As we waited, the muffled roar of the crowd seeped through the walls, a constant reminder of the spectacle unfolding on the other side. My grip tightened on the rapier’s hilt, the cool metal grounding me as I tried not to think too much about the chaos waiting for me.

That’s when a man approached us, his attire instantly recognizable as one of Riker’s—professional, complete with the same emblem Lola had on her jacket. His expression was neutral, almost bored, as he handed me two strange contraptions.

“Sword Queen, this is your frost,” he said curtly, offering no further explanation before walking off like this was the most normal thing in the world.

I turned the device over in my hands, inspecting it. It was small, and clearly custom-made. A metallic mechanism with a small canister attached, the craftsmanship that screamed money. A thin string extended from the base, meant to fasten to a finger, while the rest of it slid neatly into a sleeve to stay hidden.

“My… frost?” I muttered, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped one contraption onto my arm, fastening the string to my index finger. With a cautious tug, a small stream shot out, arcing gracefully toward the nearest wall. When it made contact, the surface shimmered with an icy sheen, frost creeping outward in jagged, crystalline patterns.

For a second, I was impressed. “Woah…” I murmured, stepping closer to the wall. Tentatively, I reached out to touch the frost.

It wasn’t cold.

Not even close. It was fake—just some kind of visual effect. The texture was smooth and dry, more like frosted glass than real ice. “What?” I blinked, baffled.

Lola, ever vigilant with her tablet, scanned the screen with a resigned sigh. “Mister Riker… also ordered it,” she said, her voice betraying annoyance. “But of course, he forgot to mention it. I had to dig through the manifest to find it.”

She mumbled under her breath, clearly directing her frustration at no one in particular. “Why is he making it so hard…”

I smirked, suppressing a laugh as I fiddled with the mechanism, the string tugging slightly as I adjusted it. “Riker does love his surprises,” I said, dryly. “I don’t have mic though. How does it work?”

Lola shot me a look that was equal parts sympathy and exhaustion. “They have a directional microphone, lady. And… I think he just loves chaos.”

“Same thing,” I replied with a shrug, testing the frost effect again. The shimmering faux ice glinted under the backstage lights, and I couldn’t help but admire it. Even if it was fake, it looked damn cool.

“Well,” I said, grinning as I flexed my fingers to get a feel for the mechanism. “If I’m going to cause a scene, might as well look good doing it.”

Lola’s lips twitched, but she stayed focused on her tablet.

I glanced up, my gaze locking onto the solid steel beams that arched gracefully over the stage like the ribs of some giant metallic beast.

“Say, Lola?” I asked, tapping one beam with my knuckles. A resonant clang echoed, promising both strength and the inevitability of a terrible idea.

Lola blinked, her focus breaking from her ever-present tablet. “Yes, lady?”

I gave the beam another testing nudge, a sly grin forming. “Do you think it’ll hold my weight?”

Lola followed my gaze upward, her face going pale as her brain caught up to mine. “I… Please, I don’t, Lady…”

Her plead was half-formed and far too late. My fingers were already gripping the cool metal edge, my heels finding purchase against the vertical support as I tested the sturdiness.

“Sturdy enough,” I declared with a laugh, adjusting my hold and hauling myself up. “Wish me luck!”

The beam was cold and slick beneath my hands, but years of game parkour instincts kicked in, guiding my movements. I braced my foot against a crossbar, pushing myself higher with surprising ease. Each movement felt instinctual, my body adjusting to the rhythm of the climb.

Beneath me, Lola’s panicked voice echoed faintly. “Lady Charlie, please! You’ll fall, and—oh, God—what are you doing?”

The backstage noise below blurred into a distant hum, a mix of frantic voices and clattering equipment.

I was too focused to respond, my mind calculating every grip and foothold like it was a puzzle. The height didn’t faze me; the excitement coursing through my veins drowned out the slight tremor of nerves.

By the time I reached the top, I was a good five meters above the stage. The beams were wider up here, their intersecting patterns creating a lattice that felt both solid and precarious.

The holo-lights, massive fixtures mounted on swiveling rigs, hummed softly as they cast their glow down onto the stage.

I crouched carefully, my hands gripping the cool steel as I took in the view. The vantage point was exhilarating—a sprawling sea of seats stretching into the distance, tens of thousands of people watching a light show that Riker was.

“Okay,” I muttered to myself, steadying my breath. “Not bad, Charlie. Not bad at all.”

Below, I spotted Lola craning her neck, her expression a mix of awe and abject terror. She mouthed something I couldn’t hear over the din, but I could guess it was a creative string of pleads to get down.

I ignored her, my grin widening as I reached out, balancing myself against the beam. Up here, in the thick of the lights and structure, I felt oddly invincible—like a rogue in their element, poised for something bold and ridiculous.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Perfect.

It was at that moment that the contraption behind Riker whirred to life, and I couldn’t help but stare as it conjured the most amazing holo-image I’d ever seen.

Even in the future.

A shimmering portal sprang into existence, its edges glowing with faint, pulsing runes that seemed to ripple like water. Beyond the portal was an idyllic countryside, painted in vibrant greens and golds, with rolling hills and a cobblestone path winding toward a distant, quaint village.

Even from up here, it looked real. The real that made you question if you’d slipped into the game yourself.

My mouth hung open in sheer awe as I took it in, and judging by the faint gasps and murmurs from the crowd below, I wasn’t the only one floored by the spectacle.

As the portal stabilized, the fake bandits darted toward it. At first, I wondered what they were doing—then I noticed the clever trick. A nearly invisible fabric curtain hung behind the holo-portal, seamlessly rendering them into the scene as they crossed through.

Their figures transformed into holographic projections within the countryside.

Even up close, it was hard to tell it wasn’t real. They leaped through the portal, their movements fluid and convincing, the polish you’d expect from a triple-A title but elevated to a level I’d never seen before.

“‘Tis a robbery!” the bandit leader bellowed, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. He planted himself squarely in the center of the stage, glancing around like he owned the place, his eyes finally resting on Riker. “You! Have some money?”

Riker, playing his part, backed away dramatically, his coat flaring like a hero in a poorly written novella. “I… What? What in the world is this? A portal—from Rimelion?”

The leader sneered, his bandits fanning out behind him in a ragged line. They struck exaggerated poses, weapons drawn, adding just the right amount of theatrical flair.

“You look rich enough,” the leader growled, stepping forward with a menacing swagger. He raised an arm, signaling his crew. “Get ‘im, boys!”

My heart quickened. That was the signal.

“Here we go,” I whispered to myself, adrenaline surging as I tightened my grip on the beam for one last moment. Then, with a grin, I sprang into action.

The world seemed to slow as I leapt from the beam, the cool rush of air whipping past me as the stage hurtled closer. The lights cast long, dramatic shadows, and I could hear the faint, collective gasp from the audience as they spotted me midair.

The landing was perfect—or as perfect as a drop from five meters could be.

I hit the ground with a controlled roll, my dress flaring slightly as I straightened in one fluid motion. My rapier glinted under the stage lights as I unsheathed it, the dagger in my other hand catching a sharper gleam.

“This is your end, light mage!” I bellowed, my voice dripping with mock fury as I leveled my rapier toward Riker. His face twisted into the perfect mask of bewilderment, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

I could practically hear the gears in his head grinding to keep up with whatever absurd narrative I’d just thrown him into.

“Uh, this is a mistake!” he stammered, stepping back dramatically and holding up his hands as if to plead for mercy. “I… I’m the victim here! Look! Behind you!” He pointed with exaggerated urgency.

I barked out a laugh, loud and theatrical. “You think I’ll fall for such a transparent trick?!” The sarcasm was thick in my voice, my grin sharp. But just as I was about to press forward, a noise—a subtle scrape of metal against leather—prickled the hairs on the back of my neck.

Oh.

My instincts flared. I spun on my heel in a sharp 180, rapier and dagger ready, just in time to meet a bandit rushing toward me, his mace already swinging in a brutal arc. His stance was overcommitted—sloppy, almost comical.

The best for this.

“Ah, I see!” I chirped, stepping into the attack. My dagger shot up, catching the mace’s handle with a metallic clang, redirecting its weight harmlessly to the side. The force of the swing sent the bandit stumbling forward, his eyes wide with surprise beneath his hood.

“Alright, boys,” I said and turned to face the rest of the bandits, my posture loose and confident. The lights above caught the polished steel of my rapier, sending a sharp glint toward the crowd. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The bandit leader pivoted toward me, his face splitting into a dramatic snarl. He straightened, puffing out his chest as though trying to reclaim his stolen authority. “Ah, the Sword Queen herself,” he said, drawing out each word with mock reverence. He tipped an imaginary hat, his grin equal parts admiration and menace. “You’re in for it now, lass!”

The audience erupted, their roars echoing through the space and sending a thrill down my spine. From this vantage point, I could see the sea of faces, their expressions ranging from delight to awe. The energy was electric, pulsing with the raw excitement of a crowd that wanted—no, demanded—a show.

Showtime.

The first bandit lunged at me, his sword arcing toward my side in a reckless swing.

Too predictable.

With a fluid sidestep, I let the blade slice harmlessly through the air where I’d just been. My rapier flicked out in response, the flat of the blade smacking his wrist with a satisfying thwap. He yelped, his grip faltering, and stumbled back.

“Next,” I said, twirling my rapier with a flourish.

Another charged from my left, his axe raised high, aiming to cleave me in two. I pivoted sharply, my heels clicking against the stage in a rhythmic counterpoint to his aggression. His downward swing came crashing down, but I slid to the side with practiced ease, his blade clanging against the stage floor. My dagger flashed, striking the haft of the axe and twisting it from his hands. He scrambled backward, hands raised in surrender.

A third bandit tried his luck from behind, his spear thrusting toward my back. Without even turning, I parried it over my shoulder with my rapier, the blade humming as it deflected the spearhead.

I would never do that in a proper fight… But here? Perfect.

The move left him off balance, his stance faltering. I spun gracefully, the edge of my dress flaring out, and jabbed the point of my rapier toward his chest—not a strike, but a warning.

He froze, eyes wide.

The crowd roared in approval, their cheers like a tidal wave crashing against the stage.

The remaining bandits exchanged wary glances, their confidence visibly waning. “She’s too fast!” one muttered, his grip tightening on his sword.

“She’s playing with us!” another hissed, his gaze darting to their leader for reassurance.

The leader snarled, frustration clear on his face. “Enough! Take her together!”

Three bandits stepped forward in unison, their weapons gleaming under the stage lights. One came at me with a sword, another with a mace, and the third with dual daggers, their movements coordinated to overwhelm me.

Finally, a challenge.

The swordsman struck first, his blade arcing in a calculated swing aimed at my midsection. I stepped back, the motion light and effortless, and his blade sliced through nothing but air. Before he could recover, the mace-wielder came in from the side, his weapon crashing down with brutal force. My dagger shot up to meet it, deflecting the strike just enough to throw him off balance.

The third bandit darted in low, his twin daggers aiming for my legs.

I leapt back with a graceful twist. My footwork precise, and his blades slashed at the space where I’d been. As I landed, my rapier struck out, nicking the edge of his sleeve—not a blow, but a reminder that I could’ve landed one if I wanted to.

They regrouped, panting, their movements now more cautious. The audience, sensing their growing desperation, laughed and cheered even louder.

“Aw, come on!” I called, my grin sharp. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The three bandits hesitated, playing as if their confidence was visibly shaken. One glanced nervously at the leader, who was watching with his arms crossed and a grimace of irritation. The crowd’s excitement grew, their chants of “Sword Queen! Sword Queen!” echoing like a battle hymn.

The leader finally barked, “Finish her, or I’ll finish you!”