Royal Reboot: Level up, Your Majesty!

Chapter 92: Trust Like Glass (1)

Trust Like Glass 1

Trust.

A fragile, reckless thing.

It wasn’t easily earned, yet it was, ironically, often given too freely by those too young to know better. Like sixteen-year-old Damien.

He’d shrugged off his father’s warnings again and again: never trust strangers, never trust those who move in shadow, and above all, never trust anyone who demands it. Damien called it prejudice. He wanted to be better, to be good, to prove himself worthy of the title First?Blade.

That night in the forest, while following his father on a routine hunt, he’d found her: curled beneath a twisted tree, shivering, black hair matted with blood. She never asked for help, but he’d given it anyway, foolishly, against his father’s refusal and against everything he had been taught.

He brought her home, cleaned her wounds, protected her. One act of misplaced mercy. For it, his house all but collapsed.

His family almost followed.

There were nights he still heard his younger brother’s cries, the hiss of violet flame that wasn’t fire but burned just the same. He still saw his mother turning away, too ashamed to meet his eyes. His father, once the proud Guardian of the High Templar, knelt to the Saintess for help.

And she came.

Callista didn’t look much older than Damien. Her face was cold, serene, almost divine, but her eyes held a quiet sadness. He had seen that look before; the previous Saint had worn it too, both marked by being worshipped too young, for too long.

But she saved his brother. She saved him.

From that day on, Damien trained harder. The path to becoming First Blade burned with new conviction. It wasn’t just to protect the light, but to stand beside someone who could undo what others called irreversible.

Tragedies.

When he finally knelt before her, kissing her hand and speaking the sacred vows, they weren’t mere recitations. He believed them.

“By blade and breath I bind my life to yours. Let no fear shake me, no desire stain me. I will guard your light until my final breath. Should shadow rise, I will meet it. Should death come, I will stand first.”

He broke every word.

Because Callista wasn’t who he thought she was. The Virtuous Saintess: that was the title they gave her, and the only one they ever knew.

But she was more than just an idea, more than a distant ideal. She was real, kind, even when that kindness hid behind a mask of indifference. Warm, though that warmth lay buried beneath frost.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop wanting to know her better. But she stayed distant, unreachable, as if her heart belonged elsewhere, or perhaps to no one at all.

He rose, at last, to First?Blade, bearer of the Greatsword?Temperance, second only to the Callista herself, but even that hadn’t been enough. He couldn’t stop what came.

No army. 

No gods. 

Only Eydis.

She didn’t just come from the shadows; she shaped them, bent them, made them kneel. Of all who had worn the crown, none had worn the title as she did, and he doubted any ever would.

Queen of Shadows, so elusive that even the gods blinked too late.

Spear of Diligence. 

Staff of Charity. 

Rapier of Chastity. One by one, they fell at her heels. 

And finally, the Twin Blades of…

Callista.

She was all but erased, so completely that even the pantheon could not trace her fate, not to the darkness, nor even to the shadows. Her vanishing left the Empire trembling, until fear itself taught them to lock their doors by night.

And… him.

Rage hammered in his chest, fear trembled in his limbs. He confronted Eydis beneath a sky the colour of muted grey and, to his shame, hesitated. Her eyes held no cruelty, only distance, as if the ruin she left behind were nothing more than a smudge on her memory.

But he had been taught better than to trust softness in the eyes of the enemy. And with Callista gone, there was no one left to ease the weight of misplaced trust.

No one left to reverse the tragedies. Only him, his broken oath, and the long night of violet fire yet to come.

Damien shut his eyes against the sting. Not now, not in front of them, least of all in front of him.

Indigo.

Soft-spoken, thoughtful, even a little charming in that academic sort of way. He had seemed like someone Damien could trust. A potential ally.

And that, too, had been a lie.

They had crafted an illusion for him. But illusions, once seen for what they are, must be broken.

Damien looked at Indigo. “When we first met, you spoke of trust. I offered it freely, and you took it.”

His fingers tightened around Indigo’s throat.

“Only to break it.”

The professor choked. “There are reasons…”

“Are there?” Damien snarled. “Then you have five seconds to give me one. One reason I shouldn’t end this here.”

He started counting. Because this was treacherous. Because whatever Indigo said next was unconvincing. What did they really want? His blood for their experiment?

Five.

“Your time is at an end,” Damien said finally.

He dismissed his greatsword and called forth a dagger. A smaller blade for smaller men, and for personal things. His hand released Indigo’s throat, only to shove him hard to his knees.

The professor collapsed with a breathless gasp, the tip of the dagger met his skin.

“I understand why you’re angry,” Indigo rasped, eyes fixed on the ground. “You have every right.”

“I left peacefully. I walked away.” Damien pressed the blade deep enough to draw a thin, red line across Indigo’s skin. “And yet, you followed.”

Damien registered a thumping sound, more agents? But before he could turn around, Indigo lifted his head, finally meeting Damien’s eyes.

And smiled.

Damien blinked. “Why are you smiling, Professor?”

Indigo didn’t answer right away. He slipped off his glasses, folded them, and slid them into his coat pocket. Then ran a hand through his neatly styled hair. The waxed strands fell free, tousled, curling slightly at the edges.

The person before Damien now was not the meek, soft-spoken academic. Indigo’s back straightened. His shoulders squared. And when he spoke, though his tone remained gentle, it no longer sounded harmless.

“I hadn’t expected you to kill so decisively, given how you hesitated with both Adrian and myself,” Indigo said, almost with regret. “Could it be sentiment, not principle, that slows you now?”

Damien growled. “Sentiment? Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Sir Damien. Truly. But it was necessary.” Indigo said calmly even with the blade at his throat. “You can’t be allowed to reach—”

“—The Eye?” Damien said through clenched teeth. “You’ve said that before. You really think this makes any of it right? One honest word, Indigo. That’s all it would’ve taken.”

“Not it,” Indigo interrupted. “Her.”

Damien stilled. “Her? Who is she?”

Indigo’s gaze drifted briefly to the horizon. When his brown eyes met Damien’s again, they turned brighter. “I had hoped we’d have longer. It is Saturday, after all…”

“What are you talking about?”

“…Clearly, I miscalculated. The operation was meant to begin an hour earlier. But influence only stretches so far, especially amid disorder. She wasn’t meant to be in the City today, but—”

Damien’s confusion was clear. “Speak plainly. Who is she?”

“—But she’s coming.”

Damien caught a glint of gold in Indigo’s brown eyes, vanishing almost instantly.

The Professor stood, slowly and without urgency, like the dagger at his throat had never mattered. The smile on his face wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t cruel either.

“Don’t you find it strange, Sir?” Indigo asked. “How quiet it suddenly became up here?"

Caught off guard by the question, Damien cast a brief, cautious glance around. Earlier, there had been ten agents. He’d taken down three.

The rest hadn’t moved. Because they were already on the ground.

All of them.

His heart kicked.

Then something gripped the back of his head.

He hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t sensed it. One second he was standing, and the next, a cold pressure ran down his spine, locking every joint.

His fingers went numb. The dagger fell from his hand and hit the ground. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. His knees buckled and gave out, forcing him to kneel. With effort, he raised his eyes.

Indigo stood in front of him, tan coat rustling in the wind. He looked small. Ordinary.

He didn’t feel that way.

His golden eyes burned with patient power that made the world seem suddenly small. It reminded Damien of Adrian. But this… this was older, worse.

Power that didn’t boast, not with words. 

Power that simply was.

Indigo looked down, his expression most sympathetic.

“I’m sorry, Damien.” Indigo’s smile was pleasant. His eyes were not. “But you… are in the way. Still, you may yet be of use.”

Damien’s vision trembled. Just before the dark took him, he heard the voice again. Soft. Almost casual.

“Right after your sleep, of course.”

Indigo adjusted his collar and stepped over Damien’s collapsed form, crouching beside the next.

Adrian.

He had neutralised him earlier, just before Damien’s strike landed. A light touch to the shoulder was enough to bring him back.

Adrian stirred with a low groan. His eyelids twitched, like someone surfacing from too deep a sleep.

“Professor… What happened?”

Adrian blinked again, and then his eyes widened as the scent hit him. He looked around the rooftop, taking in the bodies, the blood, and Damien lying still.

“Did—did my power not work on him?” Adrian’s composure cracked.

Indigo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It did. Eventually. He’s from another dimension, so your power likely took longer to adapt to his physiology.”

Adrian frowned, processing the words. Then gave a slow nod. “Right… yeah. That makes sense. But why is he down?”

“The agents managed to bring him down. Barely.” Something close to regret passed over Indigo’s face. “They didn’t survive the cost.”

Adrian nodded and tugged his tie loose. “I see…”

Indigo rose and offered a hand. “Come. The authorities will be here soon, and I’d rather not waste time with their questions.”

Adrian accepted the hand, his grip slightly unsteady as he pulled himself up. Moments later, the Council’s cleanup team arrived in a black, unmarked helicopter. Paramedics lifted the wounded and Damien onto stretchers. Adrian took a seat beside him, just in case.

The cleaning crew moved quickly, focusing on blood removal and sanitising the area before taking the elevator out. There wasn’t time to waste. Ares Van Nassau had ears everywhere.

Indigo remained behind alone.

The neon glow of Alchymia reflected in his glasses. He stared at nothing. Thinking of too many things. Maybe none at all.

He slipped a hand into his coat and pulled out a pocket watch. Antique. Brushed brass, slightly dented at the edge. The ticking was irregular, and it told stories, in every way. The craftsmanship, the weight, the way the second hand hesitated between ticks, and the—

A scent reached him: Warm sandalwood, but something else beneath it.

Cooler, softer… lavender? 

That made him turn. 

And there she stood.

Astra.