--Accusation--

Outskirts

Ella scratched at her swollen right hand. She had assumed Vargo was already in the hands of the knights, dragged off with the rest of the scum. But no, the ugly bastard had been lucky. He slipped away from the raid to follow her.

Looking at him, there was no mistaking his intent. She had seen that look on his face earlier, back when she was in the cage. The way his gaze stayed too long, the way he licked his lips with that perverted grin. He was no different now—maybe worse. He slowly caressed his scruffy beard while inching closer, his eyes roaming up and down her body like a predator sizing up its prey.

If someone were to slap a pair of pointy ears on him and squash his nose just a bit, he would be a dead ringer for the goblin she had shove earlier. The thought crawled into her mind unbidden, but it was hard to ignore the resemblance. His greasy, patchy beard, his hunched posture, and those beady eyes with malice—all of it reminded her of the disgusting creatures from the forest. The comparison might have been laughable if it weren’t for the perverted intent radiating from him.

Vargo stepped into the beam of moonlight. "I knew ye were special," he drawled, his accent thick as he tilted his head. "Even the knights have their eyes on ye." His voice dropped low, like he was trying to draw her in. "And now, it's just ye and me."

Her feet were frozen in place, the mud pool behind her a looming threat. She couldn't step back. One wrong move and she'd slip, and who knows how deep that disgusting pool was. She swallowed hard.

"Ye’re the reason for all this, aren't ye?" he spat, jabbing a finger at her. "The knights... the raid. Everything went to shite because of ye!" His grin twisted into something darker.

She bit her feverish lip. Her baseball bat was missing, and she had no weapon to defend herself. So, her mind spiraled with regret. Why didn’t I ever go through with those martial arts lessons? It was a bitter thought. Not that she could have afforded them anyway. Life as a broke student had left her scraping by, penny to penny. Besides, back home, she hadn’t needed to know how to fight. Bullies and troublemakers had always been someone else’s problem. Or, when they were hers, someone had always been there to step in and save her. Someone like Cedrick.

Almost picture him now, standing in the frozen world she had left behind, in a different time with Michiko.

But here, in this damn Haken's world, there was no one. No knight in shining armor. No one would save her now.

It was just her.

And Vargo.

"It matters not if those captured souls have managed to escape," he took another slow step towards her. "Tis ye whom I wanted. The prize I shall claim, for thou art the most desirable of all." Each syllable of his word sinking in deeper as the gap between them narrowed. Three more steps and he'd reach her and his callused dirty hands outstretched as if already claiming his prize.

She glanced back to the edge of the mud pool at her feet. Vargo was right—she’d taken a wrong turn, and now she was cornered. It wasn’t her fault, though. None of this was. Still, she had somehow ended up here.

"S-Stay back..." she stammered weakly. This was only she could do...pushing him verbally as if it would work.

Vargo laughed cruelly.

Do I dive into the mud and hope to disappear? She could already imagine herself sinking, the thick, cold sludge swallowing her whole. Or should she fight, try to kick his ass somehow? The idea felt ridiculous—she was too weak. Her brain felt like it was on fire, barely functioning enough to string two coherent thoughts together.

"That's right..." He loomed closer like a monster whose shadow spreading across her like a suffocating blanket. His smile and eyes looked so creepy. "Just behave now. I'm going to be ye master, wench."

There was out of options. Her brain scrambled to come up with a plan, any plan. She was readying herself for a last-ditch attempt—perhaps trying to trip him or make a run for it.

Vargo's hands were approaching slowly. Twenty inches? He took a final step. Twelve inches? She swallowed hard as he body stood still. And now, almost there...

His hands were going down to her shoulder-when out of nowhere, there was a sudden, hard sound heard.

Smack!

The pommel of a sword smashed into Vargo's head. His eyes went wide, and his body pitched forward, collapsing toward her.

"H-hey, that... no, no, no~~~ "

Her feet moved backward a little, then, suddenly her body went into a mini panic mode, trying to find a balance point amidst the unexpected loss of stability at the edge of the pool.

"Aackkkk!"

In a quick, jarring moment, her arms flailing as she braced herself for the aftermath.

"I hate this..." she closed her eyes.

But before Vargo could fall on her, a strong hand gripped her right arm, pulling her aside just in time.

It happened so fast, and the rush of it, her mind couldn't keep pace.

With eyes shut tight, she slowly opened one to witness the sight of an unconscious body being swallowed by the mud.

Plop, plop, plop...

For a brief moment, she even forgot the large, strong hand holding her wrist. Too tight...and it hurts. She blinked, trying to ground herself in the present, and turned to her right, where the grip held firm.

Her eyes traced upward, slowly at first, until she realized the figure towering over her. He was tall—tall enough that her head barely reached his shoulder. Even in her fevered state, with her thoughts a tangled mess, she couldn’t help but notice him clearly. Her vision, blurred moments ago, seemed to sharpen the longer she stared.

Thanks to the moonlight, she could tell also about his oceanic eyes. And his hair... it was so dark, like the deepest shadows that cuddled to the corners of the corridor they stood in.

However, the sudden chill on her skin wasn’t just from the fever burning inside her. It was the way he looked at her—cold. He gripped on her wrist so tight she thought it might bruise. He had saved her from falling earlier, but now... now his intentions were unclear, and every nerve in her body screamed caution.

Had he followed her? Just like that perverted man whose body now sank beneath the mud, invisible under its filthy surface? She swallowed hard, trying to pull her wrist from his grasp, but he held on tighter.

"Ugh..."

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Maybe he was one of them. Maybe he had been at that auction, bidding for her like a piece of property.

Then, his deep and aristocratic voice revealed, a tone of authority she couldn’t ignore.

"Who are you?"

She stared at him, too stunned to answer at first. His grip was too tight—her wrist throbbed, it pained her swollen skin.

"L-Let go of my arm," she stammered, frowning at him.

He held her gaze, those cold eyes searching hers. For what, she couldn’t tell. But after what felt like an eternity, he released her. She barely had time to feel the relief before he stepped back and—no—drew his sword, its edge gleaming as it pointed straight at her throat.

"It seems unnecessary to repeat myself, doesn't it?" His words were calm but the danger in them was undeniable.

She could barely breathe. Her feverish body wanted to collapse anytime but she tried not to. With trembling lips, she managed to choke out a response.

"I... I don't understand," her voice was weak. And her eyelids droopy, making it difficult to maintain eye contact. "You...you might be a knight, but it's not very nice to point a sword at someone innocent like me."

More importantly, what was his deal?

This was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before—not just the first time having a weapon at her throat but also the first time feeling so vulnerable and scared in her entire life. Even the events that led up to this moment were all brand new to her, from stumbling upon that alley to the current situation she found herself in.

He tilted, impatient. "I assuredly know you comprehend the implications of my question."

Question? Her mind scrambled to recall what he had just asked her. Slowly, the words floated back.

The guy grew more impatient. The cold steel of his sword pressed lightly against her skin. It was a warning. She winced, instinctively raising her hand to touch her neck, and when she pulled it away, there was blood.

Thump, thump, THUMP!

She nonplussed.

"I—I'm Ella," she blurted out. "Twenty years old, and... and I'm a working student, but I lost my job... I—I have so many dreams, and I haven't appreciated my youth yet...Hic! Please, don’t kill me, o-ok?"

A warmth tears welled up in her eyes. Regret twisted inside her—regret for signing that cursed agreement, for trusting Haken.

Why bother rescuing me from falling if he intended to kill me afterward?

The man tilted his head to the side forty-five degrees while scrunching his eyebrows. The gaze fixed on her as if attempting to read her soul. Not too long, he withdrew his sword.

"Looks like you’ve had quite the journey, haven’t you?"

Unsure how much to say, still wiping at her eyes with swollen hand. "Y-You came here just to ask about a nobody like me?" she asked with distrust. "Y-You seem a bit off."

He just looked at her with straight face, as if he was dissecting every word she said.

Silence occured between them for a second.

Then, suddenly, the air itself seemed to shudder as a voice of someone thundered which reverberating off the stone walls.

"Seize her!"

Her body jolted, instinctively turning toward the sound. Down the narrow, dark way of corridor, the light of torches flickered wildly against the walls. And within those shadows, a group of knights advanced.

They were coming for her.

Glancing back at the guy in front of her, she searched his expression for answers, but his cold gaze gave nothing away. Was he with them? Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her. She was cornered. The walls felt like they were closing in on her.

There was nowhere to run, no way out. The knights were too close. Every path of escape had vanished and she stranded in a web of fear.

And all she could do was stand there, waiting for whatever fate was about to befall her.

In five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Now, they had her.

"L-Let me go!" she stammered as she pushed against the knight's grip. But he didn’t budge. And another knight approached to grip her left arm. "Don't resist," he said.

She tried again to pull free, but the two knights' strength far outmatched hers. The more she struggled, the more futile it became.

This was it. No more running. She was at their mercy now.

One knight, different from the others, stepped forward with an air of authority. His armor was more ornate, and immediately, she recognized him. Ella had seen him before, at the parade—an event she never thought would cross paths with her current situation. How twisted this all was. How could a knight she once admired now stand among those who hunted her?

"Thank you for your cooperation," the knight said to the man she had been speaking to.

Cooperation? His words surprised her a bit from her thoughts, but the guy next to her the one who had saved her—if she could even call it that—looked just as confused as she felt. He responded but with a low growl of anger?

"What's the meaning of thiS?"

The atmosphere between them crackled. Man versus Man. And it was awkward to watched them. But his confusion, or even his anger, meant little to her now. Ella's focus was on the knights, all of them surrounding her with unsheathed swords. And those faces filled with cold indifference, and hostility.

“Have you forgotten?” The authoritative knight—the one she recognized—barked. "The king commanded me to bring the witch.” His gaze fell squarely on her.

Wait—did she hear that right? They accused her of being a what? "W-Witch? Me?"

The Knight's expression was stern, he responded with accusatory, as if he had already sentenced her in his mind. "You led us on a chase through here desolate place, and now you're pretending to be innocent?"

And...the King? How could the king know about her? She had only been in this world for what felt like maybe sixteen hours, though the blur of confusion made it hard to tell for sure. I'm famous now, she wondered. Then her thoughts darted back to that old man in the alley—his lifeless body, the accusation that followed. Could that be why? Maybe he was someone important. Maybe a noble, or someone whose death mattered enough to catch the attention of the king himself. But she wasn’t a killer. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

The guy scoff. "Ah, how careless I have been to overlook informing you that King Adheesh himself has granted me permission to bring her to the palace as well." His said, his eyes locked in a heated stare with the knight. "Release her at once! I laid claim to her first. She is under my protection now, and I will not tolerate any interference."

Stunned, her mouth slightly agape. What was happening? Since when had she become the center of some royal command, a pawn in a game between these two men? Two different orders from the same king. She wasn’t just wanted; she was the most sought-after person in this place.

"Take her!" The knight commanded, disregarding that guy's explanation.

Ella flinched as the order rang out. She wasn’t a witch, she wasn’t anything—just a girl trying to survive in a world that had never been kind to her.

"You've got it all wrong," she protested. "I'm innocent! I swear!"

But the guy next to her—whoever he was—wouldn’t let them touch her. His teeth gritted as he drew his sword.

"I said release her," he growled, stepping forward to block the knights. His voice held an edge of danger she hadn’t heard before. "It appears that even the Captain dares to disregard my commands, despite the fact that I too have received the king's word on this matter."

Captain? Indeed. The knight was a captain. But who was this guy who dared challenge him so boldly? Looking at him, his cloak drawn tightly around him, it was clear he wasn’t one of the knights in front of her. Was he from another faction? Another order of knights? How many different groups were looking for her?

The Captain scoffed as his eyes glinted with mockery. "The woman you've been gallivanting with here was the one trying to burn the whole city and killed the scholar, in case you missed it," he said with condescension. "It's better to take her into our custody immediately, rather than risk the witch fleeing. And your knights, you ask? It seems they are nowhere to be found - have they abandoned you in your time of need?"

The guy’s face darkened at the Captain’s taunt, but she barely heard their exchange. Her mind spun, dizzy with everything.

“There’s no certainty she’s the one who burned the square or killed the scholar," he shot back. "You’re quick to accuse. Did you witness it yourself?” His tone dripped with sarcasm, a mockery of the Captain’s own. "Or perhaps you're just eager to bring a trophy back to the king, regardless of whether it's the right one?"

Burn the city? What were they talking about? This had to be some mistake—some terrible mistake. But as she stood there, surrounded by knights and accusations, it didn’t matter what was true. It only mattered what they believed.

The Captain’s lip curled into a sneer, unimpressed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we cannot overlook the presence of an intruder,” he said coldly. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if preparing for confrontation. “Take her into custody,” he ordered. “Arresting her is within my jurisdiction, and I won’t have a witch slipping through my fingers.”

And right now, they believed she was a witch.

Her vision blurred. She felt something strange at the corner of her mouth. Her fingers brushed her lips, and she realized with growing horror that something was indeed bubbling up—her mouth felt numb. She hadn’t even noticed before, but the symptoms were unmistakable now.

The world around her began to spin wildly. The knights’ voices, the Captain’s commands, all sounded distant, like echoes in a tunnel. She couldn’t focus on their faces anymore—just blurs of color and movement.

Her legs wobbled beneath her, refusing to hold her weight any longer. She felt so tired, so unbearably weak. I can’t... stay awake.

Rest... I just need... rest...

Therefore, everything went black, and she collapsed onto the ground.