Three Weeks Earlier

1

A relentless blizzard raged outside the windows. Snow had piled high on the sills, covering half of Twainol’s street view. Locals on the way home after a day of work would opt for a midway stop and take shelter from the gale at a local tavern. The small hearth in the back end of the hostelry hall was of no real comfort, though. Wind leaked in through the seams and corners of the roughly constructed building, to the point that keeping the overcoat on was preferable. But, if anything, the mood inside was warm. The folk at Twainol had long since grown accustomed to hail and wind, and were merely glad for the excuse to stop for a pint. Cheerful chatter filled the tavern, where neighbors, colleagues, and more distant acquaintances exchanged greetings.

Then, the usual hubbub suddenly quieted.

Without a warning, a young man, a foreigner, hopped up on a long table in the middle of the floor, an old lute in hand, and broke into song, showing the rhythm with the tapping of his boot.

Hey-ho! Gather all and I’ll tell you a story

One grim and mighty gory

Of a hero nobody knows

All luckless and tailed by crows!

A woman as old as your mother

For her children hath found no father

Heart like stone but harder

Walked through the Empire—and farther!

It didn’t take long for the upbeat tempo to win over the initially perplexed audience, and they began to accompany the performance with clapping, stomping, and laughter. The sound of merrymaking carried out to the wintry street, where the passers-by stopped in their tracks and came to see what was going on. In no time, the tavern hall was filled to the brim with people in their thick coats and cloaks, and waiters became exceedingly busy taking and delivering the additional orders.

Only one person took no party in the gaiety.

In the remote southeast corner, at a small table as far from the crowd as possible, sat a lone woman in a fur-lined coat. This lady showed not even the faintest smile at the hilarious performance, being not a huge fan of overpopulated places, nor that of the performer either.

Not many knew, but this woman was actually the titular character of the song. She had expressed strong criticism for the way she was portrayed in this particular work of art, following its first-ever presentation. Unfortunately, the artist had shown little respect for her opinion, and went on to present the piece yet again, even without her permission. Worse yet, the song became quite popular too.

The star could only take solace in the fact that her name was not mentioned, and that the audience couldn’t tell if the piece was based on reality or not. The lack of identification was not so much out of respect for her privacy, as it was for the fact that the bard Waramoti, had yet to come up with words that rhymed well with Itaka Izumi’s otherworldly name.

Sighing heavily, Izumi pondered if she should give her feedback after the concert in the form of a motherly spanking, and raised her tankard.

In Twainol, beer was dark, like porter, served warm, and one didn’t need to look far to see the reason. It was not winter yet in the Empire; in fact, it was only Heumnaat, a month slipped somewhere between July and August in this peculiar world with fourteen months per year, and summer heat was barely about to reach its peak. But hundreds of miles north, in the province of Anorl, where Twainol stood, the weather was perpetually freezing. The cold air carried down from the ever-frozen arctic regions, spiraling along the steppes of Anorl to Melgier, where the warmer, more intense sea air pushed it back and left it trapped.

Izumi was not too fond of cold, as a rule. If held at gunpoint, she might have begrudgingly agreed that this weather was still preferable to the exhausting, humid heat of the southern Tratovia, but it was still not the ideal condition for humans to live in, by any means.

Not that Izumi had had a pressing reason to come this way either.

She had seen the green pastures and small towns of Luctretz in the east. She had seen the expansive, coniferous woods of Felorn in the middle. She had seen the endless, golden farmlands of Tratovia. She had seen the miserable marsh of Henglog in the far south, and the deceitful jungles of Alderia, where the glass and steel citadels of the elven city stood. Therefore, as natural continuation to her vague travel plan, it had come time to head north.

After all the previous places, the snow-dressed plateaus of Anorl, overseen by the majestic mountains of Abserim in the east, had appeared fresh and exciting to Izumi. At first, that is. A few weeks on the road without any major developments had made her begin to wonder if she had picked wisely, after all.

Exploring the world free of the health concerns and evil tyrants was the only purpose Izumi had left in her migrant life now, beside the unvoiced desire to flee anything that might remind her of the past tragedies. Unfortunately, her escapism was constantly hindered by the basic needs of daily life.

“Ah, I have to look up some work soon, don’t I…?” Izumi lamented, savoring the ale.

The fantastic world Izumi had been summoned into was depressingly unlike the games and novels she had consumed in her youth. No magic system provided her with automatic coin or sustenance. She had to actually work for a living.

Regrettably, the job of a “hero” was altogether unknown in these parts.

Monster hunters or adventurers weren’t generally wanted either. Naturally, that didn’t mean there was a shortage of work to be done in this harsh land, where the population struggled to get by. Just, the odd jobs that Izumi would come across on her quest for employment were nothing particularly noble, glamorous, or original.

Deliver correspondence.

Pick up firewood.

Retrieve water from a distant well.

Serve drinks or meals.

Watch over children while their parents are away.

Hang out laundry to dry. Wash dishes. Harvest vegetables. Peel turnips. And so on.

The pay was not very grand either. Most of the time, instead of gold or silver, Izumi was rewarded for her efforts in only food, which she couldn’t well refuse either.

Waramoti, her ever-present travel companion, had covered most their expenses while they had still been in the imperial territory, but the less developed provinces knew not Tratovia’s banking system, nor accepted their currency, and the bard’s travel funds were running short. His song performances, however, tended to pay many times better than Izumi’s side quests, and had spared the two from famine so far.

But how long would their luck hold?

“What kind of a protagonist am I?” Izumi bemoaned. “I’m just leeching off a kid. Where are all the actually interesting quests and adventures? I wanted to become a famous warrior, but it’s starting to look like I have to class change to a bandit to get by.”

Becoming a legendary slayer of monsters, vanquishing a demon lord, killing dragons, saving the world from a prophecy of doom, and finding true love on the side—when she was young, Izumi had fantasized tirelessly about a glorious destiny in this vein.

But even though her seemingly impossible desire of being transported into another world had come true, all of these things remained just as far outside her reach as they had in the land of her origin. There was no easily identified major enemy here, an evil overlord with his minions, that people unanimously wanted defeated. The Empire was the only major power left in the continent of Noertia, and the ruler seated on the Onyx Throne today was nothing but the epitome of chivalrous virtues.

There weren’t hordes of suitably easy monsters, which to chop down en masse for quick coin. Centuries of co-existence had taught people how to deal with natural hazards on their own. Instead, evil came in lesser, more indistinct forms, and lurked everywhere where there was life. It was beyond one lonely vagabond to rid the world of plagues like greed, envy, ambition, xenophobia, or racism, which could claim anyone as their agent. And avoiding headaches of this level had been one chief reason why Izumi had wanted to leave her original world in the first place. Coming into a whole different universe only to do the sorts of things she could have done back home would have been meaningless.

Then what could she do, exactly?

Why not go back to the Empire and ask her majesty to give you more fitting work?

Waramoti had asked so one night, making an excellent point. It was surely there, in the upper echelons of power, where they might find use for Izumi’s unusual talents.

But the summoned champion had other ideas.

“Are you daft?” she had asked him. “You only advance the main scenario after you’ve explored the map, cleared all the available side quests, and upgraded your gear to the max! That’s like the basics of RPGs!”

Izumi had dodged the matter with this bizarre excuse.

Though she oftentimes exhibited clear longing for the Empire’s magnificent capital, Izumi had chosen to steer far clear of the place on her travels thus far. Did she truly fear that some grand, irreversible destiny awaited her there?

Perhaps this vague premonition was one part of it. At the same time, it was evident that she had other dreads as well, of the less enlightened kind. The mere thought of meeting the Empress of Tratovia again, face-to-face, made Izumi’s stomach cramp with anxiety. She forced the thought off her mind, and lifted her tankard again.

“Eh…?” Then, she found that her ale was all spent. “Aah, geez! How much copper did I have left again…?”

Izumi gathered the few dirty coins she had left in her pocket and laid them out on the table for a quick count, trying to recall the price of the ale. It was hardly a smart investment, but Waramoti was bound to make some money with his show—and it was only fair that Izumi collected royalties, for being the title character.

Clunk. At that moment, someone placed a full tankard on the table in front of her.

“—Here. It’s my treat.”

Izumi raised her face and saw a man dressed in black stand next to her table. He wore a hooded cloak, keeping the hood on even indoors, and what was left visible of his face was not familiar to her. He wasn’t as robust as the local men, his jaw clean-shaven. His hands weren’t big and rough, like those of a man used to manual labor, and the fabric of his clothes looked expensive. He was quite a mysterious sight, if not outright suspicious.

“Thanks kindly, but I’m not looking for company,” Izumi told the man.

“That is most unfortunate,” he quietly replied. “Perhaps this will help me find your favor, madam.”

Cautiously glancing around, the man moved the sleeve of his cloak and shoved his right hand to her. On the index finger was a large gold ring, with a shield-shaped, flat-cut black stone embedded in the middle. Looking carefully, there was an intricate silvery pattern etched into the stone as well.

Izumi stared at the ring with a blank look.

“...Um, am I supposed to know what that is?” she finally asked, as no further explanation appeared to be forthcoming.

“You don’t recognize it?” he asked, surprised, flashing a reflexive grimace. “It is the emblem of the imperial throne!”

“It is?”

“Yes. It means, I am in her majesty’s service.”

Now that Izumi looked at it again, the symbol did look vaguely familiar. She might have seen it in passing, on the flags outside the palace, or perhaps on the banners hanging indoors. She didn’t have the eye or memory for such details, nor the interest.

“Wow. So you’re one of Yule’s new friends then?” she remarked. “Never would’ve thought.”

The man exhaled a heavy sigh, taking the chair next to Izumi’s.

“For a moment there, I was afraid I’d gotten the wrong person,” he uttered. “Not that the description left much room for error. ‘A woman of foreign looks, hair short cut, bearing a large sword, often in the company of a young minstrel’—doubt there could be another fitting match in this whole wide world of ours.”

The man glanced at Izumi’s greatsword, which rested against the pillar near her chair, suitably within arm’s reach.

“So? You have business with me, Mr Spy?” Izumi asked.

“...Could you not throw such words around in the open,” the imperial glanced around, his face tightening. “The war may have ended, but they have little love for Tratovians around these parts. You should keep that in mind, if you mean to keep traveling this way.”

“Right. How did you find me, anyway?”

“We at the Imperial Intelligence Bureau pride ourselves on our ability to locate anyone, anywhere. Although, to be honest, our reach does not extend quite as far as Henglog or what lies beyond. Incidentally, is it true? That you were there?” The man leaned forward whispering the name as if it were cursed. “In Alderia? Does the mythical island truly exist? Or is it just a code for something else?”

“Why, does everyone know already?” Izumi frowned. “Nothing keeps a secret for long.”

“I wouldn’t call it common knowledge, but it is my job to know,” the man answered. “As you happen to be a person of interest to her majesty.”

“A person of interest, huh…?” Izumi listlessly repeated, setting her empty tankard aside and reaching for the new one. “It’s depressing how hearing that doesn’t even get my heart racing anymore.”

It had already been close to four months since Izumi had departed from Bhastifal without a word. It was probably too late to expect a warm welcome. Even if she had trouble moving on, personally, that didn’t necessarily mean that others were the same.

“In any event.” The man rightly interpreted her silence as unwillingness to discuss the past. “I shan’t keep you for long. I am here today only as a messenger, to deliver this.”

The imperial reached across the table, pretending to touch Izumi’s hand. At the same time, he placed something on the table in front of her. It was a small letter in a black envelope, sealed with a blot of deep red wax. There was no sender’s name or the recipient’s, addresses, or any other markings on it.

“For your eyes only,” he said quietly. “Open it in somewhere private, and burn after reading.”

“Hmm…?” Izumi took the letter and turned it around, raising her brows. “Could it be, an incredible quest line just dropped into my hands out of nowhere?”

The man gave her a blank look, unable to comprehend her meaning, but decided not to question it.

“I should be on my way,” he said instead. “Our people are quite busy these days, and I’ve spent a considerable while tracking you down. Enjoy your ale. Here’s for your troubles—and take the ring too. It will mark you as her majesty’s agent, and should allow you to enlist the aid of any loyal imperials you come across on your journey. But do not let any outsider see it, if you value your own well-being. As I told you, they care not for our colors in the North. Fare well, traveler.”

Removing the ring from his finger, the Imperial left it on the table together with a small pouch of silver coins. Then, saying no more, not even looking at her, he got up, turned for the door, and disappeared out into the blizzard. And Izumi, humming the victory fanfare from the Final Fant*** series, shoved the ring and the black letter into her coat pocket, picked up the coin pouch, and ordered another ale.

“Ah! Who’s up for a bar fight?”

2

“Watch your step,” Waramoti cautioned Izumi, escorting the woman up a steep, creaking staircase, to the second floor of their inn.

“I can walk...just fine on my own!” Izumi insisted, taking support of the wall with her free hand, the other arm draped over the bard’s shoulders. “This much is...not a problem at all! Lali-ho~!”

“Yes, sure, whatever you say,” he groaned. “Shall I let go then?”

“You can let go,” Izumi replied with confidence, before adding. “After you turn off the escalator. It is much too fast!”

The bard didn’t let go, but continued to carry her upstairs, one step at a time.

“You know,” Izumi spoke again, “that’s way more alcohol per volume than is lawful for ale! We should call an inspector.”

“We’re not in your world, remember?” Waramoti reminded her. “There are no such regulations. Every brewery has their own idea of what’s proper for ale.”

“I shudder to think...what they think is proper for vodka.”

“And I shudder to think what would’ve happened to the tavern, had they given you some. Thanks to you, a good portion of my earnings tonight went to compensate the owner. By the Lords! Did you really have to wrestle that bouncer into the fireplace? Someone could have died.”

“I confess, I might have lost my fine control for a bit back there,” Izumi reflected on her behavior. “I was merely looking for a friendly little scuffle. You know how it is with us heroes! We keep underestimating our own might, fufufu! But, you can’t deny that the sight of him sprinting out into the snow with his butt on fire wasn’t funny.”

“...It was a little funny,” Waramoti admitted with a snort.

“Right, right!”

They continued to climb.

“By the way, who was that you were talking to?” the bard asked. “The guy in black. An imperial?”

“Why, you jealous~?” the woman chirped in a syrupy tone, squeezing him closer. “I didn’t know you were watching that intently! My, my! This old lady is gonna bluuush~!”

“Don’t change the subject!” he scolded her.

“There are more boys who’d want to talk to a beauty like me than there are stars in the sky! Don’t you even know thaaaat? Huuuuh?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible drunk?”

“Oh. You should’ve seen the last time I had a cup! That was...” Izumi fondly recalled the blood-soaked banquet in the distant town of Grelden. It felt like a million years ago. And then she remembered the other things that happened along the way, and fell quiet. “It was...something, all right...”

“As far as I can tell, people drink for two reasons,” he said. “To forget, or to drown. Which are you?”

“I won’t drown, I learned to swim when I was six!” Izumi exclaimed. “And there’s still a loooot left to discover in this beeeeautiful world! Even if it keeps giving me the cold shoulder.”

“There’s not a whole lot left for you to lay waste to. Try and keep it together, will you? I make mockery of you in my songs, and you make mockery of yourself in real life—at this rate, I’m actually beginning to feel sorry for you.”

“Stop right there!” Izumi lightly slapped the back of his head. “Guys can’t be tsundere, it’s against the rules.”

“Whatever that means. Oh, there we are.”

Somehow, taking it slow, they reached the second floor and the hallway along which their rooms were. There, Waramoti slowly let go of the woman, as if expecting her to fall over at any moment. Indeed, Izumi veered immediately backward quite dangerously, but regained her balance with concentrated effort. For a moment, she continued to sway back and forth, pulled by the gravity of her sizable chest.

“By the thousand Lords,” Waramoti sighed. “Has there ever been a more pitiable sight? I suppose we’ll have to save discussing our next destination for the morrow.”

“Ah,” Izumi nodded. “I need to consult the voice of my heart first.”

“Consult nobody tonight,” he told her. “Go to bed and stay there. Don’t leave your room. Do you hear me? Promise?”

“Okay. Whatever you say, dad!”

“You’re going to be so embarrassed in the morning!”

“Come ooon, can’t you take a joke, little man! Where’s your sense of humor!”

“Go. To your room. Now.”

“I will, I will! Gosh! Relax! It’s right here. I can get there.”

Parting ways, the bard went to his room further down the hallway, while Izumi continued to stand still, seeing him off, spending a minute to recall which room was hers, testing a number of doors, getting it wrong twice, before finally finding the right one, and staggering in.

There, she stood in the middle of the floor, dazed and swaying, listening to the silence for a lengthy while, not thinking about much anything.

“Okay. I suppose I’ve had enough fun for tonight,” she finally mumbled. “Ohrm!”

Invoking the Rune of Restoration, a warm, sobering flow of mana immediately filled Izumi, crawling up her spine and spreading out to the limbs, like a tree growing along her veins. The spell worked slow at night time, but in a bit less than three minutes, the paralyzing neural toxin called alcohol was magically neutralized and removed from her blood flow. Izumi’s consciousness was returned to cruel clarity and sharpness, the comforting lull of inebriation undone, and she became once again painfully aware of who she was and where.

Stranded in another world, poor and homeless.

“Well then. What have you got for me?” Izumi searched through her coat pocket and took out the black letter. For a moment, she admired the archaic wax seal, the first she’d seen in real life. Printed on the wax was the imperial throne’s emblem, the same as on the ring. She tried on the ring too, but it was much too large for her and heavy, being made of pure gold, and she put it into her tight trouser pocket, so as to not lose it. Then, she broke the seal and opened the letter.

Inside were two papers, regular white and twice folded, containing a lengthy message, which a singular page was not enough to contain. Written in tidy cursive, in the widely known Common Speech, was the following:

2nd of Heumnaat, in the year 999 of the 33rd Cycle.

To Ms Itaka Izumi,

Hope this letter finds you well. I set out to write to you as soon as Caalan returned to us, and related to me the account of your grief-laden quest for Alderia, but anger and sorrow in turns kept my hand.

I could not bear to share the story to her majesty in full detail, knowing she would not take well to it, but my own heart knew hardly any less pain over your hard fate. I am at a loss of adequate words, but know that my thoughts are with you wherever it is that the Divines may guide you. All your friends here at Bhastifal, among which I count myself, are united in our sincerest wish for your safe return, at your earliest convenience.

Now, I should ill wish to speak of duty at a time like this, but there is a certain dire matter I am inclined by circumstances to communicate to you, regardless.

Yours is not the only sorry story in this world of ours, alas! But there may still be a way to turn the mourning of some into joy, and I believe that aspiring to do so is the noble duty of all those of us able and willing. For this reason, I seek once more to depend on the strength and kindness that saved not only myself but also my nation from the brink of certain doom.

It is a task that yields not great fame or glory, and a handsome reward in silver is all I may offer in repayment for your troubles. Yet, there is a chance that your involvement may lessen, if only by a little, the number of tears that wet Imperial soil today, and for this reason alone I see it as a cause worth pursuing.

You are well familiar with Tratovia’s so-called Guild of Heroes, the band of prodigious mercenaries in the sovereign’s service, whom you faced as enemies in your time at Bhastifal. Through the change of governing, these enemies are now converted our greatest allies, and it is in her majesty’s best interests to replenish their ranks as soon as possible. For ever we stand surrounded by threats, both domestic and foreign.

Following Yuliana’s ascension, we dispatched immediate recall orders to the remaining members of the Guild, to brief them on the political situation and to reaffirm their allegiances. Most of these individuals are already safely returned, and we have been able to confirm their loyalty where offered, and discharge those unwilling—and even find a few new candidates to take over the roles of the retired and the deceased.

However, it is with great personal sadness and remorse that I must inform you now that one noble soul yet remains unaccounted for. A certain man called Faalan, known also by the—rather less friendly!— moniker of ‘Half-Elf’.

Faalan has yet to return to the Empire, or respond to our summons in any way, though I am told he has received our message. Months have passed since we last heard of the man, and impatient voices in the army ranks have already gone on to declare him as killed-in-action—or worse yet, a traitor to our cause.

I personally believe neither of these vile views and sternly dismiss them wherever presented. I have had the pleasure of sharing battlefield with said warrior in the past, and can, for my own part, attest that he is not only exceptionally difficult to kill, but also a most earnest, upright character of unquestionable loyalty. An exemplary soldier, if there ever was one. Nevertheless, the only way to decisively free Faalan of suspicion is by having him report back to us, hale and whole, and of his own free will.

Faalan’s last mission, assigned to him by the previous Emperor, was to investigate rumors regarding an ancient source of power in the North. The territory in question has been long held by Dharva, a barbarous nation of men, who warred against Tratovia three brief years back, and were defeated.

Dharva’s regime fell under Imperial jurisdiction, but that can hardly be called the end of the bitter dispute. Certain morally questionable actions were taken in the aftermath of the campaign, as is the winners’ regrettable tendency. I shall spare you the grim details, but the gist of things stands thus: Imperials are not desired company anywhere near Utenvik today.

It is under such volatile circumstances that Faalan has now gone missing and any more specific information regarding his whereabouts or intentions is unavailable.

This is where I begrudgingly turn to you for aid, dear friend.

Having learned that you were on your way north, I saw a slim ray of hope in our impotent misery. You, who remain yet largely unknown outside of the Empire, could investigate Faalan’s trail unhindered by the politics and, if possible, locate the hero for us.

Better still—return home with the man.

Know that a loving fiancee and a son of only five summers restlessly await him. I would much rather give a grieving family good news for once, than rob them of their sole light and hope.

I know I ask a lot of you, already burdened as you are. I am also better than aware that you owe nothing to us, but rather, that it is we, who remain indebted to you, for all that you’ve done for us and mankind as a whole. Nevertheless, I also believe that you have the power to become for others what you became for me; a savior.

Please, lend Faalan your strength, if only you can.

Ever yours,

Miragrave Marafel

“I see, I see,” Izumi nodded, done with reading the letter. “Into the trash it goes!”

Invoking the Rune of Ignition, she burned the letter, and quickly wiped the ashes off her hands.

“What kind of plot twist is this now!?” she cried aloud. “I can’t even get to the first base, and then have to look for a missing person who’s both married already and a man? Stop messing with me! This isn’t funny! The heck’s wrong with this scenario? Why would I ever do something so bothersome!? I go through Hell and save the world, again and again, and only get more menial labor forced on me! Give me a break! What about my own hopes and dreams? What is my own happiness worth? What do you mean, silver is all you can give me? If you want my help, then pay up with your body! Aah, geez, why is it so hard to find love in this world? This is awful! Awful! I don’t want to do this anymore! I quit! I’m not a summoned hero anymore, find somebody else! I’m done! Finished!”

A guest in the neighboring room punched the wall. Be quiet!

Out of breath, Izumi fell silent.

Naturally, there was no way she could quit.

Izumi herself was better than aware that this modest outburst was all her rebellion would amount to. Not only was she in constant need of money, she wasn’t quite heartless enough to abandon a person she knew was in trouble either, even if it weren’t a direct request from a friend. The obedience and sense of responsibility her distant homeland had ingrained her with made it unthinkable to walk away from a job. Only imagining it made her shudder with guilt.

“I hate this.”

Kicking off her shoes and quickly stripping, Izumi jumped onto the bed, dived under the blanket, and listened to the wind rattling the window, hoping tomorrow would never come.

“I’m going to need a map.”