CHAPTER 88: CHAOS, CRIMSON, AND PAPERWORK

[Leif’s POV — Leif’s Chamber—Present Day]

The fire crackled softly in the corner of the room, shadows dancing across the stone walls. Alvar’s arms were a quiet fortress around me, his warmth grounding me back into reality.

"So..." I murmured, voice still hoarse, "now everyone knows that Zephyy is a dragon?"

He exhaled, smoothing the blanket over my legs with careful fingers. "Yes. But only the people of Frojnholm. The rest of the empire still believes he’s a very... spoiled cat."

A tiny, tired laugh escaped me. "Thank god for that."

His hands came up, cupping my face—thumbs brushing my cheeks in a gesture far too gentle for a man who ruled armies. His eyes, cool as moonlit tides, held something that looked painfully close to fear.

"Leif... can you tell me what happened that day?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Nick said your heart stopped."

My breath hitched. "Stopped?"

He nodded once, jaw tightening. "Yes. For a moment, it was as if something inside you rejected life itself... as if you were being pulled away from us."

A chill slithered down my spine. The memory hit—The pain. The crushing pressure. The darkness swallowing me whole. And before that—The white realm. The old woman with eyes that glowed like dying stars.

"The marble, my child... keep it safe."

I jolted upright, looking around frantically—pillows, sheets, blankets—

"What are you searching for?" Alvar asked, alarm edging his voice.

"A marble!" I rasped. "She gave me a marble!"

He blinked, confused. "Marble?"

I nodded vigorously. "Yes! Crimson. Bright. I—where—"

Alvar’s gaze flicked to my chest. "Do you mean the one hanging beneath your shirt?"

"My shirt?" I mumbled and looked down.

Sure enough—a silver chain glimmered against my collarbone. My fingers shook as I tugged it free. The marble slid into view. Not just red. A deep, living crimson—like molten blood swirling behind glass. It pulsed faintly, as if it had its own heartbeat.

Alvar frowned. "I assumed you purchased it or... someone gifted it. Am I wrong?"

I didn’t answer immediately. Because the truth was unsettling. I didn’t have this before. She—whoever she was—put it there. I tightened my grip around the marble, heart pounding. I could feel something inside it—like a caged storm, restless and angry and I am not dumb enough to realize that...it’s all related to real leif.

A shiver crawled up my arms.

The real Leif... What had he endured in this body before I arrived? What torment carved itself so deeply that even death couldn’t erase it?

Everything was connected:My arrival. This body. This marble. The heart that refuses to stay calm. Someone summoned me here. Someone wanted me in his place.

Who? And more terrifying—why?

I glanced up at Alvar, his expression etched with worry.

Should I tell him? I parted my lips to speak... then stopped.

No. Not yet.

If this marble ties to the truth—about him, about me—I can’t risk anyone knowing. Not until I understand what force I’ve stepped into.

So I forced a smile. A lie in the shape of reassurance.

"Alvar... I just... I want to sleep a little more," I murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

His eyes lingered on me, sharp and searching, but slowly a gentle smile curved his lips. He patted the bed beside him. "Then sleep, my love. Come here."

I allowed myself to sink into his warmth, curling against him. His arms wrapped around me like a shield, steady and grounding, and for a moment, the weight of everything—the marble, the visions, the lingering fear—slid to the edges of my mind.

But the marble pulsed cold against my chest, a faint, insistent heartbeat against mine...as if it were warning me.

The truth is waking. And it won’t stay hidden for long.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my cheek against his chest.

***

[The Next Day—Frojnholm]

Alvar had to leave for the capital city—duty called, unavoidable and relentless. I sighed, watching him leave with a small wave, trying to keep the ache of absence from showing.

"NICK!!!!!!" I shouted, spotting him across the courtyard.

His head snapped up, eyes wide—and then they brimmed with tears. He ran toward me, stumbling over his own feet in his hurry.

DRIP!

Tears streaked down his face as he wrapped me in a desperate hug.

"My lord..." he choked out, trembling. "I... I was scared. I thought... I... I..." He hiccuped violently, burying his face in my chest.

I patted his back, trying to soothe him. "There, there, my dear Nick... everything is fine. I’m fine."

He nodded while sniffling, eyes red and watery. But before I could calm one soul—

"MASTERRRRRRRRR!!!!!!"

Something blue and fluffy shot through the air and landed right on my face.

"ACK—ZEPHYY!"

Zephyr clung to my head like a very emotional hat. "Master! How could you faint like that! We were terrified! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"You don’t have to launch yourself like that," I muttered, peeling him off gently. "And I told you, I’m fine."

Of course, that declaration doomed me. Because the moment I showed my face to everyone else...

My crimson babies—every last one of those oversized Crimson packs—came running (well, galloping and running) toward me.

They licked my face. My hair. My clothes. My soul. They licked my cheeks enthusiastically, their little claws padding my chest. The knights and servants followed behind, visibly emotional, eyes glistening.

Baron Sigurd wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and stepped forward.

"My lord... we are glad you’re well. So... now..." His voice dropped, eyes hardening into an almost comically flat expression.

"IT’S TIME TO WORK, MY LORD!!!!"

. . .

. . .

"Eh?"

Baron Sigurd raised a clipboard like it was a sword. "You’ve been away for many weeks. The paperwork has evolved into a monster."

I froze. "I’m still unwell," I tried weakly. "Mentally. Emotionally. Spiritually."

"Eryndor said you’re perfectly fine."

"Eryndor’s a liar!"

Baron didn’t even blink. "Then you can work while lying down."

"BARON, HAVE MERCY! and...I DON’T FEEL LIKE—"

"You STILL have to work!" Baron cut me off again, his voice slicing through my excuse like a sword through soft bread.

I just... stared at him. Dumbfounded. Completely betrayed.

He reminded me, horrifyingly, of my old manager from my past life—the one who used to smile sweetly while emailing me ’urgent tasks’ at 11:59 p.m.

I could almost hear his ghost whisper, ’Just a few more spreadsheets, Renji.’

"Am I... still the lord of this land?" I asked weakly.

Baron nodded, grave and calm. "Yes, my lord. That’s precisely why you have to work."

. . .

I blinked slowly. "Ah. I. See. I. Will. Get. Up."

I said it like a robot whose soul had been freshly extracted by capitalism. And that’s how I was dragged—no, droned—back into the endless abyss of paperwork and diplomacy.

***

[Weeks Later—Leif’s Office]

Sir Roland stood before me, reading through a scroll with a furrowed brow.

"Huh? Flood?" I asked, blinking.

He nodded gravely. "Yes, my lord. It seems the village of Raventon, under the Kingdom of Velgard, has been struck by severe rainfall. They sent a plea for aid this morning."

"Velgard?" I leaned back in my chair. "That’s our western neighbor, right?"

"Yes, my lord."

I frowned, rubbing my temple. "And they’re asking us for help? Roland, you do remember that Velgard and we nearly went to war last year with another kingdom over a sheep, right?"

He coughed awkwardly. "...It was a very important sheep, my lord."

"Important or not, we can’t just go marching into their territory with supplies and banners of goodwill," I said firmly. "That’s basically asking for a diplomatic migraine. If we interfere, the Velgard court will accuse us of overstepping."

"You’re correct," Roland admitted, glancing at the letter again. "However, according to the message, the king of Velgard has... abandoned Raventon. The flood destroyed the roads, and no reinforcements or supplies have been sent. The villagers are trapped."

My expression softened slightly. "So, they’ve been left to drown because their king couldn’t care less."

Roland nodded grimly. "Yes, my lord. It seems they reached out to us because Frojnholm is the closest territory with stable ground and trade routes. If we don’t act, hundreds may perish."

I sighed, leaning my chin on my hand. "Of course. The one time I try to avoid trouble, tragedy comes knocking with a guilt-tripping letter."

Zephyy, perched on my shoulder, tilted his head. "So what will you do, Master?"

I slumped back in my chair, palms up. "If we help them, they might see it as interference and attack us. If we don’t help, hundreds could die. Either way I lose sleep and gain enemies."

Silence. Even the crimson pups seemed to sense the question and paused mid-lick.

I looked at Sir Roland. "What do you suggest, Captain?"

Roland didn’t blink. "There is a solution, my lord."

"And what is that?"

He said it as if he were reading the weather report. "Make Raventon part of our territory."

". . ."

The room went quiet long enough for a crayon to drop.

"Are... are you suggesting we take over that village? You mean—war?" My voice sounded small and accusatory, like a child accusing a baker of selling stale croissants.

"Yes, my lord," He said without batting an eye.

Zephyy blinked in surprise. "He’s suggesting we steal a village like it’s a pastry."