The Ice Queen and The Dark Prince

kill the thing that's rising

A/N: ISTG if this is your fantasy, just go to therapy bruv, she's not real

As Minatiro made his way to the tournament registration, he weaved through the busy streets of the capital, his mind focused on the upcoming fights. The sounds of street vendors hawking their goods, people chattering, and the clatter of horse-drawn carriages created a symphony of city life around him, but none of it reached him. His mind was entirely set on the prize, the fights, and the chance to release the frustration that had been building inside him.

But just as he was nearing the registration tent, a familiar face caught his attention—Tatsumi. The young assassin from Night Raid was standing in line, apparently signing up for the tournament as well. Minatiro's brow raised in surprise.

"What's he doing here?" Minatiro muttered under his breath.

Tatsumi looked different—his usually bright and energetic demeanor was replaced by something more serious, more determined. He was wearing simple combat gear, nothing that screamed "assassin," which meant Night Raid probably didn't know he was here. Or maybe they did, and this was some kind of undercover mission. Either way, Minatiro had to admit, seeing Tatsumi here piqued his interest.

Deciding to make his presence known, Minatiro approached quietly from behind, waiting until he was just a few steps away before speaking.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Tatsumi," he said, his tone casual but with an edge of amusement.

Tatsumi flinched, turning quickly to see Minatiro standing there, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"Minatiro?" Tatsumi stammered, clearly not expecting to see him. "What are you doing here?"

Minatiro glanced at the registration tent before meeting Tatsumi's eyes. "Same thing as you, I assume. Entering the tournament. I need the prize money."

Tatsumi frowned, clearly puzzled by Minatiro's relaxed demeanor. He knew Minatiro wasn't a part of Night Raid, but their past encounters had been less than friendly. Still, Tatsumi didn't seem to be holding a grudge, at least not openly.

"You're fighting too?" Tatsumi asked, still somewhat in disbelief. "Why? You don't seem like the type to enter something like this for money."

Minatiro shrugged, his gaze momentarily shifting to the line of contestants ahead. "A man's gotta eat. Plus, it's a good way to blow off some steam."

Tatsumi studied him for a moment, as if trying to figure out if Minatiro had some ulterior motive. "Just... be careful. This tournament isn't just for show. Some of these fighters are dangerous. I heard there are even Imperial Arm users in the mix."

Minatiro's smirk widened. "Good. I'm always up for a challenge."

Tatsumi still looked concerned, but Minatiro could tell he was trying to shake it off. The younger assassin wasn't used to the same level of cold detachment that Minatiro had developed, especially when it came to combat. Minatiro admired Tatsumi's idealism in a way, but he also knew that idealism wouldn't keep him alive for long.

As they moved through the line toward the registration table, Minatiro's sharp eyes caught something glimmering at Tatsumi's waist—a familiar sword, one that seemed oddly out of place in the hands of someone like him. It was sleek, silver, and held an aura of something far more powerful than it let on. Minatiro's heart skipped a beat as recognition set in.

That sword... Incursio.

His gaze narrowed as he focused on the weapon. He had heard rumors about the legendary Imperial Arm, its power, and its reputation. But the last person he knew who wielded it was Bulat.