Aurein's POV
"What are you doing! I said let go of me! I'm not going with you!" I protested, twisting and pulling back as a man from the Kingdom of Solyn dragged me forward with brutal force.
"You have no choice, so shut your mouth," he said, his grip tightening on my wrist like an iron shackle.
Beside him, the other men had their bows raised—arrows trained directly at me, their silhouettes sharp against the light.
It was in that terrifying instant that General Voltaire's words echoed in my mind.
In moments like these, how will you save yourself if you can't fight? To them, you are weak... and weakness invites chains.
My breath trembled.
"Help!" I shouted. "Someone help me! They're trying to take me! General Voltaire! Anyone! Please!"
The men only burst into laughter—cruel, mocking, as if my fear were nothing more than entertainment.
"Who are you calling for?" one of them said. "No one's coming to save you here. Lucky for us, you're soft—just like a maiden. Weak guys like you are exactly what Solyn warriors like. No fight. No danger." He laughed again, eyes raking over me with sick delight. "Just easy prey."
"You—do you even know who I am?" I snapped. "You caught the wrong person!"
"We don't care who you are," another one said, sneering.
"I'm telling you," I said, lowering my gaze as my eyes narrowed, "the moment you realize who I am... you won't like what happens to you—or to the Kingdom of Solyn."
"Oh? Getting brave now?" the man dragging me said, jerking my arm even harder. "Let's see if you're still brave after this."
Before I could protest, he yanked me forward with such force that I stumbled and crashed onto the dirt. Pain shot across my palms.
Then—with a single swift movement—one man slammed his weight onto my legs, pinning them down completely.
"Get off me!" I yelled.
But my nightmare didn't end there.
Two more men grabbed my wrists and forced them to the ground, trapping me in a humiliating position—face pressed close to the earth, my body completely restrained.
"W-what are you doing!" I asked, fear cracking my voice.
"We're going to give you a taste," one of them said coldly, "of what awaits you in Solyn..."
"Let me go!" I shouted, thrashing uselessly. But their strength was overwhelming—hard, muscular, relentless. No matter how I struggled, I couldn't break free.
Their laughter echoed through the trees, hollow and heartless.
They had no shame.
They had no mercy.
They had no souls.
"I am the Crown Prince of Ardentia! I am warning you—if you dare lay a single wicked finger on me and word reaches the King, he will crush your kingdom!" I said, voice cracking between fear and fury.
But instead of fear, they laughed.
They laughed.
A cold dread spread through my chest.
"You really think we'd believe that?" one of them said.
"W-what do you mean?" I asked, breath trembling.
"You? A prince?" another scoffed. "Who are you trying to fool?"
"No one would believe a prince could be this weak," the third said, leaning closer, eyes crawling all over me. "Dressed like a woman... built like a woman... trembling like one."
My throat tightened.
I swallowed hard.
My heart hammered so violently I felt it echo in my ears.
And then—
Because of my humiliating female training gear—the soft fabric, the exposed back, the delicate V-shaped slit tied only by a single ribbon—they easily ripped it off. My top followed, peeled away from my skin in one swift, merciless pull.
My breath hitched.
"Your skin..." one of them whispered in sick delight. "So pale. So clean. Untouched. Perfect. Looks like we're the lucky ones who get to enjoy you first."
My eyes widened, my entire body freezing in horror.
"No—don't—!" I twisted violently, but their grip only tightened, bruising my wrists and forcing my body flat against the dirt.
A shadow fell over me.
One man leaned in, pressing his nose against my neck, inhaling me like I was prey... then dragging his tongue across my back in a slow, disgusting stroke.
"Disgusting!" I shouted. "Don't you dare use my body like that!"
"Ohh... the little prince is not happy," one of them said, laughing.
His hand slid lower—toward the waistband of my pants.
Then I felt it—fingers tugging.
"Strip him completely," he said. "Let's take the virgin prize of this dainty little guy together. All five of us."
My blood ran cold.
I understood then—exactly what they were planning to do to me.
"D-don't! Please!" I begged, my voice cracking as I thrashed desperately. "Stop—please stop!"
But they pinned my hips down, iron hands locking me in place as they began forcing my pants downward inch by inch.
"Help! Please! Anyone who can hear me—help! General Voltaire!" I screamed.
"No one's coming," one of them said, leaning close to my face. "Scream all you want until your voice breaks—no one will save y—"
BLAG!
His words ended in a wet, sickening crack as he collapsed beside me—face down, unmoving, blood spreading rapidly beneath his head.
A stone had struck him.
Hard.
"What the—?!"
"Who's out there?!" the others shouted, panic exploding through the clearing.
Another thud—another body dropped instantly.
The remaining men staggered to their feet, backing away in fear, scanning the shadows.
"Show yourself!" one of them yelled, voice shaking.
My breath raced.
Hope trickled into my chest like a faint, trembling flame.
Then—from behind a massive tree—a familiar figure emerged.
General Voltaire stepped into the light, walking calmly, almost lazily, idly tossing another stone up and down in one hand as if this were nothing more than a casual stroll.
"Who told you," he said, voice deep, deadly, and controlled,
"that you could lay a single filthy hand on my prince?"
"General Voltaire..." I whispered.
My legs gave out beneath me, and I fell back, scrambling upright.
I clutched my torn top to my chest, trembling uncontrollably.
But for the first time since the nightmare began—
I could breathe again.
He came for me.
The three remaining men exchanged frantic glances, fear flickering in their eyes.
I swear—watching General Voltaire walk toward them felt like watching a storm approach. Every step he took was smooth, controlled, and terrifying. And in his gaze... in those cold, unblinking eyes... he saw them as nothing more than weak, insignificant creatures.
The men raised their bows in panic.
One aimed at me.
The other two pointed theirs straight at him.
"Don't you dare take another step! We won't hesitate to kill both of you!" one of them said.
General Voltaire's brow furrowed—just slightly—before he lifted the stone in his hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it as if it were a sacred charm.
Then—in a blur—
THUD.
The man aiming at me collapsed instantly, unconscious, an arrow slipping from his limp fingers.
"Two of you left," General Voltaire said, his voice low and lethal.
My jaw dropped.
He hadn't even broken a sweat.
He was just throwing stones.
And somehow... he was still winning.
He took a single step forward.
But before I could react, one of the men lunged and grabbed me, yanking me upright. A sharp arrow pressed against the skin of my neck.
"Move and the prince dies!" the man said. "This arrow is poisoned—we'll kill him in seconds!"
My heartbeat exploded inside my chest.
My breath hitched.
A single slip and I would die—and my dream of becoming a Moon Dancer won't be fulfilled.
General Voltaire remained silent. Not a twitch. Not a flinch. No panic.
Nothing.
Seriously?!
Did he not care that I was literally one breath away from death?
Annoyance flared in my chest.
Was my life really this insignificant to him?
Then again...I remembered.
He did say once that he is fighting for Ardentia, not for me.
In his eyes, maybe I was just a weak guy—not even a woman he could admire or love—just a burden he tolerated.
"Release the prince," General Voltaire said, his voice now sharp enough to slice bone.
"No!" my captor shouted. "We're taking him to Solyn. We'll lock him up and sell him as entertainment for the warriors. They'll pay a fortune for someone as delicate as him!"
"What?!" I shouted, anger exploding through me. "You're going to use me for your filth—and for profit?!"
CRACK!
A sound like a bone snapping echoed across the clearing.
I whipped my head toward General Voltaire.
He had drawn his sword—and before anyone could process it—
he threw it.
The blade whistled through the air—
SHHHK—
It buried itself deep into the leg of the man holding me.
He screamed and collapsed, releasing me instantly and fell unconscious.
The last remaining man suddenly shivered—he looked like he might faint.
General Voltaire took one step toward him.
But he never reached him.
The man's eyes rolled back and he dropped to the ground, unconscious from sheer terror.
"I haven't even done anything yet," General Voltaire said, genuinely confused.
He looked at me.
"General..." I whispered.
He walked toward me, calm as ever.
Then—without hesitation—he removed his top and draped it over my bare shoulders, covering my exposed skin.
I swallowed hard as I stared at him.
He wasn't looking at me...but I couldn't look away from him.
His eyes, his jaw, the way his clothes smelled like steel and the forest—
"Thank you... General Voltaire," I said quietly, embarrassed.
He finally met my gaze.
"Do you understand now," he said, stern and unwavering, "why I keep telling you that you must grow stronger? That you must be prepared? That you must be able to fight for yourself?"
I couldn't respond.
I only nodded, staring at the ground in shame.
"What if I hadn't come?" he said sharply. "What would have happened to you? You would've been dragged to Solyn and turned into a plaything!"
"I—I'm sorry... I didn't know..." I said softly.
"In times of war, everything is unexpected. We never know what will happen next." He exhaled deeply, eyes scanning the surroundings. "Why are they here in our territory? How did they get past our borders?" he said, troubled.
While he stood close to me—towering, scanning the surroundings, issuing commands in that deep, steady voice—I made the mistake of glancing at his chest.
I didn't even realize it at first.
I didn't mean to look.
But gods... his chest—It looked impossibly solid, as if it were carved out of stone. The kind of body where, if my head hit it, I might actually get a bump. Hard. Immoveable. Built from years of war and discipline.
I swallowed thickly, unable to peel my eyes away from him.
"Are you desiring me, Prince Aurein?" General Voltaire suddenly asked.
"H-huh?! No! Why would I desire you? Are you insane?" I said, flustered.
"You've been staring at my chest for a while—as if you wanted to touch it," he said. "You want to? Come, I'll give you my permission."
"W-why would I do that?! And anyway—I'm annoyed at you! I was screaming my lungs out earlier and you arrived late! You probably stood there watching while those men were dragging me and stripping me! If they hadn't started pulling down my pants, you wouldn't have shown yourself at all!" I said, irritated.
"That's how you thank the man who saved you? You're complaining? Maybe I should've left you there and watched," he said, equally annoyed.
"Hmp!" I said and glared at him. "Thank you, anyway."
I stiffened when General Voltaire suddenly grabbed my chin, tilting my face upward so our eyes met.
"Next time, do as I say," he said. "When I tell you to head to the training ground, you come with me. You saw what happened. You nearly got yourself killed."
He spoke to me as if I were a child being scolded—like some disobedient boy who didn't know better.
"I wanted to win this training," I said. "I don't want to be seen as weak."
He breathed in deeply, then placed his hands on my shoulders—both of them.
His palms were large. Warm. Calloused.
I stared at them for a moment before slowly lifting my gaze to meet his.
He didn't speak.
He only looked at me—eyes steady, intense, unreadable.
"D-do you have something more to say? Are you going to mock me again?" I asked awkwardly.
"Let's return to the palace. I'll report everything to the King. He needs to know what happened," he said, turning away.
"Wait, General Voltaire."
He paused.
"Hm?"
"It's better if we don't tell the King," I said.
"And why not?"
"I don't want him to think I'm even weaker than he already believes. That I was nearly got assualted... even as a man. If people hear what almost happened to me, they'll think I'm truly weak. Defenseless. Worthless. And it's not just me who will be humiliated. I could humiliate my father too—because his only son would look like a fragile princess who always needs protection."
General Voltaire didn't respond.
His back remained turned to me.
So I took a step forward.
And as I drew closer, I noticed something on his back—a long scar, stretching diagonally across his skin.
Before I could stop myself, I reached out and touched it.
My fingertips brushed the scar, tracing its path.
Then I placed my whole palm over it.
"I want you to train me, General Voltaire, please." I said softly but firmly. "I want to learn how to fight. I want you to teach me how to wield a weapon. I want people to be proud of me... and I want to prove that I, too, can be strong."
My voice trembled.
"I'm scared... of what might happen if, someday, something like this happens again... and you're not there. Who will save me? How will I defend myself?"
General Voltaire inhaled slowly.
Then—to my surprise—he turned to face me. Without warning, he lifted me into his arms.
I gasped. "Where are you taking me?! Put me down!" I said, annoyed, as he strode forward without a word.
After a few steps, he stopped.
Gently—almost too gently—he set me back on my feet.
The moment I regained my balance, I snapped at him.
"What is wrong with you?! Why did you carry me only to put me down immediately? Are you losing your mind?" I said irritably.
He simply sighed and placed his hand on top of my head.
"What now?!" I said.
But instead of answering, he smiled, again.
And it wasn't his usual mocking grin.
It was... warm. Genuine. The kind of smile that didn't belong on the face of a terrifying general.
My world froze for a moment as I stared at him.
"W-why are you smiling? What does that mean?" I asked awkwardly.
"I'm pleased to inform you that you passed your training," he said.
"Huh? What do you mean? I wasn't even standing on—"
I stopped mid-sentence, turning my head to look around.
And there it was.
"...the pedestal," I whispered as I was already standing on top of it.
Realization hit me like a rushing wind.
I slowly looked back at him—only to see him smiling again.
"General Voltaire..." I said in disbelief.
"And because of that," he said, "I will give you the reward I know you'll be delighted with."
"Really? What is it?" I asked, excitement immediately flaring up—until suspicion replaced it. My eyes narrowed. "Wait. This sounds like something you will benefit from."
"What are you talking about?" he said, puzzled. He shook his head as if wondering whether I was mentally stable. "I'm taking you to the Moon Dancer's Pavilion."
My eyes widened—completely.
"W-wait—did I hear that correctly?" I said, stunned. "But it's sacred! No one is allowed inside their sanctuary except the King. Even my father forbids me from going near it. Don't tell me you're planning to sneak me in there?"
He laughed.
"What's funny?!" I said. "Fine—I admit I wanted to sneak in before. I'm curious about what's inside, why no one is allowed to enter except Moon Dancers. But I didn't do it. I didn't want to anger them."
General Voltaire's expression softened, becoming more serious as he spoke calmly.
"We cannot enter the Moon Dancer's Pavilion, yes—but we can sneak in. There is something I want to show you."
"Wait! What if we get caught? What if we get punished?"
"That's why we're sneaking. So we don't get caught," he said plainly. "And I know you want to see it too."
"Well... yes..." I admitted, hesitating, though my heart was racing with excitement. The pavilion was sacred, mysterious—off-limits. The forbidden always tasted sweeter.
"But before that," he said, glancing around the clearing,
"I need to have my warriors clean up this mess."
His gaze hardened as he stared at the five unconscious bodies of the men who had attempted to violate me.
"Trash like these shouldn't be left lying around," he said coldly.
A shiver ran down my spine. Not from fear—but from knowing I was safe now.
* * *
We stood behind the Moon Dancer's Pavilion, hidden in the dense shadows where no one could possibly see us.
"How long have you been sneaking here, huh? Don't tell me you've been lusting after the Moon Dancers!" I whispered sharply. Then I gasped. "You said you only desired women! So why are you even looking at the Moon Dancers—who are clearly men!" I whispered, accusingly irritated.
"Shh! I'm not lusting after them," he said. "Nor do I come here often. I'm breaking the rules this one time—for you. Whatever you see inside, never speak of it."
I immediately fell silent and nodded.
"But how did you even know the place where we could sneak in?"
"My late father," he said quietly. "He was once a general of Ardentia. The king entrusted him with this secret, then my father to me. And now... I'm entrusting it to you. I want to show you something."
We leaned closer and peered through a narrow gap in the pavilion wall.
And there—inside—I saw them.
The Moon Dancers.
They moved in perfect harmony, their motions fluid and elegant—every turn, every sway, every arch of their wrist as soft as mist gliding across water. A haunting melody filled the pavilion, blending with the natural hum of the evening wind. It felt like the earth itself was singing with them.
A smile bloomed across my face before I even realized it.
This was what I wanted.
To dance like them.
To be one of them.
But then—the air shifted.
Something in the atmosphere changed, and the next sight hit me like a cold blade to the spine.
"W-what... is this?" I whispered, my voice shaking as I looked back at General Voltaire.
His expression was calm... almost gentle, as if he had expected this reaction from me.
"You see, Prince Aurein," he said, "this is the secret the Moon Dancers keep."
I turned my eyes back to them—and the illusion shattered completely.
"The world mocks softness," he said, "but in truth, this softness is only a facade."
My heartbeat quickened.
Because the graceful spins I admired, the elegant arcs of their arms... were not just part of a dance.
Hidden beneath the long, flowing sleeves of their garments were blades—sharp, slender, deadly. They glided around each other with beauty, but their movements concealed slashes, thrusts, evasions. Every elegant twirl was a killing strike. Every soft step was a silent execution.
Moon Dancers, the gentle idols of Ardentia...
"They are trained killers, assassins to be exact, Prince Aurein," he said. "Only the King, me, and my father knew. And now you. Their gentleness is their greatest weapon. Everyone believes they are fragile men who know nothing but dance—but behind that softness lies danger."
I watched in stunned silence.
The dancers did not stop their performance. They continued their graceful choreography, but once you understood what you were seeing—their elegance became terrifying.
Their beauty was a blade.
Their softness was a mask.
My entire view of them changed in an instant.
"Prince Aurein..." General Voltaire said softly. "Didn't you say you wanted to become a Moon Dancer? Do you still want it—after learning the truth? After seeing what they really are?"
I looked at him—straight into his eyes.
For the first time...I had no answer.
"This is what you dreamed of becoming," General Voltaire said quietly. "And this... is their true form. They are not just dancers, they can also kill."
End of Chapter 6
Aurein's POV
"What are you doing! I said let go of me! I'm not going with you!" I protested, twisting and pulling back as a man from the Kingdom of Solyn dragged me forward with brutal force.
"You have no choice, so shut your mouth," he said, his grip tightening on my wrist like an iron shackle.
Beside him, the other men had their bows raised—arrows trained directly at me, their silhouettes sharp against the light.
It was in that terrifying instant that General Voltaire's words echoed in my mind.
In moments like these, how will you save yourself if you can't fight? To them, you are weak... and weakness invites chains.
My breath trembled.
"Help!" I shouted. "Someone help me! They're trying to take me! General Voltaire! Anyone! Please!"
The men only burst into laughter—cruel, mocking, as if my fear were nothing more than entertainment.
"Who are you calling for?" one of them said. "No one's coming to save you here. Lucky for us, you're soft—just like a maiden. Weak guys like you are exactly what Solyn warriors like. No fight. No danger." He laughed again, eyes raking over me with sick delight. "Just easy prey."
"You—do you even know who I am?" I snapped. "You caught the wrong person!"
"We don't care who you are," another one said, sneering.
"I'm telling you," I said, lowering my gaze as my eyes narrowed, "the moment you realize who I am... you won't like what happens to you—or to the Kingdom of Solyn."
"Oh? Getting brave now?" the man dragging me said, jerking my arm even harder. "Let's see if you're still brave after this."
Before I could protest, he yanked me forward with such force that I stumbled and crashed onto the dirt. Pain shot across my palms.
Then—with a single swift movement—one man slammed his weight onto my legs, pinning them down completely.
"Get off me!" I yelled.
But my nightmare didn't end there.
Two more men grabbed my wrists and forced them to the ground, trapping me in a humiliating position—face pressed close to the earth, my body completely restrained.
"W-what are you doing!" I asked, fear cracking my voice.
"We're going to give you a taste," one of them said coldly, "of what awaits you in Solyn..."
"Let me go!" I shouted, thrashing uselessly. But their strength was overwhelming—hard, muscular, relentless. No matter how I struggled, I couldn't break free.
Their laughter echoed through the trees, hollow and heartless.
They had no shame.
They had no mercy.
They had no souls.
"I am the Crown Prince of Ardentia! I am warning you—if you dare lay a single wicked finger on me and word reaches the King, he will crush your kingdom!" I said, voice cracking between fear and fury.
But instead of fear, they laughed.
They laughed.
A cold dread spread through my chest.
"You really think we'd believe that?" one of them said.
"W-what do you mean?" I asked, breath trembling.
"You? A prince?" another scoffed. "Who are you trying to fool?"
"No one would believe a prince could be this weak," the third said, leaning closer, eyes crawling all over me. "Dressed like a woman... built like a woman... trembling like one."
My throat tightened.
I swallowed hard.
My heart hammered so violently I felt it echo in my ears.
And then—
Because of my humiliating female training gear—the soft fabric, the exposed back, the delicate V-shaped slit tied only by a single ribbon—they easily ripped it off. My top followed, peeled away from my skin in one swift, merciless pull.
My breath hitched.
"Your skin..." one of them whispered in sick delight. "So pale. So clean. Untouched. Perfect. Looks like we're the lucky ones who get to enjoy you first."
My eyes widened, my entire body freezing in horror.
"No—don't—!" I twisted violently, but their grip only tightened, bruising my wrists and forcing my body flat against the dirt.
A shadow fell over me.
One man leaned in, pressing his nose against my neck, inhaling me like I was prey... then dragging his tongue across my back in a slow, disgusting stroke.
"Disgusting!" I shouted. "Don't you dare use my body like that!"
"Ohh... the little prince is not happy," one of them said, laughing.
His hand slid lower—toward the waistband of my pants.
Then I felt it—fingers tugging.
"Strip him completely," he said. "Let's take the virgin prize of this dainty little guy together. All five of us."
My blood ran cold.
I understood then—exactly what they were planning to do to me.
"D-don't! Please!" I begged, my voice cracking as I thrashed desperately. "Stop—please stop!"
But they pinned my hips down, iron hands locking me in place as they began forcing my pants downward inch by inch.
"Help! Please! Anyone who can hear me—help! General Voltaire!" I screamed.
"No one's coming," one of them said, leaning close to my face. "Scream all you want until your voice breaks—no one will save y—"
BLAG!
His words ended in a wet, sickening crack as he collapsed beside me—face down, unmoving, blood spreading rapidly beneath his head.
A stone had struck him.
Hard.
"What the—?!"
"Who's out there?!" the others shouted, panic exploding through the clearing.
Another thud—another body dropped instantly.
The remaining men staggered to their feet, backing away in fear, scanning the shadows.
"Show yourself!" one of them yelled, voice shaking.
My breath raced.
Hope trickled into my chest like a faint, trembling flame.
Then—from behind a massive tree—a familiar figure emerged.
General Voltaire stepped into the light, walking calmly, almost lazily, idly tossing another stone up and down in one hand as if this were nothing more than a casual stroll.
"Who told you," he said, voice deep, deadly, and controlled,
"that you could lay a single filthy hand on my prince?"
"General Voltaire..." I whispered.
My legs gave out beneath me, and I fell back, scrambling upright.
I clutched my torn top to my chest, trembling uncontrollably.
But for the first time since the nightmare began—
I could breathe again.
He came for me.
The three remaining men exchanged frantic glances, fear flickering in their eyes.
I swear—watching General Voltaire walk toward them felt like watching a storm approach. Every step he took was smooth, controlled, and terrifying. And in his gaze... in those cold, unblinking eyes... he saw them as nothing more than weak, insignificant creatures.
The men raised their bows in panic.
One aimed at me.
The other two pointed theirs straight at him.
"Don't you dare take another step! We won't hesitate to kill both of you!" one of them said.
General Voltaire's brow furrowed—just slightly—before he lifted the stone in his hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it as if it were a sacred charm.
Then—in a blur—
THUD.
The man aiming at me collapsed instantly, unconscious, an arrow slipping from his limp fingers.
"Two of you left," General Voltaire said, his voice low and lethal.
My jaw dropped.
He hadn't even broken a sweat.
He was just throwing stones.
And somehow... he was still winning.
He took a single step forward.
But before I could react, one of the men lunged and grabbed me, yanking me upright. A sharp arrow pressed against the skin of my neck.
"Move and the prince dies!" the man said. "This arrow is poisoned—we'll kill him in seconds!"
My heartbeat exploded inside my chest.
My breath hitched.
A single slip and I would die—and my dream of becoming a Moon Dancer won't be fulfilled.
General Voltaire remained silent. Not a twitch. Not a flinch. No panic.
Nothing.
Seriously?!
Did he not care that I was literally one breath away from death?
Annoyance flared in my chest.
Was my life really this insignificant to him?
Then again...I remembered.
He did say once that he is fighting for Ardentia, not for me.
In his eyes, maybe I was just a weak guy—not even a woman he could admire or love—just a burden he tolerated.
"Release the prince," General Voltaire said, his voice now sharp enough to slice bone.
"No!" my captor shouted. "We're taking him to Solyn. We'll lock him up and sell him as entertainment for the warriors. They'll pay a fortune for someone as delicate as him!"
"What?!" I shouted, anger exploding through me. "You're going to use me for your filth—and for profit?!"
CRACK!
A sound like a bone snapping echoed across the clearing.
I whipped my head toward General Voltaire.
He had drawn his sword—and before anyone could process it—
he threw it.
The blade whistled through the air—
SHHHK—
It buried itself deep into the leg of the man holding me.
He screamed and collapsed, releasing me instantly and fell unconscious.
The last remaining man suddenly shivered—he looked like he might faint.
General Voltaire took one step toward him.
But he never reached him.
The man's eyes rolled back and he dropped to the ground, unconscious from sheer terror.
"I haven't even done anything yet," General Voltaire said, genuinely confused.
He looked at me.
"General..." I whispered.
He walked toward me, calm as ever.
Then—without hesitation—he removed his top and draped it over my bare shoulders, covering my exposed skin.
I swallowed hard as I stared at him.
He wasn't looking at me...but I couldn't look away from him.
His eyes, his jaw, the way his clothes smelled like steel and the forest—
"Thank you... General Voltaire," I said quietly, embarrassed.
He finally met my gaze.
"Do you understand now," he said, stern and unwavering, "why I keep telling you that you must grow stronger? That you must be prepared? That you must be able to fight for yourself?"
I couldn't respond.
I only nodded, staring at the ground in shame.
"What if I hadn't come?" he said sharply. "What would have happened to you? You would've been dragged to Solyn and turned into a plaything!"
"I—I'm sorry... I didn't know..." I said softly.
"In times of war, everything is unexpected. We never know what will happen next." He exhaled deeply, eyes scanning the surroundings. "Why are they here in our territory? How did they get past our borders?" he said, troubled.
While he stood close to me—towering, scanning the surroundings, issuing commands in that deep, steady voice—I made the mistake of glancing at his chest.
I didn't even realize it at first.
I didn't mean to look.
But gods... his chest—It looked impossibly solid, as if it were carved out of stone. The kind of body where, if my head hit it, I might actually get a bump. Hard. Immoveable. Built from years of war and discipline.
I swallowed thickly, unable to peel my eyes away from him.
"Are you desiring me, Prince Aurein?" General Voltaire suddenly asked.
"H-huh?! No! Why would I desire you? Are you insane?" I said, flustered.
"You've been staring at my chest for a while—as if you wanted to touch it," he said. "You want to? Come, I'll give you my permission."
"W-why would I do that?! And anyway—I'm annoyed at you! I was screaming my lungs out earlier and you arrived late! You probably stood there watching while those men were dragging me and stripping me! If they hadn't started pulling down my pants, you wouldn't have shown yourself at all!" I said, irritated.
"That's how you thank the man who saved you? You're complaining? Maybe I should've left you there and watched," he said, equally annoyed.
"Hmp!" I said and glared at him. "Thank you, anyway."
I stiffened when General Voltaire suddenly grabbed my chin, tilting my face upward so our eyes met.
"Next time, do as I say," he said. "When I tell you to head to the training ground, you come with me. You saw what happened. You nearly got yourself killed."
He spoke to me as if I were a child being scolded—like some disobedient boy who didn't know better.
"I wanted to win this training," I said. "I don't want to be seen as weak."
He breathed in deeply, then placed his hands on my shoulders—both of them.
His palms were large. Warm. Calloused.
I stared at them for a moment before slowly lifting my gaze to meet his.
He didn't speak.
He only looked at me—eyes steady, intense, unreadable.
"D-do you have something more to say? Are you going to mock me again?" I asked awkwardly.
"Let's return to the palace. I'll report everything to the King. He needs to know what happened," he said, turning away.
"Wait, General Voltaire."
He paused.
"Hm?"
"It's better if we don't tell the King," I said.
"And why not?"
"I don't want him to think I'm even weaker than he already believes. That I was nearly got assualted... even as a man. If people hear what almost happened to me, they'll think I'm truly weak. Defenseless. Worthless. And it's not just me who will be humiliated. I could humiliate my father too—because his only son would look like a fragile princess who always needs protection."
General Voltaire didn't respond.
His back remained turned to me.
So I took a step forward.
And as I drew closer, I noticed something on his back—a long scar, stretching diagonally across his skin.
Before I could stop myself, I reached out and touched it.
My fingertips brushed the scar, tracing its path.
Then I placed my whole palm over it.
"I want you to train me, General Voltaire, please." I said softly but firmly. "I want to learn how to fight. I want you to teach me how to wield a weapon. I want people to be proud of me... and I want to prove that I, too, can be strong."
My voice trembled.
"I'm scared... of what might happen if, someday, something like this happens again... and you're not there. Who will save me? How will I defend myself?"
General Voltaire inhaled slowly.
Then—to my surprise—he turned to face me. Without warning, he lifted me into his arms.
I gasped. "Where are you taking me?! Put me down!" I said, annoyed, as he strode forward without a word.
After a few steps, he stopped.
Gently—almost too gently—he set me back on my feet.
The moment I regained my balance, I snapped at him.
"What is wrong with you?! Why did you carry me only to put me down immediately? Are you losing your mind?" I said irritably.
He simply sighed and placed his hand on top of my head.
"What now?!" I said.
But instead of answering, he smiled, again.
And it wasn't his usual mocking grin.
It was... warm. Genuine. The kind of smile that didn't belong on the face of a terrifying general.
My world froze for a moment as I stared at him.
"W-why are you smiling? What does that mean?" I asked awkwardly.
"I'm pleased to inform you that you passed your training," he said.
"Huh? What do you mean? I wasn't even standing on—"
I stopped mid-sentence, turning my head to look around.
And there it was.
"...the pedestal," I whispered as I was already standing on top of it.
Realization hit me like a rushing wind.
I slowly looked back at him—only to see him smiling again.
"General Voltaire..." I said in disbelief.
"And because of that," he said, "I will give you the reward I know you'll be delighted with."
"Really? What is it?" I asked, excitement immediately flaring up—until suspicion replaced it. My eyes narrowed. "Wait. This sounds like something you will benefit from."
"What are you talking about?" he said, puzzled. He shook his head as if wondering whether I was mentally stable. "I'm taking you to the Moon Dancer's Pavilion."
My eyes widened—completely.
"W-wait—did I hear that correctly?" I said, stunned. "But it's sacred! No one is allowed inside their sanctuary except the King. Even my father forbids me from going near it. Don't tell me you're planning to sneak me in there?"
He laughed.
"What's funny?!" I said. "Fine—I admit I wanted to sneak in before. I'm curious about what's inside, why no one is allowed to enter except Moon Dancers. But I didn't do it. I didn't want to anger them."
General Voltaire's expression softened, becoming more serious as he spoke calmly.
"We cannot enter the Moon Dancer's Pavilion, yes—but we can sneak in. There is something I want to show you."
"Wait! What if we get caught? What if we get punished?"
"That's why we're sneaking. So we don't get caught," he said plainly. "And I know you want to see it too."
"Well... yes..." I admitted, hesitating, though my heart was racing with excitement. The pavilion was sacred, mysterious—off-limits. The forbidden always tasted sweeter.
"But before that," he said, glancing around the clearing,
"I need to have my warriors clean up this mess."
His gaze hardened as he stared at the five unconscious bodies of the men who had attempted to violate me.
"Trash like these shouldn't be left lying around," he said coldly.
A shiver ran down my spine. Not from fear—but from knowing I was safe now.
* * *
We stood behind the Moon Dancer's Pavilion, hidden in the dense shadows where no one could possibly see us.
"How long have you been sneaking here, huh? Don't tell me you've been lusting after the Moon Dancers!" I whispered sharply. Then I gasped. "You said you only desired women! So why are you even looking at the Moon Dancers—who are clearly men!" I whispered, accusingly irritated.
"Shh! I'm not lusting after them," he said. "Nor do I come here often. I'm breaking the rules this one time—for you. Whatever you see inside, never speak of it."
I immediately fell silent and nodded.
"But how did you even know the place where we could sneak in?"
"My late father," he said quietly. "He was once a general of Ardentia. The king entrusted him with this secret, then my father to me. And now... I'm entrusting it to you. I want to show you something."
We leaned closer and peered through a narrow gap in the pavilion wall.
And there—inside—I saw them.
The Moon Dancers.
They moved in perfect harmony, their motions fluid and elegant—every turn, every sway, every arch of their wrist as soft as mist gliding across water. A haunting melody filled the pavilion, blending with the natural hum of the evening wind. It felt like the earth itself was singing with them.
A smile bloomed across my face before I even realized it.
This was what I wanted.
To dance like them.
To be one of them.
But then—the air shifted.
Something in the atmosphere changed, and the next sight hit me like a cold blade to the spine.
"W-what... is this?" I whispered, my voice shaking as I looked back at General Voltaire.
His expression was calm... almost gentle, as if he had expected this reaction from me.
"You see, Prince Aurein," he said, "this is the secret the Moon Dancers keep."
I turned my eyes back to them—and the illusion shattered completely.
"The world mocks softness," he said, "but in truth, this softness is only a facade."
My heartbeat quickened.
Because the graceful spins I admired, the elegant arcs of their arms... were not just part of a dance.
Hidden beneath the long, flowing sleeves of their garments were blades—sharp, slender, deadly. They glided around each other with beauty, but their movements concealed slashes, thrusts, evasions. Every elegant twirl was a killing strike. Every soft step was a silent execution.
Moon Dancers, the gentle idols of Ardentia...
"They are trained killers, assassins to be exact, Prince Aurein," he said. "Only the King, me, and my father knew. And now you. Their gentleness is their greatest weapon. Everyone believes they are fragile men who know nothing but dance—but behind that softness lies danger."
I watched in stunned silence.
The dancers did not stop their performance. They continued their graceful choreography, but once you understood what you were seeing—their elegance became terrifying.
Their beauty was a blade.
Their softness was a mask.
My entire view of them changed in an instant.
"Prince Aurein..." General Voltaire said softly. "Didn't you say you wanted to become a Moon Dancer? Do you still want it—after learning the truth? After seeing what they really are?"
I looked at him—straight into his eyes.
For the first time...I had no answer.
"This is what you dreamed of becoming," General Voltaire said quietly. "And this... is their true form. They are not just dancers, they can also kill."
End of Chapter 6