Michaelli listened to the rustling leaves and distant calls of unseen creatures. The canopy above cast dappled patterns across the forest floor as the royal hunters advanced with practiced stealth. The snort of a horse broke the tension, every ear pricked for the faintest sound.

Prince Michaelli led the group astride a jet-black stallion, muscles coiled like a bowstring, mirroring his master’s anticipation. This was no ordinary hunt—they sought the Onyxariel, the legendary black griffin. Its wings are vast as shadows, stretching wide enough to blanket the sky. its golden beak gleaming more brilliantly than any royal seal.

“Nightfall, let’s go,” Michaelli muttered, urging his steed forward. To him, this was more than a hunt; it was prophecy taking shape. Tonight, I will claim the Onyxariel.

“Awoooo…” I raised my hand to signal the group to stop, silence swallowed the whole group. Then, a sharp, piercing cry shattered the stillness, reverberating through the woods like a warning.

Michaelli’s grin was predatory as he gestured for his riders to spread out. “Awoooo…”

“It’s close,” he whispered, eyes lighting with a challenge. The air thickened with anticipation.

“Awoohuhu…”

Michaelli crept toward the sound, senses sharp as he carefully looked around.

“Awohuhu…aah, Your Highness? Oh, thank goodness!” Michaelli’s jaw tightened, and his thrill of the hunt deflated. Dangling from a rope trap meant for a small beast was Tuk, his hapless advisor, swaying like a panicked monkey.

“You...what are you doing up there?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I…I was looking for you, Your Highness!” Tuk stammered. “But first, could you help me get down? I think all the blood is rushing to my head.”

With an exasperated sigh, Michaelli unsheathed his dagger and aimed. “Wait, Your Highness!” Tuk yelped, eyes wide. “You’re not going to throw that at me, are you?”

“Do you think so little of me?” Michaelli’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “This is just a small dagger. You’ll be fine. Now don’t move.”

“It can kill me! I’ll die both ways! If I fall headfirst—”

Suddenly, a shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun, and a rush of wind bowed the trees and sent leaves swirling in a storm of green and gold. Nightfall whinnied, and Michaelli tightened his grip on the reins, eyes scanning the sky.

“Y-Your Highness, that’s not a dragon, is it?” Tuk’s voice trembled as the Onyxariel circled above, its wings slicing the air. Sunlight danced on dark feathers threaded with veins of gold. Its golden beak shone like a warlord’s crown, fierce and unyielding.

The forest held its breath as Tuk managed to cling to the rope that held his legs. With a roar, Michaelli spurred Nightfall into the clearing, locking eyes with the griffin in a silent declaration of war.

He drew his bow and fired, but the Onyxariel twisted mid-flight with impossible agility. It dove, talons outstretched. Michaelli ducked, the claws raking the earth behind him. He aimed for the underbelly, but the beast battered him aside with a wing, sending him sprawling. Michaelli’s blood sang with exhilaration. The fight had begun. He silently thought, eyes glistening sharply.

“W-Why is it coming at me?!” Tuk shrieked as the griffin’s eyes shifted to her.

With a dark smile, Michaelli unsheathed his sword, obsidian runes pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He urged Nightfall forward, following the griffin's charge. Its beak snapped inches from his chest as he swung his blade and jumped mid-air, striking the creature’s wing. Feathers as tough as armor scattered, shimmering like black diamonds.

“Why...Why are you fighting near me?!” Tuk wailed, barely holding on as a stray feather rocked her rope.

The griffin’s shriek echoed through the forest, faltering in its flight. Seizing the moment, Michaelli leaped from it's body, cutting Tuk’s rope with one swift motion. He caught his advisor, who hiccupped in shock and tossed him aside like a bag of grain before turning back to face his foe.

“It’s a good omen,” he whispered, eyes locked with the Onyxariel’s. The beast lunged, wings whipping up a storm, but Michaelli stood his ground, ready to claim the creature that would mark his dominion.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

From behind a tree, Tuk peeked out, muttering, “Why do I have to watch this action scene instead of a romance?”

She silently watched the prince, who seemed to be the lord of the underworld in berserk, as he fought one-on-one with the big bird that looked like a lion. She could see a few warriors standing by and couldn't help but to watch the scene in front of them. The griffin fell, and atop its heaving form, Michaelli stood—bloodied but victorious, a grin stretching across his face as if he were crowned by the shadows themselves. The warriors roar like wild animals to his victory.

"They're all crazy."

Tuk took a deep breath, leaning heavily against a sturdy tree as she watched the troop of warriors cheer like maniacs. The prince's triumphant hunt had turned the scene into an open-air festival of blood, feathers, and over-enthusiastic back-slapping. "I’m so glad I didn’t isekai into their enemy," she thought, crying a little on the inside.

The enormous griffin lay lifeless nearby, looking like it had swallowed every monster in existence before meeting its end. Tuk pulled twigs and leaves from her tousled hair, her clothes stained with dirt and grass. I probably look like I wrestled an entire forest and lost. She bet five coins she’d be mistaken for a woodland scarecrow that lost a bet with nature.

She reached for her hairpin, sliding her fingers over its polished surface until a concealed blade clicked into view—a clever little weapon she’d designed with the prince’s weaponsmith. Every ornament she wore hid a surprise: a retractable knife in her shoes, triple-tap activated; thin blades tucked into her sleeves; a dagger snugly fitted inside her boot. Yet, for all her cleverness, the height of the trees had made escape impossible earlier. How would I know I would dangle so high up there?

Finally freed from the rope, she wobbled upright, her muscles protesting every movement. "Why do I even have to do this?!" she muttered, fishing a crumpled letter from inside her vest. Once pristine, the parchment now looked like it had survived a battlefield. "Well, at least it’s delivered. Effort counts, right?"

“Your Highness...” she began, approaching Prince Michaelli, who stood like a war god in the center of the clearing. His dark armor gleamed with streaks of blood, his face an unreadable mask beneath tousled hair. The griffin’s blood mingled with his own, a macabre tapestry of victory. Is that his blood? Or the griffin’s? Hard to tell. They were both monsters, after all.

The warriors watched her with barely contained amusement as she staggered closer. Tuk rolled her eyes. Laugh all you want, but your prince looks like a medieval vampire who overdid it at an all-you-can-drink blood buffet. Annoyingly, he still looked... good. Too good. Hot people are really a cheater!

She thrust the battered letter toward him, her voice a mix of triumph and exasperation. “Important. Letter. For you.” Each word was a gasp, her body a windswept scarecrow after a marathon through a warzone.

Prince Michaelli’s eyes gleamed with amusement. He took the letter, inspected the royal seal—and tossed it carelessly into a pool of blood at their feet.

Tuk’s mind short-circuited. Did he just—?! Her polite smile barely hid the firestorm raging inside. “Your... Highness. Lord Nixon said it’s important,” she managed, teeth grinding.

He shrugged, wiping blood from his hands with a towel offered by a warrior. “I received it, didn’t I?”

'Read it, you baffoon!' Her internal monologue screamed as she maintained her mask of calm.

“Right. Well, I should go back, then.” She turned, only to remember her treacherous horse had abandoned her. That stupid animal! When I find it, I’ll paint its hooves neon pink.

“Ah... I lost my horse,” she ventured, hope tinging her voice. “Perhaps someone could... offer me a ride?”

Michaelli’s smile widened, like he heard every unspoken word. “We’re done here. Prepare for the return.”

Relief washed over her as a burly warrior waved her over. His sun-weathered face split into a grin. “Need a ride, Lord Advisor?”

“Desperately,” she groaned. Mounting the horse, she felt like a frog leaping onto a lily pad, every muscle protesting.

Back at the encampment, the air buzzed with the restless energy of nobles swarming around Prince Michaelli, their ambitions flaring like moths drawn to a flame. Each one vied for a moment of his attention, hopeful for a smile, a word—anything to secure their place in his favor. Yet Michaelli walked past them with a quiet indifference, his expression carved from stone. He strode directly to his pavilion, leaving them to fester in their unspoken rivalries.

The next morning, anticipation hummed through the camp like an electric current as the announcement of the hunt’s dedication ceremony took center stage. Nobles gathered in clusters, their fine garments rustling as they exchanged speculations in hushed, excited voices. The announcer, standing atop a small platform, unfurled a scroll with a deliberate flourish.

“I dedicate this hunt to Lady Evelyn,” he declared, his voice carrying across the clearing like a peal of thunder. His eyes flicked to the young woman at the edge of the crowd, whose pale complexion flushed with shock. Lady Evelyn, draped in a simple but elegant gown, had been doing her best to blend into the background. Now, she stood at the center of a storm of whispers. Gasps rippled through the crowd, and envy ignited in the eyes of the other nobles, as though the world had suddenly inverted itself, and rain now fell upward.

The announcer continued, his tone steady but charged with significance. “His Highness, Prince Michaelli, cannot personally attend the dedication due to an urgent situation. However, by his command, this hunt is hereby dedicated to Lady Evelyn of House Alaric.”

From her spot at the edge of the forest, Tuk masked her grimace with a practiced, tight-lipped smile. She cast a sideways glance at Michaelli, who lounged beneath the sprawling branches of an ancient oak, his face shadowed and inscrutable. His posture was one of supreme relaxation, a stark contrast to the frenzy unfolding in his name. Urgent situation, my ass. Her eyes narrowed slightly. This is the first time I’ve seen a hunt dedication where the dedicator doesn’t even attend. And to dedicate it to a noble lady, no less. She’d read enough stories to expect some heart-fluttering, romantic spectacle. This? This was heart-wrenching, in all the wrong ways.

The wind whispered through the towering trees, carrying the earthy scent of moss and pine. Tuk inhaled deeply, the cool, fresh air filling her lungs. It was an almost surreal calm, as if the violence of the previous day’s hunt had been nothing more than a dream. The rustling leaves seemed to sigh in relief, their gentle dance a stark contrast to the blood-soaked memories still lingering in her mind.

Her gaze drifted back to Michaelli, his eyes closed, a picture of serene detachment as he lay in the grass. The warriors stationed around him stood like silent sentinels, their eyes scanning the perimeter with hawk-like vigilance.

With a resigned sigh, Tuk wandered to a nearby tree, its sturdy trunk offering a welcome reprieve. She leaned against it, the rough bark grounding her in the present moment. The weight of the world—the expectations, the fear, the unrelenting pace—seemed to melt away.

How long has it been since I’ve truly breathed like this? The question echoed in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of the world she had left behind. A fast-paced world. There, in the relentless march of technology and ambition, taking a break felt like an unforgivable sin. Every second counted, every moment scrutinized. It was a world of flickering screens, endless judgment, and gnawing uncertainty.

That was the world I belonged to, she thought, closing her eyes as the breeze whispered through the leaves. And yet... here, in this place of violence and beauty, of power plays and quiet moments... She glanced one last time at the prince, his form still and unreadable beneath the dappled shadows.

Maybe there’s something here worth breathing for.