[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 17]

“In here! Hilman.”

Keveleos flicked his hand as he spoke, his man nodding in response to the command. He ran forward to the door, one of the second floor drawing rooms on the flank of a lower reception hall. He swung the door open, Keveleos, his other two men, Renner, and Climb broaching the gap quickly. The six of them bid inwards, Climb following second to last.

Could it have been? That the Gods would be on our side, by her side. Why am I asking? Of course they would.

Climb swept his gaze. The space was well lit, expansive yet stout, filled with just shy of a score. About a dozen were finely dressed, many more of their retinues in tow; a cluster of maids in the corner nearest the door, wild and fearful looks in their eyes; another half dozen men at arms around a noble who was also armed, but not donned in armor. A swiftly cut scream as Climb entered the room, a noblewoman by the door taking fright at his entrance.

Ah, I’m still bearing my sword.

Climb quickly turned, spinning his blade round to allow it to slip into his sheath. He spotted his wound again, having lost it in the course of events. The light in this space was bright enough that only now he understood the ruin of his side, the luminance conveying the true scale of the horror. Blood covered near his entire left side, fouling everything down to his left sabaton, where it slipped between the cleft of it and his greaves. The sense of wetness in his sock suddenly resolved, having been prior only an annoyance that had yet to breach a subconscious awareness.

Oh. That’s what scared her.

Climb sheathed his sword, and looked up to see Renner standing nervously, her seeming unsure of what to do. She looked back to him, and gave him a weak smile. His heart jumped - her confession still a fresh memory - and began to slip his way to her side.

I suppose we’re out of danger, at least for now.

A stunning sense of relief came over Climb, nearly feeling fit to fall to the ground. He didn’t, contenting himself with the lifting of his mental burden. There was still a little remaining, the pace of his heart yet to slow, its inertia delaying a total unencumbrance for a moment longer. Likewise to Climb, Keveleos made his way through the crowded space, though he aimed for the armed noble in the center of the room. He sidestepped a low slung table nestled between a number of chairs, all of which were occupied with nervous and jittery highbloods. Some were occupied double, a few women nestled in the laps of their husbands. Climb felt an odd twinge at the sight.

“Rochefort, I’ve found the Princess.”

“Which of the three?”

“Her Highness Renner. I’m unsure where Vena is, and Lulara isn’t in attendance.”

“Ah.”

Rochefort cast his gaze, quickly marking Renner from the pack of men that had just returned. His eyes shot to her side.

I stained her dress when I took her from her bed, and when I walked her out. Unavoidable. Still, strange to think that’s my blood.

“Good Gods, are you wounded, Your Highness?”

“N-no. My… um, my Adjutant Guard was… um…”

“Ah, forgive me Your Highness!”

Climb’s left eye twitched. He rapped his fingers on the haft of his blade, the motion bringing him a mote of comfort.

That’s the second time tonight one of them has spoken completely inappropriately to her. Can’t you see how distraught she is? Frustrating.

A sense of pride began to well in Climb. He had marked Teloran as a threat, engaged him before he could set upon his mistress, and defeated him in a drawn out combat. He had retrieved her, had escorted her blade in hand, and now had delivered her to a safe haven entirely. He had always known a sense of protectiveness to his mistress, but he felt his duty had multiplied tenfold. Her confession and his first blood poured into his soul; their colors and tastes slurred into new hues he had not known before, crystalizing his prior sense of purpose not only as a cause of his but as his being itself. He felt little cause to kill it.

It’s like they never stop to think before speaking to her. Why? She’s royalty. How can they forget too?

“Did you encounter any others?”

“Not of the family, no. The quarter-bearing wing of the third floor was empty. We didn’t even encounter any of the Royal Guard, well, except…”

Keveleos paused, letting his words draw off. He walked abreast to Rochefort, and pulled him in by his shoulder, his mouth nearly touching his fellow’s ear. His lips moved, but no sound discernible to the rest of the room came out. Rochefort’s face remained static. The room was dead silent. A nobleman in the corner continually caused his chair to creak, and unable to halt his fidgets, stood up lest he bear the embarrassment. The air lay thick, yet bore no warmth. The day had never seemed to reach its zenith, and this night, far from the temperate passions of summer, was disjoint in its coldness. It was hard to escape the presence of death.

He’s found dead men, hasn’t he?

Fourteen seconds passed, Keveleos neither pulling away, nor Rochefort emoting at all. Finally, Keveleos stopped and broke from Rochefort. That he had no cause to say anything in response meant the tension stayed, everyone unsure if or how words would come. Climb again looked to Renner, and to his surprise, she was ignoring the course of the Counts’ conversation entirely. It faded quickly, her eyes clearly searching the room, presumably for a resting place.

She doesn’t want to think about this. I can’t blame her. I don’t want to either.

“Understood.”

The room snapped, Rochefort finally broaching the suspense at those words. It was an odd sort of relief, but one everyone took too. Some began to return to their conversations - many just as hushed as they were prior - but undoubtedly containing far more wicked things. Keveleos turned, and strangely enough, slipped back to Climb. Renner had drifted slightly, drawn into talk with a nearby noblewoman. He spoke in a low tone, the return of noise in the room masking his words to everyone else but the pair.

“Climb, your side seems ill-knit. My physician is in the other room, go and receive his care.”

“Count Keveleos, I cannot leave the side of-”

“Yes, you can.”

“What?”

“I apologize for my curtness, it’s just, I knew you would say something like that. There are six men here at arms, all of them knights. My men are better than the typical fodder to boot.”

“But-”

“Don’t protest. We haven’t the time. This is what she would want if she knew to ask at the moment. Besides, you need to be in fighting shape, and by any measure, you aren’t.”

“...Right.”

“Good, I’m going to depart to try and find his Majesty. Oh, and one last thing.”

“Yes?”

“You did well.”

Climb was suddenly struck by how kind Keveleos’s face was. Keveleos’s pirouetted in place, raising his left hand and snapping his fingers. His men came to attention. His words to Climb did not have time to hang in the air.

“Let’s go. Surely some others have attempted-”

“What are you doing?”

The sudden interruption caught Keveleos off guard, and he seemed to stumble. It took a moment for those present to trace the words back to Rochefort, and another for them to process that he had spoken them. The faces of both men’s retenues were caught in a similar confusion. Climb was in the company of all of them, neither understanding the purpose of the rejection nor cause for its character.

“What do you mean? We ought to try to find others in the company of their men. If we can, find and unite with the Palace or Royal Guard. Surely Jelka is still-”

“I’ll go. There’s no need for you to put yourself at risk a second time.”

“That is valiant of you, but I’ve already worked a safe path-”

“One I can remake.”

The sound in the room died again. Climb felt completely lost, unable to track any of the course of the conversation. The silence stretched, increasingly pregnant.

Ah, this has something to do with politics, doesn’t it? Blazes. I have no clue what this could be.

Only when he hit upon that vague supposition did he finally forgive himself for not understanding what was happening. Moments like this always necessitated seeking the knowledge of Renner, and he looked to her preconsciously. He was continually impressed by her ability to understand such happenings, and although he could not ask her now, he could at least try and glean the flavor of her thoughts from her face. Looking at her now yielded some of value, her drawing her mouth slightly to the side, displeasure seeming to rise through her. She seemed to sense him in the periphery, and for the second time, she cocked her head towards him. For a moment, he thought he spotted a twinkle in her eyes and a flutter of her mouth, before she returned her vision forward.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She knows exactly what this is. I’ll need to ask her later.

“Fine. Illura, accompany him and show him to the upper floors. Rochefort, leave two here as sentry. I want to leave those here in the company of no less than six.”

“Six? I count five.”

“Me and my two, your two, and the Princess’s guard.”

Rochefort turned his face to Climb, a half dismissive, half scornful look on his face. His eyes darted up and down Climb’s form, and his visage froze. He jumped his vision to the princess, a strange look coming over his face. It took him a moment to speak his next words, and they came out stutter-step.

“Ah, well, six. Y-yes that’s fine.”

Rochefort twitched slightly, before turning to his men.

“Misel, Peyson, stay here. Everyone else, we’re finding the King.”

Wait, he was speaking of me.

Climb had lagged behind, not realizing until now the insult Rochefort had just laced in his words. That he had not been counted as a defender. That Rochefort did not consider him a sentinel until he had been confronted with the literal blood of his efforts. Climb’s mind stumbled over the jab, doubly so over the reversal, both of which had occurred completely out of time with his awareness. The righteous satisfaction in knowing that he had been designated six lost all meaning in the face of that, and he was gripped anew by old knowledge of his. He was truly her crusader, possessing a loyalty that ran deeper and hotter than honor; but there in the depths, far below the ground upon which she stood, he would peak. There he would languish.

“We’re departing.”

“Godsspeed.”

“Y-yes Godsspeed.”

“Gods guide and protect you!”

“Good fortune to you!”

A chorus of well wishes burst from those higher blooded in the room, as well as some of the maids, many being completely enthralled by the events of the evening. Some of the knights gave appreciative nods to their comrades in arms, some bearing stoic looks on their faces. Climb was not among them. He opened his mouth, yet found no words. He felt hollow, a growing exhaustion in his soul, his emotions beginning to burn dimmer. Had he the time and place, he would let himself cry. But that was only a desire, and one he had no ability to fulfill in the moment.

“I bid you well. Please find my siblings and father, I cannot bear for them to stay unseen!”

Renner’s cry wrenched Climb, a deep anguish in her voice that seemed to punctuate everything prior. It wrenched at others too, bearing forth the severity of the evening. Her eyes wet again, and she brought her hand up to shield her mouth.

She does care for Barbro. She cares for him deeply.

“Yes, Your Highness, we will. I swear to you.”

Rochefort genuflected, and with some sense of duty on display, managed to reclaim a little of Climb’s respect. He turned and flicked his hand to his men. They all departed for the hall, opening, scouting, and slipping out the entrance carefully. The last man to leave was Knight Illura, and he closed the door softly behind him. Renner came back to Climb, her hand still to her mouth; moreover, she avoided his gaze.

“Climb?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Did I hear correctly that Lord Keveleos bid you to attend his physician?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Her eyes darted back and forth along the ground, noises from her fading from her. Climb swallowed, realizing that she was hesitating to assent the recommendation.

She’s afraid of me leaving her side… That’s horrible.

She gave a pained exhale, and seemed to rally herself.

“Attend Lord Keveleos’s physician.”

“Yes, of course, Your Highness.”

Climb, now that his mistress’s desires were no longer a supposition of the count - but rather something she had said explicitly - felt spurned to act. He gave a stout bow from instinct, swiftly regretting it as his side cut itself a little deeper. Blood broke the skin, some of the wounds adjacent to the embedded shrapnel reopening. He cut it short, looking up in time to catch her face twitching. Her countenance twisted to one of regret as she spied the damage his bow had caused.

That really hurts…

“Climb, I did not mean to bid you to injury! I’m so sorry.”

“My mistake, Your Highness.”

“But- I-”

“I promise, Your Highness. Please, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright…”

Her tone made it clear she was still very much so worrying about it, but Climb knew convincing her otherwise was a battle he could not win. He turned, trying to remember the door Keveleos had indicated his physician, then remembering that he had never been given specifics. There were two doors on the west wall of the room, and those being the only two besides the entrance, he felt it safe to guess the one to his dexter. He began to walk, and by the fifth step, began to feel an overwhelming anxiety. By the tenth, he could not stop himself from turning back. He paused, and turned, seeing his mistress engaged with the count, who now seemed totally robbed of his initiative. She had seemed to recover in the interim of his walk, managing to loosen her stance and engage in actual conversation. Sans evidence of the extenuating circumstances that led them there - her dress stained along with the rest of her appearance completely unkempt - there seemed to be nothing amiss.

This is the farthest I’ve been from her since I took her from bed. She… she’s safe.

Climb let out a subtle exhale, unheard by anyone else in the room. The last vestiges of his fear faded, and though he knew in the back of his mind that Barbro was still unaccounted for, all he could claim too now was an exhaustion and an emptiness. He turned forward, and continued, opening the door. He had guessed correctly, the sight of a man dressed in a bloody smock coming into view, seeming to be at a degree of rest. The space was small, barely four paces across, its depth even shallower; a small room designed for one on one conversations. Climb entered fully, catching a woman - at inspection a maid - with a bloodied shoulder sitting on a repurposed table in its center. Whatever wound she had suffered was sealed, a red tipped crossbow bolt lying on a nearby stand.

“Luck of the Greed Kings is with you. The poison on that would have been enough to take down a beastman twice your size.”

“W-what?”

“Mm, count it as your good fortune, or otherwise. Whatever you mark it as, you’re alive. The pain’s gone?”

“Not yet?”

“That’s bulk flesh at the sight of the fissure; it should break down within a few hours. If not, come back and I’ll give you an autocentesic.”

“Yes sir, thank you.”

“Of course.”

The maid slipped off the table, eyes widening at the appearance of Climb. He realized then that she was one he knew, maid El’ya. Their last interaction had been notably negative, a suspiciously timed stumble of hers knocking away a basket of flowers he had retrieved for his mistress. She hadn’t apologized, practically bolting down the hallway they were in without saying a word, Climb left to pick up the scattered buds Renner had foraged from the garden. It was an incident he had taken in stride, and although he would not admit it to himself, he now felt a small sense of comeuppance over her by triggering such a reaction in here now. She left the room hastily, the man cleaning his tools with a scrap of tablecloth. He looked up, spied Climb’s side, and gave a weak twitch of his dexter hand towards the table.

“Doff your plate and undershirt. Sit too.”

Climb hesitated for a moment, drawing a scornful look from the physician. He looked ready to tell Climb off when he finally complied, not wanting to draw the ire of the man who would be pulling shrapnel from his side. He worked in the typical order, removing his gauntlets, the armor of his arms, and his chestplate. That he did slowly, doing his best to avoid any further injury. With that done, he worked off the rest of his gear, removing his shirt last. He drew himself up onto the table wordlessly, not hopping up as he was wont to, unwilling to provoke the tenderness of his side. He got a closer look at the physician’s equipment as it was being cleaned, a mix of bespoke medical instruments and presumably improvised edges, including a soiled kitchen knife. The physician dipped his hands into a washbowl and flicked them dry, before coming to inspect Climb. His face pulled taut.

“Your armor was blown through?”

“Yes sir, I think.”

“Breathe slow- ah, forgive me.”

Climb’s pace had never accelerated since he slowed it earlier, the rhythm bringing him a mote of comfort. The physician pulled in close to the wound, gently setting his hands on Climb’s side. He pulled the flesh slightly, watching it shift and tighten, but never directly prodding the fissured or protruding metal.

“You kept downing potions, good. Alchemically Induced Anphiseophlostogenisis is just a myth.”

“Uh-huh…”

“Ætherlytic marking, cisangymic flow from the looks of it… you use martial arts?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

I have no clue what he’s saying. That alchemy thing must have been what Haylor spoke about. I guess it wasn’t true?

The physician offered no explanations, continuing his inspection in silence. Climb began to feel awkward; they had never exchanged names.

I don’t even know if he is a “sir”. That’s just what the maid called him. He’s probably not. I don’t know any knight-doctors. Do those even exist? No, that smock of his; makes him look like he trained in the theocracy. What’s the word they use? “Isa”? “Isha”? Something like that. They have their own… uh, form of address too I think.

“You’re bleeding internally. Some of the new skin is warped. You exerted this after you downed a potion?”

“You mean like fighting, sir?”

“Yes- You fought through this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How bad is the pain?”

“It hurts, sir.”

“Possible some of these shards have gotten under your rib cage. This might take some time.”

“Alright, sir.”

“Anything else before we get started?”

“My right shoulder, sir.”

“Let me take a look.”

The physician, still unnamed, moved his gaze to Climb’s shoulder. He immediately bucked his head back, muttering to himself.

“...and here I was thinking the ætherlysis on the abdomen was bad.”

“Is it ok, sir?”

“Oh? Yes, it’s fine. You just poured a lot of power through here. After you downed your first potion, you heard a sucking sound, right?”

Actually, yeah, I did.

“Yes, sir.”

“Looks like you dislocated it. Potion pulled it back into place. Still, I wouldn’t use it these next few days if you could avoid it.”

“Alright.”

“Y’know, with that much energy running through it, I’d hazard that you didn’t even lose any cutting power.”

“You think so, sir?”

“I do. You probably extended your reach a fingerlength. You must have swung hard enough to pull it out of the socket. Between this and your side, you seem like a damn dedicated fighter, that’s for sure.”

“...A fingerlength, sir?”

Climb was caught completely off guard, and it took him a few moments to process the true meaning of the physician’s words. He had already accepted his victory as a gift from on-high. That it was not, but rather something he had seized entirely himself was not something he was prepared to admit. He felt his heart skip a beat.

“Something like that. That's surprising?”

“No, sir.”

He chuckled slightly.

“All things well to be, let’s get those fragments out of you.”