In the heart of Xandria's capital, a squad of chosen Xargian guards strode out of the castle gates with purpose. A dozen soldiers clad in their snarling beast helmets formed an intimidating procession, led by Vice-Captain Bear. His broad frame and gleaming bear-shaped helmet reflected the sunlight, striking unease into the hearts of bystanders. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they instinctively moved out of the way. Everyone knew something significant was brewing, and no one dared interfere.
Bear walked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, the weight of his command palpable. Under his leadership, fifty additional soldiers had been assigned tasks to ensure the success of their mission: to capture Niles, drag him back to the king, and bask in the glory of favor at the castle. The thought made Bear's chest swell with pride as his boots pounded against the stone pavement toward the harbor. The crowd lining the streets grew larger, and a few even cheered, their curiosity piqued by the elite squad’s mobilization. The preparation had been flawless—or so Bear thought.
At the harbor, a sleek wooden naval vessel bobbed impatiently in the water, ready to launch. Near the dock, a stone bench carved from a single boulder provided a perch for the ship’s captain, who sat puffing on a long pipe. Bear approached with his men, his pride as the vice-captain practically radiating off him. Spotting the captain’s relaxed demeanor, Bear sneered, “Lazing about, are we? I guess the navy doesn’t have the same discipline as the Xargian Guard.” His taunt earned a round of chuckles from the elite soldiers behind him.
The captain remained unfazed. He took a slow, deliberate drag from his pipe and exhaled a plume of smoke. “Vice-Captain,” he greeted without moving from his seat. The calmness in his voice only irritated Bear further, so he dropped onto the bench beside him with a huff.
Before Bear could continue his jabs, the captain spoke again, his tone as steady as the tide. “You should know, all the surfaces here have been... made remarkably sticky. I can’t get up.”
Bear scoffed, thinking it was some kind of joke. “Don’t take me for a fool.” But when he tried to rise from the bench, he found his powerful frame glued to the stone. He wiggled and strained, but the adhesive held firm. “What is this sorcery?” he growled, frustration bubbling under his helmet.
The captain, still calm, took another draw from his pipe and exhaled. “I’ve been stuck here since morning,” he said matter-of-factly.
Bear’s frustration turned to panic. “But the mission! We’re supposed to leave now!” His voice cracked with desperation.
The captain shrugged. “A lot of the crew is stuck too. Even the ships are glued to the dock. Best guess? We’ll be able to leave tomorrow.” He sighed, blowing smoke lazily into the air.
Bear’s fists clenched, but he couldn’t even pound them against his knees. “What are we supposed to do until then?” he barked.
The captain tilted his head, as if considering the question for the first time. “I’d suggest... watching the ocean.”
Bear’s helmeted head snapped toward the water, his pride and plans crumbling as he muttered, “Fine.”
Just then, one of his soldiers, Wolf, plopped down on a nearby sticky surface, only to find himself ensnared as well. He thrashed like a trapped animal, his voice rising in panic. “VICE-CAPTAIN! I CAN’T GET UP!” he shouted, his struggle growing more desperate. But Bear didn’t respond. He was too busy staring at the horizon, silently fuming.
The naval captain watched Wolf’s futile escape attempts with mild amusement. “I’d recommend calling this sabotage in the report,” he said dryly, “and maybe leaving out the embarrassing details.”
Bear grumbled, his pride shattered. “Agreed.”
Unbeknownst to the guards, the sticky predicament was the handiwork of an adventurer from the guild—one known mockingly as Sticky Hands. For most of his life, his peculiar skill had been dismissed as useless, but today, it had found a purpose. The Xargian guards had unknowingly walked right into Niles’s plan, a calculated delay to guarantee his party’s escape into open water should things go awry.
Sticky Hands didn’t need recognition, nor did he care for the details of Niles’s broader strategy. All that mattered was that, for once, his strange gift had tipped the scales in a grand game. And while the guards grumbled and flailed, the adventurer quietly reveled in his moment of triumph.
**********
Far from Xandria’s capital, Prince Zacharias and his soldiers from Zairule rode in a tight formation across the barren countryside. Their destination was a secluded village, its isolation offering privacy for less-than-noble dealings. A small, weathered cottage stood alone at the edge of a withering forest, its windows shuttered, its doors locked tight against the world.
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Zacharias dismounted and pulled a key from his pouch, a smug smile curling his lips as he unlocked the door. The interior was bare, save for a dusty rug in the center of the floor. Without hesitation, Zacharias kicked it aside, revealing a wooden hatch. He signaled to his men, and they wrenched it open, the stale scent of damp earth wafting up to greet them.
Torch in hand, Zacharias descended the creaking ladder, the flames casting jagged shadows along the earthen walls. The tunnel was narrow, claustrophobic, and silent except for their boots crunching against the moist ground. At the end of the passage loomed heavy iron bars, a makeshift prison carved into the underground. Behind the bars, shackled and slumped against the wall, was a young woman. Her blonde hair clung to her damp skin, her posture broken, her spirit visibly drained. She stirred at the sound of their approach, her hollow eyes lifting toward the torchlight.
Zacharias crouched before the bars, his expression a mask of mockery. “Greetings, Goddess,” he sneered, his tone dripping with derision. He scanned her grim quarters, noting the mildew-stained walls and the puddles seeping through the dirt. “How are you feeling? Comfortable?”
The woman’s voice was a whisper, fragile but desperate. “Please… let me go.”
Zacharias smirked, dangling the key to her chains like a cat playing with a mouse. “Oh, we could make you more comfortable,” he mused, his gaze flicking to his men. “Some of my soldiers have graciously offered their company.” The soldiers behind him chuckled darkly. “But don’t worry,” he added with a malicious grin. “We wouldn’t dare defile a Goddess. That is… unless you aren’t one.”
Her eyes widened in alarm as Zacharias produced a glowing crystal from his pocket. The pale blue light danced across her terrified face. “How did you get that?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Zacharias chuckled, leaning closer. “A beauty like you shouldn’t trouble herself with such questions. Focus on being pretty instead.” He pressed the crystal against her skin, and his voice dropped to a predatory murmur. “Now, let’s see who you really are. Status open.”
The air shimmered, and a translucent screen materialized before them, its details cold and damning:
[Name: Aurelia]
[Skill: Heavenly Tourist]
[Level: 1]
[Strength: 1]
[Stamina: 1]
[Speed: 1]
[Magic: 1]
[Spirit: 1]
Zacharias tapped on the additional details for her skill:
[Heavenly Tourist – Limit to one-time use. Grants entry to the Heavens for one day.]
His eyes gleamed with amusement as he read. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, tilting his head mockingly. “You were born with a one-time-use skill. You visited the heavens, made some deal, and returned with your so-called champions from another world. That about right?”
Aurelia didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her body trembled, her mind scrambling for words that wouldn’t come.
Zacharias gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’re no Goddess,” he hissed. “You don’t even have a real skill. Useless.” His voice dipped into something darker, more venomous. “You’re not even worth offering to my men.”
He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. “If I hadn’t already sold you to a buyer, I might have been tempted myself,” he murmured, his hand brushing her neck with a cruel intimacy. “Very tempted.”
He rose abruptly, his tone shifting back to mockery. “Give her the bag,” he ordered. One of the soldiers tossed a small sack through the bars. It landed with a dull thud beside her. Inside was a meager ration of bread.
“Stay well… Goddess,” Zacharias said with a smirk, turning away.
As the soldiers climbed back up the ladder, Zacharias extinguished the torch, plunging the tunnel into darkness. But his skill, Viper Eyes, activated, his pupils glowing an eerie yellow in the pitch black. The effect was reptilian, predatory, like a serpent leaving its prey to savor its helplessness. He chuckled low in his throat as he ascended, his laughter echoing off the damp walls.
Alone in the dark, Aurelia let the tears fall. She sobbed quietly, her voice swallowed by the earth around her. Relief and terror warred within her chest—the soldiers had left, but they might return to fulfill their threats. She curled into herself, trembling like a bird caught in an unforgiving winter, her only company the suffocating weight of despair.
**********
As the day faded into night, the dining hall of the castle was alive with flickering candlelight and the soft hum of distant conversation. Xhiva sat at the long banquet table, indulging himself in a feast fit for royalty. Platters of roasted meats, golden breads, and jeweled goblets of wine surrounded him as he ate with the careless abandon of a man who believed the world existed solely for his pleasure.
But then, as if someone had yanked him from the depths of a dream, his hand paused mid-motion, the chunk of bread he had been tearing forgotten. His gaze grew distant, his breathing slowed. The spell of "Forgive and Forget" cast by the Zairulian soldier had lifted. One day had passed, and with it, his memories returned in a cold, merciless flood.
Xhiva leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lazily against the edge of his goblet. His thoughts wandered to the letter from Zacharias, the one bearing the address of the hidden woman—Aurelia. He could go now, claim her, fulfill whatever wicked promise he had made to himself.
But then his eyes fell on a bone, thick and laden with tender meat. A predatory grin curled his lips as he picked it up, sinking his teeth into it with deliberate relish. The juices ran down his chin as he chewed, savoring every bite.
“She’s just like this,” he thought, his grin widening. “A fine cut of meat. The longer she waits, the more tender she’ll become. By the time I come for her, she’ll beg me to devour her.” He chuckled darkly, the sound low and guttural, and took a long sip of wine, letting the rich liquid warm his throat.
His thoughts drifted again to Aurelia, trapped and suffering, and he found pleasure in the image. The more she endured, the sweeter his reward would be. Why rush when the waiting made the prize all the more exquisite? No, he decided, there was no need to hurry. He would come for her when the moment was perfect. Until then, he would enjoy himself.
And so, with that resolve, Xhiva returned to his feast, tearing into the food with renewed vigor. Aurelia’s torment could continue—after all, what was a little more suffering if it promised so much more satisfaction in the end?