Raven sheathed her sword, her hands trembling as she looked around the aftermath of the battle. Her heart was heavy, but she forced herself to focus. She knew she couldn’t leave just yet—not until she’d done what she came here to do.
Steeling herself, Raven moved to the bodies of the men she’d fought, starting with Lance’s. She knelt beside him, her hand brushing against his coat. “I’m sorry, Lance,” she whispered. “But I can’t let your death mean nothing.”
She searched through his belongings, pulling out a small pouch of gold coins, a folded map marked with strange symbols, and finally, a key—a heavy, rusted piece of iron. Her fingers tightened around it. This had to be it—the key to the prisoner dungeon.
Turning to the other men, she quickly rifled through their pockets and belts. She found little else of use: a few daggers, some flasks of foul-smelling liquid, and scraps of paper with crude notes about their patrol routes. It was enough to give her an idea of the layout of the palace grounds.
Raven stood and pocketed the items, her mind already working through a plan. If the queen was being held in the dungeon, she’d have to move quickly. The fight here might’ve drawn attention, and reinforcements could be on their way.
She took a moment to steady herself, glancing back at Lance one last time. “I’ll save her,” she said softly. “And I’ll make sure Behem pays for everything he’s done—to you, to this kingdom, to all of us.”
With that, she adjusted her coat, tucked the key securely into a hidden pocket, and headed toward the exit. The bartender cautiously peeked out from the back room, his face pale as he surveyed the scene.
“You’re safe now,” Raven said, her tone clipped. “But stay hidden. Things might get worse before they get better.”
The man nodded quickly, offering no argument.
Raven stepped out into the cool night air, the scent of blood and spilled beer still clinging to her. The streets of Cloverville were eerily quiet, but she knew the silence wouldn’t last. With the key in hand and her resolve hardened, she slipped into the shadows, heading toward the palace.
This wasn’t just about saving the queen anymore—it was about ensuring that Lance’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain and striking another blow against Behem’s twisted empire.
As Raven studied the palace where the queen of Cloverville was held captive, she counted roughly twenty guards patrolling the perimeter. She knew she couldn’t face them all head-on and would have to rely on her agility and cunning to slip inside.
Leaping silently from rooftop to rooftop, Raven made her way closer to the palace wall. Once she reached a vantage point near the entrance, she pulled a small bullet from her pouch and tossed it across the courtyard. The metallic clink against the cobblestones drew the attention of two guards, who wandered off to investigate. Seizing the opportunity, Raven scaled the palace wall, using the looted daggers as makeshift climbing tools. With practiced precision, she hauled herself over the ledge and landed in the garden below.
Unfolding a rough sketch of the palace’s layout she had acquired earlier, Raven noted the patrol routes. She weaved through the maze of manicured hedges and fountains, her steps as light as a whisper. When she encountered isolated guards, she dispatched them swiftly and silently, her blade finding its mark with deadly efficiency. Along the way, she freed several prisoners forced into servitude, motioning for them to flee into the night.
Raven’s path eventually led her to the heart of the palace, but her progress was halted by the sight of four heavily armored soldiers standing in her way. These weren’t ordinary guards—they were tanks, clad in gleaming steel plate, wielding massive greatswords and tower shields. She tightened her grip on her sword but quickly realized it wouldn’t pierce their armor. She’d have to rely on her pistols, though the deafening gunfire would undoubtedly alert the rest of the palace.
As the armored guards spotted her, they began their advance. Raven drew her twin pistols, each loaded with armor-piercing magic pellets. The first shot rang out, the slug tearing through one soldier’s helmet, toppling him instantly. Another guard lunged at her with his greatsword, the blade whistling through the air. Raven sidestepped just in time, the sword narrowly missing her shoulder. Using the momentum of her dodge, she slammed the blunt end of her pistol into his helmet, staggering him, then fired point-blank into his chest. The magic slug punched through the armor with a sickening crack, and he collapsed.
Two more soldiers charged her. One swung his shield with brute force, narrowly missing Raven as she dove to the side. The other closed in and pinned her against the wall, his gauntlet crushing her throat. Raven’s pistols clattered to the ground as she gasped for air. Her free hand fumbled for her knife, and with a swift, desperate jab, she plunged it into the unprotected gap of the soldier’s visor. The guard roared in pain and loosened his grip. Raven dropped to the floor, snatched up one of her pistols, and fired a slug into his knee. He collapsed with a metallic thud, and she finished him with a second shot.
The final guard stood between her and the dungeon door. He raised his shield and charged, but Raven sidestepped and aimed low, firing a shot that shattered his leg. He fell to his knees, and she calmly reloaded her pistol, placing the barrel against the slit in his helmet. “Goodnight,” she muttered, pulling the trigger.
The echo of gunfire still reverberated in the hall when Raven heard shouts and hurried footsteps approaching. Her heart pounded as she grabbed her weapons and sprinted into the next corridor, vanishing into the shadows before reinforcements could arrive.
As Raven approached the palace dungeon, her instincts sharpened. She spotted a wooden door tucked into a dim corner and immediately deduced it was the entrance to the queen’s prison. She rushed over and tried the key she had looted earlier, but it didn’t fit. Frustrated but determined, Raven drew her pistol and used its blunt end to smash the knob off. The door creaked open, and she slipped inside, her movements quiet and deliberate.
Once inside, Raven found a discarded wooden plank and lit it into a makeshift torch. Its flickering glow illuminated a narrow, spiraling staircase leading downward. The damp air grew heavier with each step. Soon, she entered what seemed to be a guards’ common room. A table sat in the center, cluttered with scattered notes, maps, and plans that revealed Behem's schemes. Raven’s eyes widened as she skimmed the documents. One plan, in particular, confirmed her fears: Behem was aware of Orvell's strategy and had already stationed an ambush at their intended location.
With no time to waste, Raven rolled up the plans, stuffed them into a magical bottle, and cast a minor transportation spell. The bottle glowed faintly before it shot off into the distance, carrying the crucial intel to her crewmates. Just as the spell completed, she heard the sound of approaching voices and heavy boots echoing down the corridor. Raven quickly extinguished the torch and pressed onward, her heart pounding.
Descending further, Raven finally reached the dungeon. Cells lined the walls, their bars enclosing prisoners from all corners of Grass Mark. The sight struck her deeply, and without hesitation, she began unlocking the cells, freeing everyone she could. Cries of gratitude filled the air, but Raven pressed on, searching for the queen. At the very end of the dungeon, she found a lone figure stepping into the torchlight.
“Queen?” Raven called softly.
The figure raised her head, revealing regal yet weary features. “I never thought I’d be saved by a pirate,” the queen of Cloverville said with a wry smile.
Raven quickly unshackled her and explained the escape route. The queen hesitated for a moment before turning back. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
Raven shook her head. “I have unfinished business. I need to stop Dorian Spitz before he can send word to Behem.”
The queen’s expression darkened. “He’s in the throne hall with three of his assassins. Be careful—Dorian never misses his mark.”
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Raven smirked. “Then I’ll be the first mark he misses.”
Raven’s path to the throne hall was anything but smooth. She encountered guards and assassins alike, dispatching them with her pistols and blade. By the time she reached the hall’s grand doors, her breathing was heavy, her clothing dusted with blood and ash. She pushed the doors open, revealing Dorian Spitz standing at the far end of the room. Three assassins flanked him, their eyes narrowing at Raven's arrival.
Dorian raised a hand, signaling his men to leave. “This one’s mine,” he said calmly.
As the assassins departed, Dorian turned his full attention to Raven. “You’re too late,” he said. “Behem’s plan is already in motion. And once my assassins find your friends, there’ll be no stopping us.”
Raven clenched her fists. “Then I’ll make sure you’re not around to see it happen.” She stepped forward, her pistols at the ready. “I heard you never miss your mark, Dorian.”
He chuckled, drawing an ornate bow from his back. “And I heard you’re a cocky adventurer. Let’s see how long that confidence lasts.”
The two began their deadly dance. Dorian’s arrows whistled through the air with frightening precision, forcing Raven to deflect them with her sabers. Sparks flew as steel met enchanted arrowheads. Raven dodged and weaved, her sabers flashing as she closed the gap between them.
“Impressive,” Dorian said, losing another volley. “But you won’t get close enough to land a hit.”
Raven pressed forward, countering his attacks with quick slashes and deflections. “You think Behem’s promises will save your people? He’s only using you, Dorian. Just like he’s using everyone else!”
Dorian’s expression darkened. “And where were you when my people starved? When my island fell into ruin? Behem gave me hope—he gave us all hope!”
“And how many lives did you take in exchange for that hope?” Raven shot back. “Your people deserve better than to be pawns in his war.”
Dorian’s face twisted with anger. He reached for a glowing red arrow and loosed it. The projectile exploded on impact with Raven’s saber, shattering both blades and knocking her back. Raven coughed, her ears ringing, but she refused to fall.
Drawing her pistols, she smirked. “This just got personal.”
The hall erupted in chaos as the two marksmen fired relentlessly, magic pellets and arrows colliding midair in bursts of light. Raven managed to throw a smoke bomb, enveloping the room in a thick haze. She used the cover to land a powerful uppercut, only for Dorian to counter with a kick to her ribs.
They both staggered, catching their breath. Raven noticed Dorian’s quiver was nearly empty. “Looks like you’re running out of arrows,” she taunted.
Dorian laughed, pulling out a bracelet adorned with runes. He held it aloft, and the arrows scattered across the room flew back into his quiver. “The Bracelet of Requisition. I never run out of arrows.”
Raven groaned. “Great. An infinite supply. Just my luck.”
Their fight continued, an intense battle of skill and endurance, neither willing to give an inch.
The throne hall echoed with the sounds of battle—the sharp whistle of arrows cutting through the air, the crackling hum of magic pellets being fired, and the ringing clash of the two projectiles colliding mid-flight. Sparks burst in rapid succession as Raven’s enchanted bullets met Dorian’s arrows in a dazzling display of light and energy.
Raven darted to the side, firing her pistols in rapid bursts, her sharp eyes calculating every angle. Each pull of the trigger sent a crackling magic pellet toward Dorian. His reflexes were astounding—his bow snapped upward, and with precision, he loosed arrows to intercept the incoming projectiles. The collisions produced miniature shockwaves, scattering fragments of magic and steel across the room.
“You’re good,” Raven admitted, her voice carrying over the chaos as she dived behind a crumbled pillar for cover. “But you can’t keep this up forever.”
“Neither can you,” Dorian retorted, his voice cold and calm. He moved gracefully across the hall, drawing another arrow and aiming for the edge of her cover. He released it with an almost lazy flick, but the arrow arced unnaturally mid-flight, curving to strike at Raven from her blind spot.
Raven caught the shift in the air and twisted just in time, narrowly deflecting the arrow with the edge of her pistol. The impact threw her off balance, but she recovered, firing back instinctively. The slug hurtled toward Dorian, its magic-enhanced speed faster than an ordinary bullet, but Dorian fired two arrows in quick succession to block it. The impact sent sparks dancing like fireflies in the dimly lit hall.
“You think a few tricks will help you outlast me?” Dorian called, his voice laced with arrogance. He reached into his quiver, drawing a special arrow with a glowing, crystalline tip. “Let’s see how you handle this.”
The archer nocked the arrow, drawing his bowstring taut. The arrowhead began to hum, vibrating with unstable energy. When he released it, the arrow screamed through the air, leaving a faint trail of light. Raven’s instincts screamed at her to move. She rolled to the side, firing both pistols as she dodged, but the arrow hit the ground where she’d just been and exploded into a fiery shockwave that sent her skidding across the floor.
The heat seared her arms, and the force knocked one of her pistols from her grip. Coughing, she scrambled to her feet, her remaining pistol held steady. “Fancy. But let’s see how well you do when I turn up the heat.”
Raven’s pistol glowed as she funneled more mana into it. The barrel began to hum with energy, and when she fired, the magic pellet tore through the air like a blazing comet. Dorian’s eyes widened, but his composure didn’t break. He fired three arrows in rapid succession to meet it. The first arrow missed entirely, but the second and third arrows struck true, colliding with the pellet mid-flight. The resulting explosion rocked the hall, sending debris raining down from the ceiling.
The smoke obscured the room, but Raven could hear Dorian moving. She holstered her pistol and drew a second smoke bomb, tossing it to blanket the space in a heavy fog.
“You can’t hide forever,” Dorian called, his voice cutting through the haze. “Every step you take, I can hear. Every breath, every movement—it’s all mine to track.”
“Is that so?” Raven’s voice echoed, her tone teasing. From within the smoke, she fired another round. This time, the pellet ricocheted off a stone pillar, banking toward Dorian from an unexpected angle.
He turned, his sharp eyes catching the glow just in time. With a precise flick of his wrist, he fired an arrow that clipped the projectile mid-spin, sending it careening harmlessly into the wall. “You’re predictable.”
“Am I?” Raven’s voice was behind him now.
Dorian spun around, but Raven was already on him, her blade slashing in a wide arc. He barely raised his bow in time to block the strike, the metal clanging loudly. The force of the blow sent him stumbling back, but he recovered quickly, pulling another arrow from his quiver and aiming point-blank at her chest. Raven ducked low, the arrow sailing just over her head, and retaliated with a quick strike of her elbow to his ribs.
Dorian grunted, his composure faltering for the first time. He jumped back to create distance, drawing two arrows simultaneously. He loosed them in rapid succession, one aimed high and the other low. Raven sidestepped the first and deflected the second with her blade, sparks flying as steel met steel.
The two combatants moved like shadows, their attacks relentless. Raven’s pistol fired in quick bursts, her aim impeccable, but Dorian’s arrows were no less accurate. Every shot she took was met with an arrow, the clash of their weapons creating a symphony of destruction.
Raven’s mind raced. I can’t keep this up forever. He’s faster than I thought, and that damned bracelet gives him an endless supply of arrows. I need to end this now.
She reached into her belt and pulled out a small vial of explosive powder. “Let’s see how you handle this!” she shouted, tossing it high into the air. Dorian’s eyes tracked the vial instinctively, his bow raising to intercept it.
That was the opening Raven needed.
In the split second his focus shifted, she surged forward, her blade aimed for his chest. Dorian fired at the vial, shattering it mid-air and unleashing a fiery burst, but the explosion distracted him just long enough. Raven’s blade struck true, piercing through the leather of his armor and sinking deep into his side.
Dorian gasped, staggering backward. His bow slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. Raven pulled her blade free and aimed her pistol at his head, breathing heavily. “Looks like you missed, Dorian.”
Blood trickled from his lips as he chuckled, a bitter sound. “So... this is what it feels like,” he murmured, his legs giving out beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his side. “I thought... I could save them. My people. I thought Behem was the only way.”
Raven lowered her pistol slightly. “You were wrong. But it’s not too late to make this right. Tell me how to stop him.”
Dorian’s eyes glazed over as he coughed weakly. “You’ll never stop him... but maybe... you’ll prove me wrong about one thing.” His gaze softened, and for a moment, the bitterness faded. “You’re better than I gave you credit for. A real marksman. Maybe... the only one who could ever beat me.”
His head tilted forward, and he fell silent. Raven stared at him for a long moment, the weight of the fight settling over her. With a heavy sigh, she holstered her pistol and turned toward the throne room doors.
As soon as Raven opened the palace doors, stood before her was the queen and its people of Cloverville. They had given her their thanks, and asked what she would like as a return for the reward. And Raven simply said “I'm going to need a boat.”