After relaying the request to the tavern-keeper, Siegfried left the small establishment— still in deep thought. Back in the narrow alley, a young woman let out a surprised gasp as he nearly walked into her.

"Sorry, miss, I wasn't looking where I was going," the equally surprised guard apologised. It was unusual for him to space out like that.

"Oh, 's not a problem, Sir Guard, nothin's happened," she answered with a heavy dialect, sounding as simple as she looked. From the brown linen tunic to the plain facial features, everything about her was unremarkable.

Save for the look of recognition in her eyes, that was. It was just a flash of change in her gaze that sparked with a degree of intelligence that betrayed her way of speaking.

Siegfried decided that he might just be overthinking things. After all, he wasn't in the best mental shape right now. Dismissing the short encounter, the guardsman continued walking for a few minutes until he stopped a second time.

Another unforeseen confrontation waited before him, but it would be much more dreadful than the last.

Standing with crossed arms, as if he had been waiting for someone, the man with the mirthless expression they saw earlier that day blocked the passage.

In the long, red mantle, he gave off a pressuring air of overwhelming finality. As if he impersonated the glowing red heat of the all-consuming fire that would swallow any heretic soul it came upon.

An enforcer.

"Siegfried, 'The Just'," the enforcer curled his lips to a snide grimace. "Isn't that the title, which the common folk unofficially bestowed upon you?"

A bead of cold sweat formed on Sieg's forehead. "I am humbled to know that my name has been heard of by a presentee of our gracious goddess, Your Honour. I have never acknowledged that title for my own." he added, lowering his gaze in feigned deference.

In the City of Nemeah, the enforcers of the Red Brigade were judge, jury and executioner. And by everyone except their own and the priests, they were to be addressed as such. From the arrogant, impassable voice and matching grimace, Siegfried concluded that playing submissive would be his best chance to get out of this situation.

"At least, you do not seem to be overconfident. But otherwise, the chance of you surviving not only once but twice in the face of such aggressive changelings would have been abysmal," the enforcer said with a belitteling guesture. "As my primary assignment already led me into this district, I opted to indulge myself in my curiosity. 'What kind of man would this Siegfried be to impress the people by such an ample amount?' I asked myself. And so, I decided to be present at the holy rite of fire."

Siegfried swallowed. He knew he would have to confront the Red Brigade sooner or later after taking a glimpse at their real face. But this was far earlier than he hoped.

The enforcer's lips stretched into a vicious smile. "Your reaction to the sacred words of our esteemed priest was most intriguing. As were those of your two companions. I have decided that all of you will accompany me to Sector One for rehabilitation."

Siegfried steeled himself. He had never seen an enforcer in action, but going with him would spell his death all the same.

"I am afraid, Your Honour, that I cannot accept your verdict," Sieg stated while drawing his trusted sword. In his mind, he apologised to Bolverk. Today would likely be the first time he would be late at the barracks.

The young guardsman focused on his opponent with every part of his mind. Emotions faded, thoughts stilled. His unnaturally piercing gaze fixed the enforcers eyes— unmoving, so even the slightest motion would register in his subconsciousness.

"This is unfortunate. I like that intimidating glare of yours, but it seems your tale will end today, Siegfried The Just."

With supreme confidence, Akali's deadly agent drew his own short-sword. He set his right foot in front, bent as if readying for a sprint, and raised his right arm horizontally across his chest just as though he wanted to execute a backhanded slash.

As the enforcer's eyes narrowed in concentration, a faint aura of scarlet red seemed to emanate from within him like thousands of tiny red light beams.

On instinct, Siegfried started to throw himself to the right and simultaneously gripped his weapon with both hands in a block on the same height as the enforcer. He counted two heartbeats since the red glow began until his enemy vanished. He felt an explosive impact against his sword, nearly ripping it out of his hands and twisting his dive into a crash on his backside.

Agonising pain shot through Siegfried's left arm. The trusty steel in his hands had a deep nick, level with the cut in his arm. He fought down a cry into a grunt of pain as his body fully registered the wound, and blood started to flow out. The severe gash went through the muscle and partly into the bone.

A slow clap sounded from behind him. The red-clad fiend had cut Siegfried while passing by, stopping eight houses further down the small street in the blink of an eye.

"I am impressed, guardsman. I intended to slice through the whole of your chest. If by luck or skill, no report of an unblessed human deflecting an enforcer's blade has ever reached my ear." A sneer of cruel, sadistic satisfaction formed on his face. "I'm going to savour this and cut you up bit by bit so you might live long enough to realise the absolute hopelessness of your situation."

Arrogance, good. Surviving the first strike gave Siegfried a lot of information to work with. He gritted his teeth against the pain of his, now useless, left arm and stood up in a more flexible stance again. Both legs bent, sword in a middle guard, he entered a state of indivertible concentration once again.

The enforcer held his ornate weapon out to the right middle, clearly going for a horizontal swipe again. This ascertained Sieg that his enemy couldn't move while focusing on his gift and had to get into position before that.

Two heartbeats.

At nearly the same instant as the red glow started, Sieg dashed left. A gasp of pain slipped as the movement rattled his injured arm, but the only new wound was a superficial cut to his upper body on the right side.

"Just as I thought," Siegfried said with feigned humour in his tone, "the gift speeds up your body but not your mind. You can only execute one priorly planned move. Guess that's what makes you third-class."

"You impertinent dog!" The anger was clearly visible in the enforcer's posture "Let us end this farce!" He clicked a button on the ornate grip, and the pommel shot out far enough for him to use two hands.

The preparation told Siegfried that his opponent was going for a more direct blow this time. A two-handed grip so the force at such speeds wouldn't fling the enforcer's sword from his hands.

Siegfried adjusted his stance, watched for the angle of the next attack and adjusted again. When the foreboding red glow started, he abandoned his block for an overhead slash and swung down with full strength. He cried out when part of his own blade suddenly stuck out of his left shoulder. But there was another groan coming from behind him.

The arrogant enforcer had dislocated his left shoulder, and his hands were empty. The valuable sword stuck halfway in the wall to Siegfried's left, undamaged, but he doubted he could free it with only one arm.

There was not much fight left in the heavily injured guard. He was losing too much blood, starting to feel lightheaded.

His opponent drew a dagger, readying himself to strike once more. The enforcer was looking at the ground below Siegfried, measuring the distance between them.

He was going for a stabbing attack. The broken sword was useless in this case, so Sieg threw it away.

The grin on the enforcer's face indicated that he took the gesture as resignation. The ominous scarlet glow manifested, and in the last instant, Sieg moved half a step back and raised his hand, palm facing the enemy.

The enforcer stopped right in front of him, the dagger in his outstretched arm, aimed at Sieg's throat.

But his reach was off as Sieg had stepped back, while the long, white enamel blade, coming out of his palm, pierced through the red mantle, into the heart.

"Overconfidence is why you are third-class, Your Honour." He stared in those unbelieving eyes until they went glassy, and the member of the Red Brigade fell over.

††† Siegfried †††

The alley seemed blurry and somehow lopsided as Siegfried fell to one knee, unable to hold his balance, the muscles in his thigh refusing to obey his will. The gaping wound on his upper arm still spluttered blood, pouring out his remaining strength onto the ground. He needed to stop the bleeding quickly. Sieg tried taking off his leather vest with one arm but couldn't muster the effort.

"Siegfried!" an unfamiliar female voice shouted out.

In the foggy haze of his view, a brown shape mixed into the blur of light and colours. It wasn't until she was directly in front of him that he recognised it as the woman he nearly ran into earlier.

"Siegfried, you are—"

The organic blade was still visible. The woman quickly recovered from the surprise, ripped off a generous part of her tunic and wrapped it around his arm. He couldn't stifle a painful moan as she fastened the bandage. "You have to stay with me, Siegfried. We need to get away right now. I have a hideout not far from here, but I can't carry you," she urged him, agitated but not panicking.

He grunted with effort, willing his legs to hold up his bulk once more. His mysterious saviour tried to support him, slinging his healthy arm over her shoulder. Upholding his weight would be an impossible feat as the big guard outweighed her delicate body by at least three times. But she could steady his balance, allowing him to focus only on moving forward.

It felt as if his body was made of solid lead, and it took all of Sieg's willpower to set one foot in front of the other. After the first steps, he fell into a kind of trance and lost every sense of time and distance. It couldn't have been long before they stopped in front of a shoddy wooden house. The door creaked as if it would fall from the hinges any time now. But despite looking like an abandoned, rotting shack on the outside, it was clean and well-aerated inside. Siegfried dropped on the only straw mattress in the room and drifted into unconsciousness immediately.