Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kenma had a quiet life.

His days were simple: get up, have breakfast with his parents in the great ball, and stroll through the wide corridors in search of a comfortable place to read for a while—or until something caught his attention. He would practice his sorcery with Master Nekomata, have a snack, and take a long, hot bath before bed. The most exciting thing that could happen to him were the times he went hunting alongside Fukunaga and Yamamoto, his royal guards. Although, given his low stamina, most of the time he preferred to watch them use the bow and recover the arrows with his magic.

Anyone would say he was boring, especially considering he was the prince of a kingdom as wealthy as Nekoma. He had the world at his feet to do whatever he wanted, but Kenma couldn't care less.

The routine was comfortable. It allowed him to spend his energy on more interesting activities, such as experimenting with magic or trying out new strategies to win at Mahjong. He never longed to don shining armor and go out hunting dragons or rescuing princesses, much less seek the glory of battle. For him, reading about the adventures of others was enough—to learn about the mysteries of the world from the safety of his room through the pages of a book. His whole life had been like this, and he doubted it would ever change.

When Hinata Shōyo, a short knight with fiery hair, appeared with his small entourage at the palace gates with the most ambitious proposal in recent history—to defeat the great Demon King, Oikawa Tōru—no one expected the prince to even stop and listen to the story, let alone voluntarily join them.

“Going with them?” exclaimed Tora, after hearing the news. “What do you mean by going with them?!”

Kenma grimaced at the shouting. He was packing his things into his magic bag, which could shrink to the size of a pouch, when his two guards appeared at the threshold of his chambers. Although he had only told his mother of his decision, the news had spread like wildfire throughout the palace. Whether this was mere coincidence or not, he couldn't say. Sometimes his mother acted in mysterious ways. 

"You very well know the immense might of the great Demon King!" Tora continued. "Entire armies have perished at his hands! A group as small as that dwarfkinshorty's will never be able to defeat him! Have you lost your mind?!"

"You don't have to shout, you know?" Kenma mumbled irritably. "We do not need the neighboring kingdoms to get word of this..."

The prince sighed, shrinking the bag. He attached it to his belt. He had changed out of his fine royal clothes and into a black shirt and pants, thick white boots with gold accents, and a matching tunic, whose hood covered his cat ears, a unique characteristic of the people of the kingdom of Nekoma. A gold brooch encrusted with emeralds held the tunic closed, a gift from his father for his twenty-fifth birthday.

It was a comfortable and light outfit for the long journey, though not the most discreet. Nothing that a couple of spells to change his appearance couldn't fix if necessary.

“I just think it could be interesting," Kenma explained, shrugging. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

“Sounds like you really did lose your mind,” Tora said with a smug smile. Beside him, Fukunaga nodded with his usual unreadable expression. “I’m surprised the Queen even allowed her only son to join a suicide mission.”

"Actually, she seemed quite pleased," the prince replied, opening one of his wardrobes. Inside were several magic wands. "’Calm waters never make a skilled sailor’... Or something like that.”

“Assuming you even manage to get close to the Demon King's castle without any casualties, what will you do when he kills Dwarfling and his entourage? You can't face that monster alone.”

The prince closed his eyes and ran his fingers along the different staffs until he stopped at one. He picked it up and examined it. Long and light, perfect for use on difficult terrain. The sandalwood, which twisted at the tip and ended in a carved cat's head, served to ward off evil spirits and channel magic. Like the brooch, it had been a birthday gift, but from his sorcery teacher, old Nekomata.

"You can't be serious," the guard said, no longer shouting. He sounded desperate, his face twisted in disbelief. "You can't be serious..."

Kenma turned to look at his friends. They looked as if they were about to burst into tears. Or worse, on the verge of hugging him.

"I'll be well," Kenma said, trying to calm things down. He approached them, forcing a small smile onto his usual apathetic expression. "When I saw Shōyo, I sensed something special about him. A force waiting to awaken, powerful enough to defeat the Demon King and end his reign of terror."

His words didn't seem to convince any of the guards at all, who looked even more on the verge of tears than before. The risk of being hugged was reaching a critical point.

"At least let us go with you," Tora insisted, hoping that with a different approach, the prince would change his mind. "Let us be your sword and shield."

Kenma shook his head.

“No matter the circumstance, my magic will protect me. If the Demon King gets you…” He closed his fingers around his staff as he shook his head again. “... I could never forgive myself.” 

He approached the guards, who knelt before him. Despite his repeated warnings in the past that such formality was unnecessary, they never listened to him.

"I can't ask you to risk your lives to follow me," Kenma murmured. "After all, you are my... my friends."

"Prince Kenma!" 

And, just as he predicted, both knights rushed to embrace him. Being on their knees, they contented themselves with hugging his legs, almost knocking the prince to the ground. Despite hating physical contact, he didn't have the heart—or the physical strength, to be honest—to push the pair away. All in all, he understood their concern and appreciated it. Being royalty, it was difficult to even make friends who weren't looking for something in return. 

“Besides, I'm wearing this,” he hastened to say, opening his tunic and the collar of his shirt. He was wearing a gold chain from which hung a round, polished black stone, inside which a crimson light seemed to stir. A teleport crystal. “I can return to the starting point at any time.”

After promising repeatedly that he would use the crystal at the slightest sign of imminent danger, both guards released Kenma and accompanied him to the throne room to say goodbye to his parents. Along the way, they continued to insist on going with him, so much so that the prince finally agreed to let them escort him to the border, where the Wild Lands began.

The Queen gifted each member of the group a horse and enough provisions for several days of travel, making them promise to take care of the prince—which embarrassed him terribly and made Fukunaga chuckle. Luckily, no one else seemed to notice his blush. 

And, as agreed, the entire group was escorted to the outskirts of the kingdom, where tears and unnecessarily long hugs returned one last time before they were allowed to leave for the unknown. Later, there would be times when Kenma would miss the company of his friends and the comfort of the palace. 

“Kenma! Are you alright?!”

Hinata's voice echoed off the stone walls, bringing the prince back to his senses. He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in the back of his head sent him back to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he tried sitting up carefully, this time succeeding.

He glanced around, finding only cold darkness. The last thing he remembered was being in the cave they had taken refuge in for the night when they were attacked by a group of orcs bearing the Demon King's emblem. At first, they tried to fight back, but they were outnumbered. They fled into the cave, and perhaps due to the weight and commotion, the stone cracked and... 

“Kenma!”

The prince stood up as best he could and walked in the direction where he heard voices. His eyes—with slanted pupils—took a few moments to adjust to the darkness, gradually recognizing the silhouettes that surrounded him. He was in a cave a couple of meters high and wide, whose stale air reeked of dampness and dust.

He covered his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his tunic. The wall in front of him, made of pieces of rock, seemed to have been formed just moments ago, still giving off dust from a possible collapse. It muffled the voices of his companions behind it. Distant, but alive.

"I'm fine!" Kenma exclaimed, approaching the rock as closely as possible. After years of not raising his voice, he felt strange. His only hope was that he wouldn't cause another collapse. "Are you injured? Is anyone missing?"

"Iwaizumi hit his head, but he's already regained consciousness!" Hinata replied. "The cave floor collapsed! Vroom, rumble! And we fell several meters into an underground dungeon."

“I see…”

On the other side, Kenma heard sounds of digging and stones falling, which set off his alarms.

"Shōyo, stop! You could cause another collapse!" he exclaimed. The sound stopped immediately.

“But, Kenma! What about you?”

The prince looked at the mountain of rock. It would be easy to clear the way using magic, but he risked running out of magical energy. He didn't know if any of the orcs that had attacked them had survived the fall, although they would probably be the least of his problems if he encountered one.

Dungeons were often inhabited by giant insects, basilisks, slimes, and other creepy, disgusting monsters. And that was only if they hadn't had the misfortune of falling into the territory of dark elves or a nest of goblins. Being used to darkness, they moved with such stealth that you wouldn't know they were there until they were upon you. Conserving energy was a matter of life and death.

In any case, they couldn't stay there forever. Their supplies were on the surface, next to the horses they had left tied up outside the cave. Without water, food, or access to first aid, they wouldn't last more than a couple of days.

If digging through the rock wasn't an option, they would have to find another way out.

“Shōyo! Do you, by any chance, still have your weapons?”

"Iwaizumi, Aone, and I do!" Hinata replied. "Most of Yamaguchi’s arrows are broken, but he still has a couple!"

"Alright, listen carefully," Kenma said, getting as close as possible to the wall before speaking. "You have to walk through the cave and find a way out. I'll do the same. Once we're outside, it'll be easier to find each other again."

He heard unintelligible mumbles on the other end, somewhere between worried and annoyed.

"And what about you?" Hinata asked. "What if you're in danger? We can't just abandon you!"

"Shōyo, I'll be fine," Kenma assured him. "We'll meet again outside, okay? Be careful in the meantime. I can't heal you until then."

“Alright, Kenma! I won't let any monsters near!”

Kenma smiled. Despite the situation, Shōyo's enthusiasm didn't waver. He wished he had that kind of blind optimism, but he tended to see things from his own perspective. More realistic, pessimistic even. There was still the possibility that the cave had no exit, and they were doomed to die. Hunger, thirst, cold, or an enemy attack—whichever came first. 

If that was the case, they were only prolonging the inevitable.

The prince sighed before turning around and searching for his staff, finding it lying a couple of meters away among some rocks. He hurried to pick it up and examine it. At first glance, the wood did not appear to have any dents or cracks. Maintaining the integrity of the staff was one of the first things he learned in his training as a sorcerer: since they were meant to concentrate and channel magic in the real world, any alteration could affect the strength or even the effect of spells.

Myths from ancient times spoke of magicians who were able to use magic without needing a staff to channel their energy. It was said that they seemed to be ‘possessed’ by some kind of divine entity, the earth opening beneath their feet until the abyss met hell, while their eyes and mouths turned white. Pure light, just like their magic.

Those tales of heroism were favorites of many, but they were nothing more than stories. The distortion of word-of-mouth and the limited understanding of magic cast doubt on the possibility of anything like that happening, so the prince preferred to be cautious and take care of his staff.

Without one, a wizard could not use his magic.

He took one last look at the wall of rocks before setting off on the slow journey into the depths of the cave. Using an echolocation spell, he created a map of the surrounding area, which allowed him to move with a little more agility and detect forks in the path before he saw them. Despite having relatively good night vision, he would have preferred to use a light spell, as echolocation could be somewhat complex to interpret. In any case, he didn't want to risk giving away his position to whatever inhabited that dungeon.

Kenma wasn't sure how long he walked in complete darkness before reaching a kind of cliff, where the ceiling of the cave rose, and the walls opened up, creating a vault of black rock. The silence of the darkness was piercing, broken only by a distant dripping sound, which was enough to raise the prince's hopes.

Drops meant water, and if that water was moving, it could lead him to an exit. He could also fill his canteen and, if he was lucky, maybe catch something to eat. If it was a large enough underground river, there was even a chance that the rest of the group would follow it too, and they would be reunited.

Carefully, he used a levitation spell and descended from the cliff, dropping about five meters until his feet touched the bottom. He stood still for a moment and looked around, relying on his echolocation spell to analyze the place. Despite its ideal characteristics for setting up camp or even serving as the lair of a huge monster, all he could see were rocks and some stalagmites. Silence and emptiness, just like the corridors he had already traveled through.

He sighed. Perhaps Hinata had been wrong and it was just a simple cave.

When Kenma dared to take a step to continue on his way, suddenly, light flooded the enormous stone vault, blinding him for an instant. He growled and brought his hands to his face to cover his eyes, feeling his corneas burn. It took him a few moments to adjust, at which point he looked up and searched for the source of that infernal light. His blood ran cold.

Floating in the air there were thousands of thick, tall crimson candles, like those used in invocation rituals. Their wicks burned with a strange black fire, which seemed even darker than the void itself. Motionless in the air, they formed several rows one above the other, as if they were part of an opera theater. An unmistakable smell of sulfur gradually filled the humid air of the cave.

As soon as the prince managed to get into a defensive position, a figure appeared in the middle of the circle of candles: a tall man was watching him from above. He wore a long red cape with black cuffs and golden thread that fluttered behind him, and underneath it, a black outfit with gold trim and a pair of high boots. His hair was dark and combed into spikes as sharp as the stalactites on the ceiling, and between them, a pair of ivory horns stood proudly.

A demon.

"Blessed art thou, white wizard!" the demon spoke in a deep voice, piercing the prince's body. His mouth curved into a malicious, almost sinister smirk. "Where are thy little friends?"

Kenma gripped his staff tightly. He quickly invoked a protective spell under his breath.

"Thou knowst, the red-haired dwarf, the freckled archer, the giant, and the loud knight, right? Nothing?" When he didn't get a response, he sighed dramatically. "It seems I may have miscalculated the trajectory of the landslide. Such a shame, really. I guess I shall settle for thee."

The demon snapped his fingers, and before Kenma could react, a ball of dark energy was materialized from thin air and shot toward him.

The ball exploded when it impacted with his shield; the shockwave knocked the wind out of him and caused him to stumble. For a moment, the edges of his vision darkened and his ears rang. If it hadn't been for the protective spell, he would have ended up unconscious on the ground, if not dead.

In his years of training, he had fought wizards of different levels and natures. Druids, clerics, and even warlocks, but he had never encountered anyone who could manifest so much power in an attack using only their own magic. Not even Nekomata in his toughest practices had managed to leave him on the verge of unconsciousness without even hitting him directly.

Of course, real life combat was different from training. An enemy would not have the manners to knock him out without killing him. The prince knew that well, but still, there was something about that demon's magic that made his hair stand on end.

If he wanted to see his companions again, he couldn't hold back.

"Oya? Art thou still quick?" the demon beamed. The prince would have liked to slap that smile off his face. "Well, well, that is interesting."

Kenma gritted his teeth. Tapping the ground quickly with his staff, he summoned two white arrows, which were shot toward the demon. They flew past either side of his head, striking the cave wall behind him. The impact tore a hole in the rock and sent several pieces flying into the air, raising a heavy cloud of dust.

A cut opened on the demon's cheek and began to bleed profusely. His smirk widened, revealing his sharp fangs.

"The little wizard has claws! Who would have thought!" he cackled. Around him, the crowd of candles began to spin, creating the illusion of a ring of fire. “I guess we can have some fun for a while, right? Just don't die too quickly. That would be boring.”

If Kenma had known what he was going to find, he might have reconsidered knocking down the pile of rocks.

The energy orbs flew back and forth, exploding upon contact with the prince's light arrows. At some point, the demon had also cast a rock control spell that deformed the floor and walls of the cave, creating spears that Kenma had to destroy before they impaled him. The constant explosions shook the cavern, to the point where the risk of collapse was a possibility to be considered.

The attacks were fast and accurate, demonstrating a mastery of magic worthy of legends. Every beat of Kenma’s heart, every thought, had to be immersed in the fight. Even pausing to breathe could mean the difference between life and death.

As Kenma felt sweat soak his forehead and run down the sides of his face, the demon kept the same mocking smile on his lips. After cutting his cheek, he hadn't even grazed him again, while Kenma had received multiple blows that nearly broke through his barrier on a couple of occasions. 

He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up. He could feel his mana running out and dangerously approaching the point of fainting. If he lost consciousness, he was a dead man. He had to end this no matter what, and soon, but how?

How could he stop someone who seemed unstoppable?

Gritting his teeth, the prince stopped summoning arrows and allowed himself to be hit by a wave of attacks. A sound like breaking glass filled the cavern, while a cloud of dust and debris rose where he had been standing. 

His shield was broken beyond repair, but this gave him the opportunity to focus on the ground beneath his feet. With a control spell, he shaped the rock and sheltered himself within its depths. It probably wasn't the best idea, but it was something. Besides, given his level of mana, he couldn’t get picky about his options. 

Holding his breath, he traveled inside the ground until he was under the demon's shadow. He gripped his staff tightly and cast a spell that covered it in white light, transforming it into a spiked bat. He raised it and prepared to aim for the head, while his body shot toward the demon, propelled by a tower made of the same rock. 

Just as he was about to strike behind his back, the demon turned and their eyes met. 

Absolute terror filled the prince's heart, but it was too late. With a snap of the demon’s fingers, a giant hand emerged from the wall and grabbed him, squeezing the air out of his lungs. His vision went dark for a moment. The staff slipped from his hands and fell into the void. He had lost.

“Alas, for a second there I feared thou hart  used a vanishing spell, and that I'd have to search the cave for thee,” the demon smiled, shaking his head. “I imagined thee to be more conservative. Thou art full of surprises.”

The prince writhed and tried to escape the rock's clutches, but the grip only seemed to tighten around his body. He flattened his ears against his head and hissed. His vision was beginning to blur. He no longer had enough mana to even remain conscious.

“I would be most delighted to stay and talk with thee, but alas, my boss does not enjoy me playing with my food,” he continued. He reached out his hand to the prince and grabbed his hood tightly. “I guess I shall settle for seeing thy face as I kill thee.”

The demon pulled on the hood and Kenma closed his eyes. He waited to feel the cold metal of a sword against his neck or simply the heat of energy balls disintegrating his skin.

He thought of his parents, his friends, the kingdom awaiting his return, and the rest of the party. Would they recover his body, or would they abandon him in that damp cave? He found it hard to imagine Shōyo or the others as the kind of people who would leave a comrade behind. Still, if they had to fight that demon, perhaps he preferred that. To die there, in a place forgotten by the gods, in complete darkness—who would have thought? 

One, two seconds passed. The demon's hand remained firmly on his hood, and Kenma could almost feel its breath against his face, but that was all. No dark energy or metal between his ribs. Just silence. 

Tentatively and perhaps a little impatiently, Kenma opened his eyes. His heart sank. 

The demon was staring at him, his pupils dilated and his face contorted. His eyes darted from Kenma’s hair to his nose, from his mouth to his hair, and back to his eyes, as if trying to absorb as many details as possible. He had the expression of someone who had seen a ghost or even something worse. 

Feeling his consciousness slipping through his fingers, Kenma parted his lips with a plea written in his gaze. 

“Please—”

He didn't get to finish before everything went black.

Kenma.

Someone's voice echoed inside his head. Distant, familiar, one he hadn't heard in a long time. A distant memory, as warm as the rays of the summer sun. 

Kenma, wake up.

Small hands touched his face. He could almost see his favorite tree in the palace gardens, perfect for a nap. Sunlight filtering through the leaves, the silhouette of someone in front of him. A crooked-toothed smile. What was that? How had he forgotten?

“Kenma, wake up!”

He snapped his eyes open and was blinded by the light of a torch for a moment. The harshness of reality hit his body. His muscles ached, his bones were heavy, his mouth dry, and his head hurt with an impending migraine. These were just some of the consequences of letting his mana run out, in addition to the abuse of the fight. At that moment, he would have killed to take a bath in the hot springs in the mountains near Nekoma.

“Kenma!” Hinata exclaimed, poking his head into the prince's field of vision. His eyes were crystal clear, as if he were on the verge of tears. “Are you okay? Do you feel like you're going to die?!” 

“... I'm fine, Shōyo,” Kenma replied, slowly sitting up. He brought a hand to his face and breathed slowly, trying to stabilize his senses. He was lying on a flat rock platform, the size of a bed. "It's just low mana.” 

“You were unconscious for a long time, we thought you were dead!” he continued. “You didn't even react when I slapped you twice!” 

“I told you that was too much.” 

“I was just trying to help, Yamaguchi!” 

“Uhm...” 

Kenma looked down as Hinata continued arguing with Yamaguchi. If he had fallen into such a state of unconsciousness, it meant his mana had reached such a low level that it had brought him to the brink of catatonia.

In addition to being the source of magical energy, mana existed in living beings as a source of vital energy. Organs, muscles, and the brain remained active thanks to the mana intrinsic to each individual. The intrinsic energy of the earth, source of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, was mana too. Its absence was emptiness, it was death. The end of both life and the world as it was known. Its alteration could mean life-threatening danger, which was why, when Kenma decided to take mana from a living being for his spells, he always made sure to leave enough so as not to destroy the source. 

One more spell, one simple slip, would have been enough to kill him.

“How did you find me?”

“Actually, you found us,” interrupted Iwaizumi, holding the prince's staff in his hand. He bent down to hand it to him. Kenma accepted it with a nod. "The ground shook, and we heard something like a collapse. When we went to investigate the source, Aone found you behind a rock. He pulled you out and brought you here."

“Collapse as in falling rocks?”

“More like something coming from inside the rock.”

“We thought it was an earthquake!” Hinata interrupted. “Like kaboom!”

“That's the sound of an explosion.”

“Huh? And what exactly is the sound of an earthquake to you, Yamaguchi?”

“Snap, vroom.”

“Snap is the sound of a branch breaking, it's different!”

“Eh? It's not just branches that snap, that’s basic knowledge, y’know…"

Iwaizumi frowned and sighed, then turned his back on the pair. He placed his hand on his hip and tucked his thumb into his leather belt, focusing his attention on the prince.

“The ceiling is quite low in this part,” the knight pointed out. “If you had fallen, the noise would have been different.”

Kenma looked up at the ceiling. Iwaizumi wasn't lying; it was quite low, to the point where Aone would surely have to be careful not to bump his head. The walk-through was also narrow, and there were no stalagmites or stalactites in sight. Nothing like the rock vault where he had fought the demon.

Considering that his mana had been depleted, and he could still feel the power of the teleportation rock against his chest, there was only one explanation for him being in a location completely different from the cave.

But why?

“Looks like you had a pretty tough fight,” Iwaizumi said, nodding toward the prince's dirty and battered clothes. “Was it orcs or something else?”

“M-hm, orcs,” Kenma nodded. “They took me by surprise, and the space didn't allow me to use such strong spells.”

“They attacked you from behind? How unfair!” Hinata exclaimed. “If they show up again, they'll pay the consequences!”

“I don't think they'll bother us again...”

“We'll rest here until you feel well enough to continue,” announced Iwaizumi. “Since you're the only one who knows magic, losing you isn't exactly an option.”

“It's not necessary,” replied the prince, using his staff to help him stand up. “As long as I don't have to run, I can keep up with you.”

“Good to hear,” said the knight. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

Hinata insisted on helping him, but Kenma refused. In the end, the short knight accepted to just walk by his side for a while, until he got caught up in one of his typical chatting and teasing with Yamaguchi and moved ahead to lead the group. The prince was left alone at the back, staring at the backs of his companions.

Despite having gotten used to Iwaizumi's direct nature, this time there was something in his gaze that made him uncomfortable. It was as if he knew that he had not been attacked by orcs but by something else. He doubted there would be any difference in telling them what had happened. Beyond being more careful until they left the cave and asking a few questions about attack patterns to be prepared in case of another surprise attack, they would let the matter drop. So why lie?

Why protect a stranger?

It wasn’t after a while that Kenma encountered that demon again.

After escaping from the cave, the group headed to a nearby citadel to regain their strength and think of a plan: Date-Kōgyō, the walled fortress. Since Aone was originally from there, they were able to arrive and enter without any problems. The monk's family—who owned a small inn near the port—welcomed them warmly, offering them lodging and food for as long as they needed.

Built by wandering merchants over a hundred years ago, it was one of the most important commercial hubs on the continent. Surrounded by a white stone wall over ten meters high, lookouts patrolled the top of the wall day and night, while a couple of guards controlled the iron portcullis.

Inside the wall, the dirt road turned into a cobblestone avenue, which branched off into narrower streets that wound between the buildings. The houses were made of white stone, with flat roofs and only one story near the wall and two stories as they got closer to the coast, built in this strategic way in case of an invasion to have the advantage over the enemy. In the background, on a hill, you could see the fortress, home to the governor and other members of the small government.

Until now, Kenma had only known Date-Kōgyō from books and stories. Seeing it in person was a totally different sensation. Nothing he had seen or heard about it did it justice. Above all else, however, it was the market that captivated his attention.

On the avenue next to the port, the pale city exploded with color. Huge, juicy fruits and vegetables, trinkets and artifacts from distant lands, and even exotic animals such as birds and lizards that he had only seen illustrated in old books in the palace. The various stalls flooded the street, as did people of different origins and languages, of which he could barely grasp a couple of words. The buildings were also full of shops, more established than the street vendors, but just as eye-catching with their colorful displays and huge windows. Despite the threat of the Great Demon King, the flame of the people did not even falter.

The hustle and bustle of the crowds was not exactly the prince's territory. Crowds had made him anxious for as long as he could remember, so being drawn to a place like this seemed contradictory. And, well, it wasn't as if he had overcome his anxiety so far on his journey. In fact, the possibility of encountering someone who would try to assassinate him again added to his distress. But he knew the reward was greater.

At the market, he could stock up on magical items and potion ingredients that would help him save mana for healing, power buffs, and perhaps a trick or two up his sleeve. No matter how strong his anxiety was—and, let's be honest, his habit—it was the least he could do for his companions. If they were attacked by an enemy as powerful as the demon, and he ran out of mana, they would end up dead.

Besides, he could always ask Shōyo to come with him and leave early to avoid the crowds.

On the third day of their stay, Kenma got up early, even before the first light of dawn appeared on the horizon. Assuming that the others were asleep, he got ready and left his room, trying to make as little noise as possible, only to find his teammates downstairs. They were gathered around a table by candlelight, along with a brown-haired boy whom the prince did not recognize.

“Ah, Kozume, I'm sorry we woke you up,” said Iwaizumi, placing a hand on the stranger's shoulder. “This is Futakuchi Kenji, a friend of Aone's who is helping us. He works at the city's central library.”

Futakuchi nodded in greeting, and Kenma nodded back. With brown eyes matching his hair and a broad smile, he didn't look like someone who worked in a library. Kenma approached the table, on which lay a couple of open old books and several loose sheets of paper. He didn't recognize any of the texts or drawings. In them, there were notes and a rough sketch of what appeared to be some kind of sword. The most detailed part was the handle, with an intricate design and an oval stone inlaid into it.

“Remember how Iwaizumi said there might be a way to defeat Oikawa?” said Hinata beside him, picking up one of the sheets and handing it to Kenma. “This is it!”

“In Seijoh, there was a myth about a sword that could kill demons, responsible for ending the reign of one that terrorized the kingdom for millennia,” explained Iwaizumi. “It's just an old story, but it may be our best chance.”

“What are the chances that a weapon like this exists?”

“These illustrations and manuscripts are from here, Date-Kōgyō,” continued the knight, pointing to the open books on the table. “Hinata and Yamaguchi have also mentioned that there are similar stories in Karasuno, passed down by word of mouth.”

The prince looked more closely at one of the illustrations. Although there were myths about yōkai in Nekoma, he had never heard of anything like a sword or weapon in general to kill them. In any case, he was not surprised.

Nestled in a valley between towering mountains, the kingdom's culture was closed off from the rest of the world. Despite trade and some exchange with outsiders, traditions were strong. He knew a little more about the outside world due to his particular interest in books, but his vision remained limited. The elders who had once made pilgrimages were the ones who told stories of what had happened beyond the mountains, but nothing like demons or reaping swords of the darkness.

Furthermore, if there had really been a reign of terror by demons millennia ago, Nekoma's isolation must have protected it from the outside threat.

“I know that finding a legendary weapon that has been lost for more than a century is almost impossible. They may be mere myths and may never have actually existed,” Iwaizumi clarified in a grave voice. The lines on his face had deepened, darkened by worry and something Kenma couldn't quite identify. "In any case, it's our best chance so far. Not to mention our only one.”

“Between this and having nothing... I think we should consider all possibilities,” Kenma mumbled, tracing the outline of the sketch with his finger. The party's spirits seemed to rise immediately, as if his opinion was the only thing they needed. "This is outside my area of expertise. I know nothing about demonic magic and related artifacts, so I don't think I'll be of much use to you."

“Don't worry, we've got it covered,” said Iwaizumi, downplaying the situation. “A couple of miles outside of town lives a former master librarian who may know more about the matter. Futakuchi was his pupil, so he'll help us get in touch with him.”

“Master Ukai doesn't like surprise visits, but I guess there's no other way,” said Futakuchi, shrugging. “As long as we bring him a barrel of beer, he'll cooperate.”

“I'll go get ready then,” muttered Kenma, but the knight stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Like I said, we've got everything covered,” Iwaizumi reiterated with a small smile. Kenma frowned, not understanding. “If all goes well, we'll meet in the afternoon and map out the route to find the sword.”

“What...?”

“You're still not fully recovered, are you?” the knight commented.

Kenma pressed his lips together into a thin line. Even though it had been almost two weeks since they managed to escape from the cave, his mana still hadn't fully replenished.

Given the intensity of the battle with the demon, this was not surprising. He could still fight, but his mana would run out faster. Minor spells helped compensate for this and allow him to last a little longer on the battlefield, although in an emergency situation he wasn't sure he could afford such luxuries. If he ran out of energy, he would only be a burden, unable to heal his comrades' wounds or assist them as support.

“Kenma, don't worry! We'll be fine!” Hinata jumped up when he saw his expression. “I won't do anything risky! I swear!”

“Unless you decide to jump in front of the enemies...”

“Hey, that was just once, Yamaguchi! You've done it too!”

“At least I have good aim.”

“Everything would have been fine if someone hadn't shot arrows at me!”

“You jumped in front!”

“No one will do anything risky,” Iwaizumi interrupted, placing his hands on Hinata and Yamaguchi's shoulders. He tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white. Both men immediately fell silent, looking away from each other. “We all need to conserve our strength for the search and the final battle.”

He gave each of them two firm slaps on the back that almost knocked the wind out of them, before picking up his sheathed claymore, which was leaning against a chair.

“Come on, we can't afford to waste any more time.”

With his feet planted firmly on the ground, Kenma watched the group gather their belongings and leave the inn. The last to leave was Aone, who paused for a second beside him and placed his enormous hand on his small, bony shoulder.

“Don't worry, the route is safe,” said the huge monk. His steel gloves glinted in the warm candlelight. “Trust me.”

Aone patted him on the shoulder and gave him a small smile before following his companions out. Kenma stood in the empty room, his silhouette outlined against the wall.

Kenma turned his gaze to the scrolls and books on the table. He traced the outline of the sword with his finger, pausing at the handle. The oval stone catched his eye.

Iwaizumi's decision was logical. Anyone with even a modicum of strategy would have done the same, even him. The best thing he could do at that moment was to continue with his plan to stock up on resources for potions. That way, even if his mana ran out, he could continue to support his teammates. Still, he didn't like the idea of staying behind, which had a certain irony he couldn't ignore.

Who would have thought that the prince of Nekoma, who hated physical activity so much, would be upset about having a break?

He sighed and shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. He took the drawing of the sword and folded it to put it in his robe pocket. If he wasn't going to accompany the others, at least he could continue investigating. Maybe there was something the others hadn't been able to find.

After blowing out the candles on the table, Kenma left the inn. He glanced at the nearby streets, checking that the coast was clear before using an illusion spell to change the color of his cloak from white to dark brown. He also altered his staff, shrinking and deforming it into a solid wood bracelet. Even though they hadn't had any problems so far, the less attention he drew, the better.

Like a shadow, the prince walked through the streets to the port, accompanied by the crunch of his boots on the cobblestones and the singing of birds. Through the windows, silhouettes flitted back and forth in the candlelight; the people of Date-Kōgyō slowly waking up to face a new day.

When he arrived, he paused for a moment and looked out at the harbor, the mist from his breath swirling in front of him as the cold sea breeze bit his face. The merchants were setting up their stalls, some cleaning and others already preparing the fish, talking to each other and shouting with a spirit that contrasted with the cold of the morning. A few dogs and cats roamed the area, waiting for someone to drop a fish or get distracted for a moment so they could steal it. The waves crashed against the harbor and exploded into clouds of foam, and in the distance, the silhouettes of boats brought in the day's catch.

Since Nekoma was in the mountains, the sea was certainly a strange sight. He had gone on vacation to the beach with his parents a couple of times when he was little, but the white sand and crystal clear waters were nothing compared to the rugged scenery before him. Despite not being someone who liked crowded or noisy places, he would have liked to stay and watch a little longer, like an omniscient god in unknown lands.

He adjusted his hood and turned toward the shops that were just opening, walking briskly as he looked for one that sold potion ingredients. His thoughts wandered from one thing to another as he looked at the shop windows, bringing him back again and again to the strange encounter he had had in the cave.

Until now, he hadn't confessed the truth to his teammates. He didn't feel it would do much other than scaring them about the demonic magic. If he himself hadn't been able to defeat a random demon, what chance did they have in the battle against Oikawa and his army? If they didn't find a way to counter it, it would be a death sentence.

He stopped in front of a herbalist's shop, which had a sign that read ‘natural remedies, potions, and more’. As he went in, the shop bell rang, catching the attention of the shopkeeper, an elderly woman who gave him a toothless smile and invited him to ask anything. Kenma nodded silently and approached the shelves, reading the labels on the small bottles containing herbs.

The best he could do was to talk to Iwaizumi when they got back. When they camped at night, he always ended up telling stories about when he was part of Seijoh's army and the right-hand man of the Great Demon King. But when it came to his desertion—and Oikawa himself—it seemed it was not something he liked to touch on and avoided it unless someone in the group asked him directly.

It was a sensitive subject, but, being who he was, Iwaizumi probably had information about demonic magic that Kenma, as a mage, could interpret. Rules, mechanics, limitations—anything would be useful in devising a counterattack plan.

If they managed to gain control, victory would no longer be so impossible.

He sighed and picked three medicinal herbs—for burns, accelerated healing, and stomach problems—before going to the counter. He paid with silver coins and left the shop with the jars wrapped in a paper package under his arm. In front of the window, an elderly man stood hunched over, looking at the various items displayed in the shop window. Like Kenma, he wore a dark cloak that covered him down to his ankles, his face was hidden under the shadow of his hood. He seemed to be waiting his turn to enter, but he didn't move when the prince left.

Kenma walked a couple more blocks until he found a potion supply store, where he lingered a little longer. They didn't have an incredible variety, but they had the necessary ingredients for practical battle potions, such as healing and skill boost potions. The owner was a man almost two meters tall with a stern expression, which contrasted in an almost comical way with his friendly service and careful way of wrapping the ingredients in a package. He reminded Kenma a little of Iwaizumi.

As he left the shop, he ran into the same old man again, this time leaning against some nearby boxes while smoking a long pipe. It was a strange coincidence that was enough to set off his alarms.

Kenma looked away and continued his tour of the market at a seemingly carefree pace, while all his senses were focused on that dark figure. When there was only a block between them, the old man put his pipe inside his cloak and began walking in his direction, his hands behind his back and his hood still hiding his face.

He wasn't that naive as to ignore that this kind of coincidence was not exactly accidental. He was being followed, and if he was aware of it, it was because they wanted him to, a technique as old as history itself.

Perhaps spies from the Great Demon King? Had they discovered his plan?

Kenma scanned the street with his gaze, concentrating on staying calm. If he tried to run back to the inn, he would endanger the rest of the team and even Aone's family. Of course, that was if he hadn't been followed for a while now. If he had caught the man, it was because he wanted to be caught, which was a thousand times more alarming.

In the distance, he saw the entrance to an alley. An idea popped into his head, and he subtly quickened his pace. He clasped his hands together and brought them close to his mouth as if trying to warm them, when in reality he was murmuring a spell with his fingers on the staff around his wrist.

It wasn't the best plan, that was for sure, but it was the only one he could think of given the situation. A direct confrontation with a stranger could end up just like his fight with the demon in the cave, if not worse. He didn't even dare to try to sense whether the man was a sorcerer or not, lest expose himself as one. The element of surprise was all he had.

He slipped a hand inside his tunic and closed his fingers tightly around the dagger hanging from his belt. With a zigzag blade and a cat's head with ruby eyes on top of the hilt, it had been a gift from the blacksmith of Nekoma for his eighteenth birthday. Elegant and lethal. The prince never thought it would be useful for anything else other than practicing target shooting with magic, but there was always a first time for everything.

He turned on his heels and entered the alley, almost running toward the darkest corner. He pressed his back against the wall and murmured the rest of the spell. He held his breath as his body and clothes took on the appearance of the stone wall, and his heartbeat slowed so as not to be heard.

It was an excellent trick for making an impression when playing hide-and-seek—in fact, he had learned it as a child precisely for that purpose—but it didn't last long. If he moved, the spell would be broken and his disguise would be exposed. He had only one chance to carry out his plan, and he wasn't going to waste it. At that moment, everyone depended on him.

A couple of long minutes passed before the strange old man appeared at the mouth of the alley, walking at a pace that was too fast and light for his appearance. The prince waited for him to pass in front of him before moving. He lunged from behind and pushed him against the wall, pressing the cold blade of his knife against the stranger's neck.

“If you try anything, I'll slit your throat,” Kenma muttered through clenched teeth, pressing the blade against the old man's throat. Despite its low volume, with the adrenaline pumping, his voice burst from his lips almost like a roar. “Why are you following us? Did the Great King send you, or was it someone else?”

His face still half-hidden by his hood, the old man's lips curved in a familiar way, revealing a pair of sharp fangs. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace, while his image began to ripple like a puddle disturbed by a rock. Kenma’s heart sank.

“Blessed art thou, white wizard,” purred the demon. “Or shall I say, Your Majesty.”

Kenma flattened his ears against his head and hissed, baring his fangs. Standing so close, the difference in height—a little over a head—was obvious. Kenma wasn't sure if he could slit his throat before the demon tried anything, but at least he wanted to pretend he could. If his pulse trembled even slightly, he would end up dead. Or humiliated, which somehow felt worse.

“How do you know who I am? Why are you following us? Did the Great King send you, or was it someone else?” Kenma repeated.

“What a wicked way to greet somebody,” he replied. “After our last encounter, the least I expected was for you to care to ask for my name, ye see?”

Kenma pressed the dagger even harder, almost cutting the demon's skin. His smile didn't waver, but his Adam's apple moved nervously against the blade.

“Oya, oya, there's no need to be so aggressive!” croaked the demon, his smile curving even further. He dropped fast the old-style slang. “I just wanted to tell you something. A little warning.”

Kenma barely loosened his grip on the dagger. If the demon had wanted to kill him, he would have tried so already. Or at least, that's what he wanted to believe.

“Curious, aren’t ya?” he joked, but failed before the prince's deathly silence. He cleared his throat, as if trying to compose himself. “Your companions are on their way to a deadly trap. I can take you there.”

“... What?”

“Oikawa knew they were here from the moment they set foot in the city,” he said with a shrug. “Don't look at me like that, I had nothing to do with it. A red-haired dwarf accompanied by a knight with a huge claymore, wearing Seijoh’s armor doesn't exactly go unnoticed, y’know?”

His mind was racing. He should have gone with them; he knew staying behind wasn't a good idea. If it was the Great Demon, they could be dying or worse. Gods, what would he do if his companions were dead?

He abruptly cut off that train of thought. What assured him that this wasn't another one of his tricks? Separating the group and going after its strategic members first—such as a mage or healer—was a straightforward but effective tactic. Perhaps the demon wanted to lure him to the outskirts of the city to finish what he couldn't in their last encounter without causing such a commotion. Perhaps he wanted to capture him and hold him hostage so that his companions would surrender to the Great King.

The prince pressed the blade against his opponent's neck again, this time determined to slit his throat. No matter how little experience in the real world he had, he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to let a demon play with his mind.

“Oi, oi, oi! I'm telling the truth!” the demon squealed.

“Why should I believe you, demon?” Kenma muttered, turning the dagger to press the tip against the demon's huge artery. He wasn't sure if that would be enough to kill him, but his panicked reaction told him that, at the very least, it would be a nuisance. “After all, you tried to kill me.”

“But I didn't,” he pointed out. “Just think about it! Why would I come to warn you instead of just killing you? That would only complicate things for me!”

“Maybe you like to make things complicated, I don't know,” Kenma said. He pressed the blade harder until the tip pierced the skin and a couple of drops of blood escaped from his throat. “You're a demon, and you tried to kill me, that's enough reason to be suspicious.”

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed, raising his hands to stop the knife, but without actually touching Kenma. “How about we make a pact? That way you can be sure I won't try anything.”

Pacts were a type of magical contract quite common among sorcerers: if the promise was not fulfilled, one or both parties to the agreement would suffer the consequences agreed upon in the contract, which could be fatal. They were quite similar to curses, except that both parties had to agree and were limited to deals between two people.

The only drawback is that, once the pact is made, it is almost impossible to undo. Not even the most powerful wizards dared to do so for fear of the rebound effect it could cause.

“If it's a lie, and it's actually a trap, the pact could, I don't know, cut off my head,” continued the demon, running a finger across his throat. “Being beheaded sounds unpleasant, doesn't it? You'd have time to run away.” 

“And what do you get in return?” 

“... Recognition that my intentions are indeed good?”

“That doesn't seem fair.”

“Life isn't fair.”

Kenma frowned. The demon dropped his smirk and sighed.

“Look, you can kill me here and now if you want, but you won't reach your comrades before Oikawa's minions do,” said the demon. “I'm giving you a better option. It's up to you.”

Kenma gripped the hilt of the dagger until his knuckles turned white. Just the idea of considering the demon's proposal disgusted him, but he had no other choice. If he was telling the truth, killing him would condemn his friends. Even if he tried to get there on his own, he wouldn't be in time to help his comrades, not to mention that he didn't know where the trap was. And if he was lying, at least he would get rid of a strong enemy—for a while at least, if he turned out to be immortal.

After a couple of endless minutes, he sighed and reluctantly lowered the knife, looking away so as not to see the sharp smirk that appeared on the demon's lips. He would have liked to turn around and stab him between the ribs with the dagger, but that could affect the contract later.

The process for making the magical pact was simple: using the blade, they both cut their palms and, with the blood that flowed, let the other write the spell on their other palm.

First, the demon did it. Under the prince's watchful gaze, he dipped a sharp claw into the blood pooling in the center of his palm and used it to trace a circle of invocation and the conditions of the spell around it. He brought his other hand closer as if to hold Kenma's in place, barely brushing the back of his hand with his fingertips. It felt strangely warm.

When it was time to write the name, the demon didn't stop to ask. ‘Kozume Kenma’ appeared in the center of the circle, as easy as breathing, as if  had known it all his life. Kenma gave him a suspicious look, at which the demon shrugged.

“I spent some time living on the outskirts of the kingdom of Nekoma,” he explained bluntly. “From seeing your name written in books and advertisements so often, I ended up internalizing it.”

Kenma nodded. He held his gaze for a moment, a strange feeling curling inside him, before proceeding with his turn. He dipped his finger in the demon's blood and began to write. The demon watched him silently, neither complaining nor trying to stop him when he wrote “immediate decapitation.”

When he finished with the conditions, he hesitated for a second.

“Kuroo Tetsurō,” said the demon. Kenma looked up and held his gaze. The demon smiled. “That's what you wanted to ask, isn't it? To close the spell.”

There was a brief silence. Kenma had the urge to look up, but he held back.

“My name is Kuroo Tetsurō,” he continued. “With the kanji for black and iron, in case you were wondering.”

Kenma nodded, quickly writing down the end of the spell. Somehow, that name seemed familiar to him, even though he was sure he had never heard it before. It felt warm, like a summer breeze, if that even made sense.

Kenma checked that everything was okay before letting go of the demon's hand. Kuroo bent his hand carefully, his fingertips trembling. He smiled, although this time the corners of his lips curved slightly downward. A shadow crossed his gaze, but in the blink of an eye it vanished and he regained his usual expression. 

“So, do we have a deal, Your Majesty?”

Kuroo extended his hand. Kenma frowned, questioning all the decisions that had led him here as he took the demon's hand and gave it a squeeze.

As soon as the summoning circles touched, the pact was made. White and red light burst from their joined palms, the energy igniting the veins in their forearms. A red spark appeared on Kuroo's neck, tracing a bright horizontal line across it. In the center, the word ‘decapitation’ appeared above the line and ‘lie’ below it. The flash lasted only a few seconds before fading, leaving behind a white line on his skin.

When they separated their hands, the marks written in blood had disappeared, leaving only a ghostly white silhouette.

"How strange, I didn't expect it to tickle,” Kuroo murmured, bringing a hand to his neck and touching the mark gently.

“It depends on the duration,” Kenma said. He had turned his attention to closing the cut on his hand, muttering a healing spell that closed it immediately. “In cases of longer, more complex pacts, the marks feel more like burns, although some describe it as a ‘cold fire.’”

“Hmm, you know a lot about this,” said Kuroo. “Have you made pacts before, or am your first time?”

“The fact that I agreed doesn't mean we're on good terms, demon,” he cut in, almost hissing. “Wasn't rescuing my teammates supposed to be urgent? Over here it looks like you're taking all the time in the world.”

“Ah, so cold,” he smirked and shook his head. “I'll open the portal now. I wouldn't want you to be late for your mission, Your Majesty.”

Kenma wanted to reply, but he chose to remain silent. He had a slight feeling that Kuroo was the type of person who prolonged arguments for his own entertainment.

Kuroo turned toward the wall and began to mumble a spell with his eyes closed. Using his index finger, he traced an arc with the tip of his claw. The stones rippled for a few seconds before transforming into a kind of silver mirror, which reflected no image. A sulfur-like smell filled the air, so Kenma covered his nose with the sleeve of his robe.

Kuroo reached out and put his hand inside the portal, causing ripples to spread across the surface. The image rippled again for a moment longer, then showed what appeared to be the interior of a forest. A small clearing filled with flowers and green grass could be seen, surrounded by tall trees. It didn't look out of place, but considering the situation, letting his guard down just because of that would be foolish.

The demon withdrew his hand and turned around, smiling at Kenma with satisfaction.

“It would be suspicious if we appeared right at the trap site, so we'll have to walk a little,” Kuroo explained. "If Oikawa catches me helping the enemy, he'll rip my guts out and feed them to his demon dogs. It's happened once before, and let me tell you, it's not exactly pleasant.”

"So you're immortal.”

“Semi. As long as I have mana, I can regenerate. Still, it's a good deduction.”

“I figured as much when you suggested getting your throat slit,” he said, shrugging. “Annoying isn't something a mortal would say about it.”

“As observant as ever,” Kuroo laughed. “I guess I've missed a lot.”

Kenma almost raised an eyebrow at the last part, but before he could say anything, the demon grabbed him by the wrist and jumped into the portal.

Reality twisted around him, colors and objects blended into a single mass, until he reached the other side. They appeared in the center of the clearing, with the portal still rippling behind them for a moment before disappearing. The breeze was gentle, carrying the scent of flowers growing near the edges and making the leaves on the trees sing.

If it weren't a life-or-death situation, Kenma might have stayed there for a while. It seemed like an ideal place to read a book or play mahjong. Maybe he could take a nap, basking in the warm rays of the sun. It was even a little romantic, like the settings in the novels his mother liked.

“It's this way,” Kuroo pointed, letting go of the prince's wrist.

They went into the forest and had to walk for a while before reaching the edge of the woods. During this stretch, Kenma couldn't help but let his mind wander as he stared at Kuroo’s back.

If it was already difficult to ignore the fact that the enemy was basically helping him, the fact that he said such strange things without provocation only confused him more. However, considering the way he deflected conversations, asking him about his motives seemed pointless.

Maybe it was a one-time thing and they would never see each other again. It didn't seem like a coincidence that he had decided at the last minute to spare his life when he had every intention of killing him when they first met, and that he was now giving him important information about the enemy's plans. Even if it was some way of showing his opposition to Oikawa, it seemed like too much effort to the prince when he could just defect or even join a rebel faction.

And there was still the possibility that it wasn't a way of betraying the Great King, which made things even stranger. Was he planning for them to reach the castle faster and face the final boss? However, according to Iwaizumi's stories, Oikawa could abandon his castle. Kuroo had mentioned that he already knew where they were, so it would be easier to go to where they were and finish them off once and for all.

Maybe he wanted them to trust Kuroo only to betray them in the end? Such a plan required many assumptions—first, that they would even trust a guy who was obviously a demon—to be viable. It was so complex and unconventional that it bordered on stupid.

Why go to so much trouble?

“Here,” said Kuroo, stopping abruptly.

Kenma was so lost in thought that he almost bumped into his back. They had reached a point where the forest dipped down to form a valley, creating a strategic spot where they could see everything without being seen from below.

Kuroo stood next to Kenma, placing a hand on his shoulder and leaning down to his height. He raised his other hand and pointed toward the valley.

“See there? That's your group,” said the demon, pointing to small silhouettes riding horses along the road.

He moved his finger until it stopped at a huge bare rock that broke the harmony of the terrain. White and sharp, it looked like the lone fang of a giant.

“And there are Oikawa's minions,” said the demon, standing up straight again and resting his hands on his hips. “An incredible disguise, don't you think? It was actually my idea. It was lucky they took it, otherwise I would have had to do more digging to find out where they were.”

“A huge white rock in the middle of a clear path, closer to the coast than to the mountains,” Kenma snorted. “Not exactly the ideal hiding place for an ambush.”

“First of all: rude,” he replied. "Second of all, if you're walking along a path next to the forest, you obviously expect dangers to come from there! Stepping on a branch would be enough to give them away.

“They could have at least put some grass on the rock, don't you think?”

“Have you ever seen grass grow on solid granite?” Kuroo said. “Besides, what do you know about rocks?”

“Enough to choose one that isn't visible from miles away.”

There was a tense moment of silence before Kuroo burst out laughing. Like his appearance, his laugh was thunderous, a mixture between a dying animal and the cry of a yonaki babā. So loud that it would have been no surprise if both groups had discovered them despite the distance.

The demon doubled over, clutching his stomach, almost in tears. Kenma had the urge to take out his staff and hit him on the back, but he restrained himself. With his erratic behavior, he wouldn't be surprised if he changed his mind and decided to kill him.

“Prince of the kingdom of Nekoma, prodigious sorcerer, and expert geologist?” Kuroo laughed, wiping away his tears. “You're really something, Your Majesty.”

“Shut up.”

Suddenly, they could hear the battle cries of the orcs In the distance. They had left their hiding place after the group of heroes passed by the rock.

“Well, that's our signal,” said the demon, regaining his composure in an instant. “They outnumber them, so if you go now, you'll arrive just in time to save them.”

Kenma watched in horror as the group of orcs ran toward his companions with their weapons raised. Even if he ran down the hill, he wasn't sure he could make it in time. He could use magic, but the chance of running out of mana and not being able to help was quite high. Was this the trap? To be led to the very place where he would see everyone die horrible deaths without being able to save them, no matter how hard he tried?

“Hey, don't make that face,” Kuroo said, patting him on the shoulder. “Want to see a magic trick?”

Kenma didn't respond, frozen in horror as he watched the orcs get closer and closer. The demon clicked his tongue before disappearing into the bushes behind him. After a moment of rustling leaves and a distinct smell of sulfur, Kuroo reappeared next to Kenma. He was leading a white horse by its reins; it looked similar to the one he had lost when he fell into the orcs' cave.

“Ta-da!” exclaimed the demon, pointing at the animal. “Impressive, isn't it? Anyone can pull a rabbit out of a hat, but a horse? That's serious stuff.”

Kenma, still in a panic, stared blankly at both of them. It wasn't just a similar horse to the one he lost, it was exactly the same.

“How...?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” said Kuroo, putting his index finger to his lips. “Let's just say someone found a group of abandoned horses in front of a strange cave and decided to bring them to the citadel. If they ask you, it was to sell them, and you found them on your way to the market.”

After a second, he continued, “Your teammates seem like the type who would believe anything. You'll think of something. The only one who might be suspicious is Iwaizumi, but he won't say anything.”

In the valley, the group was already facing the henchmen. Battle cries were carried by the wind, while Kenma felt as if his feet were nailed to the ground. It was simply too much information to take in at once, so many nonsensical things and questions swirling around in his head.

“Although I'd love to hear you thank me and acknowledge how good I am, there's no time,” Kuroo said, letting go of the reins.

He picked Kenma up by the waist as if he weighed nothing and lifted him onto the horse so quickly that the prince didn't even have time to protest. And perhaps it was the pressure of the demon's strong hands against his body or the heat of the horse as he sat down, but he managed to snap out of his stupor.

“We'll have time for that later,” he smiled, offering him the reins. “Now go be the hero.”

Kenma took the reins and gave Kuroo one last look, with so many things to say, but suddenly unable to speak. He parted his lips, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times like a fish out of water. The demon nodded toward the valley and his smile widened, his words echoing in the prince's head. There was no time.

He shook his head and nodded. He turned his gaze forward and pulled on the reins. His horse reared up and galloped off toward the battlefield.

“And say hello to Iwaizumi for me! Since he left, Oikawa has been unbearable!”

Riding away down the forest, Kenma turned his head back one last time to see the still-smiling figure of the demon, who waved his hand in farewell.

Somehow, his expression looked miserable.

Despite everything, Kuroo was wrong about one thing: his teammates weren't the type to not ask questions. 

As soon as the fight was over, and they made sure the wounded were taken care of, Shōyo was the first to bombard him with questions. Questions about the whole situation filled the air, the most relevant being how he found out they might be in danger and need help—especially considering what they had talked about before leaving the inn—and how he got there so quickly. 

Kenma explained in a low, somewhat hurried voice that while he was walking through the market, he saw a couple of suspicious-looking guys talking about a “mission” and hid to spy on them, thus discovering the plan to kill the group. Worried, he dropped everything and ran to the city entrance, where he ran into a merchant who, by mere coincidence, had the horses they lost in the cave. Without even looking at the price, he bought them back and mounted his horse, giving the merchant the address of the inn so he could go and drop off the rest. He rode quickly along the road, but when he realized that even if he pushed his horse to its limit, he would not arrive in time, he decided to open a portal that would take him to the site of the trap.

It wasn't such a blatant lie. The only unrealistic part was the last bit, but his friends didn't know enough about the mechanics of magic to realize that opening a portal in an unknown location was virtually impossible without risking falling out of the sky or several meters underground.

There were more questions after that, mainly about who the guys he was talking about were. Kenma tried to give descriptions that were credible yet vague, but he failed to appease the curiosity of his teammates, who insisted on trying to piece together a non-existent puzzle to identify the mysterious men. Until Iwaizumi interrupted.

“I don't think the identity of those spies is relevant now. Considering that the plan was discovered, they must be miles away from the city,” said Iwaizumi. He stuck his claymore into the ground and leaned on it. “Our priority now is to find the weapon, and soon. Oikawa is not the type to give up easily. We can't risk exposing ourselves and falling into another trap.”

And just as it had begun, the matter was settled for the time being. The others informed Kenma on their findings and the entire visit to Master Ukai.

Despite his initial grumpiness at the unexpected visit, the librarian ended up giving them useful information. The sword did indeed exist and was used to slay demons, but its “magic” lay in the stone embedded in its hilt. Nicknamed “the Eye of the Beast,” it had passed through many hands over the millennia, which is why myths about it existed in various kingdoms. 

The vessel was usually a sword for convenience, but this was not a strict requirement. There were stories where the stone was embedded in the tip of an arrow or inside a metal flail. The important thing was that the weapon was capable of piercing the target, as the “demonic energy” was concentrated inside the body, close to the user's heart. The only requirement was for the weapon to be strong enough to withstand the power of the stone, something that a master blacksmith could achieve with the right materials and technique.

The last recorded sighting of the Beast's Eye had been in the Shiratorizawa mountain range, more than a thousand years ago. After a unanimous agreement among the various kingdoms, it was decided to take the stone to the kingdom of Shiratorizawa for safekeeping. However, despite forming a troop of the best soldiers to cross the mountains, they were wiped out by wild orcs on a moonless night and the stone was lost. The only survivor had been an ancestor of Master Ukai. 

Since then, no one had seen it again, and it had become a myth. It was probably still in the hands of the orcs, hidden somewhere in the heart of the mountain in their lair.

After the conversation and the group's obvious intentions to continue their mission despite the danger, Ukai reluctantly gave them a map of the mountain range, where he marked the possible location of the attack. It wasn't much, but it was a starting point for the search.

With all the excitement of finally having a clue as to where to find the weapon, no one brought up the subject of Kenma’s heroic entrance or the logistics behind it again. Kenma noticed a certain doubt in Iwaizumi's eyes at the time, but, as Kuroo said, he didn't say a word. Anyway, he made a mental note to talk to him later.

The group decided to leave for the mountains that same day. They packed their few belongings and loaded their horses with provisions for a couple of weeks' journey, the estimated time it would take them to reach the foot of the mountains. There was a small village there, home to a master blacksmith, an old acquaintance of Ukai's whose ancestor had also been involved in the murdered troop.

In the end, the journey turned out to be longer than expected, as they camped far from the usual routes for fear of being discovered and attacked by Oikawa's henchmen. Those wearing armor decided to smear it with mud to hide its shine, while more distinctive weapons, such as Iwaizumi's broadsword, were wrapped in rags. They bought earth-colored cloaks to stand out less and blend in with the terrain. They even tried to change Hinata's hair color with magic, but the mana drain to maintain it for a long period of time was too much, and Hinata himself came up with the idea of using ash to hide the orange color.

At night, they left one of the group on guard while the others slept, with a change of guard in the middle of the night. To reinforce security, Kenma began to place a magic shield around the camp. It was a simple, almost invisible barrier that vibrated slightly when touched by something alive. It was not meant to stop attacks, but to alert them if someone approached.

Although he tried to feed it with the mana from the environment, it diminished as they advanced and the earth grew colder. So Kenma had to use his own to keep it active. It consumed little, but it was enough to cause him insomnia and a slight, constant migraine. However, despite how annoying it was, he tried not to say anything about it. He was more terrified by the idea of worrying his friends, who would insist on finding a more rudimentary way to do the same thing, than by his exhaustion. Perhaps Iwaizumi would have proposed a system of strings and bells to achieve something similar, but it wasn't as safe, nor did they have the necessary materials to do it successfully. And with Oikawa hot on their heels, that was not a risk Kenma was willing to take.

And it was during his guard duty, sitting on a high rock where he had a better view of the surroundings under the gaze of the stars, that Kenma's mind kept returning to the demon's sad expression.

Kuroo hadn't reappeared since that time. Not in such an obvious way, at least.

On more than one occasion, Kenma thought he could make out the demon’s silhouette among the shadows of the forest or at the end of the path as night fell. A couple of times while standing guard and sleep was overcoming him, he felt a ghostly touch that woke him up immediately. An almost imperceptible caress on his cheek or neck, soft as if someone were brushing a strand of hair away with their fingertips. So delicate that he would have liked to blame it on the night breeze, but it was difficult when, upon opening his eyes, he swore he saw the flash of Kuroo’s elongated smile out of the corner of his eye.

If the hallucinations were another consequence of fatigue, it escaped him. Although, knowing him as little as he did, the demon tormenting him sounded like something he would do for his own entertainment.

The same question remained. Why go to so much trouble to help them? No matter how much he analyzed the situation, he couldn't see the benefit in doing all this. Maybe it was just for fun and had no hidden meaning, and they were just lucky that it was to their advantage. Maybe Kuroo was elusive to logic by nature, with no mysteries to solve.

Even so, certain pieces still didn't fit. The excessive confidence, the inappropriate comments, the sadness that never disappeared from the depths of his gaze. Kenma was sure he didn't know him from before; he found it difficult to imagine himself capable of forgetting someone so out of the ordinary.

In his life before becoming a demon, perhaps? Just as Oikawa was once human, perhaps Kuroo was too. Perhaps they had met at some point and the transformation had changed him beyond recognition. Considering that he was unaware of the nature of demonic magic, something like that could be possible.

If it weren't for the mana.

One of the first lessons in sorcery was that the mana of living and inanimate beings was impossible to alter. No matter how much you change throughout your life or try to alter your appearance, mana remains. It gives you away, like a fingerprint or iris. The life energy most similar to the concept of the soul, which made every creature and rock unique. That which differentiates between the ‘I’ and ‘them’.

The only case that came to mind where this could change was in necromancy, where the sorcerer used his mana to possess a corpse and turn it into his puppet. In any case, Kuroo did not have the characteristics of an undead. He had too much personality and sparkle behind his eyes, compared to the empty shells that resulted from necromancy.

He didn't recognize the demon's mana, not even a little. In fact, it went beyond not recognizing it: if he tried to perceive it with magic, when he touched him, he found a strange void. Never in his years of training had he encountered anything like this. Not even in books. A blank abyss, where one would expect to find something, but there was no trace of what should have been there.

Like something that had been uprooted and eliminated from existence.

“Kozume.”

Iwaizumi's voice startled Kenma, almost causing him to fall off the rock where he had sat down to keep watch.

The path crossed an almost deserted valley, where the wooded landscape was gradually replaced by rock and solitary trees, so they decided to take a detour and camp high up. After walking for half an hour, they found a rock ledge flat enough to set up camp. At the back of it, there was also a stone wall that cut at a right angle for a couple of meters and could be climbed up one side, leading to a summit a couple of meters high that became a lookout point with a perfect view of the valley.

At the foot of the rock, the knight watched him with a serious expression, his silhouette illuminated by the light of the full moon. He wore a scarf covering half his face, with only the tip of his nose peeking out, stained red from the bite of the cold. He did not carry a torch, in accordance with the agreement they had made so as not to expose the guard posts.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” said Iwaizumi, preparing to climb the rock.

“Nevermind,” Kenma murmured as he stood up and extended his staff toward his companion. “I was just thinking. Nothing important.”

Iwaizumi made an affirmative sound in his throat and took the tip of the cane. Kenma dug his heels into the rock and pulled with all his might, almost feeling his soul leave his body as the knight climbed up. When he reached the top, Kenma had to lean on his staff and take a moment to catch his breath. Despite the long journey, his physical endurance was still low.

“You'd better go to camp soon,” Iwaizumi said as he pulled his scarf down a little to speak. He adjusted the breastplate of his armor, the clink of metal filling the quiet night. “From here on out, the journey will be harder, so it's best to take advantage of the rest now.”

“Mm.”

Kenma adjusted his own scarf and hood, shivering as the freezing wind hit his ears. The idea of ending up with frostbite was unappealing. If it weren't for the fact that it would give away their position, he would have lit a fire hours ago.

“Report?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Kenma said. “A couple of hares and an owl. Otherwise, just rocks.”

“In the morning, it would be best to try to hunt a little,” Iwaizumi commented. “The mountain people are always willing to trade provisions. Their way of life is probably nothing like what you know.”

“I know a little from the journals of adventurers who passed through there,” he replied. “Survival of the fittest.”

“Actually, it's more about community life,” he corrected. “Cooperating so that the group survives over the individual.”

Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze lost somewhere in the darkness of the landscape.

“When I quit, I crossed the mountain range to lose Oikawa's squad that was following me. I went through the lowest part, quite far away and safer than where we are now,” he said grimly. “If I hadn't come across a settlement and been welcomed with open arms, I would have died. Shiratorizawa is unforgiving.”

The prince nodded. His mind returned to his last encounter with the demon, to that sad smile. He lowered his head and glanced sideways at his companion. Perhaps it was time to bring up the subject.

“Hey, Iwaizumi, I...” Kenma began, pulling his hood down to hide his face. “I wanted to ask you something, or, well, about someone.”

“Is this about Kuroo?”

His heart sank, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. He felt his blood rush to his feet and then rush back up to his head, the white turning to chaos.

How did Iwaizumi know about Kuroo? He had been careful to keep his stories consistent and not mention him at all. And as far as he knew, the demon hadn't tried to approach other members of the group either. If that were the case, he would have told him by now.

Was he spying on him, perhaps? Iwaizumi didn't seem like the type of person who would resort to such tactics, always opting for more direct methods. Besides, he had only met Kuroo twice, and if anyone else had seen them, he would know. He was always on high alert when he was with Kuroo, so any outside presence would not have gone unnoticed. Or so he thought.

Did that mean he considered him a traitor? It was the most likely conclusion. Interacting with the enemy and lying about it to cover up those encounters—there was no way to justify it. The punishment for traitors was clear in all cultures. Burn the weeds before they poisoned the rest of the field.

Was he just waiting to be alone with him to execute him?

“Hey,” Iwaizumi gave him a firm slap on the back, which knocked the little air that had managed to enter his lungs out of him. “Breathe. I'm not going to give you the death penalty for this.”

Kenma looked at the ground, leaning on his staff to keep from falling. He forced himself to take a deep breath, feeling the air burn his throat and lungs. He opened and closed his lips a couple of times, gasping like a fish. He searched his mind desperately for the right words, but all the excuses he could think of felt out of place or downright stupid.

If he himself didn't understand the reason for his actions, how could he justify them to others?

“How...? How did you...?”

“I've seen him a couple of times prowling around at night, when you're asleep,” explained the knight. “Sometimes he manages to cross the magical barrier, other times he doesn't. I'm not sure how he does it, but I guess you notice it.”

For a moment, panic was replaced by confusion and then by the flame of anger. The supposed hallucinations, the restless dreams. Kenma frowned. Now more than ever, he would have liked to slit his throat.

“At first, I thought he was trying to do something to you, so I approached to prevent it, but he just watched you sleep for a while and then disappeared,” he continued, shrugging. “Since no one attacked us, and you seemed fine, I assumed that at least you knew him and knew about the whole thing.”

“No,” Kenma mumbled. “I know him... But I had no idea he was doing that.”

There was a brief silence before Kenma spoke again.

“I mean, I don't know, know him, you know,” he corrected himself. “He was the one who tried to kill me in the cave and then saved me. He was also the one who warned me about the trap.”

Iwaizumi made an affirmative sound. The only thing that was visible from the camp was the faint embers of what had been the campfire. The rest was pitch black.

“I suppose you waited all this time to ask me about him in private, am I right?”

Kenma nodded, still staring at the ground. The knight sighed and closed his eyes. He remained silent for a long minute before looking up. His brown eyes reflected the lights of the sky like a mirror.

“Kuroo... He's always been a weird guy,” Iwaizumi said in a serious tone. He crossed his arms over his chest, his armor clinking. “About seven years ago, Oikawa found him after a raid on an orc village. They had him chained up, working as a slave. He was the only one still alive.”

The knight shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he had remembered something unpleasant.

“After rescuing him, he swore allegiance and has served Seijoh ever since. Well, he serves Oikawa, actually. Now he's captain,“ he continued. ”When he learned of the pact, he asked Oikawa to grant him demonic power to become a sorcerer. Since he wasn't so deranged at the time, Oikawa allowed it and took him in as a pupil. All the magic he knows is thanks to Oikawa.”

Kenma finally dared to raise his head and looked at his companion.

“What about his past?”

“I don't think even Oikawa himself knows. The story is always different whenever someone asks him about it," Iwaizumi said, shrugging. “Sometimes he's a prince expelled from his kingdom by an evil uncle, other times he's the right-hand man of a king who was assassinated by a rebel faction. Once he even said he came from another world, condemned by a deity to walk among mortals.”

The knight snorted and shook his head.

“He's probably just another nobody,” Iwaizumi shrugged. “Maybe if you ask him, he'll tell you a little more. Who knows.”

Kenma looked down at the valley, instinctively searching for the stone around his neck to cling to it. Kuroo, prowling around at night, watching him sleep. Coming in and out of the barrier as if it were nothing. The logical thing would have been to feel at least disturbed, to want to confront him and cut his throat for playing with his peace of mind like that, but that wasn't the case.

In reality, a strange feeling tangled inside his chest, as if his organs had been ripped out and put back in, but upside down.

“Kozume,” Iwaizumi called, placing a hand on his shoulder. Kenma turned to look at him. “I know it can be uncomfortable, but—”

“You want me to keep in touch with Kuroo for our own benefit?” he guessed.

The knight looked at him in surprise before nodding.

“His help could mean the difference between reaching Oikawa's castle or dying on the way,” Iwaizumi said. “If it's too hard, you can quit anytime. I wouldn't ask you to do this if it weren't necessary.”

“I understand, don't worry,” Kenma assured him. “I also think he could be a strategic asset.”

“I'm glad we're on the same page,” said the knight. “Let's keep this between us, okay? I think it will be easier for everyone.”

Iwaizumi patted him on the back twice and, for the first time all night, smiled. Not knowing what else to say, Kenma just nodded and turned to descend.

On the way back to camp, the prince continued to fiddle with the stone hanging around his neck, as his mind returned again and again to Kuroo's expression. Somehow, the emptiness in his chest seemed to grow tighter and tighter.

Maybe some mysteries were not meant to be solved.