In all of Nessa's years as a royal knight—which totaled to about three—she understood that a kingdom's safety often depended on quiet sacrifices and acting before any major threats could take root. The latter, she failed miserably. Attending yearly ceremonial parades were only a fraction of her duties; the real work was done in the shadows. Her blade had been drawn more often in dark alleys and hidden chambers than there were stars.

Her work was diverse, ranging from the mundane routine, such as managing convoys, to mediating disputes among feuding nobles. Other times, they bordered on perilous, investigating smuggling operations or hunting down rogue sorcerers that dared break the laws of Lethos. But, the most important job His Majesty granted her was overseeing and having close ties with various crime rings to gather intelligence—a task that required more wit than brute strength.

In fact, His Majesty was the one who found her first in Naula, and recruited her. Usually, it was Captain Kalavans' job to scout for promising recruits, especially from the outskirts of the kingdom. Yet, in Nessa’s case, Emperor Johan himself had intervened. It was a day etched into her memory—a day when she was just a youth living in the streets of Naula, using her blessed abilities to help her family in any way she could.

Throughout her experiences, nothing angered her more than witnessing thugs taking advantage of the weak and vulnerable, even if they had the advantage in size or power. In the underworld, however, she saw no difference between the criminals, no matter the crime.

Nessa cautiously entered the dimly lit chamber, her boots making contact with the uneven floor. Her eyes swiftly scanned the space, taking in the surroundings. As she descended into the cellar beneath the shoddy residence, her jaw clenched at the sight that greeted her.

Her target, with a bottle of booze in one hand, was hunched over a shackled prisoner at the far end of the cellar. It was a jarring sight; gaunt, pale, and trembling, a youth was shackled to the wall, his wrists and ankles rubbed raw from the heavy iron cuffs. His garbs were little more than tattered rags, stained with grime and dried blood. His head hung low, but the faint rise and fall of his chest told Nessa he was still alive. A lump the size of a walnut was lodged below his left temple, and he groaned weakly as if still awake.

"Ya should've minded ya business, little rat," slurred the man. "A requirement in these parts."

The boy whimpered. "Please... Let me go. I didn't betray him!"

"That ain't what Sic thinks, rat. Now, thanks to your antics, I gotta deal with ya."

The drunkard raised his fist. Nessa strode forward, her boot clacking against the stone. The man froze, the bottle clutched in his fist. Nessa didn't speak. Her face was impassive, eyes cold as steel as she stared him down.

The man turned slowly, his movements sluggish and uncertain. His bleary eyes tried to focus on her, the haze of alcohol dulling his instincts. “Who’re you supposed to be?” he slurred, his free hand reaching for the knife at his belt.

Nessa stepped closer; the target retrieved the weapon and lunged forward rather awkwardly. He wasn't given the chance to swing as the ground split from underneath his foot, and thick roots formed. He tripped forward with a startled cry as the roots twisted around his ankle, dragging him off balance. His knife clattered to the stone floor, spinning harmlessly out of reach.

Uncloaking himself, Lithero emerged, his tiny hands aglow with mana. “You’re welcome,” the fairy said smugly, his wings fluttering in satisfaction.

The drunkard squirmed, his face red with anger and embarrassment. “What the bloody—? Let me go, sorcerer scum!” he spat, clawing at the roots binding him.

Nessa ignored his insults. She knelt swiftly, pressing the tip of her rapier to his throat. The sharp steel stopped his thrashing instantly, his drunken bravado draining away as fear took hold.

“Move again and you’ll find out just how sharp this blade is.”

He froze, breathing shallowly, his bloodshot eyes flicking between her and the weapon that threatened him. Nessa glanced briefly at Lithero, giving him a nod. The roots loosened slightly but remained coiled around the man’s legs, ready to restrain him again if needed.

Nessa rose and approached the shackled youth, retrieving a small vial of a swamp-green color that sloshed in her palm as she raised it. The boy looked to be thirteen of age, with tousled black hair that had some locks that stood on end. He flinched as Nessa crouched beside him, his wide, fearful eyes darting from her face to the vial in her hand. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling like a cornered animal.

“It’s alright,” Nessa said softly, her tone lacking the coldness she’d reserved for the drunkard. “I’m not here to hurt you.” She uncorked the vial, the pungent scent of herbs and earth wafting out. “This will help with the pain. Drink it.”

The boy hesitated, shrinking back against the wall. “How do I know... you’re not with him?” he croaked, his voice hoarse from crying and lack of water.

Nessa’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If I were, he wouldn’t be trussed up like a hog over there,” she said, jerking her head toward the drunkard. “Now, drink. We don’t have time for doubts.”

The boy hesitated a moment longer, then nodded weakly. Nessa held the vial to his lips, tilting it carefully as he drank. His face twisted at the bitter taste, but almost immediately, his breathing began to steady. The size of the lump decreased until it was gone.

“There,” Nessa said, lowering the empty vial and placing it back into storage. “That’ll dull the worst of it. Now, let’s get these off.”

She examined the heavy iron cuffs binding his wrists and ankles, their edges crusted with blood. It took only one strike to slice through each one, as if a knife was cutting through butter.

“What’s your name?” Nessa asked.

“Jaran,” he whispered, still cradling his wrists. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t mean to betray anyone.”

Nessa paused. "That man mentioned Sic earlier. It sounds like that creepy guy is still around. I thought that guy was replaced by Horoh years ago. What happened?"

Jaran’s eyes darted nervously to the shackled drunkard, then back to Nessa. “Sic came back three months ago,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Horoh... he’s gone. Sic made sure of it.”

“Gone how?”

The youth swallowed, his throat working visibly. “No one knows for sure. Some say Sic killed him—took back what he said was his. Others say Horoh disappeared after a meeting with Sic’s men. Either way, Sic’s in charge again, and he’s worse than before. Everyone’s scared of him.”

Nessa's eyes dropped to the ground as she pondered. Sic was a name she hadn’t expected to hear again. Years ago, he’d been one of the most dangerous crime lords in Naula, known for his ruthlessness and ruling with an iron fist in locations like Naula and settlements nearby. Horoh also ruled alongside him, though he was the more reasonable one between the two, so everyone preferred dealing with him than Sic.

Horoh had been calculated, pragmatic—willing to make compromises if it meant keeping the peace and the money flowing. He had built alliances with merchants, dockworkers, and even some city guards in other places, ensuring that Naula’s underbelly operated smoothly without spiraling into chaos. Sic, on the other hand, was a blunt instrument. His idea of control was fear, and he ruled through violence, paranoia, and unwavering loyalty enforced by blood. His followers apparently followed his views, given that they were depraved enough to stoop low to torturing the youth.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

This news made Nessa's stomach lurch. She had always been aware that crime was a serious problem in her birthplace. While combatting crime was easy on the surface level, completely getting rid of it was as impossible as removing shadows from a flame. For every head cut from the serpent, another seemed to grow in its place. There would always be corruption and violence in even the brightest of places. Such inevitability only grew stronger where the darkness thrived.

The thought of going around, looking for evil men to bring to justice came to mind, but no matter how many times she jailed a criminal or broke up a smuggling ring, the underworld always found a way to rebuild itself. It was a hydra of greed and desperation, its heads sprouting faster than she could sever them. The cycle was maddening, but it also fueled her resolve. If she couldn’t extinguish the darkness entirely, she could at least keep it at bay.

That was mainly why she formed an intelligence network of her own, a web of informants, spies, and reluctant allies. It wasn’t born of trust, but necessity—a mix of criminals turned informants, desperate souls she’d saved, and those who simply owed her too much to say no. Horoh was one of those reluctant allies.

Unfortunately, the network wasn’t perfect. Spies could turn traitor, information could be wrong, and not everyone was willing to stay in line. But it gave her something invaluable: a way to stay ahead. If Sic was planning something big, her network would be her first line of defense—and offense.

Lithero fluttered closer, his wings casting faint patterns of light on the damp walls. “What’s the plan?”

She stood, tuning to the drunkard still trapped by the fairy’s roots. “First, we start with him,” she said, her voice cold as winter frost.

The drunkard squirmed again, his confidence long gone. “Wait, wait! I’ll tell ya whatever ya wanna know!” he babbled, sweat streaming down his face. “Don’t kill me!”

“That depends on how useful you are.” Nessa’s blade hovered close to his neck. “Why is Sic back, and what’s his next move?”

“I-I don’t know much!” he stammered, his voice cracking. “He just showed up one day, with a new crew. Took out Horoh fast, made it clear he was in charge again. He’s got plans, big ones—says he’s gonna take over more than Naula this time, and he has a giant of a backer helping him. But that’s all I know, I swear!”

Nessa frowned. If a giant backer allowed Sic to wrestle control of Naula three months ago, then her informant led her to the right place. The thought of a backer powerful enough to make that happen was troubling. If Sic had gained the resources to expand his operations, then Naula wouldn’t be his only target for long.

Surely this backer had to be Scourge that allowed Sic to claw his way back to power, uproot Horoh’s carefully constructed network, and turn Naula into a fear-soaked battleground once again. Just when the city had seen better days, a wound long thought to be dealt with reopened, and this time more severe than before.

Naula had barely begun to recover after Horoh’s quieter reign had stabilized the region. Now, Sic’s resurgence threatened to plunge it back into chaos. She wouldn't let Sic destroy the city her family, in their stubbornness, remained in, no matter the cost. Quite frankly, it was partly her fault for allowing such a disaster to occur, but there was only so much free time her duties allowed her. Maybe it was a miracle by Sthito herself she was led here, to prevent Naula from relapsing.

"If Horoh is truly dead and Sic has replaced him with outside help, then there is only one thing left to do."

At that moment, Salph fluttered down to the cellar, plopping herself right next to Lithero. Her brows were furrowed, and she pointed a dainty arm toward the surface.

"Master, a group of humans are approaching the house," said Salph.

Nessa glanced toward the shackled youth, then at the drunkard still pinned by Lithero's roots. Time was slipping through her fingers, and she had no intention of being cornered in this dank cellar. “Lithy, Sal, cover the boy and keep him safe. If they come down here, hold them off, but don’t get reckless. As for the man, deal with him if he so much as thinks about escaping."

The fairies nodded in unison, Salph’s wings buzzing with a faint hum of magic as Lithero’s roots tightened imperceptibly around the drunkard’s legs. The captive let out a pitiful whimper but wisely remained silent under Nessa’s glare.

Nessa turned to Jaran, her voice softer now. “Listen to me, Jaran. You’re going to stay quiet and stay behind the harmless fairies. They’ll protect you. Can you do that?

Jaran hesitated, his frightened eyes flickering between Nessa and the spirits. He nodded shakily, curling into himself as though trying to become invisible.

Sorcerers were feared in Naula, and the appearance of spirits, no matter how big or small, was enough to unsettle most people. But in this moment, Jaran seemed more willing to trust the ethereal than anyone else in the room. It was great that she didn't have to deal with a child throwing a tantrum or outright ignoring her at such a critical time. That was a usual occurrence in these types of situations.

A loud knock from the surface caught everyone's attention. Her eyes flicked toward the exit as the sound of a rattling door filtered into the room. Nessa sighed and strode toward the stairs, passing the drunkard. The man gnashed his teeth, glancing away from her with a mix of defiance and fear. Nessa barely spared him a glance. She had no time to waste on broken men like him—there were more pressing threats waiting above.

The knocking grew louder, more insistent. Whoever was at the door wasn’t trying to be subtle anymore. When Nessa returned to the first floor and faced the rattling door, a bang reverberated across the shoddy structure. The door flung open with a deafening crash, the force splintering its hinges and sending it slamming against the wall. Four figures stormed in, their weapons drawn and eyes scanning the room with predatory intent. Each was dressed in rough, dark clothing.

Nessa remained calm, standing her ground near the center of the room. Her rapier hung loosely in her hand, its edge gleaming in the faint light filtering through the cracked shutters. She didn’t flinch or retreat, her gaze steady as the intruders fanned out to encircle her.

"Who are you?" one of them asked in a raspy voice. "I don't remember Korco lugging around a child to watch over this place."

Nessa ignored his question and said, "You must be Sic's underlings. I'd like to thank you for approaching me. Finding out Sic's location will be a pinch."

The laughter was harsh and mocking, the sound of men who thought themselves untouchable. The raspy-voiced thug smirked, his yellowed teeth on full display as he twirled a knife between his fingers. “You’ve got a sharp tongue for someone who’s outnumbered and about to bleed. You think you can take us and then march up to Sic? You’ll be in pieces before you leave this room.”

They edged closer, tightening the circle. The broadest of the group—a hulking brute with a patchy beard—brandished a heavy iron club and cracked his neck with an audible pop. “Let’s see how sharp that tongue is when she’s spitting teeth.”

"Oh, I wasn’t asking," Nessa said, running a gloved finger along her blade. "You’ll tell me where Sic is one way or another. Weak men tend to fess up against overwhelming odds."

"Like hell we'll get done in by a little girl," the brute growled.

The laughter faltered. The scarred brute snarled and lunged, his club swinging in a wide arc meant to crush her where she stood. Nessa slipped into river stance, sliding under the swing with practiced grace. Her runic weapon flicked upward, the tip slicing deep across his underarm. The brute roared, clutching the bleeding gash as he staggered back.

The rest of the group quickly sprang into action, but Nessa proved to be faster. With a sudden motion, she summoned a gust of wind from her weapon that pushed her forward, effortlessly soaring over their heads. While suspended in mid-air, she tapped on the water rune, instantly activating a powerful cascade of water that splashed down on the group, throwing them off balance and soaking them completely. Gracefully landing behind them, she spun around to face their backs, her weapon's runic glow shifting in hues. The brute let out a curse, still clutching his bleeding arm, while the others stumbled, struggling to maintain their grip on their soaked weapons.

"She's a fuckin' sorcerer!" one of them screamed, desperately wiping his water-soaked hands on whatever part of him was dry. "What in Yutars balls is one of them doing here!?"

Nessa continued her onslaught. The glow on her rapier shifted again—this time to an earth-green color. She raised her glowing runic weapon high, and the earth trembled while five mighty stone walls erupted from the ground, their rough surfaces still warm from the earth's depths. A sharp crack echoed with each strike to the men's chins, the force of the blows driving them backward, their bodies collapsing onto the floor with a sickening thump. Disoriented and reeling from the unexpected assault, they stumbled back; the impact jarring their weapons loose with an acute metallic clang. Her crossguard still hummed with power as she approached the squirming men.

The crimson streaks of blood, mixed with bits of chipped teeth, marred the dusty floor. Nessa paused before them. Another swing of her weapon later, she summoned makeshift shackles that bound each of their limbs; stone locked their arms and legs onto the ground, leaving them as helpless as a newborn cub.

"Now, what was that about making me bleed?" Nessa commented, stepping over the whimpering men. "Don't worry, I'm not done with you guys. The fun has just begun, and we have all the time in the world."