He had some idea of what was going on—but it didn't quite match what he was seeing.
"Lenko…" The tension in the room immediately shifted to the young man, who swallowed hard and paled. Keiser guessed Lenko was replaying all the things he had said to the girl he'd mistaken for a mere thief—when she was, in fact, a princess. Still, Keiser was fairly certain Lenko would be fine—as long as he remembered to keep his mouth shut next time. Otherwise, that girl might not hesitate to strike him down once— Maybe not even two.
But that wasn't what was important to Keiser right now.
Not at all.
"What is the date?" The room fell silent at the question.
Lenko's alarmed shout cut through the tension.
The princess, on the other hand, only looked confused, eyebrows scrunching like she was trying to solve a riddle written in a language she didn't speak.
"Are you really okay? Is your head sickness really that bad?!" Lenko practically dropped everything—his earlier panic about Princess Yona completely forgotten—as he darted around the room. He began rummaging through one of the bags he'd brought along, even though Keiser had told him specifically to only bring the essentials.
Clearly, Lenko had ignored that part.
"What 'head sickness'?"
Princess Yona's voice was incredulous as she glanced between Keiser and Lenko.
Lenko squeaked and took a step back. "W-well, Your Highness, it's…" His confidence faltered as he pulled out several glass bottles from his bag, their contents clinking softly. One by one, he produced small glass vials that clinked together—a rattling chorus of herbal tinctures and poultice ointments.
Keiser grimaced. He could taste the memory of those bitter draughts on his tongue—the foul, gut-wrenching tonics issued to wounded border knights when no skilled healer was available. The kingdom's rations of crude medicine had been little more than a bitter punishment.
He recalled, too, the so-called 'mana-replenishing' potions brewed by the arcane scholars of the tower—clear as water, utterly flavorless, and utterly ineffectual for someone like him. Aisha had once tried to persuade him to drink one, to see if even a trace of mana lay latent within him. He'd sipped it dutifully… and swallowed nothing but disappointment.
Because whichever form of medicine—or excuse—Lenko offered, it would not restore what had been taken from him. Not loyalty. Not truth.
Keiser blinked, momentarily lost in memories of the past. But Princess Yona's sharp voice pulled him back to the present as she seized Lenko by the collar.
"Answer me precisely what I asked of you," she said coldly.
Lenko trembled in her grasp, his freckled face drained of color. He looked utterly unprepared to handle the weight of a princess' fury—let alone its suspicion.
Keiser let out a slow sigh, rubbing his temple.
He remembered this.
Not this exact moment, no. But the essence of it.
The King's Gambit had a cruel way of grinding down everyone who entered it.
So many participants had strutted in with pride—arrogant, certain their wits, strength, or bloodline would see them through. They cracked early. Others held on longer, fought harder, only to meet the same fate. Their ambitions shattered like glass beneath the weight of the trials.
The final stages were always the worst. The deeper one got, the more silence reigned—not just out of strategy, but out of mourning.
Because everyone came to understand.
Defeat didn't mean loss—it meant death.
Keiser's eyes moved to Yona.
The princess still has that glint in her gaze before the trials—if she only knew.
The Gambit wasn't just a game.
It was a graveyard.
He remembered clearly—how, in the latter stages of the King's Gambit, people stopped forming bonds, stopped trying to connect. They narrowed their world down to their chosen candidate, doing everything to protect them. Everyone else became expendable. Tools. Obstacles. Sacrifices waiting to be made.
That's how they survived.
That's how Gideon played him.
Kept him close. Kept him alive. All to use him.
To wield him until the final board was set—and then cast him aside without hesitation.
And now…
Keiser's eyes drifted back to Princess Yona.
She had that same intensity—the calculated recklessness of someone playing a new game with too much at stake. It wasn't just about finding Muzio. No. She needed something from him. From this body. From who Muzio used to be. Or perhaps… who he was supposed to become.
That would explain her desperation. Her presence in Sheol, of all places.
She had made a gamble.
And she hadn't yet realized what was burning right under her nose.
Keiser looked down, fingers still curled around the edge of the blanket.
His runes, etched in instinct more than intention, glowed faintly beneath the fabric—now smoking, reacting to the heat of his mana and his will.
"Wha—"
Yona's eyes widened.
"Aacckkk—are you serious?!"
The blanket fluttered unnaturally, reacting more like a summoned beast than cloth. With a crackling snap, it flew off Keiser's arm and coiled around Princess Yona in a swift, precise motion—wrapping her from shoulders to knees. Her muffled protest was barely audible as the runes activated, pressing the sigils into action.
She stumbled backward, off-balance, and fell against the wall. The blanket tightened—not to crush, but to restrain. Her arms were pinned. Her vision gone. But her breathing? Unhindered. Because Keiser had been deliberate.
'Keep-away.'
'Wrap-around.'
'Let-breathe.'
Lenko, frozen for a second, finally remembered to breathe and began anxiously fixing his collar. His eyes darted between the bound princess and his young lord—who now rose calmly from the bed like nothing had happened.
Keiser strolled over to the wooden table, glancing down at the clutter of glass vials and earthen bottles rattling from Lenko's earlier panic.
"What are all these?" Keiser asked, fingers tracing one of the labels without picking it up. His voice was flat, but with that underlying edge of distaste. Lenko cleared his throat awkwardly, inching toward the table.
"Are you seriously ignoring me again?! I said let this off of me!" she barked, voice muffled but unmistakably furious.