I Refuse This Life, Your Highness! - Chapter 103

Midnight.

Not even a single rat seemed to scurry through the streets of the capital. The ominous word “war” had sent everyone into hiding, with shutters closed tightly and not a soul daring to peer outside after dusk. On a normal night, the bazaars would be bustling, and the entertainment districts alive with merriment, heedless of time. Now, however, the silence was absolute.

In the stillness, the sharp sound of footsteps broke the quiet.

At first, there was only one pair. Then two, three gradually increasing in number. Thud, thud, thud. As the group grew, the footsteps became bolder, no longer trying to conceal themselves. They were the measured, purposeful strides of boots marching in unison. Behind shuttered windows, people held their breath.

A sudden burst of light flared as a torch was ignited, its flame devouring the oil-soaked cloth in a hiss. One after another, more torches lit up the darkness, banishing the shadows from the once-dark streets. Somewhere, a horse neighed loudly, its front hooves pawing the ground. Soon, a chorus of hooves joined in, the hidden mounts summoned by their riders.

Under the uneasy glow of flickering torchlight, the sounds of military discipline filled the air—the rhythmic clip of hoofbeats, the rasp of swords clinking against scabbards, and the steady breathing of trained warhorses. The atmosphere was taut, as if stretched to the breaking point.

Here and there, shutters creaked open, eyes peering cautiously out before snapping shut again. Though no lights shone in the houses, the tension inside was palpable. Perhaps they were preparing to flee. They didn’t need to. These soldiers had no intention of harming the citizens of the capital.

By now, a line of mounted knights had formed along the main street. Tucked away in the discreet corner of the inn’s stables, Hertha, the Duke’s black stallion, finally met his master’s hand. The Duke strode through the ranks, his black armor gleaming, a crimson cloak flowing behind him. He moved slowly, deliberately, until he reached the front of the formation. As the procession aligned itself, his banners unfurled on either side.

“Let’s go,” Reia said.

I lingered for a moment, watching the Duke’s retreating figure before turning and descending into the inn’s cellar. The innkeeper was waiting there, bowing deeply when she saw us. Lyol approached her.

“You’ve done well,” he said.

Her wrinkled face was marked with a bittersweet expression. She had once served as a lady-in-waiting to Prince Artis, leaving the palace to set up this inn under a false identity when the prince contemplated fleeing to Hasein. The inn had always been meant for him. Hidden beneath it lay a secret passage leading directly to the royal palace, a route that wasn’t even marked on the imperial maps. It was a path the Emperor himself had once shared.

She moved aside a sack of flour, revealing a trapdoor. Unlocking the sturdy bolts with a key she seemed never to have let out of her possession, she opened the door. A wave of musty air hit us, carrying the damp smell of old stone and mildew.

“This is the path the prince took when he left for Hasein,” she said.

“It’s been a long time since it was last used,” Lyol murmured.

“…May you return safely, Your Highness,” she said, her voice trembling.

Lyol smiled, taking her hands in his. “Don’t worry. You’ve done enough. Rest now.”

The innkeeper’s shoulders shook as she bowed deeply. Whatever thoughts weighed on her mind were beyond my understanding. Lyol gave her shoulder a reassuring pat before stepping onto the creaking wooden stairs.

I waited for him to descend fully before cautiously stepping onto the fragile structure. Though rickety, it seemed sturdy enough to bear my weight—and Reia’s, following closely behind. I gestured for him to proceed, holding up my lantern to light the way as we descended into the dark.

The walk to the royal palace was long. No matter how far we went, the oppressive gloom of the underground tunnel stretched endlessly ahead. None of us spoke, unwilling to break the heavy silence. Instead, we relied on the dim glow of our lanterns to guide us through the damp, prison-like passage.

Time seemed to stretch. My legs ached by the time Lyol finally stopped.

“We’re here,” he said.

He had been tracing the walls with his hand the entire way, searching for something. Now, he ran his lantern’s light over the surface until his hand stilled on a particular section. Pressing his palm firmly against it, he nodded.

“There should be a section where the texture changes. That marks the end of the passage.”

He felt around briefly before leaning his weight into one spot. A faint grinding sound echoed as ancient mechanisms groaned to life. Dim light spilled into the tunnel as a decorative wrought iron grate swung open before us.

We emerged into an unused fireplace, its hearth thick with dust. Coughing softly, I stepped out and surveyed the room. The covered furniture and the faintly luminous drapes told me exactly where we were—Prince Artis’s former chambers.

The light outside the windows revealed the source of the glow: torches burning bright against the night. Beyond the window, the chaos of battle was evident. Scattered royal guards milled about in confusion, surrounded by fallen soldiers. The guards of the Emperor and the palace defenses had been overwhelmed. Not because they were weak—but because the Duke’s forces were overwhelmingly strong.

I visualized the map in my mind. We had anticipated that the secret passage would lead us here or nearby. The rendezvous point with the Duke wasn’t far—just beyond the Emperor’s chamber, in the banquet hall.

Calculating the shortest route, I turned to the others. “Once we leave this room, we’ll be in the gallery overlooking the garden. If we can cross it, we’ll reach the banquet hall quickly.”

“Then we’ll just have to run for it,” Lyol said.

Reia hesitated, his face betraying his lack of confidence as he pulled a small dagger from his belt. It was meant for self-defense, but neither of us had used a weapon in real combat. Lyol, on the other hand, was completely unarmed. None of us were fighters. How far could three defenseless individuals hope to run?

But my concerns were unnecessary. The gallery was already secured. The only figures we encountered were lifeless bodies. The Duke had ensured our path was safe.

Still, we hurried. The cold breeze from the garden kept us alert. Though it was bitter, it felt almost refreshing after the stifling dampness of the tunnel.

A glance back showed Reia shivering as he followed, gripping his dagger awkwardly. He looked endearingly out of place. We pressed on, reaching the corridor lined with portraits. Here, the air grew warmer—but the metallic tang of blood grew stronger. My stomach churned, and I fought the urge to retch.

The narrow corridor opened into a broader hall. The scene became even more gruesome, but I forced myself to look straight ahead as we half-ran, half-walked toward the banquet hall. Distant screams and shouts echoed faintly. Finally, the ornate green and gold doors of the hall came into view. I pushed them open, the faint warmth of a fire washing over me.

At the hearth, the Duke stood, feeding the last log into the flames. He turned as the door creaked, his gaze meeting mine.

“Yuraine.”

The sight of him drained the tension from my body.

The Grand Duke extended his hand.
I was drawn to it as if under a spell and grasped it tightly. From his position by the fireplace, Lyol grumbled, “Are we invisible to you two?” but I ignored him. The Grand Duke glanced at the short dagger I held and chuckled softly.

“Brave, aren’t you?”

“Don’t tease me.”

He unsheathed his sword as though preparing to demonstrate a technique. Just as I tilted my head in curiosity, my body was abruptly yanked sideways, his arm supporting me as his blade cut through the air where I had stood just moments ago.

The sword’s tip pointed at a knight’s throat.

The man, a high-ranking member of the Imperial Guard by his appearance, froze with his sword raised. I felt chills run down my spine. None of us—not myself, Reya, or Lyol—had sensed his presence as he approached to stab me from behind.

Yet the Grand Duke had effortlessly thwarted him.
The tip of his sword rested against the knight’s throat, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

“Finally, someone I can reason with. Where is the Emperor?”

“…….”

“You need not speak. Killing you will suffice.”

“D-do you think I’ll talk, you traitor?”

The Grand Duke gently pushed me aside and advanced. The knight stumbled backward, retreating step by step, as the two disappeared into the hallway, leaving the door to close behind them. Moments later, a heavy thud echoed through the thick doors.

I flinched at the sound. Lyol, who had crept up beside me unnoticed, placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry. That wasn’t His Grace hitting the ground.”

“…You call that reassuring?”

I brushed off his hand just as the door reopened. The Grand Duke entered, looking as composed as ever, and casually shut the door behind him.

“The Emperor is in the Grand Banquet Hall,” he announced.

Apparently, the knight’s loyalty had not run deep. He was likely dead by now, but his information served its purpose.

“Can you all move out now?”
The Grand Duke’s question was met with three simultaneous nods.

“What about the other knights?”

“They’re scattered across the palace. We’ve arranged to signal with flares once the Emperor is found or killed.”

“Ah…”

His response exuded unshakable confidence in his knights. It was clear he trusted them to handle the palace guards without his direct involvement.

The path to the Grand Banquet Hall was harrowing.
Corpses of guards littered the hallways, a grim testament to the battle raging through the palace. The Emperor’s dark magic would continue to wreak havoc, creating more and more casualties unless the relic controlling it was seized.

The Grand Duke led us without pause, stepping over fallen bodies and pushing through the heavy doors of the banquet hall himself.

The chandelier above illuminated a scene of eerie decadence.
A long table was perfectly set, as though awaiting foreign dignitaries for a grand feast.

At the head of the table sat none other than the Emperor.

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