[Frojnholm—Celebration Night—Leif’s POV]

The night had fallen like someone tossed a giant velvet blanket over the sky, pinning it down with a thousand glittering stars. Torches and lanterns lined the square, casting everything in a golden glow that made the air feel warmer and softer.

And me? I was sitting in the front row . Yes. The chief guest seat . Big-boy chair, carved wood, fancy cushion. Like some kind of mini-throne. My crimson babies sat beside me, tails wagging like tiny metronomes of judgment.

"Wow..." I muttered, my mouth already watering.

Not because of the dancing, but because the villagers had set up trays of food for the guests, and right in front of me was something that looked suspiciously like fried dumplings stuffed with cheese.

"Focus, my lord," Sir Ronald coughed beside me, looking like an old, stern owl.

I nodded very seriously. "Of course. Yes. Cultural appreciation mode activated."

The music began—soft at first, with the twang of strings and the beat of drums echoing in the square. Villagers stepped into the circle, dressed in bright traditional robes that shimmered under torchlight. They moved in sync, hands lifted, feet tapping to a rhythm that felt older than the town itself.

I blinked. Then blinked again.

"Oh my god... this is actually beautiful," I whispered.

Nick leaned toward me with a proud grin. "This dance has been passed down for generations, my lord. A prayer for prosperity and protection. But for the last decade, no one had the strength or hope to perform it... until now."

I swallowed a lump in my throat.

Damn it. Why’d that sound like something straight out of an inspirational anime?

The dancers twirled, their clothes catching the light, colors whirling like fire and water and wind. The drums grew louder and faster, and suddenly the whole square erupted in claps, chants, and stomps, the kind of energy that makes your chest feel like it’s vibrating.

My crimson babies tilted their heads, ears perked, and then—no joke—they started wagging in perfect rhythm to the beat.

"Look at them go..." I muttered, eyes sparkling. "Even my puppies are born performers."

The villagers clapped harder, spinning, stomping, their movements powerful but joyous, like they were throwing away every shadow of their past hardships. I couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop laughing, and couldn’t stop moving with them.

A female dancer stepped forward, smiling warmly at me.

"My lord... come, join us."

I blinked.

. . .

. . .

Then shrugged. "Sure... why not?"

The music swelled—flutes, drums, and some mysterious percussion that made my feet itch. I stepped into the circle, feeling the rhythm pulse through me. I let my arms sway, my hips follow the beat, and my feet stomp and twirl. I wasn’t thinking—just moving. The villagers laughed, spinning around me, and somehow my crimson babies joined in too, hopping and twirling like tiny red comets.

I spun once, twice, then stopped for a breath and grinned. "Oh... this is the Jingalala dance. Forest dance, huh? Totally got those island vibes..."

I let myself dissolve completely into it, arms wide, back bending in playful arcs, twirling with the rhythm like I was part of the wind itself. I laughed out loud, letting the sound carry over the music, and for once... I wasn’t the Saint of Frojnholm, or a mysterious magical boy, or anyone important. I was just... a guy dancing with everyone, laughing with everyone, part of something bigger than myself.

And it felt... ridiculously, gloriously free.

***

[Later—Near the Stage]

I leaned against a tree, huffing and puffing like a dragon after sprinting through snowy ground. My legs were noodles. My arms felt like lead. "That... that was... fan-tas-tic. But why... why am I this tired?!" I groaned, dramatically collapsing a little against the trunk.

Nick with that infuriatingly calm smile on his face. "Because, my lord, you only drink beer these days and haven’t practiced sword in... well... ever."

I blinked at him flatly. "...So... you’re calling me fat?"

Nick didn’t answer. He just smiled. A dangerous, knowing smile.

I groaned, letting my forehead hit the bark. "Just... bring me a chair. And water. And maybe a small parade of servants to fan me while I recover my dignity."

"Yes, my lord," Nick said, his grin refusing to vanish. "But please... do not wander far. Sir Roland will be here soon, after helping the villagers."

I waved a hand lazily. "Yes, yes. Just... bring the chair."

Nick bowed and left. I sighed. Finally alone. Sir Roland was still bustling around the villagers, and my crimson babies were happily munching away like little chaos-powered snack machines.

I tilted my head back, staring up at the moon. "It was... a great day..."

CRUNCH!

My eyes snapped toward the dark side of the clearing. A twig snapped. A shadow shifted.

Huh? What was that?

"Maybe... just a villager," I muttered, stretching my arms and yawning dramatically. "Yeah... I should go back and get tucked into that warm blanket..."

WHACK!

Someone slammed into the back of my head, and the world went black.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

***

[Somewhere Far Away in Frojnholm—Later]

I groaned as I opened my eyes.

"God... my head..."

Everything was a swirling blur. Dizzy. Spinning. Like I’d just gone twelve rounds with an invisible sumo wrestler. I forced myself to sit up, and slowly, the room resolved itself.

Wooden walls. A fire hearth crackling warmly. Shadows dancing across rough-hewn planks. And... me, my legs tied to a pole like some poorly written fantasy hero.

I rubbed my temples. "Who the... freak... did this?" I muttered, voice hoarse. Pain stabbed across my skull, and I swayed slightly on the pole.

A bitter chuckle escaped me as I examined the scene. "Never in my previous life... was I kidnapped. Not once. Hah... well, I guess I can add this to the ’new experiences’ column."

Then I sagged back against the post, mumbling, "But seriously... my head is pounding like someone is playing drums on my brain. Ugh... who even does that?!"

The door creaked open. My eyes narrowed.

And there they were. The same men I’d glimpsed during the celebration.

I blinked at them, flat, unimpressed. "Ah... so I wasn’t imagining faces of potential death. Brilliant. I must be really lucky—or really dumb."

One of the tall, bulky men leaned in, eyes wide. "Oh... he’s awake."

The other man glanced between me and his companion, then smiled broadly. "Finally... you woke up, Lord Leif."

I froze, analyzing. Okay. They didn’t attack me...or smirk evilly. That’s a good sign.

I scanned the room carefully:

Fire hearth was lit—warmth, not threat.

Wooden table—there.

Bowl with something steaming inside. Smell tells me: medicine. Someone’s taking care of me.

Ah. So, someone sent them. Someone competent. Someone who wanted me alive.

I blinked at them, expression perfectly neutral.

"Interesting," I murmured, voice calm. "So, let me guess... who sent you? And, more importantly... why?"

For a second, they just stared. Too long. My gut tensed.

Then one stepped forward—and CRUNCH! My left palm screamed in pain.

"Aghh! What... what are you—?!" I jerked back instinctively.

I thought I’d judged them correctly—innocuous, maybe a little shady—but harmless. Apparently, that rule doesn’t apply to everyone.

He leaned in close, his face twisted. "You... you don’t understand the gravity of the situation you’re in, do you? Because of you... we suffer. Do you think anyone would dare order us to kidnap you without reason?"

Pain radiated up my arm, but I gritted my teeth. "What... what could I possibly have done...?"

He pressed closer, voice low and dangerous. "We used to ambush the trade routes. Feed ourselves. The carriage you used to reach that village? That was our lifeline. Our only source to survive. But because of you—your knights, your crimson packs—you’ve sealed all the roads. Every possible route. Our freedom, gone. Gone because of you."

. . .

What kind of absurd reason is that? So basically they are freeloader mafias of this world.

And then I realized something....

Wait, that means, My crimson babies never attacked our carriage and my beer—it was them. And now? I was... a thorn in their survival.

He straightened, gaze sharp. "We have no intention of harming you, Lord. But step away. Stop ruling that territory. Leave. Or... we have no choice but to kill you."

Then, as suddenly as the threat had appeared, they stepped back, setting the bowl of medicine before me. No further words. Just silence—and the unmistakable weight of danger hanging in the air.

I rubbed my palm, wincing as blood seeped through my fingers, mingling with the ache from the blow. Pain aside, my mind was already racing.

They were desperate, cornered—but deadly. And now, I had to find a way out. I cannot wait for anyone’s help. I am not some pathetic hero’s sidekick waiting to be rescued.

My people must’ve noticed my disappearance... probably already searching. But I cannot wait. I need to act.

I glanced around the dimly lit hut, every shadow a potential danger, every planked wall a clue. Tools, doors, weaknesses... there has to be a way.

I tightened my jaw. Think. Move. Survive.

Because, escape wasn’t just an option—it was the only choice.