Chapter 6: Ambush!

They made a monkey show out of me, treating me like a clown, a feast for everyone's eyes. Yet, not one soul had found my existence funny at all.

I continued my two-day journey towards the stake. The ultimate destination of this poor newly transmigrated aunt. Maybe I should sing an aria of tragedy to invoke a tinge of emotion.

One and a half days had already passed. I guess I'm half a day away from death's door.

I raised my eyes and saw a big stake. It was standing erect on the castle's balcony where the king usually addressed his people. I could feel a good ol' shiver creeping towards my spine.

I'll be among the dead soon.

Transported into a world with nothing except a description of how far I've fallen. No weapons, no magic skills, no cheats. Upon arrival, all I got was an unpleasant set of chains, an infallible gag, and a freaking blindfold. This was not the right way to treat a damn transmigrator! I huffed. My neurons forsook rest as it sought ways to free me. It jumped from one thought to another.

Tired, I tried to test my luck again, hoping for a change in my current state. Status - I thought. Fate might have crafted another spare plan of redemption for me.

If I reincarnate on Earth again, I won't ever travel again to Antarctica. I curled into a ball, not knowing what's coming next.

I couldn't even explain what I'm feeling now. One moment I’ll sigh, accepting my impending fate. The next, I'd refuse and reject the thought once again. Two inconsistent strings of thoughts flowed inside my mind, battling for supremacy. As the two mixed, confusion struck. The burst of emotions swirled, rising in a crescendo, like when I had just arrived in that jail.

Status Panel

Name: Victoria Rothfield Rosenberg

Level: 1

Job: Princess (Fallen)

Title: Witch of Rothfield

General Skills:

[Etiquette]

[Language of Another World]

Curses! See? I might be a princess, but I had fallen to the gutter.

Time flew once again. The roars and cursing from the mob slowly turned silent. Parched and painful throats had taken a toll on the roaring crowd. The glorious sun retreating, hiding into the mountains for a rest. A tint of orange soon roamed the sky.

I stretched my neck and looked at the castle to calm my chaotic thoughts. I could already describe the huge stake standing upright on the castle's balcony. A rugged block of wood rearing its ugly head against the heavens, underneath its feet were pieces of dry combustible hay.

Tomorrow will be my expiration date. They’d demand to see my charred corpse.

My tired eyes widened, and my heartbeat galloped. I crawled away, turning towards the furthest part of the cage, away from the castle. The heavy chains locking my hand shook, trembling along with my other limbs. Despite my supposed nonchalance, I couldn’t stop my eyes from producing a stream of warm tears. After they paraded me all across the towns and villages, I am now back on the castle. They had to bring me to the stake so that I could face the music.

The closer I got to the stake, the greater I trembled. Who doesn't fear death?

I thought I could simply accept everything like a bystander. But I was wrong.

[Hmff.]

I still want to live.

I flailed around the cage with all my strength, producing a series of clattering sounds, hoping to change my fate. It was out of instinct. Eyes of derision met my futile struggle. The jeers and laughs outside became louder and louder as they watched me battle the impossible thread of doom.

The warm salty spring made me raise my head, throwing a lolling gaze at the setting sun. The proud crown slowly drifted, changing hues from shimmering gold to fading orange. Soon, it stepped down from its throne, letting the darkness of night rule the other half of the day.

[God… can you give me a miracle? One last chance to change my fate.]

It was the sincerest words I ever uttered in my heart.

Then I closed my tired eyes.

All I could do now… was hope for the best. For the next time, I open my eyes again, it might be before the stake.

…

The night skies above were devoid of its majestic designs. The stars in the heavens refused to light up the world below. Rolling gray covered the sky with ash and soot, hiding the full moon's glory. The rolling hazy fog fell to the earth, blurring everyone's sight. It found no joy after glimpsing the lilac-haired lady’s hopelessness.

Still, the Witch of Rothfield's parade continued just as the high council ordered.

Victoria's funeral procession—that was how the people described the slow march. The gloomy atmosphere circling the parade embossed and supported the apt description.

The eerie torches serving as the candles and the soldiers as the death guides. In the eyes of the citizens of Carmandy, it was the omen of death. It was a warning of an upcoming ominous curse. The dim light hidden within the fog looked like souls being ferried to the next life.

A lot of the crowd already went back to their homes, leaving the strong among the family to watch the procession. Eventually, even they felt the call of the night that forced them to go home and come again tomorrow. Truthfully, fear had already crept its way into their hearts.

The fog appeared like it was turning deeper and deeper.

Halfway towards the castle, a batch of fully armored knights and weird gothic-robed men took the lead and circled the cage. Their task was to protect the cage from any rebels who might wish to free the Witch of Rothfield. The fools from the high council had caught onto something only known to themselves.

"Sir Calias, isn't this fog a bad omen? Perhaps it's true that the princess is innocent."

A small voice trembled along with the foggy night haze. The voice was full of doubt and curiosity. The man moved his gaze towards the sleeping lilac-haired fallen princess. The fallen princess was sleeping, tiredness and hopelessness filling her tear-stained face.

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"Andre! Don't put your nose in this. We only follow orders!"

Sir Calias grumbled, his armor clanking with every step of his steed.

"But look at her, Sir Calias? A magic-less princess being called a tyrant, murderer, and witch,” he said. “It just doesn't feel right. I mean, I can't just believe that shady prime minister. I believe there's a deep conspiracy here! You can't be that beautiful and be a witch."

A sigh echoed in the air. A hooded man riding a horse angled a little towards them. He wore a brown hood, looking mysterious as he carried a large staff with a gem embedded at the top. It fit well in his thin hands. His baggy clothes and the large hood over his head made him look enigmatic. Out of everyone here, he stood out as the weirdest.

"Shut up, Andre! Don't make things hard for the chief. Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong. I'm warning you. This is a job! A job, blockhead!"

The man called Andre straightened up a little, shaking his head left and right. He realized his mistake after receiving a verbal thrashing.

"Tsk, fine, fine. That's why Minerva doesn't want to be with you. You’re too stuck up!"

"You, you! Minerva has nothing to do with this, you monkey!"

"Stop! We're on a mission. Check the witch first. I don't want any rebels sneaking in," Sir Calias said. He glared at the two blockheads before shaking his head. His voice was loud enough for the other footmen to hear.

The three of them moved their gaze towards the sleeping princess. There was pity dawning in their eyes. Did the girl really do all those heinous crimes? Those accusations were akin to the works of the demons.

The mercenary named Calias shifted his gaze, glimpsing shortly the witch princess. He furrowed his brows until it created deep valleys and mountains. He was struggling deep inside. He wanted to help, but could not. There were many things that he still had to do. He couldn't risk everything for a brief experience of the word 'chivalry’.

"From the looks of it, she's just around the age of my daughter. Hm, fifteen or so. Tsk, the current status of the royal family of Carmandy has fallen. Andre, limit your words regarding this issue. I don't want to see you dead in some old alley because of your lousy tongue. Keep things to yourself!"

Sir Calias' voice was low, whispering lightly enough for only the two other men to hear.

"Too much for our last commission! Sir Calias, why did you choose this one? I don't like the feeling of being used for something dirty."

"Oi, mercenaries, what are you talking about? Keep your mouth tightly shut. Thank the prime minister for giving you the honor of serving him. This is why I hate mercenaries. Too stupid and nosy! So damn barbaric!"

The three looked at the source of the voice and winced. Of course, they hid their derision fast enough so that the newcomer wouldn’t even notice.

"Yes," the trio answered, bowing their heads. Not that they meant it.

Lifting their eyes, they caught the visage of a sunken-eyed man. His bulky armor was a big contrast to his thin arms and face. Even fools would know that this guy had lived a life full of debauchery. His pale and dry complexion lit up by the burning torch was a sight to behold.

No wonder the denizens around whispered that an undead was taking the witch princess towards her funeral. The poor man was even gasping for breath as he talked. This man was the freaking undead. He fit the bill perfectly, like he was born for this moment.

"Tsk."

"A stupid noble. Believe me or not. This fool will definitely die soon," Andre complained under his breath.

"Let him be. Just follow my orders. Ignore the walking dead." He turned and continued to move along with the procession.

Sir Calias shifted his gaze towards the foggy forest nearby, ignoring the babbling of the walking corpse. A chilly glint flashed in his pupils.

It was time.

He focused his two eyes, peering into the depths of the murky fog. From the depth of the forest, dubious flashes of dim light caught his eyes.

A smile slowly formed on Sir Calias' lips. He made a few hand signals towards the two men behind him. Then he roared.

"Enemies! Formation! Formation!" The roar assured chaos in the marching line. A few footmen even banged against each other. Militias of noble families - untrained and undisciplined, their gaudy armors and swords were as useless as sticks.

Swishing sounds whistled in the wind, followed by a weird chant.

“Arg, damn archers! Take cover! Take cover. I-I mean, raise your shields!’

A few soldiers fell to the ground along with torches. Blood gushed forth, turning the grass underfoot crimson. Mixed with the eerie funeral-like march, the word sinister was a good fit for its description.

“Damn my horse. Arg my arm. Ah! What the hell is this? Run! Run everyone, it's a trap. It's burning oil! Ahh…”

Another salvo of arrows whizzed, but this time they were fiery ones. The arrows' target was as clear as day. They rained towards the panicking hooded men in the middle of the march. The flames engulfed the dark-robed men, forcing them to roll on the ground. They died without a fight.

The dry grass below had burned. The blaze crept towards the oil-scented ground to quench its insatiable thirst.

“Mercenaries move and intercept the bastards! We'll pay more!”

The sunken-eyed noble roared, causing far more chaos as the flames blossomed. He even ran away, leaving the soldiers scrambling in all directions. The armed soldiers scattered like sheep in front of a wolf.

"Calias block our retreat!"

"Men, retreat! Retreat! Take the witch with us. Move, move fast! Move towards the east!"

"Tsk, the stupid toad wants everyone to die. What's the next step Sir Calias?"

Ignoring the shouts, Calias squinted. He gazed at the running noble whose shiny armor had made him a perfect target. Calias pulled out the bow from his side, nocking an arrow. He aimed at the running noble's back.

Swish.

The mercenary watched the noble sway from his horse, then dying under the steps of the stampede of armored men.

"An arrow had hit the lord! He's dead!" Calias roared, "Retreat! Retreat!"

His voice had sent the chaotic army into a frenzy. All the soldiers were running everywhere to save their own petty lives. A few militias had seen what Calias did, but ignored it to save themselves.

Calias grinned and raised his head. Once again, he pulled another arrow in his back. He dipped the arrow in some kind of resin from his coin sack before letting the tip touch the tongue of the flames. Then he released the arrow into the air.

A few more seconds passed. Another fiery arrow flew from the air, landing towards the left flank. It came from the direction of the ambushers.

"Sir Calias?"

Upon seeing the whistling fiery arrow, the mercenary leader Calias grinned. He threw a gaze at Andre and the mage.

"Don't call me Sir Calias. From now on, Calias is dead! Call me Sir Aron. Anyway, our commission is up!"

"Hooah, a name change again? Why do you love to change the name of every mission? Boss, how about you change your gender too?" Eyad, the mage, chortled, his face stiff as usual. Though he was trying to make jokes, his stiff face just didn’t do them justice.

The eyes of Andre and the mage shone, excitement filling their eyes.

“Move! Andre, save the princess now! Eyad, cast the spell now.”

The lips of the mage moved rapidly, his tongue-twisting along with the weird yet sophisticated syllables. A green light formed below him, the crystal embedded at the top of his staff shone. After a moment of calmness, the flow of the wind changed. An outburst of wind swathed the flames towards the east where the other nobles and their soldiers slithered away.

[Cough. Cough.]

[The smoke!]

[Nooooo!]

Billowing smoke rushed towards the retreating soldiers. A few soldiers fell to the ground, rolling after getting torched by the tongues of flames empowered by the wind.

The soldiers and the nobles had run away in all directions, avoiding the tongue of flames and smoke. The ones protecting the fallen princess' cage also ran away, leaving her at the mercy of the smoke and flame.

"Andre! Save the princess. She's our target, protect her."

"Aye!"

Andre dashed towards the cage with his trusty steed, slashing a few noble soldiers along the way. Their gaudy armors were useless before his brute force. Though not all nobles were bad, he knew when he met a bad egg. Killing a few was him doing good for humankind.

A few less would mean a little less trouble for the commoners.

Upon seeing the cage, he saw the supposed witch staring towards the moving flames. Her eyes flickering with embers of hope and fear. She tried to stand up but fell immediately because of the weight of her chains.

Andre unsheathed his sword - a blue light dancing within the blade. With a bang, he smashed the lock of the cage. It fell to the ground.

He saw the fallen princess turning her head everywhere, bobbing like a lost kitten amidst the flame and smoke. He lowered his head, trying to find the item that he needed from his coin sack. Aha, he found it! He pulled out a small stick, pointing it towards the cloth of silence over the princess' lips.

A blue light blitzed towards the cloth on the princess’s lips before striking the thick chain in her hands. A crack formed, then the thick chains fell. The black cloth on her mouth also dropped like shredded paper.

Andre watched the princess stupefied, near tears, gazing at her thin hands. "I-I'm free."

Andre grinned. He reached out his hand to offer it to the bewildered fallen royal.

"Princess, may I have the honor?"