As echoes of the skirmish lingered, intermingling with the whispers of the onlookers, Alaric couldn’t deny the fact that his skills and the inevitable rumors that would circulate about him would not be good.
Nonetheless, if he attended the academy, his imprisoners wouldn't find him.
Alaric stopped walking for a moment, mind deep in thought. "If I stop running, won't they come themselves and try to kill me?"
However, the reality was far from it. The last two years had reduced his
skill by a considerable amount, and the wounds all over his body that had yet to heal limited his movement. He needed to gather information secretly and pick them off, one by one, in the shadows.
"But rather than that...the kingdom is something I swore to protect. "
Weird events were happening. To his knowledge, there was only one Kingdom. The Kingdom of Lutra. They had a taxation system which scaled over the different classes and used those funds for developing infrastructure, trade routes, mines and more. But now, on what basis were the citizens being deported, and what was the purpose of increased taxation?
As he passed through the hallways deep in thought, a sudden chilling sensation ran up his spine— someone was following him, yet again. The old man who had observed him in the tavern earlier seemed a lot more dangerous than he let on.
In the short term, he may have emerged victorious in the duel, but in the grand scheme of things, it proved to be only inviting trouble.
Aware that the robbers still lurked outside, preventing his exit, Alaric chose to remain indoors, biding his time for the inevitable encounter.
Moments later, the old man materialized from the shadows, leaning casually against the wall. Alaric’s senses sharpened, his mind alert.
“The full moon… it reminds me of the festival from a few days ago,” the old man said, his voice calm.
“What do you want?” Alaric’s tone was guarded.
The old man stepped into the light. Deep-set dark blue eyes, sharp and calculating, gleamed beneath bushy eyebrows. His tanned and lined skin spoke of years spent in harsh conditions. He wore a long, tattered cloak over a simple tunic and trousers, his well-worn boots completing the rugged appearance.
A knowing smile crept onto the old man’s face. “You don’t seem eager to return to a potential headquarters.”
Alaric raised an eyebrow, surprised that the old man had observed so much from his behavior alone.
“I hail from Swift, specifically here to join the swordsmanship academy,” Alaric replied, maintaining a stoic facade. “I have no qualms about your coup. Proceed as you wish.”
Until he found enough information, he couldn't go against organizations that probably had too many roots to pluck at once.
He waved the old man away, intending to dismiss him.
The old man’s face flashed with annoyance, but he quickly regained his composure. “As I mentioned to my hot-blooded friends, the kingdom has fallen into ruin since the royal family’s murder, save for His Majesty.”
“Get to the point.”
“We are The Rebels. A simple name, I grant you. We have three aims.”
The man held up three worn fingers. Lowering one, he began, “First, kill the current King.”
He then pushed down his second finger. “Kill as many of the Riders as possible and save as many villagers from the main three mines.”
“And finally…” The old man leaned in, closing his final finger. “Whoever contributes the most to achieving these goals will be crowned the new King.”
Pindrop silence.
"I see." He looked up. “But I have no business with third-rate rebels.”
The old man’s voice rose, eyes flashing with intensity. “This is The Rebellion. Thousands strong, each person vying to kill the King."
Alaric paused, then leaned in. "If I join, I want information."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "What kind of information?"
"Everything that can satiate my curiosity."
The old man thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I can't guarantee that."
"Then, there it is," Alaric said, turning away.
“But,” the old man interjected, “I can provide everything I know.”
Alaric halted, considering the offer. The old man held out a paper. “Starting with this.”
Alaric quickly scanned the document, his eyes narrowing with interest. “If you can arrange an audience with the Boards, I'll agree.”
The old man smiled slyly. “Then, will you fight for justice?”
Alaric scoffed, tucking the paper into his coat. The old man extended a hand. “Welcome to the Rebellion, Alec.”
Alaric clasped it, his grip firm. “I trust the two who attacked me won’t be a problem?”
The old man grimaced. “Despite their actions, they are the only friends I have. I’ll take the stain of dishonor on their behalf.”
Alaric’s gaze hardened. “There’s one thing you can do to redeem yourself and your friends. Let me take the entrance exam at the academy.”
The old man considered for a moment, then heartily laughed. “You remind me of someone.”
Alaric stayed silent, his expression unchanging.
The old man’s laughter faded, replaced by a serious look. “See you then. The next time we meet, it won't be on such friendly terms.”
As the old man left, Alaric scoffed, frustrated at his inability to manipulate him further. He took out the paper again, muttering, “Putting it in my coat was just for show.” He continued to read it while crossing the garden.
As he walked, the sound of trickling water reached his ears. He glanced over and noticed a fountain he hadn’t seen before. Curious, he approached it and sat beside it, holding a hand out into the cool water while still reading.
He read the whole paper, then whispered to himself, “Is there even a world out there with merit elections? Mark my words, the supposed Board are just twelve nobles wanting the power of the crown.” He flipped it over, half expecting more conditional nonsense.
Nothing. But something felt off. He turned the paper over, then again, expecting to see its shadow shift with each movement. Yet, to his growing apprehension, the paper's shadow remained unchanged.
There was only one conclusion. Alaric stayed sitting down beside the fountain, calming his beating heart. He took slow, deliberate breaths, his whole world narrowing to what was sitting behind the fountain. “I’m going all in,” he murmured quietly.
Memories flooded back from days when he had evaded assassins, observing and learning their techniques. He knew that anything could be a weapon. With practiced finesse, he reached towards the ground as if adjusting his boot, swiftly grasping a sharp rock instead. In one fluid motion, he turned, hurling the rock through the fountain’s water droplets towards the figure, aiming for its head.
In the blink of an eye, Alaric closed the distance. He appeared in front of the black-robed figure, launching a ferocious attack with calculated precision, aiming to kill with one of his swords. The figure, calm and composed, deflected his strikes with bare hands, moving with a grace that stopped deadly skill.
Alaric’s mind was consumed by a single thought: “Kill, Kill!”
Alaric drove it backward, pressing his advantage as he backed it against the cold stone wall. With a final surge of aggression, he lunged forward, intending to stab the figure.
But at the critical moment, his sword struck the unyielding stone wall and lodged inside instead, the impact jarring his grip.
It was almost as if the robed figure had disappeared. Even his eyes couldn't follow that movement.
Before he could react, the figure reappeared beside him in a blur of motion.
In his peripheral vision, Alaric caught sight of three purple lights, their presence short but unmistakable. His eyes darted to each one, but in the blink of an eye, they vanished. The robed figure's eyes widened imperceptibly. His injuries from his imprisonment made him grimace with pain as he tried to pull the sword out of the wall.
It took advantage of his shock, dagger slicing through the air towards him. Alaric leaned back instinctively, narrowly evading the blade. However, it slashed through a part of his robe.
With a swift motion, Alaric unsheathed his second sword, the gleaming blade catching the light as he brought it up to block her next strike.
However, it never came.
He aimed the blade with his left hand towards his adversary, a fleeting moment of satisfaction promising a measure of revenge. “Rot in Hell, Raven-Crested,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
Yet, just as his sword arced towards its target, his strike was abruptly halted. The edge of his blade met a circular object that gleamed in the light. A crest. Unlike what he had thought, it wasn't one with that haunted black bird, but a silver flower field, with a red rose in its center.
Alaric immediately lowered his blade. The figure spoke with a strange voice, almost like a woman pretending to be a man, “Is it now clear?”
He sheathed his sword, wincing as he tried to pull the other lodged sword from the wall. Pain flared up his back where old wounds from whippings and cuts were.
“You play good,” the figure said in that odd voice, stepping forward and offering a small vial of strange slime. “Rub this on your reopened wounds.”
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Alaric looked at the figure and apologized. “I mistook you for someone else. And my wounds aren’t that big of a deal.”
In a blink, the figure reappeared behind him. Before Alaric knew it, his shirt was off, and he could feel the wind on all his wounds. He winced, caught off guard by the sudden exposure and the sting of the cool air.
A cooling sensation spread over his wounds, easing the pain. After a moment, he asked, “What did you mean by ‘playing’?”
The figure was silent for a while before replying, “You manipulated that man flawlessly.”
Alaric’s eyes widened as he remembered the paper that the same man had given him. He quickly searched his clothes, but it was nowhere to be found. His gaze darted around, and he spotted the remnants scattered on the ground, likely shredded when his opponent had cut through his clothes.
"Damn it."
The figure leaned down next to the shreds, and Alaric spotted a silver braid slipping out of the robe. As the figure stood up, he caught a glimpse of a woman’s face—a golden moon earring on her right ear, pale skin, and lightish-purple, almost glowing eyes.
She met his gaze with an enigmatic smile. “Worry not." With a flick of her wrist, she produced a paper out of her robe and handed it to him. It was the exact same one as before, somehow not even crumpled.
Alaric took it, his eyes narrowing. “Thank you,” he said, his mind racing with questions about who this person truly was.
"My lady expects a lot from you. Don't disappoint us all."
She placed a hand underneath the fountain water beside them just like he had done and pulled back, slipping away.
As she started to hurry in the opposite direction, Alaric reached out, pulling her back. In an instant, he was pinned to the ground, her hand pressing against the wounds on his back.
“Sorry, but do not keep me from my duties,” she said in that strange, almost haunting voice.
Alaric gritted his teeth against the pain, his eyes turning to lock onto hers.
“But it’s very strange that your wounds are gone but your scars aren’t disappearing,” she remarked after a pause, her tone hinting at something he couldn't understand.
Struggling to keep his composure, Alaric demanded, “Tell me your name, woman.”
Her response was abrupt and defiant.
“I am a man, and I will never tell you my name,” she retorted sharply, wrenching herself free and disappearing into the night with an agility that left Alaric both stunned and bewildered.
"Man. What's with this Kingdom?"
.̶̛̓͜.̴͔͝.̵̪̀̾.???̶̛̓͜.̴͔͝.̵̪̀̾ :
As the robed figure hurried away, she muttered a few statements under her breath. "Even being wounded that bad, tired, and even out of practice, that annoying brat still almost killed me. I had to use it."
"He looked exactly in those directions. Could it be that he also..."
"No, we are the only ones left."
She unraveled her braids, standing beneath the gaze of the full moon, letting her hair sway.
"He truly wanted me dead. Eyes bloodshot and ablaze, completely covered in bloodlust head to toe."
Katherine:
Katherine’s head narrowly missed colliding with the bed-post, and she jerked back, her heart racing.
As she straightened herself, a surge of energy coursed through her veins, pushing her up. She swiftly adorned herself in her finest attire before striding purposefully toward her father’s chamber. Each step she took through the grand castle hallways allowed her a moment of reflection. The weight of her recent choices pressed upon her. The consequences he would face and her actions loomed over her thoughts.
With a clear mind, Katherine strolled amidst the castle’s corridors, her footsteps echoing in the silence. Her plan took shape, evolving from a spontaneous impulse to a profound sense of duty.
No longer could she consider abandoning her home, regardless of the absence of magic. There was almost no one left in Aiyimorea after that one night.
Finally, Katherine’s resolve solidified. Her strides became more purposeful as she pushed open the heavy door leading to her father’s study.
At first, her father’s face contorted with anger, a familiar reaction she had come to expect. But upon realizing it was his daughter, his expression softened.
“Katherine, you’re awake. Are you prepared to depart?” he inquired.
She took a deep breath, summoning her courage.
“Father, I… I’ve had a change of heart. I no longer wish to leave. This kingdom holds far greater significance,” she announced.
A frown creased her father’s brow, leaving Katherine dumbfounded. Hadn’t he always longed to hear those very words?
Her father locked eyes with her, his gaze filled with disbelief and a tinge of frustration that she couldn't understand.
“Father,” Katherine began, “I’ve spent countless hours contemplating this decision. I cannot bear the thought of abandoning our kingdom when we have no one left.”
Her father’s gaze hardened, and his voice turned stern.
“Katherine, you fail to grasp the gravity of the situation. This extends far beyond your personal ambitions. I cannot bear to lose you. I have already suffered far too much.”
Her heart ached at her father’s anguish, yet she recognized her own weaknesses.
“I comprehend the difficulty you face, Father, but I cannot live with myself if I flee like a coward. This kingdom has given us everything, and it is our solemn duty to protect Lutra on the top of our throne. We cannot allow fear to dictate our actions,” she implored, her voice trembling. “This isn’t about you; it’s about sacrificing everything for the greater good. Where is the stern, unyielding father who shaped my life?”
Her father’s face flushed with frustration and anger.
“You’re being obstinate, Katherine! You’re needlessly endangering yourself. Haven’t you witnessed enough suffering? I won’t permit you to throw your life away. We are all destined for death. We are all destined to die.”
Katherine’s heart sank, realizing her father’s resistance wouldn’t waver. She felt her sanity slipping away, the tempest of the sorrowful thoughts of countless months overwhelming her.
“What do you mean? Are we all going to die?” she exclaimed before catching herself. “What happened? When did this happen? Was there an attack?”
Her father’s gaze averted, and a sense of resignation weighed upon her.
“Our generals, farmers, mages, leaders, blacksmiths, civilians, they are all gone. The situation appears grim. But your father will find a way to manage,” he said with a melancholic smile.
Katherine felt a sense of confusion gnawing at her, both caused from her father’s demeanor and everyone leaving the Kingdom, a taboo, all at once.
But the truth stood. She was going to be exiled. "Did something happen to one of our attendants?"
She turned her attention back to her father, her unanswered question hanging in the air. “Please, Arbitrator, answer me,” she pleaded.
Her father chuckled sorrowfully.
“It was the old seer who oversaw your trial,” he finally revealed. Shock gripped Katherine, rendering her speechless.
“How did she die?” she inquired, her voice trembling with grief.
Her father remained silent, leaving her flowing emotions to surge once more.
Katherine felt an overwhelming sadness after realizing that she would never see that woman ever again.
"You may stay for two more days. Don't forget to visit me in the mornings for a quick chat. Dismissed."
She kneeled down. "Yes, Sire."
Alaric:
Alaric groaned, pushing himself up from the worn-out, creaking bed. His body ached with fatigue, and a wave of uneasiness washed over him. Thoughts swirled in his mind, each demanding attention. He stood, his movements sluggish, and attempted to change his clothes. The previous night had claimed his consciousness swiftly, leaving no room for contemplation. The respite of a bed had been a rare blessing after an extended period of restlessness.
As Alaric rose to his feet, his gaze fell upon the crumpled sheets. A sudden realization jolted him. He had neglected to tend to the wound that he had got from the old man's friends, the one on his neck.
The bed was stained with blood. He thought of that robed woman, who had only healed the wounds from his imprisonment and the ones she had inflicted on him.
"Scheming witch," He whispered.
Reflecting on his actions from yesterday, he realized he hadn’t been acting like a prince, but more like an annoyance. He resolved to tone down the arrogance.
The problem of the blood on his sheets weighed on him, but the exhaustion gnawing at his bones urged him to postpone dealing with it. He resolved to take a bath first, leaving the matter for later.
Alaric made his way to the main office, summoning the hotel’s service.
The maid’s eyes widened in shock upon spotting the bloodsoaked sheets, her concern evident. She inquired if he required medical attention, to which Alaric declined. She gathered the destroyed sheets and replaced them, confused while she did so. As the inn crew returned, Alaric reluctantly paid the fee for the damaged sheets, his embarrassment very visible to the staff. He had registered for a couple nights, after all.
Gathering his belongings, he prepared to depart, confident that daylight wouldn’t attract any robbers like in the evening. However, as he was about to step outside, a figure materialized, blocking his path. It was one of the men he had dueled, silently nodding in acknowledgment. Alaric sensed the presence of the older man behind him and turned to face him.
“Sorry for yesterday. My name is Joan. Welcome to the crew,” one of the attackers said warmly.
Alaric could easily spot that this person was a woman under the mask.
The other accomplice spoke in turn. “My name is John,” the man replied curtly, withholding further words.
Alaric noticed a marked change in their demeanor, transforming from their previous mean and rude selves. The sudden shift in behavior unsettled him. He couldn’t let his guard down.
“And my name is Richard,” the old man chimed in, his voice tinged with amusement. The old man turned his attention to Alaric, his gaze searching.
“What’s your name, young man? I should have asked earlier, but amidst yesterday’s pompous ceremony, it didn’t seem appropriate.”
Alaric narrowed his eyes. "I'm pretty sure you mentioned it yesterday."
"Hyper-attentive, are we? Joan, John, this is Alec, the very powerful swordsman you both fought yesterday."
"Nice to meet you, Alec," Joan said, bowing her head a few degrees.
Richard continued. “Alec, you are now a member of the Eleventh Faction. We have extensive plans and powerful allies supporting us. Last night, we journeyed to meet one of our backers and informed him about you.”
"So, will I be able to attend the academy and meet the Boards as you've promised?"
John scoffed. “Impudence. How can you just casually expect to meet the Boards?”
Richard raised a hand, silencing John. “It’s already been taken care of.”
The old man took a deep breath in exasperation. “But before answering to your question, Alec, remember that our cause stands for justice, and all ‘pawns,’ as distasteful as it sounds, must fulfill organization goals to progress,” Richard explained.
“We have reasons to believe you can be trusted, hence we granted you this opportunity. However, you must adhere to a strict schedule. Failure to complete your missions will jeopardize your position. Even a single misstep can prove fatal. Only a few have survived more than three jobs, and the rest have perished. Nevertheless, I possess a certain confidence in you. You have a… different feeling about you.”
Alaric nodded, accepting the compliment, but the label of being a pawn grated on his nerves. "As long as I get my information and needs taken care of."
Richard continued, revealing their preparations. “We possess very expensive Kingdom-signed insignias and certificates, designating you as a Noble’s cousin. These documents will grant you free accommodation at any inn, although be wary of scams involving the voucher. We never agreed on sending you to the academy, but to some unforeseen circumstances and a few coincidences, be happy that you will be going there first. These documents will also aid you in your acceptance into the school. You can choose whether to present it before or after the trials when you receive your results. However, I assure you that if you don’t present it, people will make sure you don't pass."
After a long conversation, Alaric bid farewell to the two individuals. Armed with a newfound understanding of the terrain and a well-marked map, he felt confident in charting his course to avoid encounters with the notorious robbers. Energized by his recent rest, he set off briskly, documents safely stowed within his bag.
As he walked through the district, the scenery shifted from opulent buildings to more modest, yet still well-maintained, establishments. The cobblestone streets were busy with foot traffic, and the air buzzed with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares and the occasional clip-clop of horses’ hooves. Alaric’s pace was steady, his eyes scanning the area for a stagecoach stand.
Soon, he reached a bustling square where several stagecoaches lined up, drivers calling out their destinations to potential passengers. The square was a hive of activity, with people hurrying about their business, carts laden with goods, and children darting between the legs of adults. Alaric spotted a raised platform where a stagecoach driver was currently helping an elderly woman into his vehicle. He made his way over, waving to catch the driver’s attention.
The driver, a weathered man with a full white beard, a weathered face but glittering blue eyes, looked up and nodded at Alaric’s approach. “Where to, sir?” he asked, his voice kind. Alaric introduced himself, and the driver, named Thomas, returned the gesture with a warm smile.
His second life had started.