Kaha Kasper worked alone.

Whether it be breaking into the king's palace or assassinating one of the wealthiest men alive, she preferred to act by herself, and surprisingly succeeded almost every time.

She tightened her grip on her revolver — the only thing that accompanied her on her multiple life-threatening missions — which remained pointed at the man tied to the chair in front of her. He writhed and struggled pointlessly: the strength of the ropes was too much for the middle-aged cartographer to break free of. 

"Don't kill me," he begged, noticing her firm grip on the trigger.

"Maybe if you show me the original map of La Prosia?" Kaha prompted and the man looked at her, seemingly confused. His act would have been convincing had Kaha not seen a look of shock in his eyes right before he feigned confusion. So she was right, after all. The map of La Prosia, otherwise known as the map of lost things did exist.

"I'm afraid I don't —?" he began but Kaha cut through him. She had put up with enough of his crap.

"You don't know the name of the city you were born in?" She questioned and saw the man's confusing façade drop for a moment, proving her theory true yet again. "La Prosia? In Libestia? Leya's True Land?" 

"I — I — how did you know?" He spluttered, taken back, dropping his pretension permanently.

"Alright, you've bored me. Whether you show me the map or not, I'm going to kill you anyway now. I might be a little less brutal if you show it to me, though," Kaha said and the man began writhing in the chair again. 

What a waste of energy, she thought. If she were the man, she would have wasted her energy in untying the ropes instead of writhing in them. Thankfully for her, the cartographer was an idiot. She waited, giving him time to think. Her eyes studied the room sharply: wooden, worn out furniture and in the small closet in the very corner, three brown waistcoats hung. There were no family pictures in the room, even though there were a few of him with a man she assumed was his father. So either he wasn't much of a family man or decided not to start a family. The former was more likely. Everyone in Libestia loved to brag about how close they were to their family, and this guy was the typical Libestian man.

How ironic, Kaha thought. Libestians were known for being valiant, and this old man was the furthest thing from that.

And then there was an explosion. 

Kaha fell back into the wall, accidentally biting her tongue. Her torso and head were the victims of the blast. The single window providing light in the room shattered as Kaha collapsed on it and the glass fell to the ground. Half the office seemed to have broken down and smoke surrounded every inch of the room. 

Kaha groaned in pain and landed onto the glass on the floor, piercing her shoulder. With another cry of pain, she pulled it out and desperately searched for her revolver, which had slipped out of her hand as she flew back. 

The strength of the explosion was extreme and it was a miracle that she was alive; if she had been a foot closer to the door, survival would have been impossible. Her chest hurt and blood poured out of her injured tongue. The metallic taste was familiar to Kaha after being forced to taste it so many times.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

She found her revolver and as soon as she gripped it, a sharp pain on the back of her knee dragged her to the ground.

Through the smoke, two men appeared, both well-built and tall. Taking them down, especially with her current condition, would be no easy task. As one of her legs was injured now, and her revolver was picked up by one of the men, her best bet was her raw strength: although Kaha was quite well-built, taking down two muscular men on her own without any weapons would be unlikely. 

Aedlin must be waiting. I should hurry, she thought and tried getting up but another shot rang through her torso. Pain shot through her body and she let out an unwilling scream. 

"Hey, don't kill her, man!" One of the men yelled at the one who shot her. "You know how much that woman hates people who disobey her. She'll kill us both."

"I'm not killing her, relax" the other man replied, his voice sounding annoyed. 

The men seemed to be frank with one another — perhaps they had known each other for a long time. If Kaha could threaten to kill one of them unless the other dropped his weapon, that could result in victory for her. If she took down one of the men, the other would crumble himself. 

"Dude, that's the Royal Cartographer, isn't he?" The first man spoke, biting his lower lip. "If he's dead, we are dead."

"He's not dead," the second man replied sullenly, but he seemed to be in denial.

Both turned away for a moment, examining the cartographer who laid lifeless and with half his head blasted off.

"Yeah, he's dead," the second man said, unamused. 

The first man sighed and facepalmed.

 This was the perfect opportunity to attack, but for now, she needed to get up. Her arms seemed to have lost all the strength in a singular moment. She couldn't even try to lift herself up. For now, she calmed herself with the thought that they wouldn't kill her. But what if they did? What if they disobeyed orders and did so? Aedlin would be alone, with no one to care for her. She would have no means of making money and as she fought as well as a snail tap danced, she could easily be harmed. 

Kaha couldn't die there. She had a little sister awaiting her at home. And then, the woman's voice rang through her ears. 

"Get up." 

The same woman who had been tortured, defiled and humiliated. The same woman who was braver and bolder than Kaha could ever be. The same woman who had died for Kaha. The same woman who taught Kaha how to fight. The same woman who Kaha aspired to be.

If that woman could fight all alone against dozens, then what were two people to Kaha? Was she so weak that she couldn't handle even them?

"There is no weak and strong, only those who have the courage and those who don't." Theresa's words had etched themselves in Kaha's head and she could never forget them. 

Mustering up all the courage she had, she used her trembling hands to lift herself up. Tears of pain welled up in her eyes, her arms filled with the blood pouring from her torso and leg. But she rose. 

On one trembling leg and bent slightly, but she rose. 

"Power is not strength: if it were, anyone could be strong. Strength is the power to rise in spite of any tragedy one has undergone." 

The men turned around in synchronisation, the one who shot her to be met with a stagger-inducing punch in the face. The other one reacted and aimed to shoot her in the arm. Kaha managed to dodge but merely by an inch, using the unharmed leg to trip the man. He didn't fall, but went staggering backwards. His guard was down, giving Kaha a chance to land a blow on his face and snatch back her precious revolver. 

The other man regained his balance and pointed his gun at Kaha, who pointed hers back at him. The second man pointed his at Kaha. 

"Two against one." The one who shot her spat. "Put the gun down, little girl."

Kaha was just as tall as him.

"Make me." Kaha seethed through her injured mouth, causing more blood to pour down. She unwillingly tasted the disgusting flavour and was forced to spit it out. 

Deciding that this was going to lead nowhere and her chances of losing were higher this way, she pressed the trigger, shooting the man in his heart. He let out a yelp. The other one was taken aback and took a moment to respond, giving Kaha a chance to perfect her aim at him. They both shot at the same time. Unlike Kaha, he wasn't aiming to kill her, which she thought was a mistake. He dropped dead while a bullet shot through her shoulder. 

She slowly sat down on the floor, resting for a moment. Once again, she had failed to retrieve what she wanted. 

Aedlin's probably waiting, sher ealised, getting up. I should go home.