[BL] Alpha, You've Got the Wrong Mate!

Chapter 346 — Vanished

Zayden stood before Soren with his arms folded across his chest, impatience written plainly on his face.

"Are you mad?" Soren asked.

Zayden did not answer at once.

Meanwhile, Soren remained seated behind his desk, fingers resting lightly atop a stack of documents, expression unreadable.

"Should I not be?" Zayden said at last. "You decided to marry that man—"

"Zayden." Soren’s voice cut through him, calm but firm. He lifted his gaze, eyes sharp with authority the other man had rarely seen. "He will be my consort soon. Give him the respect he deserves."

Zayden clicked his tongue and turned away, rolling his eyes.

"Fine," he muttered. Then, he added, "Then tell me. Why did you summon me?"

He didn’t voice the rest of his thoughts—the irritation still burning in his chest at being dragged away from Ren—but it lingered between them all the same.

Soren exhaled slowly, as if choosing his next words with care.

"Because this is no longer something I can afford to ignore."

Zayden glanced back at him, annoyance giving way to alert attention.

Ignore what?

"There are monsters," Soren said. "Near the capital. The count has increased drastically lately."

Zayden straightened at once.

"...What?" He breathed, eyes widening.

"They are increasing," Soren continued. "Not just in number, but in strength. You know how it usually is—these creatures stay in forests, ruins, places untouched by light. They hide. They wait for darkness."

His fingers tightened slightly against the desk.

"But lately, they no longer do. They appear even in broad daylight, scaring off most of the villagers."

Zayden’s brows furrowed.

"You are saying they are showing themselves openly?"

"Yes. As I stated, even during the day. Near markets. Residential districts. Places filled with civilians. Their lives are constantly in danger."

Silence settled heavily between them.

"That’s not normal," Zayden said quietly.

"No," Soren agreed. "And that is precisely why I called for you."

Zayden inhaled, mind already shifting into planning.

"I will dispatch some of my men—the ones from the western border. They have dealt with this before. I will have them patrol discreetly for now."

"Make sure to do it quietly. I don’t want anyone to panic. Not right before the wedding," Soren said.

"I will make sure there is no chaos," Zayden replied. "But if this keeps escalating—"

"—then we are facing something far worse than stray monsters," Soren finished.

Their eyes met, understanding passing silently between them.

Zayden turned toward the door.

"I will handle it. Concentrate on your wedding."

"Right. Hopefully it ends quickly so I can focus more on the Empire."

Zayden sighed. All his brother ever thought about was duty. Even now, that was the only thing that crossed his mind.

As his hand closed around the handle, Soren spoke again, his voice lower this time.

"Be careful, Zayden."

Zayden paused for only a second before pulling the door open. He left without saying another word.

The corridor beyond the study was quiet, the echo of his boots sharp on polished marble floors. Servants bowed as he passed, but he barely noticed them. His thoughts were already elsewhere—threading together Soren’s words, the unease lodged beneath them.

Monsters in daylight.

That alone was enough to sour his mood completely.

By the time he reached the outer hall, his jaw had already tightened, anxiousness overwhelming him.

These creatures did not abandon their instincts without reason. Something was driving them out of hiding—fear, hunger, or a summons more insidious than either.

Was it his... sister?

Last time he visited a village near the Capital, the monster carried his sister’s scent.

It’s just a mere coincidence, right?...

He bit his lips, hoping he was right.

"Send word to the western unit," he said to the guard stationed near the doors. "Quietly. I want eyes everywhere: markets, residential districts, the lower wards. Make sure to tell them to move with caution. I don’t want the people to panic right before the wedding."

"Yes, of course, My Lord."

Zayden stepped into the sunlight, squinting briefly as the warmth washed over him. The capital looked the same as it always had—busy, bright, alive. Laughter drifted from a distant street. Merchants called out their wares.

Everything was... normal.

His fingers curled slowly at his side.

If monsters truly walked among them now, then this peace was fragile—thin like a glass, waiting to shatter.

And Ren and Eiran were right in the middle of it.

Zayden exhaled sharply and turned back toward the palace, resolve hardening in his chest.

He would deal with this quickly.

He had no intention of letting those monsters reach what was his—his family. He needed to protect them at all costs.

***

On the other side, Zion encountered Vincent just as the man was preparing to leave Hianshu.

It was near the outer gates, where caravans gathered. The air smelled faintly of dust and iron.

Vincent stood apart from the crowd, cloak fastened, expression as unreadable as ever. He seemed unhurried, as if he had known Zion would pass through this road.

"Leaving already?" He asked, slowing his steps.

Zion inclined his head.

"Separately," he replied. "But yes. Where are you headed?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Why would the High Priest’s son leave his comfortable life to join a lowly group of merchants?

Without another word, Vincent reached into his coat and drew out a folded portrait.

When he opened it, Zion felt his breath hitch before he could stop himself.

A picture of a man.

Similar to the ones he had seen at the temple paintings—here, this man appeared ethereal and distant—but closer to someone Zion had known.

The lines were softer, the expression more human than he recalled. The artist had captured something dangerously real in the portrait although the eyes were hidden.

"Have you seen this person?" Vincent asked calmly.

Zion stared for a heartbeat too long.

The silver hair.

The length.

The quiet familiarity that stirred an old unease in his chest.

He remembered the countless portraits lining the temple halls, remembered how often that face had watched him from stone and parchment alike. And beneath that memory surfaced another—blurred, fleeting—the image of a silver-haired servant at Zayden’s side.

No. That is impossible.

Zion folded his expression into something indifferent and shook his head.

"No. I have not."

Vincent studied him closely, as if weighing the truth of that answer.

Zion met his gaze without flinching. After staying in the enemy kingdom for so long, he had grown used to lying with a straight face. After all, his life depended on how many perfect lies he could spout.

"Still," Zion added, extending his hand, "I can keep the portrait. If I ever come across someone like this, it might help."

A pause.

Then Vincent handed it over. He had countless copies of Raniel’s portraits. He intended to give it to people he met in the caravan so they could look for him across the world. Properly this time.

Unlike those useless knights...

"Very well," he exhaled. "Contact me if you do."

From his palm, he produced a small object—smooth and round, no larger than a marble. It glowed faintly blue, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.

Zion frowned.

"What is it?"

"A new device I made," Vincent said lightly. "If you press it, I will sense your location. Then, I will be able to find you."

Zion forced a hum of acknowledgment, closing his fingers around the sphere.

Inside, he scoffed.

As if I would ever risk that.

The moment Vincent turned away, Zion already knew where the glowing ball would end up.

Straight into the trash.

However, now he needed to find a way to slip away from the caravan without drawing Vincent’s attention.

If Vincent were to discover that Zion was a spy from Revhara, he would not hesitate to kill him. And the consequences of that would be far too severe for the emperor to contain. It would not end with one dead man—it could very well ignite another war between the two nations.

That was a price Zion could not afford to pay.

Vincent did not linger in one place for long.

Once the brief exchange with Zion ended, he moved through the caravan with a lot of patience, the rolled portrait tucked beneath his arm.

He stopped traders, guards, servants—anyone who looked as though they might have passed through more cities than most. Each time, he unrolled the parchment just enough for the painted face to be seen.

"Have you seen this man?"

Again and again, the answer was the same.

A shake of the head.

A hesitant glance, followed by a soft no.

Or simply a muttered no.

Some looked genuinely confused. Others avoided his gaze altogether, eager to distance themselves from whatever trouble the portrait carried with it, thinking it might be some criminal.

The more Vincent asked, the more tightly his jaw set, irritation filling his composed exterior.

No one had seen him.

No one remembered silver hair, blindfolded eyes, or a face that should have been unforgettable.

By the time he reached the far end of the caravan, Vincent’s patience had thinned to a razor’s edge. His grip on the portrait tightened, his fingers tips turning bright red, frustration simmering beneath his skin.

He just vanished.

He thought darkly, jaw tight.

As if the man had never existed at all.