Chapter 33

The heart's filthy lesson

Draconic Kingdom

The girl moved into the shadows, her black cloak the only friend in the empty roads. A lock of blond hair moved by the wind rested on her gaze.

The streets were dark and dark was the starless sky. Like a snake slithering to assail its prey, the girl moved through the narrow alleys of the city of Zama.

"Did you hear something?" A heavily armed man addressed his companion. The splendor of his spear shone like a guiding light.

"Your imagination, as usual. Now let's go or we'll be late," replied the equally armed companion. A chainmail with the coat of arms of Count Fasil, lord of the city, embossed on it, was on full display. Almost as if to make the identity of the master clear and obvious to possible prying eyes. "The goods must cross the border by dawn. The meeting place is still far away and I don't want to risk arriving late."

The two men led a small convoy. Other guards were stationed at the end of it, while some of them could be heard confabulating in low voices inside the caravan.

The girl followed them, step by step. In silence. The lightness of her movements was such that the dust rose belatedly from the ground, noticing only after she had left the gentleness of that touch.

They came to a fork in the road. The men took the road to the left. The girl the one on the right.

She climbed up one of the buildings, taking great care not to be discovered. A cat familiar with the architecture of those places could not have replicated her agile flicks. Hopping between the rooftops, she continued to blend into her surroundings. The black cloak became an extension of the night, a continuation of the darkness.

Both the girl and the men reached one of the warehouses near the city walls when she heard a [Message] call out to her.

"You all right, Clementine?" A raspy male voice asked. "You haven't lost sight of the targets, have you?"

"Don't worry, they wouldn't notice me even if I started screaming at the top of my lungs," she replied, still looking down. The guards had stopped to talk to another group who had joined them. "Looks like we found our golden goose," Clementine licked her lips, already anticipating the taste of battle. Feeling the stilettos she carried begging to be fed. "The smugglers stopped to talk to someone who seems important."

Leading the second group, a knight in heavy armor had begun inspecting the goods in the wagons.

"Count Fasil was right then," the voice became pensive, uncertain. "But I wonder what's inside those wagons that's so important. Bloody hillbillies, not even a few months have passed since they were freed from the Beastmen and already they're stirring up trouble."

"This is a job best suited to Wind Flower Scriptures like you, Lance," the targets had entered one of the surrounding buildings. Clementine descended to the ground to sneak in. "Of the internal affairs of this godforsaken place I couldn't care less. Just pray to your God in the sky that this is a pleasant pastime, or I'll have to find another way to make my stay in this dull place more… enjoyable."

For her part, Clementine was grateful that there was something to spend time with in those now-forgotten frontiers. A girl always had to be stimulated to be happy.

"You will have a lot of fun, WindStride. I promise," but that sounded more like an appeasement rather than an honest statement. "Just try to leave someone alive to be interrogated later."

"Alright," she huffed under her breath. For an idiot, Lance wasn't that bad. Trying to please him would be mere courtesy. "Any more orders before I cease communication?"

"Yes, don't die."

She did not laugh at the joke.

The door through which the smugglers had entered remained closed. A couple of highly vigilant guards were checking to ensure that no one approached.

If Heaven and Earth had been there, he would surely have found a way to sneak in. Perhaps with a sleeping dart or a poison that would render one unconscious. And the Captain would have endorsed a plan like that.

Too boring. Not really in her style.

Luckily, this was a solo mission. There was a reason they were her favorite ones.

"Hey there," Clementine raised a hand for attention, flashing her most appealing smile. The two men wasted no time in raising their weapons, pointing them at her. "No need to be so hasty. I just want to have a chat."

"Move away as soon as possible or we'll have to..." the man who started speaking didn't have time to finish his sentence when a stiletto slashed his throat. Blood fell like rain on Clementine's head, who savored that offering as a divine blessing.

To Hell with the Six Great Gods, her religion was made in pain.

"I see you appreciated my greeting," Windstride said, licking the extracted blade. "I can see that it left you breathless. But you should learn to be more articulate if you want to impress a woman. Not that there will be time to do that in the place you are going."

And dead flesh was the prayers she invoked. To be more precise, the prayers she made others rise to the heavens.

"What the hell?" The second guard quickly shifted his gaze, looking first at her and then at his comrade, who was leaking vital fluids like a gushing fountain. His eyes met Clementine's hungry jaguar ones.

The man's mind realized that up to that moment his life had followed a predetermined path, that someone more powerful than him, inscrutable in his plans, had arranged for him.

His every action, his every thought, his every breath had been designed to arrive at that moment when a choice on which his future would be decreed depended.

To fight and face certain death. Or flee in terror and have his life saved.

The choice fell on the latter.

What he got was the former.

Free will was, in the end, merely an illusion.

'Boring!' Clementine thought as she wiped the dirt off her stiletto. And those called themselves men? They hadn't even lasted a second. Pathetic. A woman like her needed more than that to feel satisfied.

She broke down the door, hoping that those whom she would find inside would finally satisfy her.

The light was warm. Warm as the insides that were waiting for her. For her touch.

The entire warehouse focused its attention on her as she crossed the threshold, dumbfounded by the daring entrance.

Madness? Arrogance?

Rather, confidence. And habit.

"Who the hell are you?" The same knight from earlier asked. The armor he wore shone with a metallic light, emphasizing its value. Mythril, perhaps. The sword he wielded, on the other hand, was blunt and of very poor quality. "What happened to Marcel and Louis?"

Clementine examined the scene unfolding before her, ignoring the question. The dead need no answers.

To the right were four men, the same ones she had followed at the beginning of the mission, who had reacted to her sudden entrance by placing themselves at the protection of a funny little man who had pulled a strange, glowing sphere from the wagon.

On the left, a woman with long red hair had opened an ancient-looking book from which she was reading spells aloud. A tunic on which the symbols of the Earth God were engraved waved thanks to the charge of energy released.

In front of her stood a man with a large shield as a barrier. His face was covered by a closed-box helmet, which completely enveloped his head. No part of his body was left in contact with the outside world.

Adventurers... or perhaps workers judging by the shady situation.

No one would have regretted their disappearance. Was she not an agent of the Gods?

The time had come to trace the divine design.

"Dogon, kill this intruder," the little man ordered the knight. He was repulsive, his mouth as full as it had ever known the absence of food. Stubby legs that could barely support the weight of all that fat. Two small black eyes stopped on Clementine, savoring her form with lust. "No, on second thoughts, I changed my mind. Let her live..." he licked his lips already foretasting the taste of her flesh. "It would be a shame to let her go now."

Clementine smiled.

She lifted her cloak, revealing what was hidden inside. The knight, Dogon, was enveloped in a strange light as he began to lash out at her.

Her collection would gain a new piece that day.

Where to begin?

The hunt began. The woman assumed a feline stance, preparing to sprint.

"What?" When Dogon struck, only air was mowed down by his sword. He was on the verge of losing his balance as a recoil.

Windstride had already gone elsewhere. The tip of the stiletto she had chosen headed towards the disgusting man. The moment Clementine approached she could feel his fear, so compact as to appear corporeal. But the hunt was at the start, and ending it immediately was not its purpose.

"What do you want? Move away! Guards! Guards!" So close they could kiss.

"Wasn't that what you wanted? To make me yours?" She asked, noticing the spark of desire that ran through him like an electric shock. "Show me you weren't just good with words."

They drew closer. Their tongues began to touch and entwine. She could feel his arousal growing wildly. The moment the happiness peaked, there was nothing more pleasurable than tearing it away as if it were an ant to step on.

She bit deeply into her meal. The taste of human flesh tickled her palate.

"Ahhharg," the little man gibbered away from her in pain, incredulously touching the part of his mouth where his tongue had been until just now. He still could not accept what had happened, believing he had been the victim of a bad dream.

But sometimes reality can be more cruel than any nightmare.

Clementine spat out the piece of meat. The message had been sent. It was time for harvesting.

Despite their lord's incomprehensible gestures, the guards had no trouble grasping the meaning. They threw themselves on the Black Scripture member, while the mage from before hurried to him to cure him.

Some believed that killing was an art. Clementine didn't think otherwise. But her philosophy was much more incidental to the moment, rather than the manner in which one put a masterpiece into being.

Elevating the taking of the life of another human being to a mere intellectual game deprived it of the intrinsic pleasure that the trampling upon it provided.

The human body was the board, the blood and viscera the colors, the weapons that she wielded the brushes.

Here, then, the four men gave her the perfect opportunity to put her mastery with the blade to the test once more.

Improvement came from practice.

In a moment of sublimation in which ills of dubious aesthetics appeared before her view just like the revelations of a saint, Clementine yearned for perfection.

The four cardinal points were blocked. The spears closed every smallest possibility of escape as they approached. In a pure, grandiose moment that lasted centuries Clementine saw death approaching. But it was not there for her.

She greeted her old friend in the only way she knew how.

How many ways are there to inflict pain? Windstride's purpose in life was to reach that limit, to get to the point where her quest would come to an end.

At the moment, more than one could count had been discovered. But she was sure to still be a disciple when compared to the true masters. This was not a source of discouragement, but on the contrary a stimulus that always pushed her to improve.

The enjoyment lay in the journey, not the destination.

In all, five stilettos were with her. Using other -more valuable- instruments would not have been fair to the opponents who had forced her to do so in the past.

Her heart ached, but those men would have had to settle for a mediocre death.

She threw the first stiletto at the guard on her right, piercing his skull and brain. Splashes of disgusting liquid soiled the armor she wore.

There was a beauty in that dead man's expression. Before he fell to the ground his eyes seemed to have reached enlightenment, as if at the very moment his strength had left him a new discovery about existence had manifested itself. Too bad that discovery would never be shared.

The human body was an inexhaustible mine of new sensations, begging like the poorest of beggars to be experienced.

So the second stiletto cleaved the air.

It penetrated the muscles of the right forearm of the nearest guard, digging its way into a path of spasms of pain and broken screams. If something could get in, then it was to be expected that it could also get out. The tip of the weapon breathed oxygen once more thanks to Clementine's thrust as she drew from that penetration a wave of pleasure that moved her whole being. A tremor, indecisive and sizzling, spread through her body as she gave the magnificence of that ephemeral act the attention it deserved, before changing targets once again.

The body twisted as the mind did, the lust for perversion unleashed demanding its due meal.

With the third guard she let no weapons speak between them, only the naked heat of their bodies. Clementine's nails sharpened, scratching like a wild animal at the guard's exposed flesh. In that orgy of swift and precise contact, Windstride was the quiver running through the body, the breeze wounding the flesh. Starting from the forehead down to the chin, the skin was ripped off, the eyes torn open, the skull left exposed in its whiteness.

Clementine didn't just slay. She was revealing what the others inside were made of. The purest, most honest part of life. In that glow that could only be seen in the cruel transition from one state of existence to another she saw an unparalleled beauty.

She licked her fingers still stained with that fresh blood, as another corpse added to the trail she had left behind. The taste of that liquid wet her lips, invigorating the west like the best elixir. A divine ambrosia that quenched all thirsts.

In the grip of a mystical euphoria, she turned her attention to the last remaining guard.

Language. Language was the answer. But not the one made of words, of sounds concealing the truth.

Clementine loved lies, embodiment in their deception of all that was pure in this world. But at the same time no one was more honest than she. And nothing could be as blunt as the language the body spoke when it was in the grip of panic. Without unnecessary trappings that disfigured the intrinsic meaning of what thought processed, limbs were left free to move without the gray prison that was sanity.

Insanity was the lock. Surshana the key.

The key that allowed two people to truly understand each other to the core. She therefore reciprocated that display of honesty in the best way she knew how. What she carried was a simple message of salvation. Of true salvation.

It was a game of give and take. To the fear that had been offered to her, she provided as a reciprocal gift the embrace of the beyond.

She grazed with her weapon, extension of her will, the heart of the last survivor, feeling its slowly fading pulse. Pump, pump, pump. Until it grew fainter. Pump, pump, pump. Until it stopped beating forever.

The absolute had been achieved!

But the climax was far from being reached!

"Damn you! Damn you! Who the fuck are you? Damn bitch I'll kill you!" Dogon spat his contempt, his wrath at her. But they both knew she was not the one he was angry with.

"Who am I?" She smiled kindly at him, sincerely. The one he despised was himself. His worthlessness, his weakness. Clementine knew it. And so did the knight. "Fool! Can't you recognize Death when you see her? Pleased to meet you. Though I'm afraid we won't see each other a second time."

"Cut the crap and fight!"

Only the puppies bark to try to intimidate the predators.

Dogon had been deceived. But not by her. By that nonsense called 'numerical advantage'.

He and his comrades had believed that lie that promised victory only by what was a simple mathematical figure. A number. A calculation. They knew the limitations of humans and believed that they suited everyone.

And when those rules and formulas had been disregarded, the only reaction he had left to avoid sinking into deep madness had been to rail against her, almost as if she had been the cause of all his misfortunes.

Clementine had known many like him. Caged by limited experiences that became laws of life carved in stone. She neither pitied nor hated him for it.

"Step forward," she invited him in, opening her arms. Her tongue starched her lips in lust. "Let this be the most unforgettable night of your life!"

And the last.

"Help me, Kelos," his companion -the tank Clementine had seen moments before- stepped to the front. "Efen, keep the leader safe," Dogon ordered, addressing the only other woman in the room. This one continued to cast spells to prevent the disgusting little man from choking to death on his own blood.

Windstride snapped. The knight readied himself to intercept her, as the tank raised its shield and stepped into their encounter.

The tip of the stiletto slithered across the shield, producing sparks and a high-pitched screech that grated the eardrums of those present.

A swipe of the legs. Clementine pushed off with her left foot to execute a lateral leap to the right, aiming for Kelos' collarbone. The result of the second blow was no different from the first. Dogon took the sword with both hands, landing a blow from above. The blade barely grazed the head of the Black Scripture member, cutting just a few shards of hair.

The knight continued to thrust. His rhythmless blows were met with the experience of a skilled assassin.

Drogon's hips strained to maintain that rhythm, his blows became slower, more imprecise. More like him.

Useless.

'Let's get this over with,' Clementine thought, unfazed. 'The banquet is lasting too long and I am losing my hunger.'

The woman gripped two stilettos, twirling them in her hands. Anticipating her assault, the tank was again between her and the knight.

Clementine moved. More correct to say that was a leap that covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye. Kelos braced himself with the arrogance of having already once repelled the stiletto tip.

Not realizing that Windstride had foreseen everything from the start. So trivially had events unfolded that she was disappointed to have only for a moment been able to conceive of a different outcome. An expectation that, unfortunately, shattered in mere seconds.

No matter how much iron and steel someone might cover themselves with, the storm would still bring down everything in its path.

There was a misconception that the coverings with which armor was to be produced for protection hampered movement, almost as if they sacrificed mobility for defense. But this was not entirely true, there was a flexibility in the materials used that made it not impossible for well-trained warriors to move nimbly without having to give up protection.

There was always a catch, however. Clementine had already identified three points, one at shoulder height, one at the neck and of course one between the eyes, where it would be all too easy, almost trivial, to slip her touch.

Which one to choose? Which one would inflict the most pain?

She was already behind her target. Dogon had tried to hit her again, but his movements were so predictable that Clementine could almost have avoided the trouble of dodging them.

Swish.

The tip of the stiletto pierced into her shoulder, first finding its own way between the joints protected by the knitted glue, then passing through the rings of it thanks to the thrust of the woman's superhuman strength. Then it reached the muscles, lacerating veins and arteries, crumbling bones and staining itself with the very essence of the man. Suffering erupted with a roar of pain.

Clementine tasted it, so close she could feel it, touch it.

Dogon had to watch as his companion collapsed lifelessly to the ground, while the feeling that the Black Scripture woman had so longed for finally dawned in his eyes.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The same as a hunter who, blinded by pride and lust for riches, had set out to hunt a rare animal, relying on his skills to get rich easily, until he met the true beast who, since the start, had been tailing his every move.

For Clementine had another weapon with her, one who couldn't be clearly seen or perceived until it was too late. But that, nevertheless, never left her side.

Dread and despair. Creeping in the back of the minds of her victims, slowly gaining momentum.

"AHHHHH," Dogon let out a final, hopeless battle cry as he tried to strike her again. Perhaps, in his heart, he believed that if he could at least graze her, a new chance to overturn the desperate situation would have appeared.

A miracle, as it was called.

Clementine blinded him with a quick slash of her stiletto. Then, almost as if she wanted to acknowledge his valor, she brandished Sins Eater, the saber she had inherited from the Gods, and pierced his chest. The pitch blackness of the blade was an intense, deep, shining black abyss of death that sucked all the light in the room to itself, encompassed in that harbinger of despair.

The heat of their bodies joined in a whirlwind of intense and profound emotions that revealed under their masks. Clementine caressed his cheek as she admired the life fleeing from the small eyes begging for mercy. In that fleeting instant, she felt whole.

"I am not paid enough for all this!" The woman, Efes, seeing the end her companions had come upon, began to trudge towards the exit. Their employer could barely keep his senses.

'A worm.'

Disappointment.

That was what Clementine felt when she severed her right leg so that she could not escape. A survivor had been promised after all.

"Heal yourself!" She ordered. It would have been a problem if the magic caster had bled to death like that.

Instead, the moans of pain she was emitting akin to a slaughtered pig were brought to an end with a sharp punch to the sternum, which knocked the woman unconscious.

"And now, let us come to us! We have so much time ahead of us! I don't know which part of the body I should start with," she said, addressing the little man. "The belly? The teeth? Your manhood?" Then she lit up, with the same expression that appears on the face of one who succeeds in solving a problem that has long plagued him. "I've got it! The nails! We'll start with those!"

The little man gave all his strength, Clementine could see not without some amusement that his legs were wobbling in a shaky motion to get up. He again had the sphere he had been carefully inspecting just before.

He lifted it into the air, still mute from the devilish kiss he had received, as a pale light began to come out of it.

"This could be trouble," most of all Clementine knew how dangerous certain magical objects could be. Little matter, she would have to put it off for another time.

Except that something strange happened.

Actually, it would be better to say that nothing happened at all.

The disbelief in the little man's eyes was answer enough that something had not gone as it should have.

"We were lucky," Clementine said, returning to her previous carefree attitude. 'It would have been unfortunate if they had interrupted our date, don't you think? What, why are you being like this? You don't need to get so worked up. I will take care to comply with your every wish… So, let's begin."

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The next morning, while she was waiting at the appointed meeting place with Lance, Clementine still felt fatigued from the sleepless night.

They had put in far too much effort, the woman admitted to herself.

'But the worst part was definitely getting the woman and all this stuff to the shelter.'

She was currently staying in a suite at one of the city's most acclaimed inns. And as chance would have it, given the relatively short new opening, the Black Scripture member was the only guest.

That reassuring solitude wouldn't last much longer, as she would be on the road in a matter of days, so Clementine had decided to enjoy it to the fullest.

"I'm coming in," Lance split the minute. Were all the members of the Windflower Scripture so precise, or was it her partner who was so boring? "So, is everything in order?"

Clementine pointed to the woman tied to a chair in the room, still unconscious. Next to her was a small table on which two bundles had been placed.

"Shouldn't there have been only one?" The man asked. His thin eyes could not help but continue to inspect the room fuelled by incessant paranoia. "That magic object you found should be in here, right?"

"Ohh, just a little present. Don't be afraid, I prepared a special surprise just for you. Be grateful! Go ahead, open one," she urged him, unable to help but sport a deafening grin.

Lance's small, delicate hands, which would have made a girl from a good family envious, grazed the first of those packets. The man's elongated face lost color when he saw the contents of what the first one concealed.

"This is a human head..." he was visually nauseated, but his professionalism showed in keeping, as much as possible, a cool head. "Wait... I recognise it. Yes, it's the count's brother. Was he the instigator?"

"Ohhh," Clementine emitted a little cry of surprise, not expecting the revelation. "And that's important?"

"Well, at least now the count will owe us a favor," Lance said, putting his head back in the bundle. "Making our tracks disappear in the area will be easier once he knows we foiled a revolt. Even if you left a nice little souvenir for those who had to clean up the place. It wasn't easy, you know. From what the others told me, you left quite a mess in there. I wonder why they didn't report a body found without a head."

"I don't think they noticed all that blood. You know, there wasn't much of his body left when I finished with him," she replied, dispelling his doubts. The disgusted expression he gave her was reward enough for a job well done. 'Don't you think it's about time you told me how many other officers there are in the city? So that next time I can be more... gentle."

"I don't think that's possible. You'll have to make do with me as long as you're here."

Expecting otherwise would have been foolish, but at this point Clementine hoped they would give her a little more credit. Hadn't she deserved it after all?

"Hum, how much longer do I have to stay in this hole?" Not that she minded, to be truly honest. Away from civilization she could more easily give rise to certain… impulses.

"I don't know exactly but it shouldn't be long," he began to open the second bundle, this time finding what he expected. The orb from the night before. "Just a few weeks. A couple of months, tops. The Sunlight Scriptures will also be returning shortly, and I wouldn't be surprised if you were called back with them. Just long enough to know that things are stable here."

Clementine adjusted the sleeves of the dressing gown she was wearing, which were too long for her. "So what? What's so special about that orb?"

Lance examined it thoroughly. Then, huffing, he slumped it to the ground. The orb broke into a thousand pieces.

"Parcel," he laughed disappointedly. "The only thing special about it was its ability to emit a strange light."

"You mean all this was made for a... light bulb?"

"Exactly," Lance replied. "Oh, a very classy one. If sold to some junk dealer you could make a nice amount of copper coins out of it. I almost feel sorry for the brother. Probably he thought he had his hands on some ancient artifact that would make him gain power… well, better this way."

Clementine shared a laugh with her companion, thinking about the transience of life.

Some died in pursuit of great ideals, others to protect what was dear to them.

Some... for a light bulb.

A fitting ending for a worthless existence.

"And what shall we do with her?" From that story the only thing they got out of it was the prisoner resting blissfully, unaware that her fate was about to be decided at that very moment.

"How would you assess her abilities?" Asked Lance, unsure of the situation.

Wasn't the Theocracy a wonderful place? Every crime could be forgiven by the Gods.

As long as the criminal had value to exploit, that is.

"Mediocre would have been paying her a compliment. A spellcaster who can't get past the first tier. Iron rank, to be generous. Very generous."

The woman's life depended on her. Lying would have been an affront to her unconscious trust!

"I understand. Maybe she could be useful for something. She's also missing a leg... No. I'll let someone else take care of it. Maybe she can give us more information regarding the origin of this scam. If it isn't an isolated case, should be investigated."

Despite his puny physique, Lance put the woman on his shoulders, in no way bearing her weight.

"I will be in touch as soon as possible. In the meantime, try not to kill anyone," he advised. Then, as if he could read her mind, he added: "Especially not me."

Clementine crossed her legs, letting the man see her bare skin, looking for any reaction, which unfortunately did not come.

"Lance, you should know. I kill because it's fun. And killing you would not be fun."

At least, for now.

E-Rantel

The streets were crowded. Far too crowded. A continuous coming and going of people, a flood of unfamiliar faces and physiognomies all too similar. The twilight of dawn was beginning to break on the horizon, and men and women headed for their homes after a hard day's work.

The carriage moved along a strangely well-maintained street, jolting at irregular intervals from a collision with some raised stone or an unfilled pothole.

Antilene looked out the window of her cab, with a bored air. They had only left the Theocracy a few days ago, but she was already homesick.

"So this is this E-Rantel. Maybe a bit too provincial, but otherwise not bad at all. I wonder how much longer for the mayor's estate," she asked no one in particular, as the people she shared the carriage with were even less informed than her. "Well, I hope it's at least a nice place."

"I didn't think the lord of the city would invite us as soon as he heard of our passage," Agravaine said, intent on scribbling various notes in a small notebook. The intention was to immortalize in those cards the passing of daily life in that place.

"Compared to Theocracy, this place is much more... ordinary. There is a simple, almost bucolic feel to life. In some ways it reminds me of home."

"The Kingdom of Re-Estize has always been rather backward from what I heard. I think the Cardinals had plans to have it absorbed by the Baharuth Empire but I never looked into it. Nonetheless, it is still a kingdom with almost two hundred years of history. I'm sure some of the stories are just exaggerated slander," the daily routine, at least from what she could observe, flowed peacefully. An existence which could have been envied by many for its peace. "To judge is always to use one's own eyes rather than stick solely to the words of others."

"It's just strange to think that many of these human nations are younger than me," her sister mused aloud. "I wonder what our countrymen think about it. They have seen in what was for them a blink of an eye so many changes. Etienne is old enough, perhaps we should ask him if he remembers anything."

The butler was currently driving the carriage outside and didn't seem to have heard them, concentrating on his task.

"I don't think Mr Etienne knows much. To my knowledge, he never left the forest of Evasha," Melody interjected. The maid was sitting by Agravaine's side, intent on peeling an apple, which she then bit into with relish. "He's one of those old-fashioned elves who never took an interest in what was going on on the outside. He asked me many times to be educated about the neighboring nations, so as not to embarrass you, Lady Antilene."

"Does the same apply to you, Melody?" The clear inflection of a question came from Antilene.

"Nono, I was always interested in everything beyond Crescent Lake," the young elf's usually jovial face darkened. "It was a way to take my mind off everything going on around me. My father, may the gods rest his soul, was executed after dropping one of the king's favorite fruits. My mother, a palace attendant, offered herself as an exchange to save me from what would normally be expected of a young woman in childbearing age. In all, I had ten half-brothers. Of these, I think only one is now alive."

"And what about your mother?" Agravaine looked particularly shaken. Some things you never get used to.

"She died in childbirth…" A pause that felt like a prayer. "But that's in the past now. If it hadn't been for Lady Antilene, I probably would have suffered the same fate. That's why I'm so grateful to her!"

Melody returned to her usual delighted tone, spotting a warming smile.

"I see..." Antilene realized that her enthusiasm was an affirmation. A way of telling the whole world 'look at me, I survived. And I am thankful for that.'

The strong towered over the weak. It was an immutable truth of the world.

But that did not mean that the weak could not rebel, in their own way.

Not bowing to despondency and despair, even when there was every reason to do so, showed a strength of spirit that not everyone possessed.

Perhaps not even her.

"We have arrived."

Etienne opened the carriage door, helping the women inside to disembark.

When they arrived, an impressive building appeared before them. But the servants who greeted them let them into an estate next to it. Luxurious, but it paled next to what they had just seen.

"They explained to me that the palace just now is reserved for the royal family," Etienne opened the line of their small group, mingling perfectly with the other retainers of the lord of the estate. "This is instead the mayor's personal residence. I don't think we should wait long to be received."

And, in fact, that was exactly what happened. After being shown into a comfortable living room where food and drink to suit all tastes were offered, Antilene, together with Agravaine, was ushered into the mayor's office.

A man more like a large pig greeted them. His body was stocky and fat, the buttons of the white shirt he wore seemed to beg for mercy as they strained to hold the fabric together. The few white hairs on an otherwise bald head were so thin they reflected the light. He stood with the aid of a walking cane on which a precious gem sparkled at the apex.

"Welcome, welcome. I am Panasolei Gruze Day Rettenmaier. It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance," thin fox eyes opened to greet them with round black irises. "You must be the famous Lady Antilene of whom so much has been said lately. Please, feel at home in my humble abode."

He bowed -or more correctly tried to - but the result was more comical than respectful. Nevertheless, Antilene returned the greeting with the utmost courtesy.

"Please, be seated," with the help of the maids and butlers that were accompanying him, he invited them to a set table, where whatever dishes the human mind could imagine were to be found. Cheese, meat, bread, ham, but also sweets, fruit, even ice cream stored in bowls. "I haven't eaten dinner yet, and I was hoping you would join me."

"Very willingly," Antilene found no good reason to refuse, though she was not entirely convinced. "The journey has been long and we are hungry. It will be the perfect occasion for you to explain why you requested our presence."

"Soon said, curiosity." Was the quick response.

When they were seated at the table, the mayor began gobbling up the food like a black hole, leaving poor Agravaine quite disgusted as she tried to look away.

"I couldn't pass up the chance to meet the personality of the moment. If you excuse my audacity, your beauty is beyond this world," he continued, leaving his mouth open between mouthfuls. "I hope this humble town is to your liking. I am aware that compared to the richness of the Theocracy we are still many steps behind."

Antilene, unlike her sister, kept her attention fixed on her interlocutor. Ever since she had entered, a battle had begun. The half-elf did not consider herself an expert in political intrigue, but was well trained in the arts of war.

'The less your enemy can read your intentions, the less easy it will be for him to understand your next move.'

The first blow had been thrown, now her reaction would dictate the continuation of the conversation.

"You have nothing to complain about, Lord Rettenmaier," and so the elf queen did as much as she could to stare him in the eye. "The city is enchanting. Order and prosperity prevail. One can see that it has been guided by an enlightened mind."

Panalosei paused, having carefully observed her. If before he seemed intent on going on a marathon binge, he now kept away from food as if it were festering.

"You do me too much honor, Lady Antilene," the tone became more relaxed as the shimmer shone with honesty. If the nobleman had tested her to see how she would behave in the face of such rudeness, Antilene was pretty sure she had passed. "I cherish this city, almost as if it were one of my own children. And I treat it as such. In seeing it shine I experience a feeling that only a parent can have."

The half-elf poured herself a glass of blueberry juice as she asked another question. "Tell me, are the stories of corruption I have heard so much about this kingdom true?" She couldn't restrain herself, not without a hint of impertinence. But diplomatic games did not suit her outspoken temperament. "A plague has spread so far that the only recommended medicine is amputation. That's how it was described to me."

"That seems far too extreme a measure," Parasolei's brow furrowed. Embarrassment at such a delicate question leaked out like a flaming geyser. "Is there a problem with corruption? Yes, absolutely. Does that mean that solutions are not being made to solve it? That would not be the correct answer. Do I think it could be done better? I cannot deny it, but I realize it is not that simple."

In a discourse infused with far too much political rhetoric, the lord of E-Rantel seemed to answer every imaginable question, but without providing adequate information, only general observations. A speech exquisitely full of nothing, she would have described it.

"What is certain is that any help that can be given to this country would be useful. On the contrary," he added, lowering the volume of his voice, so as not to be spied on by prying ears. "Any new enemy could prove detrimental to our well-being. I don't know if you understand me. Rapacious hands have set their claws on these territories and if more of them were to be added, it would be very, very problematic."

The allusions were all too clear. At least, they explained why Antilene had been personally invited.

"For the time being, I can wholeheartedly assure you, Lord Rettenmaier, that my intentions conceal no ulterior motive," already being a queen was far too exhausting. Let alone a queen with alliances! "I intend to go to the ball only to make my debut in high society and to show that no one has anything to fear from Crescent Lake. If nothing else, I want to have friendly relations with everyone, without necessarily having to take sides."

Panalosei had one of the maids in the room pass him a napkin and, after slowly wiping his mouth, muttered under his breath, "I see." They remained silent for a few seconds until, awakened by a sudden urge to make that absence of sound cease, the nobleman began to speak quickly, as fast as lightning. "E-Rantel is one of the most important trading centers in the region. The markets of three major nations such as Theocracy, Re-Estize and Baharuth converge here. Securing licenses for one's products is, if not necessary, highly recommended. Our plans and tariffs include..."

He continued to rattle off millions of pieces of information per second, the nobleman replaced by a salesman doing his best to extol the praises of his product, the meaning of which was not entirely clear and precise to Antilene. So the half-elf let Agravaine take note of everything.

"This is all very interesting," she distorted the truth. After all, it wasn't quite a lie that she could claim to be intrigued in that talk, even if the means to understand it were not provided by her education. "But these matters would be better discussed in more appropriate places, don't you think?"

"You're right, I'm sorry for the unfortunate waste of time," he apologized, lowering his head, this time in a gesture of marked elegance. "I love this city so much that it is impossible for me to stop talking about it when the wheels of my brain start turning. I have been looking after it for more than thirty years and affection sometimes takes over from reason."

Antilene dispelled his fears with a wave of her hand. "Your hospitality has been all too egregious, Lord Retteinmaier. And it is a good thing that those who attend to the affairs of state do so moved by sincere interest. I am sure there are many interesting stories you have to tell about this place."

The man's face lit up, moved by that request. "But of course," Pride that could not be held back by the words. After having rinsed his mouth with red wine poured into a silver cup, he said, "E-Rantel is rich not only in currency, but also in culture. Although we do not have much evidence left, it is almost certain that its origins date back to the time when these territories were part of a single, large empire that stretched from the inland areas of what is now known as Argland Council State to the union of city states."

"The so-called Red Empire," Agravaine recalled, seized by renewed curiosity. "There were many documents in the Theocracy that spoke of it, though they always remained vague."

Antilene agreed with what her sister had said. She had also read about it, but her knowledge remained meager.

"The Red Empire was one of its names. But it was also known as the Empire of Voiaselfon, an ancient word whose meaning could be translated as 'Fertile Land'. Unfortunately, what we know of before the advent of the Evil Deities are only echoes of a past that has left us," sighed the lord of E-Rantel painfully aware of the precious knowledge lost forever. "The current ruling family of Re-Estize boasts descendants from that very royal lineage, although many historians doubt that it is a main branch. It has to be said that a large part of the royal family was exterminated by the wicked Belialo, Evil Deity of Rapture, and famous adversary of the Dark Knight. So the claims could not be entirely out of the air."

"It is indeed a pity that no other sources have come to us to study," exclaimed the half-elf, now increasingly fascinated. "I am very interested in the legends of these places. Should you have any interesting stories to share, please don't be timid to do it with us."

"I have one."

Panalosei stood up with the aid of a staff and one of his aides. Using small, measured steps, he walked towards a shelf at the far right of the room where various texts, some very old, had been placed.

He took one of them, quickly checking its contents to determine that it was the right one. "This history dates back to shortly after the founding of the city," he flipped through the pages to aid his memory. "As it still is today, these territories had never known great danger. Life proceeded calmly, save for the occasional incursion of monsters and hostile races here and there, but nothing the local adventurers didn't know how to fend off."

"But then something happened that disturbed that peace," Agravaine retorted. "It always happens like that in events like this."

The mayor of E-Rantel nodded, continuing with the narration. "Indeed, one day in the Tob Forest one of the creatures that inhabited the place began to attack the neighboring villages. Horax, it was called. An insect whose legs were innumerable and equipped with sharp claws and whose carapace seemed to be harder than diamond, besides making magic all but useless. This one was also remarkably big even compared to the other similar ones of its species. Many nearby villages were destroyed in its wake, and the teams of adventurers sent to eliminate it never returned."

He paused, as if the weight of those past lives had still been a burden to bear. Panalosei had not even been born at the time of those sad events, but such was his connection to the city he defended that he considered its history, his history.

"The king himself at the time organized an army to oppose him. But you have to understand that in those years the monarchy was still weak, as there were numerous pretenders to the throne, the claims on these territories only just advanced and cohesion was still a work in progress. Nevertheless, the ruler marched with his retinue to the last, deep in the forest. They killed the beast and returned triumphant, suffering very few losses. The victory allowed the king to increase the confidence in his military might to the subjects and secure the support of many vassals, making it easier to consolidate the power of the Vaiself dynasty."

"It must have been a really good army if they managed to go into that forest and come back almost intact," Antilene stated in admiration. The Theocracy itself exercised a great deal of caution when it came to delving into the deeper recesses of that place, as far as she could remember. "No wonder it was so easy for the first king to beat the competition after that amazing feat."

"Yes, but you see there is more," before he could finish, there was a knock at the door. "Oh, this should be the other guest I was expecting. I hope you don't mind, Lady Antilene, but this is the daughter of a dear friend of mine who had begged me to do her the courtesy of introducing you. If I have your approval, I would have her enter."

"No problem." Responded the half-elf. "I would be glad to meet someone you have in high regard."

The maid opened the door, from which a girl with a toned, slender physique and long blond hair entered. She wore a long elegant pink dress, but sober in its simplicity. A small blue rose ornament adorned the silky golden buds on her head, adding further whiteness to the features of her fierce and upright face.

"May I come in?" She asked as she crossed the threshold. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"No, please come in," Panalosei reassured her, receiving a warm smile in thanks. Then, without wasting any more time, he made the introductions. "Lady Antilene, this is Lady Lakyus Alvein Dale Aindra, daughter of one of the most respectable noble families in Re-Estize and head of the Blue Rose, one of the two adamantium teams in the entire nation."

"Pleased to meet you!" Lakyus held out her hand to the half-elf, who shook it in return. Antilene's face was mirrored in pools of dark green eyes, overflowing with passionate fire. "It is indeed an honor to make the acquaintance of the famous KingSlayer! I have heard much about you."

"And so have I," the grip was firm and sure, but devoid of violent intent. A control of force that only those who had made the sword their path could master. Worthy of those who could claim the title of hero. "The deeds of the Blue Rose reached even into the innermost recesses of the Theocracy. If humanity is safe there, it is also thanks to you and your team."

"Ahahahah," Lakyus' laugh was sincere and deep, devoid of malice. "We are just four girls trying to do our best. Your words are simultaneously a source of embarrassment and pride, and for that I say thank you."

After also introducing herself to Agravaine, she walked towards the lord of E-Rantel to give him her greetings. "Lord Rottenmaier, I offer my apologies to both you and your guest for my rudeness."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Lady Aindra. In fact, you came at exactly the right time. I was just now recounting the strange events that affected E-Rantel at the dawn of its birth."

"'A story you have not yet finished, Lord Rottenmaier," the half-elf said with all too much eagerness. Although her attention had been caught by the newcomer, Antilene had not forgotten that the ending had yet to be told. "You had reached the point where the royal army had killed the Horax."

"Oh, I know that story too," Lakyus' face lit up, turning radiant. "Are you talking about the legend of the mysterious knight?"

"What legend?" Agravaine asked doubtfully.

Panalosei pointed to the book in his hand. "This is a precious find, preserved in only a few copies in this city. It is an account by one of the soldiers of the expedition, which gives a different version than the traditional one. A version that has not always been looked upon favorably by the official historians of the Re-Estize Kingdom."

"Yeah," Lakyus confirmed, joining her lips in a friendly smirk. "When I was a child it was considered as the same as baseless rubbish. It was regarded as unreliable, given the high level of illiteracy at the time. That a mere conscript could write a travelog was unthinkable! To many, it was just an attempt at discrediting orchestrated by a political opponent. But after years of being an adventurer, I became convinced that there was a glimmer of truth."

"'So, what is this all about?" Having reached that point, Antilene felt as if she had been offered a cake of which they had only offered the smell, without letting her taste it.

"'Apparently," Panalosei's voice became as clear and precise as the clock hanging on the wall. "in the forest of Tob there was no battle with the monster. Or to be more precise, there was a battle. But not between the royal army and the Horax, but between the latter and an unknown third party. When the first king's forces arrived, all they found was the corpse of the beast and, according to this account, a white knight in celestial armor," the noble paused, to gauge the reaction of his interlocutors. When he saw that attention was at a maximum, the tale could resume: "the knight is described as a celestial angel, cloaked in a radiant light like that of Paradise. But the most fascinating thing was his weapon. A pitch-black scythe, which looked as if it had come out of the depths of hell. A neat contrast, which increased the fascination for this character."

Agravaine's eyes squinted in astonishment. She wanted to say something, but before there was a chance to do so, she was blocked by Antilene.

"This is truly incredible! In fact, that's not a weapon you see every day," the half-elf held back her agitation. She too seemed troubled by something, but maintained a calmness enviable even by the most ascetic of monks. "Do you have any idea what the identity of this mysterious stranger might be?"

"I always thought it was some fallen angel," Lakyus replied, clenching her fists in a fit of emotion. "Or an envoy of the Gods sent for the protection from all that is as protection from all that is loathsome and abhorrent! There are so many inexplicable things in this world, but just because we ignore the cause today, it doesn't mean we can't one day discover it! Human beings were not put on this earth by the Gods to live like brutes, but to follow virtue and knowledge. Do you not think the same, Lady Antilene?" The very existence of something mysterious increased the Blue Rose leader's thirst for adventure so much that his fervor seemed to have inflamed the room itself.

"It is a thought I fully share," only then did the half-elf notice that the girl wore a small pendant around her neck on which was engraved a symbol of the Water God's crest, different in composition from the one she was used to. "Now, Lord Rotteinmaier, please excuse us, but we would prefer to retire to our rooms. It has been a long journey and we will have to set out early in the morning. Lady Lakyus, it has been an honor."

"Likewise for me," for a moment a shadow covered the girl's face, only to be quickly replaced by an amicable grin. "But I am sure we will see each other again soon, Lady Antilene! The same goes for you, Lady Agravaine."

As the two sisters made their way to their rooms, Agravaine externalized the doubts that had risen to her heart.

"That description... It could only be you."

"I remind you that at the time I was either not yet born or too young to go into battle. But don't worry, I know who it was. There is no other explanation."

"Who?"

"I will tell you another day. Now, I just want to rest."

That night Antilene's sleep was calm and peaceful.

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Clementine Hazeia Quintia

Fighter (7)

Weapon Master (9)

Rogue (1)

Assassin (4)

Executioner (8)

Deadly Blade (5)

Tot. 34

Despite no one denying her abilities, Clementine is undoubtedly the most problematic member of Black Scripture.

Her perversion and the pleasure she takes in inflicting as much suffering as possible, not only on demi-humans, make her particularly unpleasant even to her comrades, who are certainly accustomed to even the most unpleasant spectacles.

Her parents seem to have neglected her, preferring to focus their attention on her brother Quaiesse. Will this be what has made her character so unmanageable? Or has there always been something rotten inside?

In Latin, ironically, Clementine's name means "mild" or "merciful."