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A woman’s scream, accompanied by the spray of blood, echoed through the air.

The blood erupted, scattering indiscriminately, eager to etch its presence upon the world – on the ground, the clothes, and on her hair.

The princess, wide-eyed, cautiously brushed her cheek.

Blood stained her fingers, and for a moment, her grey eyes quivered intensely.

The one who had screamed wasn’t the princess but Irene, who, having fallen beside the princess, had briefly regained consciousness and had tried to ambush Ian.

Just as she was about to reach for her sword to defend her master, a hatchet lodged itself deep into Irene’s shoulder.

The hatchet’s throw carried a terrifying momentum, embedding itself almost halfway into Irene’s shoulder, reaching at least the bone marrow.

Even before this, Irene had endured a series of relentless shocks. No matter how resilient her willpower was, there was a limit to what she could endure.

Ultimately, with a scream akin to the throes of death, Irene crumpled.

Perhaps the deeply embedded hatchet had hit a nerve; Irene’s limp body spasmed faintly in convulsions.

Huff… huff…

The coarse breaths, escaping through her clenched teeth, conveyed her pain. She couldn’t even muster the strength to pull out the hatchet from her shoulder.

Irene’s body trembled and writhed.

It wasn’t voluntary but rather a reaction driven by excruciating pain and the primal instinct to survive. Her body convulsed, as if pleading for mercy.

It was a powerless and gruesome sight.

For the first time, a hint of fear filled Cien’s eyes.

The warmth and stench of the blood on her cheek nauseated her. Frantically, her gaze shifted to the man.

Ian didn’t even bother to look at Irene. It was as if he had heard such pitiable screams countless times before.

Instead, he asked Cein in a grave tone.

“Your Highness, have you ever imagined such a future?”

Cien felt intimidated.

It was an emotion she hadn’t experienced in a long while. She almost instinctively lowered her head but managed to restrain herself at the last moment.

She couldn’t reveal her fear.

Yet she couldn’t muster any bravado either. The blood that stained her cheek and hair, mixed with droplets of water, cast a pinkish hue.

Crazy bastard, she thought once again.

The man was clearly a lunatic. He exhibited no hesitation in resorting to violence.

Who knew if he actually cared about the stature of the Imperial Family? He might just strike her with that hatchet. For the first time, Cien understood the raw emotion of primal fear.

Tremors filled her gaze. Soon, she casted down her eyes.

She was scared, yet simultaneously, she felt humiliated.

Each time she bit her lip, she tasted bitterness. If she could just calm down, she’d retort with confidence once more.

Several times, Cien attempted to reassure herself internally. However, she couldn’t bring herself to raise her head.

Regardless, the man continued speaking.

“A future in which the major governments, whether it be the reigning Emperor, the Holy See, or the Round Table of the Ten Southern Kingdoms, all lose their significance… Money? Power? Women?”

A hollow laugh, almost mocking as if he had heard something funny, escaped his lips. It was the first trace of emotion he had shown.

Then, his expression darkened again. His cold, emotionless eyes fixated ahead.

Anger blazed within those golden eyes. An intense hostility, brimming with deep resentment, capturing Cien’s complete attention.

In that moment, the princess’s light grey pupils dilated and constricted repeatedly.

It was blurry, but she could see.

She found it hard to breathe. Overwhelmed by the aftershock of that intense emotion, she gasped for breath.

“…In the face of a proposition for survival, all else becomes insignificant.”

Ian’s hand rose naturally. Then, with a whoosh, the hatchet returned, grazing past Cien’s cheek.

“Uh, ahk…!”

Cien staggered back, letting out a startled groan. Unconcealable fear was evident in her wide-open eyes.

Blood still dripped from the hatchet in Ian’s hand, evidence of its devastating impact on Irene’s shoulder.

Now, the tables had turned.

Previously, it had been Cien pressuringing Ian, but now she found herself overpowered by him, for reasons she couldn’t comprehend.

She felt like a child standing before a stern teacher.

Cien glanced at Ian, gauging his reaction. It had been a while since she had paid attention to another’s opinion.

However, Ian seemed uninterested in whatever feelings the princess might have. With his eyes closed, he echoed her words several times.

“…Three months, three months, you say.”

Mulling over those words with a mocking expression, Ian soon stifled a scoff, shaking his head.

To Cien, it felt like a threat.

‘For me, three seconds would be enough.’

By that, it meant it would take only that long to end her life.

And, as if to prove this point, Ian proposed a new condition to Cien.

“That’s too long. Try to accomplish it within a month.”

As he spoke, the man’s hand swiftly and sharply cut through the air once again.

A shockwave formed, distorting the surroundings. The ensuing impact also produced a deep and resonating rumble.

Cien involuntarily squeezed her eyes tight.

Once again, the sound of blood spurting permeated the air, naturally accompanied by screams. Cien prayed for it all to end.

But the symphony of screams and bloodshed did not end immediately.

One, two, three.

In alternation, Irene and the other Imperial Guards took turns screaming. Cien felt as though she stood isolated in the midst of a slaughterhouse.

The only distinction was that the slaughtered livestock were her cherished associates.

With a swift motion, Ian’s hatchet returned to his hand when no more screams were audible. Only the sickening sounds of flesh being torn and faint groans echoed in the silence.

Ian took a moment to savor the wretched scene he had crafted. Then, he shifted his gaze to the princess and asked.

“…How many seconds did that take?”

Cien could only shiver with her eyes shut, unable to utter a word.

Seconds? It felt like an eternity.

When no response came, even after a long wait, Ian silently shook off the blood from his hatchet. The blade even had a yellowish tint from the bone marrow.

He began to move as if to leave but seemed to recall something and looked down at the guards once again.

They all laid, gasping for breath. Saliva dripped from their gaping mouths, and their convulsing bodies bore witness to the violence they had endured. The only one somewhat conscious was Irene.

She gazed at Ian with hazy eyes, not even capable of letting out a groan. Her eyes harbored terror and disbelief.

Her appearance was akin to the last days of a broken woman. Ian scoffed at the sight.

His golden eyes turned cold.

“The so-called escorts are hesitating to protect their Lady?”

His voice was filled with a chilling rage. It wasn’t the tone of a young man overstepping his bounds and rebuking his superiors.

It felt as though someone with authority was admonishing them. The scene seemed so natural that Irene involuntarily lowered her head.

It was beneath the dignity of a knight. That was undeniable.

“It’s what your Lady would have suffered. Accept it gladly in her stead.”

Upon hearing those words, Cien’s legs trembled uncontrollably. Had it not been for the Imperial Guards, the blood on that hatchet might very well have been hers.

Fortunately, those were his last words.

The man turned his back. And soon, he began to walk his own path with measured steps.

He seemed indifferent to the shattered main road and the scattered Imperial Guard, as if they didn’t matter to him at all.

Cien, who had been trembling with her eyes closed, finally mustered the courage.

“…C-Can-!”

The man’s footsteps abruptly halted. Following that, his golden eyes glanced back.

Startled by his gaze, the princess quickly lowered her eyes. But perhaps she wanted to protect her pride, as a single phrase kept escaping her lips.

“C-Ca-Can… Can you handle the consequences?!”

A faint blush tinged her cheeks. No matter how one interpreted it, she didn’t look like someone making threats with authority backing them.

Rather, she resembled a cornered cat hissing.

Until now, she had considered herself as a predator, but facing a true savage beast named Ian, she realized the truth.

Cien, at best, was nothing more than a house cat. To a genuine monster, words, gold, and authority meant nothing.

While Cien hesitated, the man’s eyes briefly shifted sideways. After a moment of contemplation, he opened his mouth.

“I won’t be the one handling it anyway.”

His response even carried a hint of amusement.

Cien had a dumb-struck look on her face, unable to understand his meaning. However, the man had already resumed walking, and she lacked the courage to stop him and ask for further clarification.

This marked the conclusion of the ‘Imperial Princess’s Bloodcurdling Incident’.