me the king,me the priest, me the paladin

The chaos from Chapter 4 hadn't even settled.

Steel clashed against steel as Veyron and Teriya fought alongside a handful of elite guards, defending the city's inner hallways from a coordinated group of assassins. Veyron, despite his best efforts, was clearly struggling—each swing of his blade grew heavier, his strikes meeting resistance, while his enemies seemed to read his every move.

Teriya, on the other hand, was a storm.

She moved like fire—swift, unpredictable, and merciless. Three assassins surrounded her, yet she handled them like a dance of death—parrying, cutting, slashing through them with a cold precision. Blood streaked her armor, not her own, but she didn't stop. One assassin lunged, only to find his blade caught midair, twisted from his hand and driven back into his chest. The others followed him into oblivion.

Veyron's own men weren't as lucky. One by one, his guards fell—chests pierced, throats slit, screams fading into silence. Despite their training, they couldn't hold against this enemy.

And then, just when the assassins began to retreat, something even more terrifying stepped into the fray.

A single man, clad in dark plated armor, with eyes that glowed faintly like coals.

He didn't announce himself.

He didn't need to.

He moved fast—inhumanly fast. Veyron raised his sword to block, but was sent flying back like a ragdoll, his blade shattered on impact. Teriya tried to intercept with a barrage of spear thrusts, but the enemy soldier moved through them as if they were wind, delivering a crushing blow to her ribs that sent her skidding across the stone floor, coughing blood.

Pain blurred Veyron's vision. But he gritted his teeth, forcing himself up. Beside him, Teriya slowly stood too, bleeding, breath shaky.

"One more time," she whispered, voice hoarse.

Veyron nodded, and together, they charged.

The battle that followed was brutal. Bones broke. Blood spilled. The enemy soldier withstood multiple fatal blows, his sheer endurance frightening. But Veyron found an opening—one desperate moment where Teriya's feint exposed the man's neck—and with a scream of rage, Veyron drove a broken spearhead deep into it.

The enemy fell, choking on his own blood.

But even in death, he grinned.

"You think… this is the end?" he rasped, his voice a gurgle. "My battalion… has more like me. My commander… Alberan Ghaimas… he could kill five hundred soldiers alone."

He laughed—deep, crazed, and proud—until the last breath left his body.

Veyron and Teriya stared at the corpse in silence. That name… Alberan Ghaimas.

Something about it chilled them.

With no time to spare, Veyron took Teriya's arm. "We're leaving. Now."

They fled through a secret underground passage, mounted a pair of horses kept for emergencies, and galloped out from the collapsing ruins of the city.

As they reached the edge of the forest, Veyron paused—bruised, battered—and looked back at the burning city behind him. The smell of death still clung to his armor. Then he froze.

A figure stood atop the distant outer wall. Even from here, Veyron could feel his presence. That aura… monstrous, almost unreal.

Teriya followed his gaze.

"Who is that?" she asked, breathless.

Veyron's voice was barely audible, shaky. "He said his leader's name was… Alberan Ghaimas."

Teriya turned pale. "That's… Princess… that's the same name."

And then the figure turned—revealing a face so similar, so cold, so perfect, it could only mean one thing.

Veyron gasped. "Alberan Ghaimas... Copy One."

Teriya's eyes widened. "W-what? Why is he here? How—"

"You don't need to know that right now," Veyron said sharply. "I'll explain in four days. Right now, we plan. We take revenge."

He looked ahead into the darkened forest.

"This place isn't that big, but it's crawling with carnivorous and scavenger beasts. They'll come for the soldiers' corpses… but we'll make them go further."

He pointed.

"Teriya, gather materials to ignite this forest. Alberan Copy One—you know the enemy city. You're their strongest battalion commander. Open their gates from the inside when the beasts approach. I'll go to the nearest city and bring cheap labor."

Teriya raised an eyebrow. "Cheap labor?"

"We're going to start a fire," Veyron said coldly. "From the east, west, and south. The beasts will run toward the enemy city to escape the flames. If the gates are open, they'll rush in. While their soldiers fight for survival, we sneak in, destroy their granaries, steal their gold… and then I'll spit on the City Lord's face."

Teriya gave him a strange look. Something in him had changed.

Veyron caught her gaze—and suddenly felt it too.

This wasn't him. Not before. Not truly.

He blinked and composed himself. "Forget that. Now go."

They split up.

Veyron headed toward the nearest city—one within Truhflan's territory. As he walked, thoughts haunted him.

It's been barely three days… and I've already changed so much.

Within twenty minutes, he reached the city outskirts. He removed his damaged armor, marked a tree, dug a hole beneath it, and buried the gear. He tore his noble clothes, smeared his face with dirt, and wore the look of a poor mercenary.

The checkpoint gates stood firm, iron-latched and dust-covered, unmoved by pain, loss, or rank.

Veyron, his robes torn, his arm bandaged hastily in cloth, limped toward the guards. Dried blood marked his jaw.

The guards looked at his wounds, but that didn't stop the question.

"Identification?" one asked.

"I lost it," Veyron replied calmly. "During the battle."

They scoffed.

"Everyone says that. You must have a second copy. Or did you 'lose' that too?"

The other chuckled.

Veyron clenched his jaw.

"Hey, you're soldiers too. Shouldn't you understand—"

"Mercenaries aren't soldiers," one cut him off coldly.

"Go back. Or die out here. Makes no difference to us."

Veyron didn't argue. He stepped aside, jaw tight, and leaned quietly against a cracked stone post. His eyes scanned the road.

He waited.

Not long after, a group appeared—twenty or thirty refugees, sunburnt and dust-stained, their pace slow but determined. They moved like people who had nothing left to lose.

Veyron stepped forward quickly, whispering just loud enough to catch their ears:

> "I have gold. Stolen from Palledanian stores. Help me clear something, and I'll pay you—generously."

But the reaction wasn't what he expected.

No spark of greed. No hands reaching forward.

Only wary eyes.

And anger.

A man stepped out from the group. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. His posture was tired but firm. His eyes were steady, even sharp.

He raised a hand, stopping others from speaking.

Then, in a strangely performative voice—just subtle enough for the nearby guards to hear, but layered with unspoken meaning—he spoke to the crowd:

> "Hey, hey! We poor folk… whose homes were eaten up whole… We don't want to be eaten ourselves—not by beasts, not by fate."

He gave a slight bow toward the gate.

> "Please, sir mercenary… forgive us. So many of our brothers and sisters are dead because of those beasts. We're just trying to survive."

The crowd murmured in support.

The words were harmless on the surface. But Veyron heard what they really meant:

We are refugees from Glarnta. We've lost everything. Going back means death. Showing ourselves as Palledanian here is a death sentence. So we pretend to be Truhflan poor. Understand this—and don't expose us.

Veyron raised an eyebrow, then looked the man over.

> "What kind of sorry is that," he asked in a calm but firm voice, "if you won't even give your name?"

The man didn't flinch. He stepped forward, his voice steady.

> "My name is Gyllar," he said slowly.

"And if you want to survive what's coming next…"

"You better think twice before flashing stolen gold in front of desperate men."

A brief silence.

Then Veyron… smiled.

Will you help me to destroy Truhflan see my face careful, who am I ?

Gyllar remembers who he is upon seeing Veyron's face.

He says, "Princess, that's Prince Veyron."

After identifying him, he adds, "Give my greetings to the princess."

He was a little angry because Gyllar used to be Veyron's butler—until Veyron dismissed him.

Will the refugees help Veyron destroying Truhflan.

How Veyron understand Gyllar hidden meaning words

Will Gyllar can be a backstabber

Aur again get used by Veyron i don't think so