Chapter 474: 474

The woman’s brow arched, a clear expression of surprise etched on her delicate features. She had seen him, sensed his presence, his gaze piercing the distance. The sight of her, the unexpected encounter, sent a jolt through his demonic form, a strange mix of recognition and raw, primal hunger.

His demonic form, no longer content to stand amidst the ruins of the battle, surged with renewed purpose. The ground beneath his feet, the remnants of the dragon beast’s body, liquified into a grotesque paste of meat and blood, sinking into the ice. He launched himself into the sky, his demonic form propelling him upwards with explosive force, leaving a trail of dark, swirling energy in his wake.

He became a falling star, a crimson comet streaking across the frozen sky, his trajectory fixed on the distant mountain, the woman, and the strange, red wolf. His abandoned sword, lying amidst the wreckage, shuddered, responding to its master’s will. It pulsed with demonic energy, then propelled itself into the air, a dark, gleaming projectile following its owner’s path, a silent promise of violence or maybe something else.

The woman and the wolf exchanged a curious, almost perplexed look as the prince’s form, a fiery descent, drew nearer. The wolf, its red fur slightly ruffled, gave the woman a sidelong glance, a silent accusation.

The woman, noticing the look, tapped the wolf lightly on the head. “This wasn’t my fault,” she repeated, her voice calm.

The wolf, rubbing its head, grumbled, “You said watching the ’barbarian’ would be enlightening.”

The woman shifted her gaze, a faint trace of annoyance in her eyes. “The demonic scent was…unexpectedly potent. It piqued my interest.”

The prince, now almost upon them, brandished his enlarged odachi, the blade engulfed in swirling flames. He swung, the movement a clear, unyielding attempt to bisect the mountain and the woman along with it.

The woman remained seated, her posture unchanged. With a subtle gesture of her hand, a massive ice hand, formed from the mountain itself, rose to intercept the prince’s attack.

The clash of demonic flames and icy construct sent a shockwave through the mountain, a brief, violent eruption of steam and fractured ice. The prince, momentarily thrown off balance, landed heavily on the shattered ice, his demonic form still radiating intense heat. He stood, his gaze fixed on the woman and the wolf, his expression a mixture of surprise and intrigue.

He had expected fear, perhaps even a desperate attempt to flee. Instead, the woman remained seated, her posture composed, her expression a cool, almost clinical observation. The wolf, though its red fur bristled slightly, held its ground, its eyes fixed on the prince with a curious look.

The prince, his voice a low growl, addressed the woman. “You do not fear me?” he asked, his demonic form towering over her. “You should.”

He gestured towards the still-smoldering remnants of the ice hand. “Few can withstand my flames.”

His gaze swept over her, taking in her serene expression, the strange wolf at her side, and the almost unnatural calm that clung to the air around them like mist.

It was maddening.

Leiko wanted to see fear. No, he craved it. The sight of it, the scent of it, the taste of it in the air. His body had long been starved of such a feeling, and the people of Björn had never been able to provide it for him. His homeland and kin—those wild, reckless fools—felt no fear in his presence. No matter how he moved, no matter what shadows coiled around his form or how his voice dipped into something inhuman, they only ever met his actions with excitement, with challenge, with that damnable eagerness that mocked the hunger festering in his core.

Truly, a crazy bunch.

But here—here was an opportunity. The woman and her wolf should have given him what he desired. She should have been trembling, breath hitching, eyes wide with the unmistakable gleam of terror. And yet…

Nothing.

Leiko’s lips curled downward in the slightest frown, irritation flickering in his crimson gaze. He took a step forward, shadows rippling around his form like smoke, curling and dissipating as if reaching for something just out of grasp.

“Who are you, woman?” His voice was low, demanding, a blade dulled only slightly by his curiosity.

The woman—unbothered, unshaken—rose with a regal grace, lifting the hem of her dress ever so slightly as she dipped her head in a courtly manner. The movement was effortless, polished, and spoke of someone accustomed to standing before power without bending to it.

“I am Princess Lunara of the Werewolf Kingdom,” she said, her voice steady, her tone carrying a quiet strength.

For the first time, a flicker of caution passed through Leiko’s expression. It was subtle—a brief tightening of his jaw, a narrowing of his gaze—but it was there. His demonic form dissipated in an instant, the darkness retreating as his human guise took its place. Gone were the sharp, inhuman features and the smoldering glow of his eyes. Now, he stood before her with the bearing of a prince, shoulders squared, chest slightly puffed in a way that reeked of both habit and pride.

Lunara arched a brow at the familiar stance but said nothing at first. Instead, she turned slightly and gestured toward the wolf beside her.

“And the wolf at my side,” she continued, “is my friend, Nova.”

Nova, who had been watching in silence, let out an amused huff at the exchange. His golden eyes flickered between the two royals before rolling in exasperation.

Lunara’s gaze flicked back to Leiko, her expression unreadable. “And you?” she asked.

Royal training, ingrained from birth, took hold of him immediately. One arm crossed his chest in a formal gesture of respect.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Lunara,” he said smoothly, his voice shifting into the well-practiced cadence of nobility. “I am Leiko Björnson, Prince of the People of Björn.”

Silence.

The reaction wasn’t immediate, but Lunara’s eyes widened just slightly before she caught herself.

Nova, on the other hand, was far less composed. The wolf sat up, ears twitching as he gave Leiko a long, appraising look, then let out a dramatic sigh.

“Well, that’s her problem to deal with,” he muttered, standing up and turning away without a second thought. His tail swished once, lazily, as he padded off, leaving the princess alone with the prince whose presence had just become far more interesting than she’d anticipated.

While the prince and princess stood face to face, locked in their silent exchange, their guards were engaged in their own standoff high above them, just beneath the clouds that crowned the mountain peak.

The once-playful guards who had accompanied Leiko no longer bore their usual mischievous grins. Their expressions had hardened into something cold and unreadable, their glowing red eyes burning like embers against the sky. Gone was the carefree attitude they carried in their prince’s presence—now, they stood as warriors, their very presence radiating a quiet, simmering menace. Opposite them, the werewolf guards were just as unwavering, their stance just as disciplined. Behind them, dots of celestial light shimmered in the air, forming shifting constellations that pulsed in harmony with their magic.

A moment of stillness passed between them, charged with unspoken challenge. Then, breaking the quiet, one of the werewolf guards floated forward, a sleek magical device in hand. Its polished surface gleamed as he raised it, activating a pre-prepared transmission.

On the opposite side, mirroring his actions with precision, the captain of the prince’s guard stepped forth, holding an identical device. Without hesitation, both warriors channeled their mana into their respective artifacts.

A flicker. A hum of power.

In an instant, the translucent figures of their rulers materialized before them.

The image of Wulv, King of the Werewolf Kingdom, took form in the air, his imposing presence alone enough to command immediate reverence. His guard, without hesitation, bent the knee mid-air in absolute deference.

Simultaneously, from the opposing device, a regal figure adorned in ice-blue robes appeared—Yuki, sovereign of the People of Björn. Her presence was no less formidable, a folding fan delicately poised in her hand, partially veiling her expression. The moment she manifested, the prince’s guards followed suit, kneeling in perfect synchronization.

The tension of the moment shifted, replaced by a weightier silence as the two monarchs regarded each other.

Wulv stroked his chin thoughtfully, his keen blue eyes locking onto Yuki’s own cool gaze.

“This would be our second time meeting, Your Grace,” she said, her tone composed yet carrying a quiet undercurrent of amusement.

Wulv inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Indeed,” he mused, his voice deep and measured. “Though I must say, our positions are vastly different from our last encounter.”

Yuki’s lips curled ever so slightly, a knowing glint in her eyes as she tapped her fan lightly against her palm.

“Change,” she said smoothly, “is the natural occurrence of time.”

Wulv’s gaze drifted downward, his golden eyes momentarily leaving Yuki’s own. Curious, she followed his line of sight, though she already had an idea of what was on his mind.

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