REISZER CAMP

“Round up all the escapees we caught! We’ll leave at once,” instructed Third Elite Macnaught and went with his left hand over his braided blond hair. He flinched when he accidentally touched the open wound on his forehead. “Stupid therianthrope, cutting my beautiful face. I was an idiot for not wearing a helmet.”

The camp was in disarray.

Macnaught didn’t expect an infiltration by Idarien and Navarrien forces. They caught the soldiers by surprise. Chaos and confusion brought their operations to a standstill, and before anyone could do anything, they left the prisoners loose.

It should have been impossible for them to cross the desert in under two months, yet they did it in just one.

Macnaught ground his teeth in frustration. “I was so close to getting a promotion. So. Damn. Close!” Macnaught punched a nearby wagon, denting the iron bar of the cage with a sizzling, hissing sound leaving his fingers. One of his braids came undone and fell over his eyes. “All my preparations and hard work for nothing. I was so close to leaving behind the East and moving closer to the West.”

They primarily reserved the Central Region of the Reiszer Nation for the Second Elites, their subjects and distinguished free people. Macnaught almost gained the respect he deserved. Everything had to break apart when a particular fox therianthrope and his scouts came.

“When I get that fox in my hands, I’ll-”

“You’ll do what?” Macnaught jumped back from Tomoe, growling in his ear.

Tomoe wheezed. Her stance was hunched, and her chest heaved up and down with blood pouring out of her open wounds. Cracks lined her red fox mask with heavy cuts all over her gi–jacket and hakama pants. Even the blade of her fine scarlet sword was shattered.

A feat that shocked Macnaught, as he heard so many praises about the craftsmanship of the Reiszer dwarves. They were so revered that there were hardly any dwarven slaves—much to Macnaught’s dismay.

“I repeat, you’ll do what, hm?” her growl intensified.

“N-nothing- First Elite, I said… nothing- We’re ready to leave at once!” exclaimed Macnaught and straightened his back. He absolutely avoided eye contact with his superior. Disobedience and disrespect toward the First was close to a death sentence.

He had seen more of his peers find their end from over-inflated pride. A fate Macnaught didn’t wish to witness again.

“Good, I have enough of this desert.” Tomoe limped past her subordinate, uncaring about formalities as her blood continued to paint the sand and dry grass behind her. “Bring me potions to my tent. All you can muster.”

“Yes, of course…” Macnaught was ready to get to the delivery when he saw Tomoe’s entourage of Reiszer soldiers and slave warriors—or rather, they were his. Each one of them returned severely injured, worse than anyone else.

Macnaught was about to command one of the returning slaves to fetch the potions, but he held his tongue when Hessian and his group glowered past him. Their eyes were sharp yet dull, infuriating him further.

In the end, he overlooked the task personally and carried in all the recovery potions they had in stock. Though he didn’t expect to witness Tomoe downing each potion in seconds and replacing them immediately with a new one.

There was already one empty box of potions, yet she kept going.

“First Elite Yamamoto, what should we-”

Tomoe threw her empty flask at Hessian and shattered against his skull. Shards stuck out from his head, and lime-green liquid rolled down his face. Hessian remained unfazed. Why he was even here—right before one of their masters—was beyond Macnaught’s understanding.

“I- heeeeh,” Tomoe wheezed laboriously. She could barely breathe with the hole in her chest that punctured right into her lung. She clenched the cracked mask on her face and took one of several deep breaths to stabilise her system and let the potions do their work. Green blood accompanied her cough. “Hessian.” Tomoe beckoned him to step closer.

With his broken sword before him, his hands flat on the ground, and his neck exposed, Hessian prostrated right before Tomoe. They waited several minutes for Tomoe to speak. Time, which she needed to get her bearings with only the sound of her wheezing filling the tent.

“I- *wheeze* will make you a free man,” she announced to the shock of Macnaught, who owned Hessian but gritted his teeth in silence. “You’ve proven… yourself to be more than just an- *wheeze* ordinary slave warrior. Strong. Tenacious. Driven-” Tomoe coughed up blood into her palm. “You would do anything to achieve what you set your mind on.”

“Yet I failed to do what you asked me for,” responded Hessian, his face planted on the ground. “I didn’t bring the Escapees back.”

“Neither did I,” Tomoe paced around Hessian—the same way she did when he and Kiur fought—albeit now with a limp. “I was more than pleased with your resolve despite your… riant circumstances. I’ll put you under my wing, be grateful-”

“No,” Hessian interrupted abruptly.

Tomoe needed a moment. “Excuse me? Did you just refuse to be set free? Are you mad?” inquired Tomoe with a chuckle, somehow amused by Hessian’s brashness.

“I am mad,” Hessian stood before she allowed it. He challenged her authority by staring directly at her sharp eyes behind the mask. “Being free here means nothing but being a slave to someone else. It changes nothing. I realised it when crossing the mountains and desert for a fake goal. I refuse to accept a hollow offer like that.”

“Ho? Then,” Tomoe put a hand on Hessian’s shoulder and pushed him down to his knees, breaking one more rip of his failing ribcage. “Do you have something else to propose, then? Something equivalent to what I had offered you? Try me, be brash, child.”

Resisting her grip and force, Hessian tensed up his muscles, pushing himself up a little, rebelling against her. “Test all the slave warriors. Let them show you their worth, not just me.”

“And why would I do that? After all,” Tomoe drew a small tanto dagger out of her sleeve and held it against Hessian’s throat, “you’re but a slave. Your life has no meaning outside my benevolence, but,” her eyes wandered to the three slaves outside the tent, readying their weapons.

“Don’t even think about it,” chuckled Tomoe. She disarmed them with a swipe of her hand. “I have to say, you are a born leader. They look up to you and are willing to risk their lives for you. You’ll have your request granted. The slaves will be tested.”

“Hold on, I object!” Macnaught stepped in between, his face drenched in cold sweat. He was taller than Tomoe, but felt so small before her that Macnaught took a cautionary step back. “Those are my slaves. You can’t just-”

“Svend Macnaught, you were in charge of the North-Eastern Raids, no?” Tomoe paced around Macnaught. Her limp was seemingly gone as her system ran solely on potions now. “I heard it was the only successful city-state raid. You deserve praise,” she purred.

Macnaught couldn’t hide his bright expression. He had been recognised by one of his superiors. However, his excitement was short-lived when he heard sarcastic clapping ruining it.

Turning around, Macnaught was ready to punish the culprit, but when he was met by the presence of another masked individual and armed retainers, he faltered. Macnaught immediately went down onto his knees to prostrate.

A shudder went down his spine upon the entrance of another First Elite. One wearing a hare mask, and from the imperial clan branch, no less.

—❖—

The tent’s temperature dropped with each step the figure with the teal hare mask took. His bright orange haori jacket, grey kimono underneath and fan with his clan symbol in his hand did little to reduce the pressure he walked with.

His two retainers increased the pressure only. They wore mengu masks that hid their mouths and depicted a demonic visage with snarling features. Their eyes remained hidden underneath a black circle hat called a jingasa.

Macnaught repositioned himself further away when he glimpsed at their hands, riddled with scars and resting on their long curved swords hidden in their scabbards, but ready to protect their master from any danger lurking in the corners.

Both would give Macnaught or any Eastern Reiszer a run for their money as the animalistic eyes of their therianthrope genes took in the entirety of the tent while remaining perfectly still in place.

It was like their mere presence filled out the entire tent.

“Tomoe.” The man dipped his head to the side, revealing a pair of long, pointy grey ears underneath his wavy gunmetal hair. His eyes opened to reveal a glimmer of purple, able to peer into someone’s soul. “How’s my favourite adopted niece doing?”

His name was Mochizuki Gyokuto, and his voice sounded like poisoned sweets. He was the head of one of the main noble clans and directly subservient to the Imperial Clan in the Western Reiszer Regions—a First Elite of the highest class.

“Stop calling me that.” Tomoe refrained from hissing it out. The Yamamoto Clan she belonged to was a cadet branch of the Mochizuki. Meaning, the man called Gyokuto was officially her guardian from a young age.

And one of the worst individuals with a superiority complex Tomoe knew.

“Oh, Tomoe, blood or not, we’re family. You’ve been my favourite adopted niece ever since your parents so unfortunately parted from this world,” Gyokuto spoke in his typical coy tone. He glowered down at Hessian and the rest. “Out, thralls,” he commanded. Even Macnaught scurried away before being stopped by the retainers, who grabbed him by the neck collar.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

It was now the five of them; Tomoe, her uncle, his retainers and poor Macnaught—the only eastern Reiszer.

“So, Uncle,” Tomoe rolled her eyes underneath her cracked mask as if the very existence of the word disgusted her, “what brings you, an imperial aristocrat from the capital, who never even once put a foot outside of our borders, to the eastern regions of our nation? Or more specifically, the edges of the desert?”

“Hmph,” responded Gyokuto, pacing around the tent similarly as Tomoe did before. He stopped when he stood before the much taller Macnaught and stared at his face. “Who’re you supposed to be, big guy?”

“I- I’m Third Elite Svend Macnaught. I’m at your Service, First Elite Mochizuki,” Macnaught fell to one of his knees, presenting his head and exposing his neck to show his absolute loyalty and obedience. Like he did many times before and would do so again, swallowing his pride every time.

“I see,” responded Gyokuto, and turned to Tomoe as he didn’t know what to do with him.

“He was one of the Indentured in charge of the raids.”

“Oh, he’s one of those who failed to recapture the prisoners.”

Macnaught gripped the belt around his chest. He could feel the retainers mentally cutting him down where he stood if he dared to move. They would have been right. Macnaught’s hand was shaking from grabbing his sword and protecting his life were it not for his instinct to keep down and endure it.

“Fighting is useless.” Macnaught eased his muscles and gave in. “We’ve learned it the hard way. We’re no warriors, no more.”

Tomoe scratched a crack on her mask. “Correction, he was the only one who successfully raided an Idarien City-State.”

“Was he now, huuuuuuuh?” Gyokuto continued to pace around the tent, his eyes wandering from object to object, one empty flask to the other, before they fell back on Tomoe. “Then who’s at fault for letting the prisoners escape?”

“I dealt with the culprit,” answered Tomoe, slouching in her chair. Her wheezing returned as the potions lost their desired effect.

“Tomoe.” Gyokuto’s eyes softened. His gloved hand squeezed her shoulder. “You don’t look so well.”

“Do I?” she wondered, ignoring his firm grip and the chill seeping through the fabric. “Macnaught, get me another-”

“Yes, here, Ma’am.” Macnaught already had a potion ready for her, which she gingerly took and drank slowly, observing her uncle and waiting for his move. “I’ll take my leave then-”

Macnaught tried to excuse himself. He couldn’t bear the pressure anymore but was stopped yet again by the grip of one retainer whose therianthrope eyes sharpened into cat-like slits. That man was as tall as Macnaught, and his comforting eyes were more than a little misleading.

“Oh, Tomoe. Tomoe. Tomoe, my niece.”

“There it is,” thought Tomoe, sipping on her potion as the retainer tightened his grip on Macnaught’s neck, absorbing his substantial pool of mana. He tried to fight back but was apprehended by the other female retainer with a jab against his centre.

“Impressive,” mussed Gyokuto. “I thought of him to be a lucky fool, but I guess his title has some credit after all.”

Gyokuto’s comments went by Macnaught’s head when he fell half unconscious and twitching on the ground. The grey-coloured mana that was pulled out of him swirled in the air, convulsing and spreading out before being drawn back in by air-like threads from the male retainer’s fingers.

An ethereal blueish-purple map of the middle continent was displayed before them with all the major countries. Hellas in the south, Navarre to the east, Idaris in the North, the Reiszer Nations in the West and other smaller countries.

“This is where we-” Gyokuto’s finger went right through the projection. He hit his retainer to fix it. “THIS! This is where your camp is.”

Tomoe slowly bet her eyes on her uncle’s outburst. “I can read maps,” she replied, languishing, craving another potion to get the aching away. Her body tired. “Get to the point.”

“My dear niece.” Gyokuto’s slap over Tomoe’s masked face echoed through the camp. Her uncle held his hand in pain. “Do you even know how much of a failure you are right now?”

Tomoe growled at him and set her jaw back in place. “Correction, this plan was prone to error, but the outcome was more favourable than we could have imagined. Idaris is a fortress country. They’ve been at war with the Malkuth Creatures in the north for over 800 years. Sacking one of their city-states, a major one on top of that, is already an enormous accomplishment. We estimated a swift response to save their kin, but didn’t expect how fast it would be. We made too many enemies already! It was because of me that we-”

“STOP. RUMBLING!” Gyokuto slapped his niece repeatedly, over and over. Tirelessly, he hit Tomoe’s masked face with the back of his fist until he had enough and panted heavily.

Though no matter how much he hit her, Tomoe didn’t look away.

That’s what irritated him the most about Tomoe. Her guts. Her tenacity. Her will to rebel. They were almost as infuriating as the eastern Reiszer, who didn’t bow down until they were crushed.

Though it was mostly thanks to the potions numbing Tomoe’s nervous system that she could take the beating. Her uncle knew how to hit her.

“I think you’ve forgotten your place, Tomoe. You’re a Yamamoto and belong to the Mochizuki, who in turn belongs to the Imperial Clan. We are the First Elites. We are the ones to rule this world. Don’t forget people like you, individuals like my two—cute little—retainers here are a bunch of dispelled, outcasts, miscreant descendants of the Eastern Rabble!”

—❖—

Gyokuto talked himself into a frenzy and broke every empty flask he came by. He almost stumbled to the ground and brushed off his retainers that caught him.

He raised a finger and yelled at Tomoe. “Never forget who we are. Only we have a special right to rule! We’re the owners of this damn world, not those damned hypocrites from the Far East, South OR WHEREVER THEY THINK THEY ARE!!!”

“Is it just us, or do we count our vassals into the equation as well?” Tomoe tapped with her foot at Macnaught’s unconscious body.

“What do you think? It’s only us. They should be grateful we are giving them a chance to prove themselves. We cannot dismiss those with potential, not even you, Tomoe, who so graciously disgraced us!” Gyokuto foamed underneath his mask, staining his colourful haori jacket.

“So what? Do you want to dispose of everyone here? Throw me into your secret cellar?” Tomoe stood up to her uncle. “I know you, and I know you won’t take matters into your own hands. You’re too torpid.”

Tomoe threw up her hand to accuse her uncle, but he was unfazed by it. Instead, he chuckled. “Oh, you know me. I. Don’t. Care,” he laughed. “Nor do the other families. This raid was just an act, a show, you might say. It didn’t matter whether we succeeded with the attacks or not.”

“I knew it. What was the fuss about, anyway? Just a little stroll of yours? Annoying me?” Tomoe was unnerved. Was she sent out for nothing?

“Tomoe, dear, sweet Tomoe,” Gyokuto put his finger on one of the empty bottles on the table. He toyed with it. “I hereby banish you from entering the western territories until further notice. Any attempt to return will be severely punished.”

Tomoe blinked, dumbfounded. “YOU WHAT!? You can’t be serious!” Tomoe winced and held her chest in pain as she shot up abruptly from her seat. A banishment for a First Elite was nothing short than pure humiliation. Even more so when you have to stay beyond the border.

Worse than any scar, wound, or loss of a limb or an eye. Worse than losing her mask, which she fidgeted constantly with now.

“Let this be a reminder. No matter how important this operation was. The moment you fail your assigned tasks is when you’ll lose everything, understood?”

“...” Tomoe gritted her teeth, straightened her back, and cracked every dislocated bone back into place. Startled, Gyokuto took a step back as Tomoe appeared taller and more menacing than before. She wasn’t tall, but her form frightened him. “Duly noted, uncle.”

Tomoe held back from lashing out. It would have been so easy to wrangle her uncle’s neck.

“G-good,” Gyokuto nodded fervently. “Then tell me, did you dispose of that therianthrope leader that disrupted our plans?”

“Yes.” Pause. “I’ve dealt with him.”

Pause.

Gyokuto didn’t believe her words. “Really? Did you really deal with him? He’s dead, 6 feet under, right?” Another pause.

Tomoe threw something sharp out of her sleeve right at her uncle, only to be caught by the female retainer’s swift and hairy hand. Her double-jointed fingers held Archil’s blood-smeared Akinakai.

Still recovering from the sudden assault, Gyokuto took another step back as the male retainer willed his magic into the sword. Waiting, the retainer’s eyes lit up in a green light, filling the room with smoke that left his demonic mask.

Exhaling sharply, he threw the shortsword back to Tomoe.

“Therianthrope blood, with traces of cardiac chamber and trachea. Belonging to the original owner. Chance of survival: dismal. Damage: critical,” replied the retainer robotic, stating facts.

“I see,” Gyokuto recovered and straightened his orange haori. “Guess you can do something right, my niece. Let this be a lesson for you. Another failure and you’ll lose your mask.”

Tomoe adjusted her mask once more. It was the most essential part of their outfits when venturing to the East. They considered showing their vassals their true appearance as shameful—they were beneath them.

“What now? You make me stay here and do what? Do you expect me to catch the Escapees? Initiate more raids? You know with the coming Summer Solstice, it will be impossible. Not to mention, heavily guarded.”

Gyokuto’s response was a simple chuckle. He didn’t intend to give her a proper answer about what she should do. It was not in his nature to help her. “Good luck figuring it out. Do your worst.”

Then he left the tent with both retainers, bowing their heads to Tomoe before they followed their master.

Tired not just physically but also mentally, Tomoe sharply inhaled. She felt excruciating pain coursing through her chest as both her lungs were being punctured with the arid air.

With another potion in her hand, Tomoe felt lightheaded and stumbled on her feet. Eyes dilated, she adjusted her mask. She reminisced about the fight she had with Archil.

Picking up the Akinakai, she regarded it with a deep yearning. Something took hold of her body, a feeling of possession.

“Too bad the fight didn’t last long, huh?” Unlike her sword, the blade of this shortsword was still sharp, reflecting her shining eyes on its surface. A dull light, unlike the raging ones Archil held.

She remembered then. “You had a brother, didn’t you? I wonder how he is?” Tomoe smiled widely, stashing away the Akinakai and making her way outside, humming. “Oh, Golden One, where art thou~?”

Character Profiles:

Name: Mochizuki Gyokuto

Age: ??? ; Gender: Male ; Race: ???

Magic: ?

Gyokuto is the head of the Mochizuki Clan, one of the most prestigious clans in the western Reiszer regions. He adopted Tomoe as his niece after she lost her parents and entrusted her to the Yamamoto Clan, which is a cadet branch of the Mochizuki.

He is known to have an inflated ego and a superiority complex.

Likes: Poems, kaki fruits, mochi sweets

Hates The East, anyone more superior than him (except for the Imperial Clan), non-Reiszer

Retainers:

Retainer A

Age: 27; Gender: Female; Race: Therianthrope (simian)

Magic: Reiszer

Has several younger siblings. Her sisters are rambunctious and rarely listen to her. Her fingers are double-jointed.

Likes: hot springs, swimming, herb tea, winter

Retainer B

Age: 34; Gender: Male; Race: Therianthrope (feline)

Magic: Reiszer

Spends his days in calmness but likes to interact with other people to spend the day with. Has a bob haircut and heterochromia.

Likes: Prophecies about luck, playing with the children of his hometown, calm days, onigiri (rice balls)

Both Retainers belong to a cadet clan of the Mochizuki and are devoted to their task to protect their lord. Known to be exceptional therianthropes, their Reiszer skills excel with their keen senses.

Belonging to the warrior caste. Both respect Tomoe to the fullest.