiser could gather, Muzio was curious but opposed of the King's Gambit. That alone made him a threat.
Was that it?
Was Muzio's dissent the trigger? Had he spoken against the system too loudly? Had he caught Gideon's attention at the wrong time?
Keiser looked at Lenko again. The boy was alive now, but in his true timeline, Lenko and Muzio had both been found dead. Just two eighteen-year-olds, silenced before they could become anything more.
But now...
Now Keiser was in Muzio's body. And Lenko was here, not a corpse on a memorial list.
Had history changed? Or had he been dragged back to change it?
Another thought slithered in, cold and sharp.
What if Muzio had never been as useless as the court made him seem?
Lenko's words echoed back to him—how Muzio had run from the court, how he'd avoided returning. Not because he was weak. Maybe… because he knew something. Or feared something.
Keiser narrowed his eyes. He could no longer afford to assume anything about Muzio, Gideon, or the King's Gambit.
Because if Gideon had gone through the trouble of removing a bastard son of the king before the trials began…
It meant Muzio had value. Enough to kill for.
"Lenko," Keiser rasped, his voice cracking like dry parchment. His throat burned—raw, parched, useless. He barely got the word out before a chill shocked his senses.
Something cold pressed against his cheek.
He flinched instinctively, then froze, blinking up at the figure leaning over him. His vision sharpened just enough to recognize the scowl carved into her features.
The princess.
Keiser blinked again. She's still here?
He'd honestly expected her to abandon them. Run the moment things turned bothersome, dump him and Lenko in the dirt, and vanish without a trace. But here she was—pressing a cold drink to his skin like she hadn't just screamed at him to release her.
The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. But his throat refused.
"Drink up, Your Highness," she said, her tone polite yet sharp, "You clearly need it before you pass out again."
Keiser blinked, struck by the peculiar edge in her voice. It was courteous, but threaded with unmistakable anger—an edge that felt oddly familiar. He remembered hearing that same tone before during the third trial of the King's Gambit, when he had faced the first prince's faction, which evidently included this princess. Back then, that tone had been directed at Gideon—polite but laced with the silent threat of twin swords ready to be drawn at any moment.
He took the cup with a slow nod and sipped cautiously. He wasn't eager to face a sleeping lion, especially knowing this body could barely handle any more strain. Yet, beneath his exhaustion, he sensed the lingering pulse of mana coursing through Muzio's veins—less wild than before, but still potent. It seemed Muzio's body harbored a surprisingly abundant well of mana.
Strange—but useful. It might even explain some things about Muzio's assassination. If this boy had nothing else, then maybe this peculiar mana was reason enough.