1

From Varnam, the caravan proceeded deeper into Luctretz, the winding highway as their guide. The days grew cooler, the nights in particular. The further south they rode, the more pronounced became the winter’s effects, although it was not cold enough for there to be snow yet. But the air was humid and the humidity made the riders experience the cool air so much keener on their hides. Water built up on their armors in large drops while they rode, as if steel and leather could sweat, and the morning view was always shrouded in fog.

Izumi remembered the landscape well even without seeing it clearly. The endless, low hills that knee-high grass covered. The grass had been so light and airy under the spring sun, but lay now pent and clumped along the earth. Chunky rock formations stuck up here and there, the course of primordial ice sheets carved on their naked, white quartz faces in deep scars. They rode past the hills, past the rocks, past a ruined segment of an ancient aqueduct, which reached up slanted from the terrain like the half-buried ribs of a fallen giant. But there were no giants no more than there were midgets, and gone were the titans the travelers had seen when the year was still young.

Izumi rode alongside the bard day after day, and few others cared or dared to join them. The other riders maintained respectful distance, either too proud to be seen in the company of women and children, or else dreading the sight of the champion’s exposed sword. They all knew her title and role, but they didn’t yet know what to make of her as a person. The infamy of the old champions now shrouded her as well.

However, going from the day previously described on, this mismatched pair became a group of three.

“I said no,” Izumi repeated.

“Is it a matter of money?” Arnwahl asked, riding alongside the woman and Toyotomi. “I can pay you whatever you like. Money has never been an issue for me, personally.”

“Don’t need any,” she repeated, growing more annoyed by the moment.

As much as she hoped to convey the finality of her answer by her tone, the knight ignored this.

“May I ask why you are so opposed to the idea, at any rate?” he asked. “Is it my ability you doubt? You have yet to acknowledge me as a worthy disciple—could this be the case? I had judged us to be close-matched in terms of strength, but perhaps this was my mistake? Teacher-student relationships are always a two-way pact. If my level falls too far short of your own, then certainly, I could be of no use to you in polishing your own technique. I see. Then, perhaps you could spare me a few words of advice, how I might begin to bridge this gap and make my apprenticeship more fruitful for you?”

“No,” Izumi said again. “I already told you the real reason; I don’t take students. Not my thing. It makes me feel especially old. So no. I have nothing but causes to refuse, do I?”

“How troublesome,” Arnwahl commented with a smile. “You are one of the more stubborn masters I’ve ever had, as much is clear. Most of them were only glad to have followers interested in their craft. Well, money also helped, in some cases.”

“Is that so?” Izumi murmured, no less bothered. “How many teachers have you had, anyway?”

“Around twenty? Or perhaps thirty?” Arnwahl looked up to the sky and guessed. “I’m afraid I’ve lost the precise count. I didn’t find it important.”

“Twenty or thirty…?” she repeated with a grimace. “That makes you seem like a rather poor student, you know? Nicely put.”

“You think so? I should say on the contrary. I learned everything they had to teach me, lost my reason to stay with them, and left. Isn’t it only the natural course of every pupil to graduate and move on?”

“I think your teachers would cry if they heard you say that,” Izumi said. “It wasn’t a casual hobby club they were running, right? No, they all thought they were the best of the best, and spent a lifetime honing their skills. They sure didn’t go to the trouble to be only one among twenty or thirty others. Doubt they were too happy to let you go and take their techniques to other swordsmen either.”

“Well, they wouldn’t be crying about it, I’m sure,” Arnwahl lightly replied. “Seeing as none of them is among the living anymore.”

“Ehh…” the woman and the bard cringed simultaneously. “Don’t tell me, you—”

“—Cut them down? Why, yes.” The man nodded, exhibiting tragically little remorse over his deeds. “How else was I to test the worth of the class? If the teacher dies by the hand of the disciple, then he was a good teacher indeed; being able to lift another one above your own level takes no small amount of talent. Of course, they would always try to keep things from me to ensure their advantage, but it is the role of the student to judge when he is ready. Those who fail this simply never had what it takes, and are not worthy of the Path. Is that not how you cultivated your own strength as well, Lady Izumi?”

“What are you, a dojo crasher?” Izumi wailed. “And you want me to be next!? No way! That’s double no. Triple no. No, no, and no, and with a bonus coupon for the next time!”

“How strange,” Arnwahl reflected. “You’re not glad? The disciple’s merits are also the merits of his mentor. One master I told this to merely laughed and said I could come at him whenever, even while he slept. I was under him for almost two years, before I judged I had learned enough to challenge him. He was quite good, certainly one of the best. But I had the upper hand in the end.”

The teacher candidate was not impressed.

“Do I seem a suicidal macho to you!? Have you ever met a normal woman in your life!? My ideal is to live as comfortably and painlessly as possible, not court death for a living! I’m not taking you as my student—in fact, I’m legitimately scared of you! So could you please get away from me now?”

Arnwahl wouldn’t hear it but rode on with a jovial air about him.

“What a dilemma,” he said with a smile. “I originally came to Bhastifal to challenge the warrior they called Heaven’s Hand. But he had already been defeated by the time I got there—by yourself, or so I am told.”

As if he’d caught a fly in his throat, Waramoti started coughing hard, barely holding onto his saddle.

“I took this as a sign of fate,” Arnwahl continued. “You are, without a doubt, the paragon towards which I have striven for all my life, the top of this order of champions they call mankind’s finest. There could be no one else better suited to be my mentor.”

“Well, here’s one lesson for you and completely free of charge,” Izumi told him. “You go and find yourself a dictionary, and you look up what ‘no’ means. It means no. And that’s all the words you’re getting out of me.”

“Very well,” the champion conceded. “Then we shall continue from here tomorrow.”

“Somebody, please help meeee!”

2

A week since their entry into Luctretz, the entourage came to a small town called Halmore and met a problem the hour they left it. The highway they had been diligently following up until now split into two major branches. Both paths seemed to take southward, as far as could be seen from the fork, but only one of those branches was marked on the Imperials’ map. The second had to have been a more recent addition, of which no news had yet reached abroad, at least as far as the official channels. The development of infrastructure, while a sign of prosperity on its own, posed a slight headache for the decision-makers. The known road took to a roundabout trip southeast through Messida and Serrath, before curving west towards Grelden. If the new road was any more direct, it could save them several days. On the other hand, if it ended up bound for Alomos further in the west instead, it would turn into a costly detour, and might even force them to cut through the unpredictable wilderness to correct the course later.

The choice was not simple to make.

The company saw no choice but to make a temporary camp by the road and return to Halmore to ask the locals for guidance. Tired of sitting and doing nothing, her majesty insisted on having this side quest for herself. With Miragrave, Margitte, Arnwahl, and an escort of knights in tow, she returned to the town on foot.

Their first objective was the town hall. The municipal governor’s office could be found in a large building of chalked stone on the eastern edge of the settlement, appropriately walled, and guarded, a sign of a wealthy community on its own.

And, apparently, it was closed from the public today.

The pair of guardsmen keeping the front gate looked anything but cooperative when confronted by a group of armed, black-clad foreigners.

“The Mayor’s office is closed for the day, come back on Monday,” was their unceremonious answer.

“We don’t have until Monday,” the Marshal grumpily told the men. “The Mayor hasn’t left anywhere far, has he? Can’t you bring him over now?”

“No, ma’am, we cannot,” the first guard said. “It is a holiday, the offices are closed.”

“You must come back another day,” the other one echoed.

The style of customer service didn’t please the commander at all.

“Why, I’ll show you a holiday!” Miragrave growled at the pair. “Do you have any idea who it is you’re—”

“—Master,” Yuliana interrupted the officer before she could get started, taking her arm. “All we need are simple directions, we don’t need to trouble the Mayor for this. Why don’t we ask the townspeople instead?”

The Marshal couldn’t easily endorse the idea. “Yuliana! Don’t forget your position! A Sovereign going from door to door, asking around like any flea-ridden vagabond—they’d laugh at us all the way in Dharva!”

“No one needs to know. That is the point. Discretion, remember?”

“At least, you don’t have to do this personally…”

“But I want to. In fact, I insist. It’s not a problem.”

“Tch. I suppose there’s no choice.” The Marshal begrudgingly agreed. “Let’s be quick about it then and—”

“—Actually,” Yuliana stopped Miragrave again, “why don’t you go back to the camp and leave this to me? Please? It’s only going to complicate things more, if we roam around such a peaceful town with a platoon of knights.”

Miragrave replied with a frown, “I’m not going to let you get kidnapped again.”

“I’m fairly sure not every bandit troupe out there has dragons for pets,” Yuliana patiently replied, only a little offended on the inside. “Let’s see, I will have young Master Beuhler and Sir Arnwahl with me! In their company, I shall be quite safe, no matter what turns up. Isn’t that right?”

“That doesn’t make me feel one bit better,” the Marshal argued, eyeing Arnwahl in particular with great doubt. “Why am I not included in the count?”

“Um, because we’re only asking for advice? And how you just tried to declare war on the guardsmen doesn’t inspire a great deal of trust that things will stay on that level.”

At this riposte, Miragrave could only hang her arms in frustration.

“I wasn’t going to…I will never hear the end of that, will I?”

“I don’t know. Depends on how many wars you declare before the end of the trip.”

The Empress’s light scout party split ways with the knights and proceeded to walk around the town, searching for anyone who looked remotely knowledgeable.

Unfortunately, there weren’t many people around in general. As the guards had said, it was a holiday. Most of the townspeople were spending the day at home with their families, or were out tending to their fields, and had no cause to loiter in the streets. The weather looked unfavorable for outdoor picnics as well, suggesting rain in the nearby future.

The stores along the central street were almost all closed, the main marketsquare devoid of life. Before resorting to knocking on private house doors, the crew stopped at a prosperous-looking corner pub, fortunately still open for business.

All the life that was absent from the streets could be found crammed in this one hall, by the looks of it. The lounge was filled nearly to the limit, locals and other travelers occupying every table, accompanied by the associated lively background noise. Even the three Imperials didn’t stand out much amid all the chatter and merry-making.

“Leave this to me!” Yuliana confidently told her escort and strode up to the counter, behind which a bald, chubby man in a striped shirt wiped pints. He reminded Yuliana vividly of a pig with his red face, thick neck, and beady little eyes, though it was an observation much too rude to be consciously made.

“Pardon me, good sir, but could I ask you a few questions?” she requested.

“You can,” the barkeep replied with a suspicious look. “If you buy a beer first.”

“I...I don’t drink beer,” Yuliana answered, her smile turning a little forced.

“Then what do you drink? Rum? Lager?”

“Not any of those either, I’m afraid,” she said. “Especially not rum.”

“Milk then?” he asked, raising his brow high.

“Why, sounds much better,” her majesty said, pleased, missing the irony entirely.

“I have an even better idea,” the man told her and leaned far over the counter.

“Yes?”

“You go ask somebody else.”

“All right then.” Yuliana finally got the message and gave up. There was no reason to pester the grumpy barkeep with so many other people around. But as she was about to approach the nearest table to ask the people there, the barkeep quickly called after her,

“Not here! I can’t have you bother my paying customers! If you’re not buying anything, then you and yours need to leave! And don’t let the door hit you on your way out!”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Yuliana stopped and sighed deep. Frustrating as his attitude was, she didn’t want to cause a scene. It was probably nothing personal. Though they had made peace with Luctretz, on paper, it would take years and a lot of consistent effort, before the locals could trust Tratovians again.

But her followers weren’t quite as stoic or quick to give up, even in the name of friendly relations, nor did they appreciate the way their Sovereign was treated. While Yuliana stood thinking about her next move, Margitte stepped silently up to the counter. The barkeep saw her staff and the venomous look in the young girl’s eyes, and hurried to put away the glass in his hands.

“W-what are you…?”

“Will you answer her majesty?” the mage quietly asked. “Or will I make you?”

“Y-you’re going to have to leave,” the barkeep stammered, retreating towards the kitchen door. “Or I’m calling the guards!”

Now, there was a scene.

The distressed barkeep caught the other customers’ attention. The chatter died as if cut with a blade. Every eye in the lounge turned at the trio of travelers.

“My, that wouldn’t be a good idea,” Arnwahl told the barkeep with a smile, and moved his cape to display the sword on his hip. “We are on an important mission, after all, and favor discretion. No one may be allowed to get in the way.”

Yuliana closed her eyes, quietly praying the earth to swallow her. Avoiding a situation like this was precisely why she hadn’t asked Izumi to come along. In hindsight, she should’ve just stayed in the camp and sent the bard.

“All I wanted were some directions…” she lamented aloud.

——“In that case, perhaps I could be of help?”

Someone spoke behind her and Yuliana turned around. A robust man in a frayed, dust-brown cloak stood from a table near the middle of the lounge, a deep hood over his head. He had two others with him in similar attires, who got up as well, and the three came forward to face the Imperials. Mercenaries? Or just bandits? The two others faced the strangers with alarmed looks, but Yuliana found the speaker’s voice uncannily familiar and watched him with a frown. The customer stepped in front of her majesty, removed his weather-beaten hood to show his tanned face, which dark, messy hair framed, and looked down at the Empress with a boyish grin. It took her a beat to realize it was the Prince of Luctretz she was looking at.

3

Bringing a representative from the threatened Principality to the negotiations with Langoria couldn’t be avoided, and the choice of an emissary was always an obvious one. The Prince of Luctretz was undoubtedly the most effective ally Yuliana could have to convince her father of the Empire’s peaceful intentions. Seeing as the King had planned to marry her off to the Prince, it was likely he held the man in moderate esteem, and his word would hold some weight at the conference table.

For his highness’s own safety as well, the specifics of when and where they should meet had been kept a secret from all. Yuliana had imagined he would be waiting for them at Grelden, since riding straight there from Efastopol would take him far less time. But it appeared he was not as busy as she had imagined.

“How…?” Yuliana had to question the Prince on their way back to the camp. “How is it possible that I find you at a pub I never had any intention of stopping at? Did you somehow foresee we were going to be there? Are you a wizard too?”

“What?” the Prince replied with some surprise as he strode on. “You mean to say your people never noticed?

“Noticed what?”

“That we’ve been tailing you since Tuesday, by the Fey! Lax! Much too lax! I’d better have a word with whoever is in charge of your sentries.”

“…Please tell me you’re joking.”

Did this man do any real work at all?

“Oh, I wish I was joking!” the Prince told her. “I even stole a helmet from one guy last night! He didn’t notice a thing until it was long gone!”

“And why, pray tell, are you sneaking around, stealing my soldiers’ helmets?” she asked, less than amused. “Clothed like a ranger to boot! It’s the Prince of Luctretz I need here, not the king of pirates! My father may be a man among men, but he does pay attention to how people dress!”

“Come now,” he replied with a laugh. “This is the dress of a man of the land! No honest soul could find fault in it. And safer for us all, if my passage is not so easily recognized. I’m sorry, Yuliana, but I had to ascertain your people’s intentions before seeing them face to face. I’m not all so sure yet of this ‘mission of peace’ you wrote about in your letter, and I won’t be used for another scheme of coup d’état! But if you get lost at the first fork on the road, I’m beginning to think you might be serious. These gentlemen seem to me more like tourists from Tefani, than heralds of war, or else it is the most masterful deception I have ever laid eyes on. How can you even sleep at night, with a watch so loose?”

“Oh, my protections are loose?” Yuliana replied. “What about yourself then? What prince goes around the country with only two guards? You certainly enjoy living on the edge. For your information, bandits do kidnap male royals too, if they get the chance.”

“These are Jude and Kingsley, my trusted knights and friends from Efastopol,” the Prince introduced, nodding over his shoulder at the pair following behind them. “Us three go way back.”

“Real pleased to meet you, your majesty,” the knight called Jude said to Yuliana with an easygoing smile. He was a young man, rather short and lightweight for a knight, but there was cunning in his eyes. His black hair and pale complexion placed his roots somewhere in the far east, making one wonder how he and his family had ended up in the Principality.

“It is an honor, your majesty,” the knight called Kingsley gave a more aloof greeting. Despite the handsome name, she was a woman, tall and slender, dignified as a noble in bearing, but somewhat taciturn.

At least the bodyguards looked like decent people, even if their master was less so.

“Thank you for keeping his highness safe,” Yuliana told the two.

“I cannot take credit for a task that is beyond me,” Kingsley replied.

“Pardon me?”

Jude laughed without much dignity or respect,

“What she means is, keeping this guy safe is like trying to keep the wind from blowing! We just let him go in the evening, and follow the tracks in the morning.”

“Er, is that so…?”

“I’m not that bad!” the Prince scolded his guards. “I do keep you on the map, don’t I?”

“From someone as poor at reading maps, that doesn’t say a lot,” the youth replied.

“Is it my fault they draw them so vague? I don’t get lost where my own feet have passed, and that ought to be good enough for us.”

If the Prince was not like a prince, neither were his bodyguards as expected. Yuliana had to wonder if they were going to be of any real help on the mission.

Despite the glum day and her majesty’s doubts, the mood at the Imperial camp was greatly reinvigorated by the surprise guests. At the command tent, the Prince shook hands with General Monterey and Court Wizard Laukan, and bowed courteously before Carmelia, knowing better than to take the aid of a cirelo for granted.

Done with the quick greetings, they moved on to review the travel plan.

“The new Minthian highway will have us in Grelden three days sooner than the old Messinan one,” the Prince told the crew, pointing at the map spread across the table. “By all means, I recommend that you take it, with all the haste you can muster. I have heard alarming reports on the movements of troops in Langoria as of late. Should affairs hold their present course, the Kingdom will be ready to cross the pass before another month has passed, with a host of three divisions altogether.”

“That’s fifteen thousand men,” General Monterey remarked. “I am surprised they were able to mobilize so many in so short a time.”

“They’ve been training for this since the fall of Dharva,” the Prince said. “Whether he is mistaken about your intentions or not, the Langorian King’s foresight is keen. I have heard estimates of as much as five more divisions being readied to follow in the wake of the initial campaign. They will not be content with only taking the north of the Firras. I have no doubt in my mind that Efastopol is their target—and only the midway target, mind you. Once they have secured their hold of the Principality, they are likely to push as far to the Tratovian border as they can, to buffer the invasion they suspect to be coming.” Here the Prince paused and looked at the Imperial officers around. “…It is only a suspicion, yes?”

“Of course!” Yuliana hurriedly said. “What are you saying? The Empire has no plan to attack Langoria! Or anyone!” Then, she also paused and looked around, less confident, “…We don’t, do we?”

“Ah!” General Monterey came to his senses with a little jump. “Yes! I mean, no! No, obviously not! That is—that is a preposterous thought. Preposterous. Ahem.”

“This is no laughing matter,” Miragrave scolded them. “The road may save us some days, but we can never have enough. Our time is fast running out and we’re not even to Grelden yet. Tell the men to get ready, General. We depart within the hour. We must get as many miles behind us as possible before nightfall.”

“You’re right.” Yuliana nodded. “But there is one important matter we must take care of first, before we can go on. However long it will take.”

The others answered her majesty’s declaration with questioning looks, unable to tell what they could have missed. They couldn’t imagine. It was an idea only a person like Yuliana could come up with, after all.

4

Waiting for the leaders to be done with their conference, Izumi spent the downtime among the rest of the idle crew, chatting with Waramoti and double-checking her saddlebags.

“That guy was a prince?” she pondered aloud with a mixed expression. “Like, it’s not a nickname, or an artist name, but actual royalty? But I thought he was a pirate? What the heck, the story’s all over the place!”

“Well, yes, the Prince is a prince,” the bard explained. “But he was also a pirate. He had a double-identity. I thought you spent several days on the same ship with him? Didn’t he ever tell you what he was up to?”

“The guy was at death’s door for most of the ride, we weren’t talking about our hobbies,” Izumi answered. “Does that mean he’s like Batman?”

The bard paused. “Who or what is ‘bat-man’? Do I even want to know this?”

“A rich guy who dresses up like a monster to beat up criminals at night?”

“...Why, yes, exactly like batman.”

“Damn,” Izumi exclaimed, impressed. “And I so nearly lopped off his head too.”

“You’d better not tell her majesty that,” Waramoti advised her with a grimace.

“I think she got the recap already.”

“Ouch. Well, just try not to do it again, okay?”

“So long as he doesn’t kidnap more princesses.”

Waramoti stood by as Izumi brushed Toyotomi, acting nonchalant, and made a daring effort to probe further, as discreetly as he could.

“Are you not jealous? Even just a little?”

“Jealous?” Izumi paused and repeated, a convincingly oblivious look on her face. “Of who? Why?”

“Dang,” the bard exhaled deep. “Even I’m beginning to feel bad for her majesty at this rate.”

“What? Is he in the game?”

Waramoti shrugged. “Could be? Who wouldn’t be? Our leader is a rather charming person. Hel, I could be in the game, if I weren’t married to higher destiny already.”

“Come on.” Izumi laughed. “She’s rainbows. I feel sorry for the guy, if anything. And what’s with all this love in the air? I thought we were going to war?”

“No, once again, we are going to make peace,” he corrected. “Look, the main thesis I was setting up is this: ‘time waits for no one’. If you don’t make a move while you have the chance—whoever it is you’re aiming for—the opportunity is going to fly right by. And then you’ll be sorry you just stood and watched.”

Waramoti expected threats of violence, personal insults, and venomous counter-arguments, but to his surprise none followed. Instead, Izumi turned to him with an unusually composed air and a smile, even if there was a rather tragic quality to that smile.

“’It’s better to try and fail than to never try’—Right?”

“Precisely.” He nodded. And then hurried to take out his notebook. “…Who said that? Can I say I coined that one?”

“Kid, I’m thirty-nine, not sixteen,” she told him. “I have a PhD on standing and watchig. I’ve heard all that life advice before, many times, and more. I—I’m okay with it. I can live with my own decisions. Thank you.”

She returned to brushing the horse, apparently feeling she had wrapped up things quite nicely.

“Rather than her own happiness, people my age should only think about what’s best for the young ‘uns. There’s plenty of joy in seeing those you care about do all the stuff you didn’t. Yes.”

Perhaps that would’ve been the end of discussion under different circumstances. But Waramoti couldn’t be content yet. He had known her long enough to know he could still try and be a little more daring.

“Can you?” he asked her.

“What?”

“Live with your decisions? Isn’t the truth that you wish there came a war? Would make so many things simpler, right? You wouldn’t have to think about the stuff that really hurts?”

Izumi’s hands halted again. She glanced at the youth and the good humor was gone.

“You’ve really mastered the art of getting on my nerves, you know?”

Unfazed, Waramoti answered that look with only a smirk.

“Are you so convinced this trip is going to be the end of you? Do me a favor, will you: for the rest of this road, be an optimist! From now on, only think everything is going to work out fine, at least until that precise moment when it actually does go wrong. And go all in with that. What is it that you really want, personally? Why don’t you give it some thought? As said, it’s too late for regrets when it’s all over.”

Having said everything he wanted to say, the bard departed with a wave. “Nature calls!”

Izumi squinted at his distancing back in annoyance.

She thought back to the words Elise had left her. Was there genuine value in achievements of sword and sorcery? Was there any merit in guarding only the happiness of strangers? What was a “hero” but a switch that gives a fixed outcome, unless she stands on her own as a human being? Which should you choose? Protecting life where no one is human, or finding meaning as one at the cost of it all?

Was there no third option?

What was right, what was wrong, had she ever been more uncertain of the answer?