“Welcome to Southrade Town!”

The towering gates of Southrade rose before Axel and Alice, a stark reminder of the medieval world they inhabited. After five arduous days of relentless travel, the duo finally crossed into the sprawling town, their worn boots tapping against the uneven stone road.

Southrade was vast, a tapestry of bustling life and hardship interwoven into every cobbled street and every bustling marketplace. Axel’s gaze swept across the scene, absorbing the chaotic beauty of the town. His memories of modern convenience clashed with the reality around him—here, walking fifty miles between towns wasn’t a grueling exception but a norm, a luxury even. Only nobles or merchants with wealth to spare could afford the comfort of a horse or carriage.

The scent of baked bread and roasted meats mingled with the sharp tang of sweat and grime. Axel's thoughts, however, were shattered by a voice, high-pitched and desperate.

“No, please! I’m innocent!”

A crowd had gathered in the town square. Axel and Alice stopped as their eyes were drawn to the source of the commotion: a young woman, bound and kneeling before a guillotine. Her clothes were torn, her face streaked with tears and dirt. Her cries for mercy echoed, but they were drowned out by the mob's jeers.

“Quila Willsmith, accused of witchcraft and consorting with the devil,” announced a bishop clad in ceremonial robes. His voice was cold, devoid of empathy. “May God have mercy on your soul.”

The crowd roared its approval, their faces twisted with hate. People shouted curses, their words dripping with hysteria. Some threw stones, striking the girl’s frail frame. Others whispered to each other, recounting wild, fabricated tales of Quila turning milk sour or summoning storms. Their eyes burned with irrational fear, a mob blinded by paranoia and lies.

Alice’s ears flattened against her head, her tail stilling as the guillotine’s blade fell with a sickening *thud*. She turned away, her hands clenched, unable to stomach the sight of yet another severed head rolling into the wicker basket.

Her unease lingered as she glanced at Axel. But he was gone.

Alice’s golden eyes scanned the sea of townsfolk until she spotted him, his figure melting into the crowd. She opened her mouth to call after him, but no sound came. Something about the moment felt final, and she hesitated, unsure why.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she stood still, watching him disappear into the distance. Despite his aloofness, she smiled faintly, though tears welled in her eyes. She whispered to herself, her voice barely audible.

“Thank you for everything... friend.”

She lingered for a moment longer before turning away. She understood, even if it hurt—Axel had his reasons. Still, in her heart, the pain of his abrupt departure weighed heavy. He was the first person in a long time who had treated her as an equal, not as a demi-human, a knight, or a slave. For the first time, she had allowed herself to enjoy someone else’s company

But now, she was alone again.

Turning back to the direction she was originally heading to begin with, her brows furrow as her body tenses up, “Just wait a little longer Anna…” Her resolvement gathering within each passing second.

“It won’t be long now…”

---

- Southrade's Streets -

The marketplace was a cacophony of life.

“Fruits and veggies! The freshest in Everglend!” cried one merchant.

“Armor forged from dragon scales!” another shouted. “For 200 gold coins, become invincible!”

The air buzzed with chatter and bartering, a symphony of voices competing to be heard. Axel drifted through the crowd like a shadow, his presence unnoticed by most but acknowledged with disdain by those who caught his eye. He relished their glares, amused that his infamy hadn’t reached Southrade yet.

He prowled through the streets, his eyes scanning the intricate architecture, the polished brick paths, and the sprawling shade of towering oaks. This was no ramshackle village but a true medieval town, complete with a bell tower that loomed above, its chime marking high noon.

Yet, Axel’s exploration yielded little. His frustration grew as his search proved fruitless. Spotting a group of knights in the distance, their searching eyes scanning the crowd, Axel instinctively ducked into a nearby alley.

The noise of the marketplace faded, replaced by the echo of his footsteps against the narrow walls. The alley was a realm of shadows, where the sunlight dared not intrude. Axel’s breath quickened as he pushed further, his head throbbing.

Then, it hit him—a sharp, searing pain that sent him crumbling to his knees. His hands clutched his skull as an eerie ringing filled his ears, growing louder until it drowned out all else. Memories clawed at the edges of his mind, images of a place he had desperately tried to forget.

The urge rose, dark and insidious, pulling him into its abyss. He writhed on the ground, black blood dripping from the gouges his nails tore into his throat.

And then, a voice—a fragile cry—pierced through the chaos. It was faint, almost drowned out by the maelstrom in his mind, but it was enough. With a roar of defiance, Axel forced the urge back into the recesses of his being.

He slumped against the alley wall, his breaths ragged. But his reprieve was short-lived.

“Hey, look! There he is!” a voice shouted from the alley’s entrance.

Axel’s eyes darted toward the sound, only for pain to erupt as an arrow struck his left eye. Blood poured as he ripped the arrow free, his remaining eye burning with fury.

The knights charged, their weapons drawn. Darkness coiled around Axel, shadows slithering like living creatures. With a flick of his wrist, the shadows lashed out, slamming three knights against the wall.

The fourth fled, but the shadows pursued, transforming into a monstrous hand. The knight reached the safety of the light just as the hand closed, the shadows dissipating with a hiss.

The crowd watched in stunned silence as Axel’s glowing yellow eyes peered out from the alley, a harbinger of nightmares. A shiver ran through them as those eyes blinked once, then vanished into the darkness.

When the alley was silent again, the blood-streaked cobblestones bore testament to the carnage. The mangled bodies of the knights lay discarded, their faces frozen in terror. Axel had disappeared, his form drenched in shadow and blood. His breathing was steady, calculated, and dispersing with each passing second.

A predator had hunted, and it’s currently lurking within the shadows.

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---

The sun hung low in the sky, its orange hues bleeding into the horizon as Alice approached the fortress. It loomed ahead like a titan carved from stone and iron, its walls towering high and lined with battlements bristling with armed guards. The structure was a testament to war, its dark, impenetrable form silhouetted against the fading light. Massive gates reinforced with steel bands barred the way, flanked by two towering statues of armored warriors holding halberds, their stone faces frozen in expressions of eternal vigilance.

The potion rested in her hands, its glass surface cool against her fingers. Despite the light breeze and the symphony of cicadas filling the air, her heart weighed heavy, her thoughts replaying the words of the merchant she had left behind.

*"That’s a rare item, miss. Expensive. So I'd advise you to use it only when it's an emergency."*

Her grip tightened on the vial. She had spent nearly everything she had—what little coin was left after the purchase of a low-grade healing potion. Each step brought her closer to the fortress gates, their presence suffocating as soldiers clad in blackened armor moved with precise efficiency. The faint sound of drills echoed from within, where rows of recruits trained under harsh commands. Every glance from the guards felt like a blade scraping across her skin, a reminder that she was tolerated here only by the grace of Lord Yokubo himself.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

As she approached the gates, a pair of soldiers crossed their halberds, barring her path. One of them narrowed his eyes, his voice gruff and distrustful. "What’s your business here, wolf?"

Before Alice could answer, the senior knight leaned out from the watchtower above, his tone laced with scorn. "Let her through. She belongs to Lord Yokubo."

The guards exchanged looks but complied, stepping aside to allow her entry. Their glares followed her as she passed, a silent condemnation that needed no words. Alice’s ears twitched, but she kept her gaze forward, her expression as stoic as the stone statues that watched over the gates.

---

Inside the fortress walls, the camp buzzed with life, though it was anything but welcoming. Knights gathered around makeshift tables, swapping exaggerated tales of their latest victories. Their armor, dulled and scratched from use, clinked faintly as they moved, while tankards of ale sloshed in their hands. Shadows cast by the torches danced across their faces, making their grins look sharper, more menacing.

Alice’s arrival drew a ripple of attention. A few glanced her way, their expressions ranging from mild curiosity to thinly veiled disdain. Most, however, ignored her entirely, as if she were no more significant than a passing shadow.

"The wolf’s back," someone muttered just loud enough to be heard. The words carried the venom of a snakebite.

Another knight snorted. "Didn’t know they let demi-humans roam free this far south."

Laughter followed, some of it forced, some of it genuine. Alice’s ears twitched at the comments, but she kept her gaze forward, her expression unreadable. Years of enduring such hostility had taught her to lock away her emotions, to keep her anger and pain buried beneath a mask of calm.

But the insults didn’t stop there.

"Hey, Alice!" a voice called out, rough and mocking. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. "What’d you hunt this time? Rabbits? Or were you too busy licking your wounds from last week’s mission?"

More laughter erupted, some knights banging their fists on the table in cruel amusement.

"Leave her alone," another knight said, though his tone lacked conviction. It was more a formality than genuine defense. The group ignored him, their focus remaining on Alice.

A knight near the fire, his face ruddy from drink, leaned back in his chair and smirked. "You should try smiling, Alice. It might make you look less like a kicked pup."

Alice stopped, her hands tightening around the potion’s glass vial. Her tail stiffened, but she kept her breathing steady. Without a word, she walked past them, heading toward the farthest edge of the camp.

As she settled down beneath the shadow of a tree, the chatter and laughter continued, their words fading into the background noise. She stared at the potion, the flickering torchlight reflecting off the liquid within. The quiet resolve in her eyes was the only thing that betrayed her emotions.

Tomorrow, they can laugh all they want. Tonight, I’ll rest and prepare for what’s to come.

Later as the night began to settle, and upon the summon of Yokubo.

Alice stepped into the fortress, her boots striking the stone floor with a rhythmic clack. Though she had been gone for only a few weeks, the weight of the place returned to her like a suffocating shroud. The fortress had never been a home—it was a prison, a monument to cruelty and despair.

The air reeked of damp stone, sweat, and faint traces of iron, pulling at old wounds she’d never allowed to heal. As she moved through the dimly lit corridor, the flickering torchlight casting jagged shadows, memories clawed at her. Each step seemed to echo her childhood screams, muffled by stone walls and the indifference of her captors.

Her grip on the hilt of her sword tightened as she approached the main chamber, its heavy double doors slightly ajar. Voices drifted through the opening, low and conversational. She pushed the door open, her expression set in stone.

Mask’s gaze snapped to her first, its beak-like face tilting at an unnatural angle. It grinned, the edges of its mask jagged and sharp like teeth.

“Well, well,” Mask hissed, its voice high and mockingly sweet. “The little pup has returned to her den. Tell me, was the outside world kind to you?”

Alice didn’t reply, her eyes cutting past the creature.

Roy leaned against the wall, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his face twisted in its usual disdain. “She’s got a lot of nerve strolling in here like she owns the place. Three weeks, and she thinks she’s a damn soldier.”

Alice didn’t rise to their bait. She kept her movements steady, her tail swaying behind her in small, controlled motions.

A shadow moved, and the air in the chamber seemed to shift.

Leonardo stepped into the firelight.

He was clad in his usual battle-worn armor, the lion-shaped helm under his arm. His crimson eyes locked onto Alice with a cold, piercing gaze that had silenced countless men before her. His very presence seemed to suck the oxygen from the room, and even Mask fell silent, its grin wilting ever so slightly.

Leonardo was Yokubo’s sword, his most trusted enforcer, and the commander of his armies. Where Yokubo’s will needed to be carried out, Leonardo followed, leaving only ash and blood in his wake.

To Alice, he was more than a monster. He was the man who had taken her father’s life with his own hands.

She met his gaze without wavering.

“You’re late,” Leonardo said, his voice as sharp and steady as steel.

“I came as soon as I completed my mission,” Alice replied evenly.

Mask let out a shrill laugh, breaking the tension. “Oh, how obedient! Did you fetch Yokubo a nice little present while you were out?”

Roy smirked, but before he could add his own comment, Leonardo’s voice cut through. “Enough. Yokubo is waiting.”

Mask chuckled darkly, but stepped back, gesturing toward the door at the far end of the chamber. “Off you go then, pup. Run along and tell Daddy Yokubo all about your little adventure.”

Alice ignored them, moving toward the door with measured steps.

As she reached it, Leonardo’s voice stopped her.

“And try not to get any funny ideas this time… since last time it didn’t go so well for you,” he said, his tone cold as he hints at the mysterious elixir that Alice is clutching behind her back, surprising her along the process as he saw right through her attempt. “You’re lucky you got out of it with your life intact.”

Alice didn’t respond, but her fingers holding the potion began to tremble as they vanished into the corridor, after a few seconds that seem to go on forever, she opened the door, stepping into the corridor beyond.

The door groaned shut behind Alice with an oppressive finality, the sound reverberating through the vast chamber like the toll of a bell. A chill seeped into her bones despite the stifling tension that hung heavy in the air. The dim light of flickering torches barely reached the high vaulted ceiling, their faint glow casting elongated shadows that danced like specters across the stone walls.

The faint rustle of fabric and the clink of chains drew her gaze forward. Yokubo sat at the heart of the room, draped languidly over his ornate throne as if it were a seat carved from nightmares. His presence radiated a suffocating aura, each movement deliberate and imbued with malice.

Slaves dressed in threadbare rags crawled at his feet, their gaunt hands trembling as they offered him morsels of food. Their hollow eyes reflected nothing but despair. Yokubo, garbed in crimson robes adorned with golden embroidery, exuded an unnatural aura of elegance intertwined with monstrosity. His skin, pale and almost translucent, clung to his frame like a shroud. But it was his eyes—two pits of unfathomable black—that consumed her resolve, a void that promised nothing but torment.

At the sound of the door creaking open, his expression briefly contorted in irritation. Yet, as his gaze fell upon Alice, his lips twisted into a grotesque smile, exposing unnaturally sharp teeth.

"My favorite knight returns," he purred, his voice a honeyed venom that sent shivers racing down her spine. "Come to give me your report, have you?"

Alice dropped to one knee without hesitation. Her fingers curled tightly around the potion concealed behind her back, the glass pressing painfully into her skin as tremors overtook her hands. The air felt thin, her breaths shallow against the crushing weight of Yokubo’s presence.

"Yes, my lord," she said, her voice steady, though the effort to keep it so strained every nerve. "The thugs in Northrade have been dealt with."

Yokubo reclined in his throne, his long fingers steepled as he watched her with predatory amusement. "Efficient as always. It’s such a joy to have someone so… capable."

His words dripped with a false sweetness that twisted her stomach.

"But," he continued, his tone sharpening as his smile faded, "it seems your work was incomplete."

Alice stiffened, her ears twitching. "Incomplete, my lord?"

Yokubo gestured lazily to his side. Frank, his ever-present butler, stepped forward with a precise bow, a folded parchment in his skeletal fingers. He unrolled it with methodical care, holding it aloft as though presenting evidence in a trial.

"This letter arrived from Northrade, delivered by messenger pigeon," Frank began, his voice devoid of emotion. "It details an incident that occurred shortly after your departure—an event that has thrown the region into chaos."

Alice’s pulse quickened, her tail stiffening as she braced for the revelation.

"The culprit," Frank continued, his tone never wavering, "is known as Axel the Reaper."

The name struck her like a physical blow. Her breath caught, and she struggled to maintain her composure as the weight of recognition pressed against her chest.

"According to this report," Frank went on, "he leveled an entire brothel in a single night, slaughtering everyone inside. He then destroyed a squadron of knights sent to subdue him. His most astonishing feat, however, was defeating a Grand Knight."

Alice’s wide eyes snapped to Yokubo, disbelief etched across her face. A Grand Knight? No one could defeat one of those. It was unheard of.

"Impossible," she murmured under her breath, her voice barely audible.

"Impossible?" Yokubo echoed with a mocking chuckle that reverberated through the chamber. "My dear Alice, you’ve yet to grasp the true horrors this world holds. Axel the Reaper is very real. And he’s set his sights on me."

Frank nodded curtly. "The letter indicates that Axel has declared war on the kingdom, with Lord Yokubo as his next target."

The room fell into an eerie silence, the kind that thickened the air and sent shivers racing down spines. The slaves froze in their tasks, their gaunt faces turning to the ground as if to avoid being caught in the maelstrom of tension.

Yokubo leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, menacing rumble. "Alice," he said, each syllable deliberate and piercing, "do you still desire freedom?"

Alice’s heart thundered in her chest, but she forced herself to meet his abyssal gaze. Her trembling hands tightened their grip on the potion as she drew a shaky breath.

"I do," she said, her voice steady despite the storm roiling within her.

"Then," Yokubo said, reclining once more as a cruel smile stretched across his face, "I have one final task for you."

Alice’s ears flicked, her stomach twisting with dread. She didn’t dare move, awaiting his command.

"I want you to hunt down someone again," Yokubo declared, his voice echoing like a death knell. "And you will kill the Reaper known as Axel."