Chapter 450: Chapter-450
The space where the Seventh Prince had just been bleeding on the floor was empty. A faint, dissipating swirl of blue aura and a few droplets of fresh blood on the broken wood were the only signs he had ever been there. He was gone. A hidden escape art, or outside intervention from a high-level sniper accomplice.
"Host!" the System’s voice pinged, urgent and sharp. "The Seventh Prince’s vital signals have vanished from the immediate perimeter! He has escaped using a high-grade spatial scroll!"
Heena stood perfectly still in the center of the silent hall, the dark cloak settling around her shoulders. She didn’t yell or curse. Slowly, she reached up, wiping the thin line of blood from her cheek with the back of her hand, looking at the crimson stain on her skin.
A slow, terrifyingly cold smile spread across her face.
"Escaped?" she whispered, her voice echoing in the quiet room as the 300 soldiers of the battalion watched her in absolute awe.
Heena stared down at the palm of her hand, flexing her fingers as the adrenaline slowly began to recede. The sheer force she had exerted during the confrontation was still humming through her muscles. She had pushed her physical limits tonight, yet as she processed the encounter, a series of cold, analytical realizations began to click into place.
First, the so-called terrifying "Regressor" was not nearly as formidable a combatant as she had initially anticipated. Stripped of his future knowledge and caught off-guard, his actual martial adaptability was sloppy. He relied heavily on raw power and rigid muscle memory, making him easy to read for someone with her elite combat instincts.
Secondly, the spatial disappearance didn’t make a lick of sense.
Heena frowned, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the empty space where the Prince had stood. This world did not possess magic, sorcery, or high-grade mystical scrolls. It was a world of steel, aura, and physical laws. A sudden teleportation anomaly meant there was a massive variable she had completely unaccounted for. She needed to investigate the mechanics of that escape, and she needed to do it immediately.
Thirdly, she felt a profound, sharp surge of annoyance. Her meticulously crafted plans had gone completely astray.
Worse, her hidden identity wouldn’t stay hidden for long. Nora was the only granddaughter and the sole heir to the Marquisate. A martial prodigy appearing out of nowhere to lead the Iron Convoy would inevitably draw the spotlight directly to her.
She was left with only two real paths moving forward:
* **Option One:** Surrender her anonymity, approach the Regressor, and attempt to work with him. But God only knew what kind of chaotic, unpredictable leverage he would try to hold over her in return.
* **Option Two:** Kill him.
Honestly? She didn’t literally like the idea of either. But if it came down to execution, she knew there were specific, definitive ways to kill a Regressor to ensure they never woke up in a past timeline again. Permanently severing a regression loop required absolute precision.
*’Looked like I need to go back home now,’* Heena thought, looking up at the high windows of the assembly hall. *’It’s getting late.’*
High above, perched on the dark shadows of the outermost roof ridge, a figure stood completely silent.
He wasn’t wearing the heavy armor or the ancient, traditional robes of this era. Instead, he wore a sleek, matte-black modern jumpsuit—a tactical sports suit that looked entirely out of place in this medieval fortress. He looked down through the shattered glass of the skylight, his eyes locked onto Heena’s distant figure.
A low, amused chuckle escaped his lips.
"As expected of my love," he murmured softly.
With a swift, imperceptible motion that defied the wind, he vanished into thin air, leaving absolutely no trace behind.
Down below, Heena’s head suddenly snapped toward the exact direction of the roof ridge. Her sharp instincts screamed that someone had been watching her. She stared intensely at the dark rafters and the open night sky, but there was no one there. The roof was entirely empty.
The lingering sensation of that missing presence prickled at the back of Heena’s neck, but she didn’t waste time staring at empty air.
She turned back to face the three hundred elite soldiers of the Iron Convoy.
The silence in the room was absolute. The veteran warriors looked at the young, masked woman with a mixture of profound shock and newfound reverence. She had just systematically dismantled a Royal Prince—a man fueled by a terrifying, monstrous aura—and had done so with a brutal, cold efficiency that made their own standard military training look like child’s play.
"Clean up the hall," Heena commanded, her voice cutting through the heavy silence with flawless authority. "The poison in the kitchens has been neutralized, but the Prince’s faction will realize his failure soon enough. Burn the shattered tables, secure the perimeter, and speak of tonight to absolutely no one. If anyone asks, the vanguard fell ill from bad rations. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Commander!" the front line roared in unison, slamming their fists against their breastplates. They didn’t care who was behind her mask anymore; she had saved their lives and proven her strength. That was the only currency that mattered in the Iron Convoy.
Satisfied, Heena slipped away before the chaos of the cleanup could sweep her up.
Leaving the fortress through the secure rear gate, she found Cart waiting for her in the shadows, his powerful black coat blending seamlessly with the night. The majestic stallion let out a low huff, tossing his mane as if asking what took her so long.
*[Host,]* the System’s voice chimed in, sounding completely frazzled as its digital blue screen flickered back into her vision.
"Calm down, you’re giving me a headache," Heena thought back, grabbing Cart’s reins and swinging herself into the saddle with fluid grace. "The ’how’ doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that my story is officially off the rails. A regressor who can magically teleport out of a sealed room."
She dug her heels into Cart’s sides, and the stallion surged forward into a powerful, silent gallop, leaving the secret mountain pass behind as they headed back toward the Marquisate. The cold night wind whipped past her face, clearing her mind.
If she wanted to permanently neutralize the Seventh Prince without triggering another regression cycle, she needed resources. She needed the ancient archives hidden in her grandfather’s study—the forbidden records of the Marcuset family that detailed the deep, forgotten mechanics of souls and temporal anchors.
More importantly, she needed to get back into her bed before her maids realized the sole heir to the estate had been missing for over twelve hours.
By the time the high, jagged stone walls of the Marcuset estate came into view, the first faint lines of dawn were beginning to bleed across the eastern horizon. Heena guided Cart into the hidden stable near the edge of the property, slipped inside through the unlocked window of her private chambers, and shed her heavy, blood-stained cloak.
"Host," the System’s voice suddenly cut through her thoughts, its digital screen blinking with absolute certainty. "I have re-analyzed the local perimeter logs from the moment you dodged the sniper’s arrow. The spatial signature left behind by the Seventh Prince was the only anomaly recorded. There was absolutely no one else inside or above the facility."
Heena stopped, her fingers freezing against the vanity mirror. She closed her eyes, mentally retracing the exact sequence of events.
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