A gentle tug on his forearm stirred Erich from slumber. The nauseating cheap perfume jolted him awake.

"Midnight is upon us."

The hand grasping him parted ways. Erich ceased the fitful thoughts with a sharp headache that would last him the day and sprang up, knuckles pressed into his back and his Guardian Spook silhouetting herself from the magic lamp, set to eye-prickling brightness.

Midnight, the code. The sunlight had yet to reach the window, but the blue was getting lighter.

"How long till it starts?"

"Four hours, sir. The carriage is ready for you at the stable."

"I reckon there was a curfew until sunrise."

There's no point in knowing when she snuck in or how many spooks surrounded the inn. The nobility locked in on this lucrative trade, and anything lower than one owned by a ministerial noble targeting the rich middle class was begging for security and food safety issues.

"To prevent crime, not to punish the honest tanner's good evening."

"And what are you supposed to be?"

"Your night's companion."

"I don't remember paying for extra."

"Purchasing referrals is unnecessary. As far as the inn is concerned, they've secured a portion of my profits," a perfect cover story.

That means he's worth that much to the house, or the spook has a reputation around here. And if it's the latter, Cascadia can get eyes anywhere. For all he cares, the establishment might be a flytrap for foreign spies trying to be sneaky with some standards.

The hallway and lobby were as quiet as the forest, hiding something. Erich had a Model 1906 Luger tucked in his overcoat pocket; however, the spook showed no elevated alertness. They left from the backdoor, made a few turns in the tight alley, and met the stable boy, coachman, and passengers.

The spook stepped aside and bade Erich a farewell bow, and he waved.

A hand extended from the back of the carriage, and Erich grabbed it. With the horses trotting and the carriage shaking, one of the spooks reached for the wheat sack at the corner and handed Erich an officer school uniform.

He frowned. "I said dirty and worn."

"His Majesty wants to remind the cadets that this can be them."

"The nobility needs to be reminded of what they did to a hero," threw it to the floor. "Now, if you mind."

He and the spooks fought for space for the boots, trampling on the snow-white tunic, digging dirt deeper with every step, and grounding it against the wooden floor.

"Tear the hem of the trousers apart, limit the knife to openings, and do the rest by hand. And spare me the boots. I need to stain my feet."

They followed suit, and Erich began buttoning up the shirt, only to pry it open and scatter the buttons. Some might see a maniac, but Erich saw it. He saw the struggle it forced him to endure, the sweat and exhaustion.

Soon, he will expose the hypocrisy hidden beneath the veils of the enlightened.

----------------------------------------

Blaire, Duchy of Estrier

4 hours later

Once the city had shaken off its morning grogginess, it became busier. And they let that busyness go for another hour. The carriage rattled less, trapped between the caravans of faraway merchants. The diversity in the block ended with the masonry and steel separating greenery and nature in the city center.

The knights tossed aside their robes while Aurelia was two carriages away from the main gate.

"Step aside!"

The gate guards froze. However, the aquamarine cape, the armor, the metallic finish, and the great aura emanating from the gathering thawed the guards and followed the order. Aurelia disembarked her carriage and strolled to the gate, where a paladin struck it with his halberd and kicked it open to blow wind.

There, she unfurled her aquamarine hood, then her white hair, and put her back against future gossipers. She settled with the stance while the first squad entered the residence and turned to the perimeter of Estrier knights cordoning off the gathering crowd and redirecting traffic. She caught the whites in the crowd's eyes one last time and went it.

A handful of servants, guards, and maids huddled under cold steel supervision, with more funneled out of the mansion. Ducal knights secured the foyer, and there was more yelling than clanging, most coming from the second floor, which she followed. Aurelia had already memorized the floor plans. The paladins dragging the ministerials on the other side of the twin staircase was simple choreography.

They came across another group of household servants, and the paladins shielded Aurelia. They neared a door, and one blocked and inspected what the first group missed. Stumbling upon a puddle of blood from a beheaded servant wielding an assassin's favorite flame-bladed dagger, Aurelia wiped her hobnails as much as she could and closed in on what sounded like rummaging.

Stripped open were the drawers and cabinets inside the study, anything resembling a frame gutted for any false bottoms and hidden drawers. A paladin knocked sections of walls for that hollow report, and papers crunched from more stacks jammed into sacks.

"Found something!"

A knight pried off a cover inside the wine cabinet. Another joined and illuminated it, exposing a book.

"It appears we've found the financial records. It came from a false bottom beneath the wine cabinet."

"Put it in a separate bag with the official record as a possible double-bookkeeping."

"Yes, sir… I'm looking at numbers, names, and some companies. It seems like investments and transactions between Salaian fronts and collaborators."

" Coralis, Libengun, Hentworth, and–"

The knight glanced at Aurelia. She frowned. The sudden stop aroused more of everyone's attention as though in deference to her.

"Yamasashi."

Huh? Aurelia grabbed the book, tracing her finger down, and stopped at the name, pristinely written with ink that had long settled in the book already at a ripe age from its musty scent.

"Your Highness..."

"I'm fine, Captain Pintarsen. Carry on."

She shut the book and handed it back, for she, a sinner, had already vowed to vanquish the hero's enemies. Whether her heart was ready or not was irrelevant.

----------------------------------------

Royal Academy of Cascadia

Same time

Heavy.

The knights threw a sack into his head and locked his weighted cuffs with magic. One glowed his halberd, causing the yellow gem emblazoned on the cuff to pulse.

"The stone's not for show?"

"It chains the mana, My Lord Hero. Fret not. It cannot hope to chain yours."

As the double doors opened, sunlight beamed into the passage, and his eyes adjusted to carouse the sight of the Cascadian nobility—esteemed sons and daughters in red and the honorable ladies and gentlemen in their colorful garments occupying the seats.

Erich gulped. If the academy referred to the arena as a stadium, Erich couldn't help but see it as a far grander and magnificent arena that hosted the most prestigious Spanish bullfighting events.

"Sir?"

"Hm?"

The knight had worried eyes. "Do you need a moment?"

"No," he shook his head. "It just seems reality is far bigger than I thought."

The atmosphere was electric for their posh standards. Conversations echoed off walls and meshed amongst one another as spectators spilled into every available seat and upper arches. The energy must've surged as his door opened, but the interior had muffled the noise for so long that he couldn't tell.

"Do it."

The knights dragged Erich to the light, and the arena turned and hosted Ancient Egyptians calling for a cat, but that cat might be among them. The rumors had spread like wildfire, igniting excitement and drawing in attendees far beyond his expectations. The poster girl of the Royal Academy and the descended hero about to bring justice—no fluffy love story could compete with that.

Still, Erich never stated the hero would do that; merely the emergency summons coincided with the trial. With the rumor of a hero appearing circulating, it's better to let the rest do the work. It gives them the pleasure of stimulating their minds as pseudo-intellectuals beyond fancy words.

A group was already present before the best seat in the arena, facing a platform connecting the grounds to the stands where kings observed and champions kneeled. And in front of the group, as though representing them, was a rotund man in his late thirties, but appeared in his fifties, flanked by a lady and the chief suspect of the case.

Sir Valent, Erich recalled, the Knight Commander of the Cascadian Royal Knight Order emerged from the passageways.

"Household company, present arms!"

The old man's powerful voice marshaled the arena's silence. The armor clanking from the formation of knights arranged meticulously within the grounds and seats legitimized it, for their liege lord had appeared.

King Henry did not bless everyone with his presence through a reverie of grand tunes emanating all the glory a trumpet bearer's lungs could hold. He appeared to everyone with no point to make, for the aura emanating from him had done that for the most prideful.

Flanked by his brother, the Duke of Estrier, and the Headmaster of the Academy, they took their seats. Then the Prussian followed. Dressed in a striking blue tunic adorned with vibrant red collars and piping and topped with a gleaming pickelhaube, he stood confidently, drawing the attention of many onlookers.

His dignified position beside them ensured that he captivated the crowd, momentarily diverting their focus from Erich. As he commanded this attention, a group of attendants entered the scene. Their refined yet cautious movements and whispered exchanges hinted at something concealed within the passageway nearby.

Of course, Erich had a guess. And his guess was right. Sleeping Beauty woke up, her golden hair fluttering free, a humble yet daunting red cape adorning her. She even put on the white gloves!

The same can't be said for her legs, making do with a garden wheelchair. Once the bag came off Erich's head, the judgmental eyes burned him more than the light did to his eyes. He narrowed it to her, turning to a servant holding a saber, her saber.

Then she crossed the line the moment she put all her strength into her sword and used it as a cane, leading her to Erich. And there they were, staring each other down. Then what? Did she even consider an escape plan? Did she consider how it would appear to the public? A power move was a sign of weakness, and she knew. Erich glared and made sure she knew.

Erich turned to the decoy. The disguised paladin stepped down and grabbed her arm, something akin to "It's not worth it," and returned Erich's glare. What's the point? Everything's in place. They can't screw the execution now.

"It is unfortunate that such a crime has befell my dear goddaughter. But on this day, we will make it right. Bring the accused forward. Lord Blaire, your testimony."

"Yes, Your Majesty," a mage amplified his voice.

Count Blaire joined Erich before the king, away from the group, alone—vulnerable, while the knights stopped Erich at defendant length. The Lord Mayor reached for something inside his teal coat and unfurled a paper scroll.

"Written in this paper are the testimonies from the affected of that day. We, the parents and guardians, express great distress following the news about the incident. However, as much as we detest putting our daughters in a position to recollect it in detail, they resolved to be the ones to speak."

One by one, the lackeys stepped up, fumbling their words, pausing their words, and even shooting a glance at Erich. Some were good; some just said their scripts to the point. But who cares? They'll squeak the monotony as a coping mechanism. Then came Meat Shield… Beatrice.

She followed the same playbook: violated, PTSD from grogginess, and the nightmares—those cold, cold nightmares that woke you up in the middle of a stormy night. Her tone was heartbreaking. If she wanted a break, she paused; top it off with a blink, gulp, or deep breath. And she was good at it.

With cheekbones like hers, Erich could picture her hiding a smirk with a folding fan thirty years from now. But those tears were dangerous. They were pure and innocent; nobody would suspect her of being a deceitful woman.

At her closing statement, the two locked eyes, and she winced with an "Eep!"

Erich sighed. Now he's having a headache for a different reason.

"Shameless brute!"

"Execute him!"

Fists began raising and waving.

"Kill that disgrace!" the words pierced through the roars.

Over and over again, various jeers echoed across the arena until, ultimately, the words "Kill him," plain and simple, overpowered the rest. He could sense its savage nature, a growl when uttered.

He took a deep breath. The truth was as fickle as it got, but even the living law of the land's support couldn't stop Erich from shivering. The power of the mob was frightening, and rightfully so when it was the delirium of the society that formed the intelligentsia.

His ideology shifted communism by ten percent.

Conscious as he was to the realities of the world, it begged to wonder why. Ten percent was no small amount, but correcting the decrepit system of fools who think of themselves as God's anointed and breaking the illusion of their privilege as their birthright did feel satisfying.

Who knows? Maybe half of it was spite. Countering radicalism with radicalism was just equilibrium. But what even is the point of ideologies? With Erich's powers, he's not creating a middle class; he's building a war machine.

It could be the rift among his future troops, that slight difference in beliefs that will gather every agitated red together and write the manifesto by memory to plunge the continent into seizing the means of production when the means of production hasn't existed yet to start demand.

Experience has taught Erich the consequences of leaving the candle next to the curtains on a windy day, yet wiping a smug grin off someone's face was satisfying. All the nobles heard was 'hero' and became blind men making fanfics of an elephant. However, Cascadia will become more of a laughingstock than they could handle if the nobles continue embarrassing themselves.

It dropped by five percent—not bad, but not enough. Ten percent for being pissed is a terrible design. But if feelings are more powerful than facts, Erich loaded irrationality into the revolver and tried his luck. There's a specter that will haunt Verussea, but not that one.

The king, duke, and headmaster knew how to put on a poker face. The least they could do was look disappointed, then maybe Erich could feel some raw connection. That leaves Annalise.

It's always the girl, isn't it?

The saber rattled under her clutches. There's no way she'll look away from her sin. Maybe she was holding back more tears. Maybe she was about ready to weep in silence. And perhaps she'd cry for him.

Maybe.

The knight captain's heels behind him clacked, signaling the coming slaughter. It wasn't just an audible cue, either. With the knights' feet apart, he stuck out. Then Annalise's hands went to her chest. Her face was no longer hiding it. What a pitiful girl.

And that's where his pity ends; the pie's all gray. Anything more, and it's off to fantasizing about dating, marrying, and raising kids with every girl that complimented you. Some gratitude is in order, however. She'll go far—further than him.

The king raised his hand, and the arena fell silent once more. "The hero will now personally carry out the execution."

Everyone watched in bated breaths for the story's climax, and the cuffs clicked. The knight to Erich's right walked one pace forward and faced the right, securing his left flank as the weighted cuff clonked on the ground. The other stepped back and did Erich's right flank.

The curious count, curious as he was, exposed his chest for Erich. So he slipped his right hand into his coat, materializing his offshoot Walther/Makarov pistol, and racked the slide. He curled his finger with his arm straight and rigid, and the hammer slammed the firing pin. Then out came the shot heard around the world.

The lord mayor twisted away, got one step further from Erich, and tumbled on the second. Even the red deers at Hessen had more fight left in them. The hot bastardized .380 ACP tore a hole where the left lung should be.

But why was he, a man of reputable pedigree and position, amidst the society he was well-embedded in, clutching against the searing pain on his chest slowly getting warm and damp? He forced his hand off the pain, wondering what it might be, tensing from the blood—his blood—slowly staining his expensive coat. Then cries came.

"Father!"

"Dear!"

The two Blaire women came into view, dropped to their knees, and tending to their father and husband.

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"Please! Send a healer!"

Knights dragged the mother-daughter pair away. However, Erich raised a hand, and the knights released them. The same cannot be said for their counterparts. The other nobles and their daughters found themselves facing the kingdom's finest, had the back of their knees kicked from under them, and frisked for pocket knives and wands.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

But like the Blaire ladies, the nobles' words were littler than the wind.

Lady Blaire's gaze darted around the grounds, her restlessness growing with every passing second. Yet her frantic pleas went unnoticed, even by her husband. His earlier shock had dissipated, replaced by a quiet resignation from the sleepless nights spent peering through window curtains, constant glances on every stroll, and attention to each passing alleyway, which had steeled him for this very moment.

Now, as he lay in a pool of his own blood beside his wife and daughter, he cherished them the most. His eyes, although lifeless, pleaded for that final moment. And Erich counted by the tapping of his Commission Pistol 1907 on his lap. He reached the fifth, and the count pushed his family aside.

The mother-daughter pair glared at Erich, but under the watchful eye of the sword, there was little they could do but cry for the man they called husband and father. The same husband and father that had endangered countless innocents, and buried and will continue to bury unsung heroes. They wept as many will weep for Cascadia from the crimes the count had done.

With another squeeze, the count's head slapped the ground. And there, he lies in a puddle of disgrace, and the arena listens to the man's wife and daughter's fiery wails. That was it. The man's dead. Such a trap had no elegance. Regardless of how sophisticated the spring of a mousetrap was and how intricate the carvings were, it served the same bloody purpose.

"Lord Hero Erich Kasper."

Erich clicked his heels, went for the quick slot, and embraced the larp. He could've sworn the Heer's coat was a lighter gray than his.

"We owe you a great debt for your instrumental support in rooting out the head of the serpent who has forgone Cascadia for Salaian gold and for discovering and delivering my brother's daughter from the years of torment she had endured to see its swift end."

And thus, he proclaimed under a widower and fatherless child's chorus to an anthem of the victims of Cascadia's fury. If a prey resists death, mercy first; damn the meat. And that's enough mercy he'll get from him. The traitor was dead, and he carried out the deal. That's all that matters.

"Praise alone cannot reward your efforts as King of Cascadia and godfather to my niece. You have made your reward known to us privately, and we have agreed, in principle. However, as you have been informed, customs must be kept. Now is that time."

The king waved his scepter, and a light show circled his neck for his voice to propagate across the arena just as the king did. Erich again repeated his laundry list for the court to hear.

"Then, as I've said before, I ask Your Majesty to renounce my title as the hero."

Of course, he still had to make history to be effective. The king dragged the silence between the exchange.

"I understand. But like many of us, we would like to hear your reasoning, Sir Erich."

"As Your Majesty is already aware, my strength lies not in the traditional interpretation of a hero based on strength in magic or the sword, but the one who will give a reason for those strong in magic and the sword to fight on our side."

"And what reason can you convince them to side with us?"

"A life worth dishonoring yourself to keep."

Distant footsteps crunched without the accompaniment of clanking metal. Erich's eyes rolled. A bastardized image of the Heer marched to impress like its imperial light infantry predecessors without any promises of getting at least a coffin for their next sally.

But that wasn't the point. It's the firing squad's Gewehr 98 kurz—the love child of the sinful time travel erotica between the Karabiner 98az and Karabiner 98 kurz—and the hint to a sequel, the officer's Karabiner 98, or the thirty-nine-inch flashbang stick.

"A compelling offer, but how can you guarantee the success of such an ambitious goal?"

"One month. Grant me one month, and I will not disappoint you, Your Majesty."

"And if you fail?"

"I won't," Erich smiled.

The marching ceased, and the hushed commands were replaced by school bullies squirming at the subdued growl in the accents.

A pause followed, giving time for reflection, forming opinions, and witnessing the hero's audacity. Then the king snickered. It was spine-chilling, not because of his authority and consecrated image, but because he found it amusing despite repeating the same questions inside the backroom.

They did not hide whether this was a performance or the first act of a play; the nobility was not blind to the indirect warning of how futile their resistance would be. If the hero masquerades as a criminal to eliminate a traitor, imagine what would happen if he stayed quiet for a week.

A spiteful enemy is a pest, a complying enemy becomes a vassal, but a fearful enemy becomes a puppet.

"As you have heard, my fellow noble friends, the hero has offered us his services. Who are we to refuse, especially since he is willing to show us if his vision bears fruit?"

Instead of the burden of hosting the hero and ending up giving nothing, thus undermining Erich's supporters, they instead will go for a trial run to gain more confidence. There was no loss. There won't be.

"I recognize that the demands for your plans to be realized require the coordination of the kingdom's civil and military institutions. You have agreed that my daughter, Princess Aurelia, shall serve you as Guardian Plenipotentiary—a role which harkens back to the days when we summoners guided the heroes through their journey—therefore, there will be no need to appoint anyone further. Her will is to be treated my will and her judgment will be my judgment."

"Understood."

Erich got it; they still have a reputation to boost. Her judgment almost got him killed, so she wouldn't even show her face for a long while if she knew any better.

"However, renouncing your title as the hero is disheartening. The kingdom cannot see it as our form of gratitude."

"Then, with my authority as the hero, I hereby declare a new title and would like to offer Cascadia the opportunity to be the first to recognize it."

"What may that be?"

"A National Hero—one who serves not through the sword, but by the pen. Heroes are made on the battlefield, but National Heroes are those who shaped their homeland to become something worth fighting for. "

His voice rang. Erich was sure the knights increased the volume for dramatic effect.

"They are the philosophers of wisdom, people who instill unity through their dedication, passion, and work within the functions of the country. They are the silent and easily forgotten, those who retire and live in obscurity; they are the everyday work that makes the land thrive."

It was not an abolition but an evolution; Erich can never escape its traditional origins. But it is within those traditions that redefines what Erich was against an enemy of the world that had never thought of after centuries of the Demonic Scare.

King Henry stepped down from his throne, leaving his cloak behind, and clasped Erich's hands, concluding this act of the charade that will be romanticized in history with prose, swagger, and exaggerated, throat-sparing cries.

"On this day, Cascadia mourns. To unravel the conspiracies lurking within our esteemed institutions and leaders, the hero endured the unadulterated shame of Cascadia! This shame will be forever etched into Cascadia's soul for many generations! However, today, Cascadia rejoices, for a new hero rises! A National Hero!"

"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

the knights drummed the ground with their halberds, filling what should've been the glorious cheers of witnesses seeing history.

"Then I will leave you to proceed with this affair," he glanced at the implicated families. "It should've been ours to start."

If anything, with what happened, he'd be more invested in their farce. Blood for blood—there's no shortage of those types of people. It's a fuel exactly because it is feasible. But time? There's no way Erich's getting that back. He has too much nuance to tackle with hindsight. And the people responsible were lined up waiting for him.

Despite his presence, it did not deter them from bouncing worried glances.

"Those jewels, those little… I can see them sparkle from afar. It must be expensive."

They paled, especially as Erich at the shiny stones with his pistol. He got closer to the family heads and kneeled at eye level.

"You must love your children. I hope you wouldn't mind if we repossess them and convert them back to coins."

He motioned the knights and huddled the family heads, still facing their daughters. And with Erich lowering himself shy from their level behind them, he continued.

"Now, precious metals deposited as jewelry… aren't as safe as a bank. The wearer gets sentimental about these things, it can experience wear and tear, and the feelings get passed down to their descendants. You know why?"

Erich gave them a second to think. Their timid expressions were far more honest than the ones he's used to seeing.

"Because these accessories are a symbol of love. But love is blind. Love can make you believe anything. Anything, gentlemen. And my parents loved me so much."

He shifted his tone.

"We know what you've done. We know whose gold you stuffed yourselves in. The only question left is whether this cabal of yours is limited to Blaire or we'll need to have a heart-to-heart with everyone who breathed the same air as you."

He broke off and put himself between them and their daughters again, enough time for the spectators to grasp the implication of his words.

It was bold and vague, acceptable for a political threat. Those who even met the count and his associates were suspect. Fear would keep the nobility in line and further strengthen his influence. That fear would turn the true culprits and their remaining cronies desperate enough to leave tracks.

"But this isn't about betraying Cascadia anymore. You raised your children with that gold, and here they are, guilty of enslaving Miss Annalise with the kingdom's secrets. Specifying their crimes would take us all day, and there's no need to ask how many wounds the victim concealed with her gift."

One good and longing look at her, and Erich continued to seal it.

"She's much more of a hero than me. But enough being poetic. Let's be honest here. They didn't hesitate to accuse me and had the princess so convinced that she broke a rib or two and was roasting me alive."

He let the facts echo on and resonate for a while until they were faint enough to continue in everyone's thoughts.

"Thus, we conclude with Miss Annalise's present state. To save me, she turned her gift into her cause of death, so your children just tried to kill both of us and disgrace the princess," Erich raised his hands. "Wonderful. My Lords, ladies, I'll let you pick who gets to live."

"Huh?!"

Erich broke away from the unrest. This wasn't his knife—it was Cascadia's, and he was merely there to twist it. But his thoughts were abruptly cut short as shards of glowing glass exploded around his neck. A mage standing beside Annalise lowered his staff, its tip still glowing faintly from the spell he had just unleashed.

"Hm," his voice was no longer under an amplification spell.

The king, duke, and headmaster still held their poker faces. Again, she rose from her wheelchair using her saber as a cane. Again, she struggled down the steps. She'd gotten used to it and increased her pace, but her strained face told Erich something else. Her attendants were ready for it, and Erich got to her when it happened.

With that speech and the way he looked at her earlier, he wasn't escaping the fanfics just as she wasn't escaping him without an explanation.

"What?"

"You don't have to spill more blood on your hands."

Erich scowled. "Whose is it then?"

Her gaze started to harden.

"You're insane."

Annalise looked down. "I started this. I should be the one to end it."

"You're prepared to live with it for the rest of your life?"

"I do."

"To harbor the pain and guilt it brings you after believing carrying out justice for their crimes would liberate you from the suffering you have experienced in their hands?"

"I do."

"Can you say that as you look them in the eye as they cling to the life you deprive them in front of their families in the name of justice?"

A second passed. "I do."

"Then are you prepared for the nightmares, answering their manifestations and the cries of their families created by your mind through your self-doubts, to absolve yourself from guilt for what has become of them as someone you've played, cried, and grown together?"

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

"I can't trust any of you. But I still owe you for risking your life to save me. If you don't want to, then don't."

"Marie was my responsibility. I can never call myself a noble if I run away. Everyone will lose faith in me."

"They can try not to."

"Then I will lose faith in myself," her grip tightened. "You owe me a debt of gratitude, and I am here to collect it."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I will embrace you. I will run my hands around your back, press myself against you, I will put my ear next to your mouth and shudder from sweet nothings, and I will overpower your hands and force them onto my body."

Erich tensed. The things he'd do if the king or the duke were that stupid to use that move. So if it weren't them, it could only mean this was all her.

"Are you sure about this?"

A pained smile formed. "Don't pity me; I might fall for you."

Erich scowled, and some life appeared in that smile.

"How cold. I'm just the victim of this play seizing my right to closure. An exhilarating form to the public, no?"

"The line between a broken girl and a merciless heiress is a thin one for someone who built a reputation for modesty and kindness."

"Perhaps," Annalise straightened herself as best as possible. "But it is oddly idealistic of you to show concern over my thoughts."

"And it's strange that someone who loathes my existence would kill herself to see me alive."

Her smile got brighter, but her eyes carried a hint of exhaustion and snark. "Opening your eyes was the worst moment in your life."

Fair point.

"What do you get out of killing them?"

"There are better ways to snare someone's heart, you know–!"

Erich squeezed her arm and supplemented her saber to catch a glance at the nobles and their daughters. Something tells him there'll be more parents buried than parents burying their children, but none of that mattered to Annalise. Her eyes matched her cunning smile, yet she looked down, almost pressing her head against his chest. She glanced once and avoided his existence.

Is she… Is she blushing?

"Oh dear. If you are that bold, I might be unable to control my feelings."

Erich stopped it. She's going mad. At least it's better than a trap.

"Have you fired a pistol before?"

"Yes. I assume it will be a symbol of unity?"

"Then I'll keep it simple. You have eight shots, plus one," Erich slid the magazine out, slid it back in, and pulled the breech ajar, exposing a cartridge, "in the chamber if you reloaded without expending the magazine. Always assume it is loaded, and never point it at anyone unless you want to kill them."

He flipped the safety off and on and pulled the trigger thrice.

"This switch is the safety. It locks the trigger and prevents the weapon from firing if you squeeze it by accident. Up means safe; Down means you're ready to fire. Your dominant hand."

She offered her right hand, and Erich opened her palm, but Annalise squeezed his. Her legs were trembling. He positioned himself as the gentleman in a waltz, interlacing her fingers with the pistol while his other hand stood ready on her back in case she buckled.

"Wrap your hand like this and only insert your finger when ready to fire. Keep these rules sacred. Dominant hand, stiff; arm, stiff, and secure it with your non-dominant hand. But for this one, you can shoot with one."

"Why?"

"Two hands is doctrine. One hand is a message."

Annalise gulped. Erich continued.

"This is an execution, not hunting. A shot to the head, and they are dead before they hit the ground. But don't look your prey in the eye if you want them to suffer. You'll get attached to it."

"The girls I knew in the past are dead."

"Do you really believe that?"

Annalise said nothing.

"Make sure the front and rear sights are centered. Focus on the front one and shoot during the pause on the exhale. Just don't pull the trigger. Just concentrate on curling your finger."

"Understood."

Then Erich commandeered her sword, took over carrying her, and scoffed off her questioning look.

"Make no mistake, I'm not trusting you to fall properly."

"Why?"

"One bad drop, and it fires. A student gets shot, and we'll be forced to compensate the house and embarrass ourselves because a vengeful, wheelchair-bound lady saw the need to stand up and carry out poetic justice by doing it herself."

Annalise gulped and halved the circulation going into Erich's forearm. All that was left for him to do was match her pace and be her cane. Upon arriving at the execution grounds, one of the knights' halberds glowed, and a light show gathered around the two's throats. It settled, and their voice echoed.

"Done choosing?" their hugs got tighter. "That's good because there's been some changes."

Erich elbowed Annalise, and she shooed the family heads away with the pistol.

"Separate them."

"No, Father! Help!"

The knights and Erich's men separated the parents and daughters. Some of them, scraped their elbows, reaching for another.

"Wait, wait, wait! My daughter! Please, My Lady, have mercy!"

"Silence them–"

Annalise squeezed his arm and overpowered his voice. "No. Let them scream. Let everyone hear it."

Erich snuck a sigh. How sweet it tasted for Annalise or how much she hungered for it was not his concern. Marie and the others sealed their fates before Erich's descent. All he did was expedite it and accompany the victim to her feast.

They stopped in front of Marie, her defiance still burning strong. They say the difference between reality and fiction is that fiction has to make sense, but this is reality. This was a product of the count's decisions, a glutton in both mind and body who discovered and waved the kingdom's dirt on an heiress to do her bidding.

Then Annalise raised her pistol. A thunderclap deafened Erich's ears, and a woman's cry echoed, Lady Blaire's. There were no words, only cries in their rawest, and the rest of the girls joined while Annalise stared at Marie's lifeless body.

Erich almost clicked his tongue. Was he right for letting it become a face-to-face execution? There was nothing poetic about it. With a single shot to the head, the mastermind of Annalise's suffering crumpled to the ground, lifeless. That was her life story. From the day she first cried into the world, the day she first scraped her knee on the grass and experienced all sorts of things her upbringing offered, this is how it ends, with a bullet through the head from the person who once saw her as a friend.

Annalise dragged Erich to the next, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the next girl, Beatrice, was forced into view. She trembled violently, her wide eyes darting between the pistol and the man she condemned very well.

Annalise raised the pistol again, and the girl's screams tore through the air, high-pitched and desperate. Erich's men moved in, pinning the girl in place, her struggling limbs no match for their strength. And the echoes of her cries were silenced in an instant, replaced by the deafening crack of the gunshot.

"Beatrice! Unhand me, you cur! My daughter!"

Erich frowned at the noble cuffed behind his back jumping and worming his way, only to get pulled back by the legs. He sighed again, and they were off for the next one. It's almost amazing. The girls broke her. They broke the person who stood against the disease that ruined the natural flow of the world's development and brought it to a state that would lead to its darkest age.

And so he just let himself feel the emotions running in Annalise's head with the next squeeze of the trigger. The lull in between their deaths seemed like the victim relishing justice served, but Annalise didn't show it. The cries, while fewer, only got louder.

But not as loud as the ones she had for him, the existence she despised. So loud, it's unbelievable it came from the one who didn't hesitate to execute the girls and etch the cries of grieving parents into the minds of the nobility as if it were less than Annalise's pain.

Maybe that was what was left of the vulnerable girl before she risked her life for him. Just thinking about it made his blood boil. Does she not have some self-respect, or was this the long game to hook him in?

With another gunshot, the last girl dropped dead and followed the crater of the bullet behind her. There was no pattern of whether they embraced the dust or it embraced them just as there was no difference to Annalise. However, her burden was released. And with a click from the safety came another. Annalise's grip became tighter. Her weight began pulling him in. Erich pulled her closer, counterweighing it. The magic circling their throats shattered.

"Erich."

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."

"Anna," she looked Erich's way. "I won't try to force my thinking on you, but you need to be strong. This is just the start of something big. Killing someone is easy, but living with it is hard."

Annalise forced a laugh. "How are you a philosopher for this with the blood of only one man?"

"Because this isn't the first time everyone called me a hero."

She washed away her grin. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. This wasn't about him. Erich took the lead and stopped in front of the family heads, deprived of grieving at their daughters' corpses to care about their presence. A mage among the knights mistook their arrival as a signal to imbue Erich with sound-amplifying magic. He shrugged.

"There is no greater peace than the one after you overcome the fear of death. I hope that gives you some peace of mind. Regrets, on the other hand, is something you contend with. But that was your choice, and this is the price you pay."

Erich motioned the knights to pick them up and nodded at his men.

"Ready!"

He dragged Annalise away from them with the knights in their wake.

"Aim!"

With the last of the knights away, the officer swung his sword bayonet down.

"Fire!"