Iris opened her eyes to four ladies standing by her desk, staring at her tranquil countenance. Her shimmering eyes dazzled them, but they collected their minds and lowered their heads. Their nervous motions revealed their flaws, although she regarded those inefficiencies as their charms.

“Our apologies, Mistress,” Iris’s guide said. “We let our desires control us.”

“Most of The Court would’ve been punished if failing to resist my charm is a crime.”

“We may have disturbed you with our intense gazes.”

“They were soft and hesitant. I don’t mind their strokes.”

The ladies exchanged confused looks before they cautiously lifted their heads, presenting their mistress with their grateful, expectant expressions.

Iris was holding a crimson spherical crystal. It was a crystallised pupil oozing with dark energy that threatened to pierce through all fleshy beings. The immaterial tendrils slithered from tiny cracks and leapt away from Iris.

She forcefully closed her palm. Multicoloured light beamed through her fist. The dreadful air dispersed. Only the cool, gentle winds drifted within the office. They stroked the stunned ladies, who momentarily lost themselves under their mistress’s brilliance.

“Although you’ve just arrived, I must trouble you again,” Iris said. “Bring me a small sealing chest, one holy enough to contain a Cursed Artefact.”

“Serving you is my passion, Mistress,” the guide said. “Please wait for me.”

“Worry not, Dear. I am patient.”

The guide swiftly left the office. The three other ladies shifted their postures to appear the best in front of their mistress, but nothing could satisfy their anxious hearts. Messing up this chance would haunt them forever.

Their adorable unease tickled Iris. She let out an unsuppressed giggle. It held their attention, dispelled their nervousness, and captivated their breaths. Her voice was melodic, like a love song for her partners.

“Why did I call you here, I wonder?” Iris said.

“To . . . to reward us,” one of the guards said. “Because we did our job well, you’d reward us.”

Iris smiled at her but gave no more hint. The guard’s eyes shimmered. She leaned to her friend and whispered the answer. The two nodded at each other and then winked at the bartender. Before the bartender could ask anything, the guards walked to stand behind their mistress, keeping their presence minimal so as not to disturb her.

“Would you . . . like a drink, Mistress?” the bartender said.

“What kind of drink would suit me?”

The bartender swiftly arrived at a cart full of ingredients and cupboards. Despite her unfamiliarity, she skilfully mixed and shook the cocktail. Her ponytail flowed with her grace, coiling around her like a snake teasing its victim. She wasted not a drop of alcohol or a grain of salt. Her drink, poured delicately unto a crystal-clear glass, bubbled with emotive fuzzes.

She served her answer. Her mistress watched the drink’s cloudy layer swirling. She held the glass, from where mist overflowed to cover her hand, and raised it to her eye’s level. The milky vapour coated her arm like a pale bridal sleeve.

The bartender lowered her head, keeping her eyes on the table. She couldn’t control her trembling hands, which she clasped at her abdomen. Her mistress would never scold her, yet she feared disappointing her.

Muffled heartbeats persisted in her ears. Whether they came from within or outside was of no significance. They overwhelmed her senses and locked her in the darkness. She did not know how long it had been, other than that it was too long.

“Have I become such a harsh mistress?” Iris said.

The terrible weights receded from the bartender. She forced herself to stand up straight. “That’s not true. I’m nervous because I might’ve served you a drink unfitting of your status.”

“Did you make it to the best of your ability?”

The bartender nodded. Her mistress’s smile warmed her chest.

“Your feelings taste amazing, Dear.”

The empty glass quietly stood amidst stacks of documents and magical treasures. It lacked the glamour and allure of the mystique, yet it alone enjoyed Iris’s attention.

Such privilege. The bartender’s eyes melted, proudness welling within. If she could serve her mistress like this, what happiness would await her? What kind of reward would she receive?

The office door slid open. Hugging a wooden chest, the guide walked in. She did not question why her friends changed their position or what her mistress had done. She only completed her mission before retreating to the same spot, although not without a trace of a pout.

“All the paperwork has left me fatigued,” Iris said. “Would you help me, Dear?”

The guards behind Iris held their breaths. They carefully held onto her delicate arms and, as carefully as possible, squeezed her soft flesh. Their impeccable messages relaxed Iris, who sank deeper into her chair. Her smile widened. She coyly looked at her guide.

The guide walked forward. She opened the wooden chest and held it before her mistress, who deposited the crystalised pupil. The cushion swallowed the deadly sphere, and the final wisp of the cursed air vanished.

The guide sealed the chest with a talisman and retreated to her place. Her gaze maintained on her mistress, who did not shift her posture, did not lift her focus. She kept staring at the guide, smiling, teasing.

Stolen story; please report.

“Have I . . . done something wrong, Mistress?”

“You haven’t done anything.”

“I . . . have nothing to do; my duty ended after leading you to your office.”

“How are my people doing?”

The guide took out three packs of letters, each for one of Iris’s subordinates. She untied and spread all of them on the desk. Every letter came periodically, reporting progress and difficulty, expressing love and longing.

There was no time too long or too short when reading these letters. Iris meticulously went through them. Every word, inked deliberately and elegantly, contained the distance between her partners and her. Even flirts and wishes slipped into the reports, knowing well that they would be appreciated by the recipient.

Secain was still chasing after The Sakura, but Iris’s reckless gift had frightened them into receding deeper down the ocean. Although their absence left behind gaps in underground society, their resourceful retreat gave Secain little opportunity.

Barineer presented a connection between Zici’s relative with an anti-royalist resistance group. Although its influence paled before The Court, its ties with a vast number of organisations piqued Iris’s interest.

“Where is the rest of my Lorient’s letter?" Iris frowned.

The guide shivered. “Mistress, we haven’t received any since.”

The bartender and the guards tensed. A terrifying presence enveloped them, pierced through their brittle bodies, and glared down at their minds. Their legs rapidly lost strength.

Iris tapped the desk, vanquishing the pressure. She took up Lorient’s letters and studied them.

…

Rotten stenches emanated from claustrophobic alleyways too narrow to walk comfortably within. Splashes of cold, salty water tickled from the sky and hovered along the crowded streets, wetting the decayed wooden signs and damping the rocky sidewalks. Unceasing shouts, chatters, and laughter slammed liveliness in the middle of the drunken fervour, in the middle of the frenzy port.

Lorient shuffled through the crowds, her eyes darting between bars and stalls and curio shops. She covered her beauty under thick layers of dull clothes and shrouds. Although she couldn’t hide her sharp gaze, its fierceness deterred thugs from approaching her.

Many of the passersby violently coughed but paid little attention to their chest pains. They numbed their nerves with boozes and lost themselves in shouting matches and dirty affairs, unaware of the odour of death surrounding them.

A ship recently sank. Its wreckage delayed the incoming and outgoing voyages, ruining many merchants’ schedules. The officials and sailors ventured out to the ocean to salvage the remnants of goods and clear the waterway, but little progress had been made.

Lorient visited a shipping agency but failed to inquire about the passenger ships. Only the authority office could hold such records, but Lorient couldn’t contact them without exposing her special identity.

With her mission unfulfilled, she remained in this filthy town. The wealth The Court bestowed her was enough to hire mercenaries and underground informants, and her disguise gave unappealing reasons for her activities.

A dreadful force was influencing the port and its surrounding towns. A sinking swamp encroached on Jenkin from the sea, reaching deeper into the inner city. Scents of evil magic permeated the people, turning them into walking corpses strung around by sins.

Lorient exited the post office after sending her letter to Donhalgen. She sped into the crowds as a few individuals closed in on her. Her silhouette melted into the bustling people, where a fight broke out and disrupted the traffic.

The hunters headed back to the post office, where their leader had already taken Lorient’s letter from a frightened postwoman. They tore apart the envelope. Thorny vines burst out and pierced the leader’s hand. Roses blossomed, extending their roots toward the rest of the hunters, and overwhelmed their defence.

The leader swung his blade through the roses. His injured subordinates grunted, but they couldn’t disengage from the unending vines.

“Don’t let her escape!” The leader flung away the letter. His remaining subordinates rushed out of the post office.

Lorient pushed through the sea of people while occasionally glancing behind. She clutched the flowery whip with her right hand inside her cloak and prepared a scroll with her left. The twisting layout of the port disallowed her clean escape.

A group of pirates blocked her path forward. They, smirking, approached her and invited her for a drink. Their towering physiques left no room for her to slip by.

She flicked her whip. Its tip wrapped around the tallest pirate’s neck and yanked him. He tumbled forward and, as Lorient sidestepped, fell on a thug behind her. That thug instinctively pushed away the falling pirate, who grabbed his clothes and brought him down together.

Clamours erupted as the pirates and the gangsters clashed. Their bowls delayed the pursuing hunters. A few pirates still chased Lorient, but she easily dealt with them without pausing.

Daggers flew toward Lorient from multiple directions. She flung her sleeves, from which pink petals scattered. They deflected the daggers, but the strings attached to them manipulated their trajectories. She darted forward, but a blade still grazed her shoulder, and a few sharp strings cut through her cloak.

With her hood damaged, her captivating countenance drew wicked attention. The mercenaries and criminals eyed her petite body, but her sharp whip and dangerous gaze deterred them.

The clouds moved through the sky and scattered sunlight across the street. Flickers of thin strings captured the area, tightly binding all movement. They coiled around Lorient, threatening to slice her body into cubes of flesh.

“It seems they’ve underestimated you,” a lady said. Her sharp, forceful tone dragged all attention onto her entrance.

She walked out from a crowd of rigid people, of terrified men and women, whose expressions pleaded for their lives. Whenever the lady brushed past them, invisible wind sliced their skin. They trembled but forced themselves to swallow their pains.

“You aren’t one of them,” Lorient said. “What have I done to offend you?”

“Come with me, and you won’t get hurt.” The lady chuckled. “Our leader would like to meet your mistress, but it’s difficult to contact her while avoiding them.”

“Who are they?” Lorient narrowed her eyes. “You may take my life, but you won’t ever force me to betray her.”

“They are The Hand that oversees everything. They are the master behind the shadow.” The lady waved her hand. The strings surrounding Lorient closed in on her, seizing her whip and looping around her limbs. “Unfortunately, Lorient, I cannot let you escape pursuit. But rest assured that you will remain unharmed.”

“Even though you tried to kill me?”

“If I didn’t show my prowess, you wouldn’t listen to me, would you?”

“I cannot disappoint her.”

Lorient yanked herself backwards. Her human disguise dissolved as leaves and flowers. Vines rapidly grew from beneath her clothes, covering her silhouette with greenery and thorns. The sharp strings shredded through her plant armour, but they failed to reach her.

She grabbed her mistress’s scroll and tore it apart. Light enveloped her, dissolved her as sparkling clouds, and dispersed her presence throughout the street. The strings crushed her silhouette along with every witness. Their bodies slid groundward in different directions, spewing torrents of blood throughout the screamless alley.

Not a single drop of blood reached the mysterious lady. Her slithering strings splattered away the blood rain, keeping her neat jacket and boots clean. Unbothered by Lorient’s escape, the lady caught a rusty coin in the air and tossed it upward.

Illusory light flickered around the coin; it spun erratically as if sliding along countless invisible threads, down one of the myriad paths.

It landed on the lady’s hand. Its face exposed a series of demonic wings layered to form a maze. At its centre was a dying rose surrounded by rotten hands, protected only by a singular bracelet, whose soft radiance halted the darkness at bay.

“May we soon experience your grace,” the lady whispered.

She passed her palm over her eyes. The bloodied scene morphed into a silent world, devoid of life, of any trace of violence. No metallic smell nor air of death remained, only the calculated silence undisturbed even by the gushes of wind.

The hunters finally caught up, but the lady had already disappeared, leaving behind only traces of Lorient’s teleportation magic.