Reinhardt didn't return straight to his quarters after his quiet meeting with Jaesper. The court physician had finally whispered the information he needed—the blood packs were not stored in the royal infirmary as he had assumed but locked away in the Northern Tower, under the watch of the palace physicians. That was where the King's personal supplies and restricted medicines were kept.
His mission tonight was clear. Secure the blood packs, collect as many potions as possible, and then get Jaesper safely out of the palace. If he moved quickly, they could be riding toward Vaelthorn before nightfall.
The corridor leading to the Northern Tower was empty but cold. Torches flickered weakly against the stone walls. He could see two guards posted at the heavy oak door ahead, their spears crossed casually as they chatted.
Reinhardt melted into the shadow of an alcove, his cloak drawn tight around his shoulders. He waited, listening to their footsteps, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. Minutes stretched. At last, a bell sounded from somewhere deeper in the palace—mealtime, perhaps—and the two guards moved off down the stairway, their conversation fading.
"Good," Reinhardt murmured under his breath. "No witnesses."
With deliberate, soundless steps, he crossed the hall and slipped into the tower. The smell of old herbs and dried blood hit him immediately. Tall shelves lined the circular room, stacked with vials, sealed flasks, bundles of bandages, and potion bottles labeled in fine physician's script. Against the far wall sat several small iron crates bearing the royal crest—the blood packs.
He moved quickly, scanning labels, choosing not only human blood but several rarer types, just in case. Into his travel bag went the blood packs, high-grade healing potions, and a few antidotes. He had no time to be selective.
Jaesper would meet him in his room that afternoon. Everything had to be ready before then.
Tying the bag shut, Reinhardt turned and slipped back out, pulling the door closed behind him. He kept his head down as he moved through the corridor, his mind already racing through the next steps of the escape.
But just as he rounded a corner, he almost collided with someone.
"Ah—!" The girl gasped, staggering back.
It was Lucy. Her uniform was rumpled, the white apron slightly torn. A faint bruise marred the side of her neck, and her sleeves did little to hide darker marks on her arms. For a moment both of them froze.
Reinhardt's sharp eyes took in everything. The trembling of her fingers as she smoothed her apron. The quick glance at the heavy bag slung over his shoulder.
"I—I'm sorry, Your Highness," she stammered, lowering her head. "I wasn't looking where I was going." She hastily fixed her attire, as if she could erase the evidence of what had just happened to her.
Reinhardt shifted the bag behind him instinctively, voice calm but clipped. "It's all right. Watch where you're going next time." He stepped to move past her.
But Lucy didn't move. She stared at his retreating back, biting her lip until it nearly bled. Something inside her cracked. She had been silent for so long, but she could no longer keep it in.
"Y–Your Highness…" Her voice trembled.
Reinhardt stopped mid-step. Slowly, he turned to face her.
Lucy's eyes darted between his face and the floor. She looked terrified—like a cornered animal—but also desperate. "Can… Can I come with you?"
Reinhardt's brows twitched, just a fraction. He understood immediately. Stanford's words from that morning, the mocking boast about his "new maid," flashed through his mind. He clenched his jaw.
"What do you mean?" His tone was sharp, not cruel but commanding, demanding clarity.
Lucy's hands twisted the edge of her apron. "I… I can't stay here anymore." Her voice cracked, almost a whisper. "Please."
He stared at her. Time was precious—Jaesper was waiting, Kael was dying. Taking Lucy along would be reckless. She was Stanford's maid, and if she vanished, suspicion would fall instantly. His entire plan could collapse.
But as he watched her trembling figure, the bruises on her skin, something cold and ugly burned in his chest. This palace had always been rotten. Now its stench was choking him.
He tightened his grip on the bag, the leather creaking under his fingers. His mind raced. He wanted to save the girl, but every instinct warned him of the risk.
"Do you even understand what you're asking?" Reinhardt's voice was low, dangerous, his eyes locking onto hers. "If you follow me, there is no coming back. You'll be branded a traitor. You'll lose everything."
Lucy swallowed hard but raised her chin just a little. "I've already lost everything, Your Highness."
The corridor fell silent except for the sound of distant footsteps and the faint crackle of torches.
Reinhardt exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as he weighed his next move.
-----------------------------------------
Lucy stood frozen in the doorway of Reinhardt's chambers, unable to speak. She had followed him through the maze of corridors, clutching the borrowed cloak he had thrown over her shoulders. The scent of his perfume still clung faintly to the fabric, and for the first time in years she felt shielded from the filthy hands of the palace.
Her breath caught when she saw who was waiting inside.
A tall, sharp-eyed half-elf stood by the window, pale fingers adjusting the clasps of a leather satchel. His long ears were decorated with small silver rings, and the faint glow of old runes pulsed along the cuffs of his sleeves. Everyone in the capital knew his face. Jaesper, the notorious alchemist.
Reinhardt closed the door firmly behind her. Without a word, he slung the heavy bag onto the table where Jaesper was already laying out vials and rolled parchments.
Jaesper looked up, his mismatched eyes glinting. "The medicines I sent you last night weren't enough?" His tone was dry but not unkind, as though they were discussing weather instead of smuggling contraband out of the royal palace.
"No." Reinhardt stripped off his formal coat and reached for his travelling robe, his movements brisk, controlled. "Kael's condition is worse than we thought. He's losing blood faster than the healers can replace it."
Jaesper's gaze flicked to the bag. "You took everything?"
"Everything that mattered." Reinhardt glanced at Lucy briefly. "We don't have time."
He pulled another robe from the wardrobe and tossed it to her. "Put that on."
She caught it clumsily, startled. "M–Me?"
"Cover yourself," Reinhardt ordered, tightening the straps of his boots. "You stand out like that. We leave before the King notices I'm gone."
Lucy wrapped herself in the robe without protest, heart hammering. The fabric was heavy and warm, smelling faintly of cedar. She couldn't believe what was happening. A day ago she had been a nameless maid at Prince Stanford's mercy. Now she was in Prince Reinhardt's room, preparing to run away from the palace itself.
Jaesper had already unfurled a huge sheet of parchment across the floor. Its surface was blank at first, but as he began to draw, glowing alchemical symbols blossomed beneath his quill—spirals of ink that shimmered like molten silver.
"You didn't say we were taking passengers," Jaesper remarked, nodding toward Lucy without looking up.
"She's coming." Reinhardt's voice was final.
Lucy's fingers clenched the edge of the robe tighter, but she stayed silent. She didn't dare speak or ask where they were going. It was enough to follow his command.
Jaesper's hand moved with practiced speed, his hair falling over his face as he inscribed the last rune. "This is going to be a bit dizzy," he warned, standing and shaking the ink off his fingers. "We'll arrive just beyond the Northern Gate. From there we head to Vaelthorn."
Lucy's heart leapt. The Northern Gate… They're really running away.
Reinhardt gave one last look around his chamber, checking for anything incriminating. "Good. Do it."
Jaesper pressed his palm to the center of the parchment. The runes flared to life, bathing the room in white light. A low hum filled the air, making the glass in the windows tremble.
Lucy swallowed hard as the floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She glanced at Reinhardt, who stood firm, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other gripping the bag of stolen medicine.
The light brightened, searing and absolute.
Then the world dissolved.
Everything—the walls, the bed, the floor—vanished into a storm of white, as though the palace itself had been erased. The last thing Lucy saw was Reinhardt's steady profile in the glow, before the pull of the alchemy yanked them all into nothingness.
Lucy stood frozen in the doorway of Reinhardt's chambers, unable to speak. She had followed him through the maze of corridors, clutching the borrowed cloak he had thrown over her shoulders. The scent of his perfume still clung faintly to the fabric, and for the first time in years she felt shielded from the filthy hands of the palace.
Her breath caught when she saw who was waiting inside.
A tall, sharp-eyed half-elf stood by the window, pale fingers adjusting the clasps of a leather satchel. His long ears were decorated with small silver rings, and the faint glow of old runes pulsed along the cuffs of his sleeves. Everyone in the capital knew his face. Jaesper, the notorious alchemist.
Reinhardt closed the door firmly behind her. Without a word, he slung the heavy bag onto the table where Jaesper was already laying out vials and rolled parchments.
Jaesper looked up, his mismatched eyes glinting. "The medicines I sent you last night weren't enough?" His tone was dry but not unkind, as though they were discussing weather instead of smuggling contraband out of the royal palace.
"No." Reinhardt stripped off his formal coat and reached for his travelling robe, his movements brisk, controlled. "Kael's condition is worse than we thought. He's losing blood faster than the healers can replace it."
Jaesper's gaze flicked to the bag. "You took everything?"
"Everything that mattered." Reinhardt glanced at Lucy briefly. "We don't have time."
He pulled another robe from the wardrobe and tossed it to her. "Put that on."
She caught it clumsily, startled. "M–Me?"
"Cover yourself," Reinhardt ordered, tightening the straps of his boots. "You stand out like that. We leave before the King notices I'm gone."
Lucy wrapped herself in the robe without protest, heart hammering. The fabric was heavy and warm, smelling faintly of cedar. She couldn't believe what was happening. A day ago she had been a nameless maid at Prince Stanford's mercy. Now she was in Prince Reinhardt's room, preparing to run away from the palace itself.
Jaesper had already unfurled a huge sheet of parchment across the floor. Its surface was blank at first, but as he began to draw, glowing alchemical symbols blossomed beneath his quill—spirals of ink that shimmered like molten silver.
"You didn't say we were taking passengers," Jaesper remarked, nodding toward Lucy without looking up.
"She's coming." Reinhardt's voice was final.
Lucy's fingers clenched the edge of the robe tighter, but she stayed silent. She didn't dare speak or ask where they were going. It was enough to follow his command.
Jaesper's hand moved with practiced speed, his hair falling over his face as he inscribed the last rune. "This is going to be a bit dizzy," he warned, standing and shaking the ink off his fingers. "We'll arrive just beyond the Northern Gate. From there we head to Vaelthorn."
Lucy's heart leapt. The Northern Gate… They're really running away.
Reinhardt gave one last look around his chamber, checking for anything incriminating. "Good. Do it."
Jaesper pressed his palm to the center of the parchment. The runes flared to life, bathing the room in white light. A low hum filled the air, making the glass in the windows tremble.
Lucy swallowed hard as the floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She glanced at Reinhardt, who stood firm, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other gripping the bag of stolen medicine.
The light brightened, searing and absolute.
Then the world dissolved.
Everything—the walls, the bed, the floor—vanished into a storm of white, as though the palace itself had been erased. The last thing Lucy saw was Reinhardt's steady profile in the glow, before the pull of the alchemy yanked them all into nothingness.
The world reformed around them with a deafening rush of wind. In the blink of an eye, Reinhardt's chamber was gone. Instead, a bitter cold struck Lucy's cheeks like knives. She staggered, clutching the heavy robe tighter around her thin body. Snow whipped at her boots, the air raw with winter.
They stood in the middle of a vast, frozen field. In the distance, a wall of grey stone loomed against the swirling snow—the Northern Gate, the legendary border stronghold separating the capital from the northern wilds. Its towers rose like spears into the pale sky, flags snapping in the wind.
Jaesper adjusted his cloak, his pointed ears twitching from the cold. "Well," he muttered, exhaling a plume of white breath, "that was smoother than I expected."
Reinhardt scanned their surroundings, sharp eyes searching for movement. No alarms. No patrols. He gave a curt nod. "We made it." Then his tone hardened. "Move. We have to reach the gate before anyone notices the teleportation signature."
Lucy stumbled after him, boots crunching into the deep snow. She had never been so far north, never seen walls so tall. Her heart thudded with a mix of fear and awe. He really brought me out… I'm free…
The snow was thick, swallowing their steps. Reinhardt's boots left deep prints, but his pace did not falter. He glanced back only once, to make sure Lucy was keeping up. Jaesper trudged silently beside them, carrying the satchel of stolen potions as though it weighed nothing.
At last they reached the towering iron gates. Guards in heavy fur-lined armor manned the ramparts, spears gleaming, the crest of Vaelthorn etched on their breastplates.
Reinhardt drew the insignia from his belt—a small, gold-plated crest bearing the mark of the royal house—and held it up. "Prince Reinhardt Alvis von Emestrild," he said, his voice cutting through the wind. "Open the gate."
The guards stiffened. One immediately signaled, and the iron doors groaned as they swung inward. Snow swirled through the opening like a pale curtain.
"Your Highness," one of the guards said, bowing deeply. "We did not expect you here." His eyes flicked curiously to Lucy and Jaesper but he dared not question.
Before stepping through, Reinhardt paused. "Has the Hero Campaign passed through here?" His voice was sharp, almost a demand.
The guard straightened. "Yes, Your Highness. They arrived three days ago and are currently at Duke Elric's estate."
A flicker of tension left Reinhardt's jaw. He gave a short nod. "Good." Then louder, his voice brooking no delay: "Send word to the Duke. Tell her I am coming. And take us there immediately."
"Yes, Your Highness!" The guards saluted and began clearing a path through the snow-choked courtyard. Another rushed forward to take the satchel from Jaesper, but the half-elf shifted slightly, keeping it to himself, and the guard thought better of it.
Lucy stayed close to Reinhardt, clutching the edges of his robe. She had never seen soldiers move so quickly at a single command. For the first time she understood—truly understood—the difference between Stanford's petty cruelty and Reinhardt's quiet, commanding power.
Reinhardt glanced at her briefly but said nothing. He only tightened his gloves against the cold and followed the guards through the opened gate, the snow swirling behind them like ghosts.