#104. There Was No Plan
-Wham.
Tyson, kicked back by Cryer in revenge, was sent crashing into the trees behind him with a sound like a drum exploding. The diplomat, whose head nearly split from the impact, sank to the ground in stunned disbelief.
He looked up at the figure standing before him.
A sharp, chiseled jawline, eyes darkened by the backlight into a deep crimson.
The aura—Princess Hwang’s aura…
Before the diplomat could even finish his thought, Cryer vanished from view, and a cloud of dust swirled from behind the slumped man.
Without even drawing his sword, Cryer engaged Tyson barehanded.
-Bang!
A deafening, ear-splitting noise erupted for just under a minute—impossible to believe it came from flesh and bone colliding. Amid the haze of dust, Tyson saw the flicker of crimson light and knew without doubt:
This was no ordinary warrior. A true one, chosen by the gods.
This plan had failed.
The scheme had been simple: infiltrate the hunting festival disguised as a worker, divert attention using the subdued workers, then strike down the diplomats’ heads. Finally, threaten Lady Greta at the climax and disappear.
It was crude and blunt, but the power Tyson had received was enough to execute it.
Even without a detailed plan, with his strength, half of the diplomats here would have been “purified” under Greta’s orders.
But any action executed purely by force can be easily thwarted by an even greater power.
Without having purified a single one, Tyson instinctively looked toward Greta.
By chance—or fate—she, who never showed herself even when the barracks fell into chaos, had just stepped outside.
Their eyes met.
Yet in her gaze, there was no contempt or anger for failure. Only a strange satisfaction, as if she had expected this outcome.
In that blink of an eye, Tyson couldn’t understand Greta, and Greta ignored him.
That fleeting instant, serving the will of the gods, created a tiny crack between master and tool—both striving to cleanse the continent.
Before anything could properly begin.
The crack appeared and disappeared so quickly that no one noticed.
But Tyson did what he needed to do.
He pushed off the ground and charged at Greta, who had stepped outside. He hadn’t purified the worthless things here, but after all, this “plan” was never Greta’s command—it was only a means to carry out her orders.
“The most important thing is that I have to be in danger. And I have to give a warning to the princess, who doesn’t know her place.”
Greta’s command buzzed in Tyson’s ears. The warning to the princess was already prepared. All that remained…
-Crash!
“Kyaaaah!”
With the sound of something breaking, Greta’s scream rang out. Those already dazed panicked even more at the high-pitched shriek, while Cryer, expressionless, followed Tyson’s back.
Reaching the spot where Tyson and Greta were in a single bound, he lazily swung his sword at the collapsing barracks. Greta whispered in a voice filled with delight:
“It’s a success, Cryer.”
Success at what?
That question wasn’t just on Cryer’s lips, but at a single gesture from Greta, Tyson turned and ran. Hidden behind the rubble, no one saw the scene.
The only remains were the corpses of the workers Tyson had disguised himself as.
Behind the fully collapsed barracks of Norden, destroyed by Tyson breaking the supporting beams, Greta and Cryer appeared.
“No need to go see a third-rate play separately.”
Olivia muttered, exasperated, but no one was there to answer.
Before any bloodstains could form in the Norden barracks, Cryer had already distanced himself from her.
He was protecting a stunned diplomat and the ambushed Greta.
It was a crisis and rescue fit for a bad theater drama.
“That’s danger, and that’s the plan? And it’s over just like that.”
Watching the entire situation from the moment Greta’s barracks was drenched in blood, she felt a wave of emptiness.
“I… I almost died so many times because of things like that.”
The futility hit her hard. Plan? What plan? There had been none…
When the first bloodied object flew in, she had been tense to the point of panic, now feeling foolish.
“So… the ‘plan’ was to create a distraction at the barracks, kill the diplomats, and make it look like Greta would be next?”
Olivia drew a dry laugh, piecing together a plausible plan from the evidence she had seen.
“Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just take Greta hostage from the start? Why throw that bloodied thing? Why kill the diplomats? If you want to burden Greta with the empire’s debt, you shouldn’t touch the other diplomats—that way the reward going to Greta would be bigger.”
Olivia gave up thinking further. The festival was ending early anyway; she just wanted to finish and go back…
“No way… that was actually the plan?”
She wiped her face with one hand at the thought that such petty acts had destroyed an empire and set the continent ablaze.
It was only after seeing Cryer that she could finally gather her senses.
“Oh, that monster.”
She realized: there exists a being capable of waging war single-handedly and finishing it without any need for detailed or flawed plans.
“And that monster… is at my side this lifetime…”
But not now. He had already gone back to that woman.
A pang of discomfort struck her chest. Not just discomfort—the pit of her stomach burned.
She knew what she saw was just a play. Cryer had said so before the festival.
“I see. Today is the hunting festival.”
“Yes. Hunting…”
Olivia paused mid-nod. Cryer answered her questioning look.
“I didn’t say what kind of event it was.”
“Stop beating around the bush.”
“No need. I only said that some incident would happen today.”
“Incident?”
Olivia’s curiosity deepened, and Cryer’s next words made it worse. She tapped his arm, asking:
“…So what’s the danger? An incident? What dangerous thing could happen at a palace hunting festival where no hunting actually happens? Magic?”
“Not magic.”
“Not magic, so an assassin? But assassins can’t enter the palace. Everyone from Norden, except Greta, was searched. And the empire wouldn’t have hired one either.”
Counting off with her fingers, Olivia shook her head.
“Why am I even guessing? So what is the plan?”
She needed specifics: who, when, how, and why. Only then could she prevent the “incident” Greta had mentioned.
“I heard there was no plan.”
“What?”
Cryer paused. Olivia stepped closer on tiptoe, ready to press her face to his.
“There was no concrete plan, not even for him.”
Olivia was dumbfounded.
“…He’ll do something, but there’s no plan?”
Before Cryer could answer, she continued:
“Does he think causing an incident in the palace is a child’s game? Even in a child’s game, there’s a story and setup.”
Though she never played herself, she had heard the servants’ stories about their children.
“Olivia.”
Cryer said her name, and she flinched at his gaze.
“What if I didn’t figure it out, or I lied out of necessity?”
“No way. That woman would believe you if you said gravel was gold, and you’d believe me if I said gold was gravel.”
Olivia lifted her chin with certainty, and Cryer laughed. There was no way to refute it.
“And… even if you called gravel gold, I’d still believe you.”
His voice was almost inaudible, but holding her tightly, Olivia heard every word.
Her eyes, reflecting on the past, returned to the present. She exhaled slowly.
“Hoo…”
Right. This was all planned… well, not planned, but expected. No need to feel uncomfortable.
Yet instinct and reason didn’t always align.
A subtle, indescribable smile spread across Olivia’s lips.
It wasn’t a smile for peace, nor one worthy of a princess. It was a tangled mix of jealousy, obsession, and possessiveness—emotions that could drag anyone into the mud.
Yet Olivia didn’t deny or shake off those feelings. She was jealous, just as he was.
If described in words, it was a deep, sincere love. Though the urge to kick Greta’s ecstatic face reminded her it wasn’t exactly sentimental.
Her frustration boiled over. This was far from a soft, heart-fluttering love.
It was more like wounded souls licking each other’s wounds for comfort.
And that was enough.
Seeing Greta place her hands on Cryer’s back, Olivia’s smile grew even more radiant.
“Now that the play is over, it’s time to wrap things up.”
Above her, the most important support beam of the barracks was under Tyson’s hand.
