1

Primal terror unlike anything she had experienced numbed Yuliana's legs as she walked. The guards were taking her across the backyard, past the stables, towards a longhouse built on the northern side of the hill, in the embrace of a little grove. That was where the knights stationed at the Duke's estate had their quarters, a distance away from the main house.

Though they were officially associated with the town watch dedicated to Grelden's defense, these troops were in reality all handpicked by the false Duke and his associates, their loyalties closer to the kingdom of currency. More than a few had background as lowly mercenaries, bounty hunters, even bandits, who never went through proper military training, and had no discipline to speak of. They were knighted on paper and bore their uniforms for appearances only. Wolves in armor, motivated by earthly gain and nothing more.

Whatever ideals or values they might have held in the past had been chipped away by years of harsh life in the wild, before being hired for more stable service, and because of that, they held no particular sympathy for the people they were supposed to protect.

The purpose behind the assembly of this haphazard brigade was simple—to guard the Empire's spies, even if that meant going against their colleagues in the town guard or the citizens of Grelden themselves.

The false Mayor was better than aware that to maintain the loyalty of his guard corps, more than a steady flow of copper, bread, and wine was needed. He sought to bind the guards tighter to his cause through various acts of villainy. Instead of trying to quell their less noble characteristics, he wordlessly encouraged them. He turned a blind eye to hazing and abuse, and assigned corporeal punishments and extended service for made up reasons, all to keep the men on edge and angry. Thieves, beggars, and wanderers caught in the Haywell fields faced no law but imprisonment and torture in the hands of the bored guards.

To balance the purposefully poor treatment, their lord bought them women, food, and drink at excess with the city's funds, disregarding their occasional drunken brawls.

Lawless and disordered, the Duke's guard platoon over time slipped into superficially contained anarchy, converting the once fair Haywell estate into a veritable nest of banditry in the process.

Foul rumors began to circulate in the area and Grelden's guards detested their colleagues in the Mayor's service, but, unable to openly oppose the city's leader, they were helpless before the rumors of atrocities. Their respect for the past lord of the land now allowed his disguised imposter to control them.

And it was the very home of those loathsome villains, where they were now taking the princess of Langoria.

“You can't do this to me,” Yuliana told the knights escorting her. “Let me go now, and I will forgive you. I will speak on your behalf when your master is brought to the justice he deserves.”

“Sure can talk, this one,” the guard walking on her right grunted.

“The tongue at least is practiced then,” the one on the left added.

“I am your superior in rank, you don’t have the right to lay a finger on me!”

“To this day, I have not learned the difference between the ass of a princess and the ass of a whore. Not that I've had the chance to do a thorough comparison before. Every day's full of firsts, ainnit?”

“Animals,” the princess looked away in disgust.

“Humans are animals, yes,” the guard replied. “It was no goddess that pushed you into this world either, bloodied and screaming, and no more was a god that lad who did the deed before. At least we're honest about it.”

“Just shut up,” the third man at the front urged. “You're getting on my nerves.”

“Oh, now I know where I lost my axe,” the knight on the right remarked after a pause, “seems I left it up your ass, Milfred. And sideways to boot.”

“Don't call me that,” the knight apparently called Milfred retorted, but wouldn't stop walking.

“Ah yes, you were the new one, Millie. Both in the guard and in life. Haven't had a chance with a woman yet, have ya? Don't worry. You just might get lucky tonight. You'll loosen up after that. Though not as much as her majesty, I'm afraid.”

The longhouse was getting closer.

With each successive step, listening to the vulgar exchange, Yuliana's distress deepened.

The sun had already set an hour ago.

It was the domain of the night and the Lord of Light could not manifest her power at will. Not without Yuliana performing the ritual. But would she have the chance to perform the ritual? She had to try. Once she was locked inside that house, she knew she would be done for. It was now or never.

“My lord—I beseech thee...” she spoke. Fear made every word feel unbearably heavy and stick in her throat. She was shaking, her teeth clattering, and could barely breathe.

“Hey, it's too soon to be calling me a lordship,” one of the knights interrupted her, leaning closer to grab her waist. Too close. Yuliana quickly twisted herself to avoid him.

“Why, you bastard, she was talking to me, clearly!” the second knight reached out to shove his companion by the shoulder.

“Well, soon she'll be too busy to talk to anybody! For there's better use for the part of her that's usually reserved for saying things.”

As the conversation kept turning more and more colorful and Yuliana's face a darker shade of gray and green, they reached the building. There was another knight keeping the door. Seeing her time had come, Yuliana made one last, desperate attempt to turn and run. But her grandiose dress projected her moves too early, and the knight to her left was more alert than his lazy impression implied. He quickly stuck the bottom half of his halberd in the way and stopped her.

“Not so fast, oho!” he roughly levered her towards the door. “This ain't my first time at the rodeo, you know. Been catchin' hares since before I could talk.”

The second knight wasted no time to grab the princess by her arm and forcefully dragged her inside the house with him. There was no way for Yuliana to fight back. The armored glove held her like a vice. Without her gear, without a weapon of even the most primitive sort, she might as well have been but a child. She had planned to steal a knife or a fork from the banquet tables, but not even that opportunity had been given to her.

The knights crammed in through the narrow entrance, the princess with them, and the door fell shut with a heavy bang.

The trap was closed.

There was no longer any chance of escape.

The longhouse was a simple hall on the inside with a large, stone-made fireplace constructed in the middle, its massive chimney towering through the ceiling. Long dining tables on both sides of the fireplace divided the space lengthwise. By the walls, there were simplistic bunk beds for less than ninety guards, of whom thirty or so were present, free of duty. The banquet demanded heavier than usual security, but shifts would be changed at midnight, so no one was asleep. Soon enough, some thirty rude pairs of eyes were fixed at Yuliana, who stood out in her crimson dress like a blooming orchid on a dungheap.

Stepping forward to stand comically in attention, one of her escorts tore off his pot-like helmet and announced with a deep bow,

“Allow me to present to you, the crown princess of Langoria, Yuliana Da-da-daa. I've been told she is entirely unfamiliar with the finer workings of male anatomy, and it is our lord's humble wish for us to make her a scholar in the field.”

Mean laughter filled the room.

To keep seeing their faces, Yuliana squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth, wanting nothing more but for Death's hand to claim her before any of theirs.

2

Like a shadow, Riswelze leaped over the outer perimeter wall crowning the hill with the manor. So far everything had gone better than expected. Weed grew faster than wheat and, left uncared, a batch south of the hill had reached tall enough to mask her approach. Following the sun's setting behind the distant hills, the chances of being detected were further lowered. The ease with which she had found her way inside the manor grounds made the assassin embarrassed for exaggerating the job’s difficulty to Izumi. She was confident she could have robbed the few passing patrols of their helmets and they would not have noticed.

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The estate was more heavily guarded than it usually would've been, with three active patrols on each side of the building and several stationary watchmen at strategic positions by the wall. But most of the security detail was focused on the festival area in the front yard and the others were clearly bored and displeased with their part. There was not an ounce of alertness in their conduct. No one appeared to expect uninvited visitors.

And Riswelze had her tricks.

Using a spell she had learned over the years, Cloak of Darkness, she masked her appearance and advanced. The magic didn't make her outright invisible, but so long as she remained stationary in the shade, her figure was difficult to tell apart from its surroundings, even at a close distance. Encouraged by her rapid progress, she had crossed over the wall without waiting for the agreed distraction by the fireworks.

None of her earlier doubts remained. She was back in her element.

Still, the girl extinguished the sense of excitement as soon as it emerged in her heart, silencing even her thoughts.

The key to a successful infiltration was patience, as she well knew.

The assassin moved in quick, short bursts, from one hiding spot to another, which the thick fruit trees growing around the manor provided in abundance. Each time she stopped, she remained perfectly still for a while, as if turned one with the earth. She observed the holes in the defenses and patrol routes and always made sure to plan her moves three steps ahead.

Her search for the Duke's treasury was best started from his office, which Riswelze knew to be located on the topmost floor of the main building. Her associate inside had revealed it to her, as well as many other invaluable details regarding the place and its protections.

Yet not even this insider knew where Grelden's Mayor kept his gold. Most of the man's finances were of course safe in the town bank, but he had to keep a considerable stash of gold at hand for any sudden expenses—those that were best left unbooked, in particular. Riswelze had never known a noble without such dealings under the table.

Reaching the base of the main building after the last patrol had passed, the assassin soundlessly climbed up the drainage pipe with the agility of a squirrel. It didn't take her many heartbeats to reach the edge of the roof on the third floor and fling herself over it. No watchmen were positioned on top of the manor itself. The path was clear.

Ahead of her stood the dark windows of the smaller fourth floor, the windows of the Duke's office facing the sunrise.

But before approaching them to break in, Riswelze couldn't resist but turn and take a look at the breathtaking view spreading below her boots.

The Haywell hill, adorned with the countless lanterns of the festival, as well as the dark, silent fields encircling it, extending all the way into the distance where the night's thick curtains veiled the horizon....As she overcame this brief instance of what she labeled as “girlish sentimentality” and was about to turn back to the task at hand, something unexpected caught Riswelze's sharp gaze.

A girl in a red dress being led across the backyard by a trio of knights, towards the longhouse on the other side. Even from that distance, Riswelze easily identified the knight princess of Langoria.

The Duke doesn't value royalty much, does he?

The assassin wasn't innocent enough not to understand the situation. But even as she pitied the princess as a fellow woman, that pity alone was not enough to make her run to her aid.

You cannot save everyone—Riswelze had learned that lesson at a young age when empathy still tormented her. For each soul she had risked herself and endured great pains to rescue from the horrors of the underworld, tens more perished in ways far more abominable.

The girl's heart had quickly become hardened, her mind numbed to the suffering of others. There was no way she could have gone on living otherwise. Had she allowed every cry of anguish to shake her, every death and injury dishearten her, her soul would've sunk into madness and apathy a long time ago.

To preserve the integrity of her spirit, lines had to be drawn.

If an obstacle was impossible to overcome, why challenge it? To survive, she had to pick her battles. The princess had failed in this basic task, as had so many others who overestimated their luck and ability. The rewards of stupidity were immediate and always deserved. Such was the law of the wild.

Terrible waste, but ultimately not related to Riswelze herself in any way.

Rather, the guards having one more thing to keep them occupied was only to the benefit of her thievery. Trying to help the princess would have meant giving up on the heist and escaping empty-handed. If escape was even possible anymore at that point.

Riswelze turned her back on the captive and took a step forward.

Yet, her oddly reluctant feet soon stopped.

Though she reassured herself in all sincerity that the princess meant nothing to her, something still bothered her.

The princess was someone of importance to Itaka Izumi.

Hadn't the woman come here just to find her companion? She had been willing to walk into peril not for coin, but only for Yuliana's sake.

Riswelze had always thought deep down that rescuing the princess was nonsense, but so long as it helped her to the Duke's riches, which she hadn't dared to pursue before, any assistance was welcome. She shouldn't have concerned herself with the pair any further than that.

But concerned she was.

The way the two had acted at the inn, at the market, in the blacksmith's shop—observing them from the shadows, Riswelze had been filled with a mysterious, ambiguous feeling that confused her thoughts.

It was an annoyance, a distraction, but at the same time strangely gentle.

Familial longing.

What would Izumi do if she found her companion too late?

She'd be heartbroken, for sure.

She'd be crushed, perhaps even to the point of losing her will to live.

Thinking about that, Riswelze shuddered. She didn't want to see it. Even after all the horrors she had witnessed in her life, it was unbearable as a mere thought. Itaka Izumi's tears and anguish were one thing she knew for certain she never wanted to behold, if only she could help it.

“Blast it.”

Turning away from the office room windows, the assassin dropped over the edge of the roof. Sliding down the wall from window sill to the next, Riswelze jumped to the ground and hurried to the guardhouse, a feverish compulsiveness driving her.

Fortunately, the backyard wasn't that heavily guarded.

With the outer wall and exits manned, the odds of any trespasser making it here, to the heart of the estate, were next to nil. And even if they did, there was nothing of value to steal right next to the beehive that was the guardhouse.

Avoiding the eyes of the solitary man on the door, Riswelze circled behind the longhouse and sneaked a peek through the windows.

The knights had made the princess start stripping atop one of the long tables in the middle of the hall, while the audience cheered excitedly.

Simply sneaking in, snatching the girl from under the noses of all those armed men, before escaping would have been impossible even for a god of thieves. A distraction was necessary. If Riswelze had no way in, the others had to come out. It was going to mess up the plan, Izumi hadn't yet launched the fireworks. The guards would all crowd here, when the plan had been to attract them away. But there was no choice.

With her index finger, Riswelze quickly traced a small pattern on the wall of the longhouse, and muttered,

“Brandt.”

The rune of ignition. The pattern lightened up with a faint glow, and the wooden wall around it suddenly caught fire. Bright tongues of flame quickly started to cover more area and grow in size.

Quickly leaving her hiding spot, Riswelze dashed into the woods behind the building. Whatever would happen next, she had to put distance between herself and the scene of the crime. In a matter of minutes, dozens of angry knights would be flooding out of the building and whoever would be unlucky enough to get judged guilty of the disruption wouldn't see another day, if lucky.

But at least they wouldn't be going back to their games anytime soon. She would think of her next move after.

However, Riswelze didn't make it that far.

There was something the assassin didn't know about the Haywell estate.

Something even her associate inside didn't know, and so had no way of sharing with her.

The Duke's residence was not guarded by knights alone.

In the darkness of the grove, a shadow blacker than the rest suddenly appeared to block the fleeing girl's path. By the time she realized it wasn't a natural obstacle, it was too late. That abruptly appeared, formless abyss raised its hand and mumbled something. A projectile out of nowhere, hard and heavy, shot forth, striking the assassin in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer, as she reached for her knives. A huge chunk of ice, it shattered by the force of the impact, the pieces raining on the girl as she was knocked on her back on the ground. Though her vest was reinforced, the blow was hard enough to force the air out of her lungs. Her sides hurting, gasping for breath, Riswelze saw through her blurry vision a figure robed in black approach her.

“You would dare to employ your inane scripts in my domain, child of man?” The sorcerer, Joviél, looked down at her, disgust in his cold eyes. “For that, you will know a thousand deaths.”

Riswelze tried to lift herself, but the intense pain wringing her ribs made the effort impossible. Her consciousness slowly fading, she forced her head to turn, to look behind her, and what she saw—or more like, what she failed to see—made her brow contort in disbelief.

There was neither fire nor smoke visible anywhere near the longhouse.

Her trick had failed. She had gambled everything—and lost everything.