It wasn’t just a trick. She took some time to drag it out from the deep recesses of her memory. That was an attack. Not quite on the physical level, but below it. Caught off guard, she had been taken by that same underhanded attack long ago. It gradually altered the victim’s mental state, eroding resistance and becoming more of a lifeless puppet. Those were just the mental effects. The spiritual aspects she wasn’t quite sure about. Somehow, it just didn’t affect her. But what about Francis? She cursed the dark memories. The pitch black corridor that she never wanted to walk down again. Just the fact that she was kept as a person for the head priest was good. Wrecked by old age, and of his own personal sexuality, he was never quite the person to rape a defenseless person, much less a woman. But in a rare moment of clarity, she managed to jump off and break her neck.

“Don’t even think about attacking me,” Adrech said. She only briefly snapped out of her mental dive to catch those words, before going back into the depths again.

There were several people that could deal with this. His Holiness, the Pontifex of Red was one. But Gabriel was simply too far away. The second faced the same difficulty. There was only one left, then. And thankfully, he shouldn’t be too far away.

Even so, Iris had other priorities first. She had to deal with the mess at the present. Easy enough.

“Diplomatic nightmare be damned.”

“What happened!” Haein asked.

“I’m killing the head priest.”

“No! What?”

“I’ll explain later.”

She cut off all outside communications. The head priest was an old man, and this certainly wasn’t her first time dealing with someone like him. The issue was the ability he wielded. Still, none of those would pose a threat as long as she dealt with him quickly.

With a flick of her hand, Iris just shot. A swift bolt of golden light. A blast like that was part of the basics of magic. Anyone with a vague skill for offensive magic could manage that. And the simplest defensive abilities would stop it in its tracks.

Yet, with the element of surprise, it was often a deadly weapon. If a mage failed to react in time, to deploy that hexagonal shield of mana, they would be hurt at least. And Iris had the blessing of surprise, talent, and experience. Her opponent was an old man, the years washing over him. He did not react in time.

Iris grabbed Francis off the ground and ran. Sure enough, a commotion formed the instant they realised what had happened. She wished the best for those stuck in the palace, but she could not let him fall. Ending the cycle was far more important.

She ran towards the outskirts of the city, towards the mountainous region. The Faroton Range, as it was known to the Varexians. The exact worldline that she met him there was lost to her. Somewhere in the triple digits, most probably.

Even though he was dead, or should be dead, Iris knew the effects wouldn’t stop. It was a two part trick. The head priest was just the activator. She never did find out who was doing the mental invasion.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Running through the city, she weaved through the sprawling slums. Even with the weight of Francis in her arms, she fled with ease. Occasionally, she looked behind her, but there was no one. Good, at least she had that on her side. To be fair, without that man’s help, she wouldn’t be able to take on the kingdom. Eventually, she slowed down to a jog.

Upon reaching the outskirts, she paused. If anyone was still chasing her, they would need to at least be near her level. Wiping her sweat off her face with her shirt, she looked towards the mountains. Placing the unconscious emperor on the hard ground, she pulled her hand back. Mimicking an archer, she drew an arrow of light. That should have been enough of a warning. Focusing her power, she steadied her breathing. She narrowed her eyes on the snowy peaks of the mountains.

“Please, you have to notice this.”

She let go. The arrow quite literally moved at the speed of light and crashed into the side of the mountain. From afar, nothing seemed to change. But inside, surely the books would be falling off by then.

“Alright, let's go.”

Francis squirmed as she grabbed him. The mountains weren’t that far away. If she ran, then maybe it would only take half an hour. Good enough. If he was as mentally strong as she thought, then there was no problem.

She slowed down to a jog as she approached. Far away from the city, and the mountains were much safer. At the base of the range, she looked up. Iris never got used to the sight. Towering over her, looming. Dark clouds travelled over the snowy peaks, the sharp tops slicing into the grey fluff.

His gaze was hard to miss. The divine aura, or pseudo-divine. Perhaps to the untrained man, the tingling on their skin, that chills down their spine, could be attributed to the cold of the mountain.

It was far past midnight by now. The stars shone in their full force. At the foot, Iris placed Francis down rather far away, before punching the side of the mountain. Birds cawed and flew, and his gaze focused solely on her. There was a brief dispelling of magic, and he appeared. The thin robe over his body did nothing to hide the bulging muscles. Though it was dark, she still made out his face perfectly well.

His chiselled jaw that could cut through steel. Perfectly set eyebrows that women swooned over. The influence of the gods were undeniable. He spoke momentarily in Loyran, before glancing at Francis and Iris, and their pale skin. He switched to Varexian, albeit a highly archaic version.

“And who art these visitors that appeareth before this fine self?”

“The arrow of light,” Iris answered.

“So you seeketh a challenge, fair lady?”

“Nay, I need your help.” She motioned to the unconscious emperor.

With a cursory glance, he sighed and turned around. Without an answer, Iris picked up Francis and followed him in. The magic sealed around her, and the grand library within the mountain revealed itself.

“What doth these travellers from distant lands seeketh from me?”

“I need your blood to heal him.”

He laughed out loud. Iris stayed still, and his smile stiffened. He walked towards her. Towering between 2 to 3 metres, he was even taller than her. It certainly made sense. He unleashed his godly aura, but Iris did not flinch.

“Does this forsaken one even understand the extenth of one’s request?”

“Heal him.”

“Answer this noble one’s questions, before that.”

Automata that reached her knee wheeled past. And in the distance, a large shadow moved in the light of the dim torches. Hundreds of thousands of books were sprawled over the floor, knocked out of their rightful place on the bookshelves.

“And who art these visitors?”

“I am Iris. And this person is Francis Rayleigh.”

“Rayleigh... I recall having ended one Arthur of that cursed family. But does Lady Iris truly believe that the person with herself is one? Black hair, he does not have.”

“He’s a halfblood.”

“And why does these travellers require this one’s assistance?”

“A spiritual attack. The blood of an immortal can mitigate the damage.”

“You...” He narrowed his eyes. “Who exactly are you, Lady Iris?”

“Someone who knows a lot. Even about you.”