1

Izumi returned across the desolate cape to the south side lane and trudged back home with the axe on her shoulder, like a woodcutter after a long day, the ceaseless rain whipping her back. She had gone so cold that the rain began to seem warm on her, and she was grateful to the heavens for rinsing off the sea salt. At least, she wouldn’t be in need of a bath tonight.

She had no idea how long had passed in the hunt, probably no longer than a couple of hours, but the storm made the time seem later than it ought to have been, and all land was dark. She followed the glow of cabin windows in the distance, little lights twinkling like a lonely constellation, until finally coming to the cottage that looked like her own. It looked like the place, but felt somehow alien at the same time. Through the rain-smeared windows, lamp lights could be seen on both floors. Iris hadn’t gone anywhere in the meanwhile, it seemed. A cause of relief, perhaps.

But as she came closer to the front yard, Izumi’s heart grew harsh again.

There were horses hitched by the fence, five of them, though her own was still gone from the shelter. Had Millie sent help from the town? If so, then the cavalry was hopelessly too late. They shouldn't have camped at her house either, of all places. Iris didn’t like strangers. Izumi wasn't all that fond of guests either, an incurable introvert at heart. She had to send them on their way.

However, coming yet closer, Izumi’s uneasiness grew worse.

Something was unmistakably off.

It was terribly quiet. No sounds of conversation carried through the thin walls and windows, not footsteps, not the slightest creak. The old cottage was unnaturally still and quiet, for supposedly holding such a crew inside.

“Hey,” Yubilea appeared, wearing a troubled face. “I’m sensing a source of magic in the house. It’s fairly dense. There’s a bounded field raised around the perimeter too. I won’t be able to communicate with you, if you go inside.”

“Is Iris in?” Izumi paused and asked. “Can you tell?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“No matter. I’ll have to see for myself.”

Swearing quietly in her mind, Izumi picked up the pace and marched across the front yard, to the porch, and the door. There was no use sneaking around, with only one way in. Casting all unnecessary thoughts off her mind, her body alert and tense as a wiretrap, she entered the house and took a look around.

There were two men keeping watch close by the door. The moment Izumi stepped in, they jumped forward to capture her, speaking no word. The one on the right was closer, lunging for her weapon arm. Izumi was faster. Leaning deep forward, she swung her axe up, past his hands, and split open the man’s neck. A crimson spray surged out of the gaping wound and the man fell mid-step, tumbling against the wall. Not stopping, she moved on. She straightened her back, took a long stride forward and bashed the second man in the temple with the butt of the axe. His skull smashed, he was cast limp in the corner and didn’t move anymore.

In a blink of an eye, it was over. She had killed both of them, reacting to their suspicious movements, without knowing whether they were villains, or misunderstood helpers. Not that she cared all that much. All she could think about was finding Iris. The girl wasn’t in the living room or in the kitchen. The house remained unnaturally silent, save for the steady hum of rain on the roof, and the occasional bang of larger droplets striking the sills. Izumi could sense the presence of people on the floor above, several of them. She went to the stairs. They creaked and groaned loudly with each step. There was no way to hide it. She had to face the rest without the element of surprise and went up quickly, keeping her attention on the front. In a few leaps, she was on top of the stairway, with Iris’s room directly ahead, and the storage to the right, and there she paused.

The storage door remained firmly closed, but the bedroom was wide open.

The room was well lit, with an oil lamp on the bedside drawer. In the middle of the floor, on a chair set up in front of the bed in the back, sat Iris, still as a doll. She stared at Izumi through the open doorway, expressionless and stiff. No, her eyes alone spoke of the danger.

The girl wasn’t alone, as expected. Two more rough-looking fellows stood there with her, a short distance behind, not bothering to hide. Gripping her axe tighter, Izumi took a step forward.

Then she heard the voice.

“Here at last?” it asked. “Do come in. We have been expecting you.”

The speaker was somewhere behind the corner, unseen. The voice appeared to be that of a young man, calm and confident, or just conceited. After a fleeting beat of hesitation, Izumi resumed walking, as instructed.

“Leave your weapon,” the voice said. “You will not need it.”

Izumi heard a heavy thud from beside her. It was her axe, landing on the floor. Though now unarmed, she kept walking without attempting to pick the weapon back up, and entered the room, coming to halt in front of Iris's chair.

“Turn around.”

Izumi turned and faced the corner, where sat the unknown man on a little chair. He was rather young, as guessed, probably in his early twenties, beardless and pale. His short-cut hair was yellow-brown, like dried chaff, and he had quite an unfriendly look in his heavy-lidded, hazel eyes. He was dressed in an expensive-looking outfit of dark green cloth, and boots of Mangrave leather, with a deep gray, hooded cloak cast over his shoulders. In his right hand, he held a long staff of sculpted, dark wood, and it was inexplicably detestable to look at.

“So you’re the one who has given Mr Loyd so much trouble?” the man spoke and stood up to face the woman. “You don’t look like much of a witch to me.”

Izumi said nothing. She hadn’t been given the permission to speak.

“I am called Larch,” the man introduced. “I allow Mr Loyd to pay me for my services, though those services are often imaginary, and he a subordinate to myself, and not the other way round. How do you do, ‘Lady Izumi’?”

Izumi still said nothing. Instead, she bobbed a most lady-like curtsy, lifting her coat hems, though she never knew herself capable of such.

What the crap is this now!? He’s controlling my body? There’s magic like this too? That's such poor sportsmanship…!

Her conscious will appeared almost entirely removed from her body, as though in a particularly lucid dream. Unable to speak or name any runes, Izumi realized, to her dismay, that she had no real way to fight back. Coming from a world without magic, her innate magic resistance was, the same as her personal potential, completely non-existent.

Without any way to see it coming or avoid it, she had been ensnared, like a hare.

The man named Larch smiled at her obvious internal struggle, though little of it could be seen outside.

“I may not have any real personal attachment to Mr Loyd or his company,” the mage said, “but it is a convenient arrangement for me, nonetheless. For making me interrupt my usual routine and come all this way to work for real, I do think you owe me a heartfelt apology, madam. Wouldn’t you say so?”

Without a word, Izumi sank down to her knees and bent her head before the man, lowering her forehead all the way to the floor in a gesture of complete submission.

“Better,” Larch said with an approving nod. “That is, no doubt, the position most appropriate for a woman. Speaking of which…whatever should we do with you?”

The man turned to Iris and walked beside her chair.

“A slave who forgets she’s a slave is bad for business. What if all our products started to think they can leave whenever the opportunity arises? Surely you see it can’t work like that. What is the first rule, Iris? The only rule that really matters. Do enlighten me.”

“'Don’t fuck with the corsairs',” Iris cited with a vacant look, whence hope and vitality were gone.

“That’s right. And whatever possessed you to act against better knowledge?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I must’ve been stupid.”

“True enough, what you did was very stupid,” Larch said. “But you’re not a stupid person, Iris. Which is why I’m particularly disappointed in you. And so is Mr Loyd. How would you like us to punish you then? Shall I run lightning through your bones again?”

Iris made no reply. She kept her lips firmly shut, but couldn’t hide the trembling of her knees.

“No?” The man goaded her, leaning closer. “You wouldn’t like that, would you? Oh well. I think I know a better, more memorable way. You left us because you thought this woman could protect you, yes? Because she’s a ‘witch’? I must say, she’s the most disappointing witch I have ever laid my eyes on. I cannot sense an ounce of potential in her. You can find trinkets with more magic in the markets. Indeed, I’m beginning to think Mr Loyd spun his pathetic yarn only to cover for his own incompetence. Perhaps I’ll have to punish him too? He’s started to forget his place, as of late. But, first things first—Stand up, sow.”

The mage kicked Izumi in the side, urging her to get back on her feet. Izumi stood, still unable to make a sound, and turned to face him, waiting, like a dutiful maid.

“Have you enjoyed Iris’s services?” he asked her. “I can’t imagine she’s been all that useful, since her training has only just started. For a bedwarmer, she's of skinny sort, no? To begin with, her worth is not in what she can do, but in what she is. See, it so happens Iris is something very special among the people of this world. For that knowledge alone, I had expected her to fetch a stellar price with the right buyers. On the other hand, it also makes her entirely wasted on an old maid like yourself. Blame Mr Loyd for being so tempted by ‘easy coin’—or yourself, for insisting on an inferior product. But now that the mistake has been set straight, I shall take her off your hands. Since this is the last time you’ll be seeing one another, how about some thanks for her performance? Hit her.”

With no choice in the matter, Izumi turned to Iris. She clenched her wavering fist and raised her elbow. She tried to resist the motions with all her will, but her will was not her own. Her fist swung down, landing painfully on Iris’s brow. The girl endured the punch with a wince, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Aw. That was quite pathetic,” Larch commented on the side and knocked the floor with his staff. “Hit her again, harder.”

Completely resisting the command was unthinkable. Yet, Izumi found that so long as she didn’t directly go against the instructions, she had the slightest sense of control over the execution. Exerting all of her focus and will, she avoided Iris’s fragile eyes, her thin nose, and soft lips, she punched her again on the hard forehead. As little as it saved.

“I don’t think she’s quite learned her lesson yet,” the mage said. “Hit her again.”

Stop it! Stop! Stop! That’s enough! STOP!

Again, Izumi was forced to hit Iris, drawing a cut above the brow, from which blood started to drip over the eye and the cheek. But the villainous conjurer showed no pity or mercy.

“Come now, the girl is a hard learner! Hit her like you mean it!”

Twice more, Izumi’s fist rose and fell, while she held back as hard as she could, feeling like her nerves were about to fry and veins rip. Then, the two-sided torture abruptly ended, although it brought no relief to either one of them. Dissatisfied with the woman’s poor efforts, Larch lost his patience.

“Idiot! This is how you hit someone!” he suddenly exclaimed and kicked Iris in the head. The girl and her chair were both knocked over on the floor, and the maniac magician went on to kick the downed child in the stomach and ribs, again and again, and stomped repeatedly on her head, exhibiting no perceivable restraint, as though one thoroughly mad and possessed.

Satisfied at last, Larch drew a deep breath and turned back to Izumi.

“See that?” he asked. “You must be wondering—why didn’t I simply do it with magic? It would’ve been so much easier, yes, not to mention more effective. And you’d have a point. But sometimes it simply feels better to move your own body. You understand what I mean, don’t you, ‘witch’?”

All Izumi heard was the beating of her own heart, her rage at a boiling point. She certainly would have rather died on the spot than endured another second of this infernal play, but there was no way out for her from the prison of her body, not by death or any other way. On the outside, she stood calm and expressionless, little more than a life-sized doll.

“Now that the work of the day is done, why don’t we have a bit of fun?” the man said. “Take off your clothes, sow.”

Even while hardly a sliver of sanity remained in Izumi's mind, her body operated with unwavering ease and lightness. She removed her wet overcoat, let it fall at her feet, and began to unbutton her shirt, while the mage’s carnivorous eyes followed her every move.

In the back, Larch’s lackeys discreetly went over to examine Iris, who wasn’t moving.

Is there nothing I can do? Think! There has to be a way out of this charm…! There’s always a way. What do I do? What can I do? What? What? What?

Her hands peeled off the soaked, tattered shirt and discarded it alongside the coat. Then, with accustomed motions, she unhooked her brassiere, pulled the shoulder straps off, and let it fall off as well. Not stopping or even slowing down, displaying no shame or reluctance, she unbuckled her belt and began to open the buttons on her pants.

“Wew, what a cow!” Larch commented in awe. “Take a look at this, lads!”

“Hey, boss,” one of the goons hesitantly called to Larch. “Boss?”

“What?” The mage irritably replied, unable to take his eyes off Izumi’s breasts.

“B-boss, I, I think you hit her too hard,” the man said to him, kneeling beside Iris, feeling her neck. “I think she’s—she might be dead.”

Hearing those words, the chaos inside Izumi’s head came to a full stop.

The humming of blood in her ears seemed to drown out all the other sounds. She forgot about the heated search for escape and became cold, terribly cold, and hollow. What little future she had envisioned for herself was gone, and gone were past regrets as well, as though her personal time had been cleanly erased. None of it mattered anymore. She wanted to lie down and let the earth swallow her, as clearly as she knew it wouldn't happen. At the same time, ignorant of her internal state, as though nothing at all was wrong, her physical body continued to operate. She kicked off her boots, tore the wet socks off, and pulled down her pants, and never before in her life had Izumi hated her own flesh as much.

“So what?” Larch shrugged at the tragic report, no pity whatsoever in him. “I know people who will gladly take the corpse too. ‘For science’, as they say.”

Swiping down her underwear bottom, Izumi stopped at last and stood fully naked in the middle of the room, as a statue of wax, unsure of whether she still had a soul and a mind, or if she weren’t only a disembodied camera hovering somewhere above it all.

“By the few and the mighty,” Larch commented, walking slowly around the woman, ogling at her all over from head to feet. Coming a full circle in front of her again, he reached out and unscrupulously groped Izumi’s breast. “This is damn fine! Wouldn’t it be a waste to just kill you? Oh no. Not so sure I want to sell you either.”

The man jeered at her, moving his rough fingers along her chest to her stomach, lower, lower.

“That’s right. I'm giving you a fair chance. How about that?” He brought his face closer to hers and asked. “You do perform real well now, and I might consider letting you live, as my personal furniture. How about it? I’m a generous man, I’ll let you choose: a slow, painful death—or easy life, free of earthly little worries? Nothing harder than that. Sweet saints, all the whores out there would kill to be in your spot now.”

Immobilized, Izumi stood without a word, feeling his hot breath on her face.

“Well, how about it?” he taunted her. “Are you ready to get fucked now? How bad do you want my cock? Say it. I allow you to speak! Speak!”

The spell was partly loosened.

The instant Izumi realized she had control of her tongue again, soul and awareness returned to her, and all the bottled up pressure broke out at once, condensed in one quick word.

“——Mito.”

Larch observed his charm fall apart, like melting snow shrugged off a tree. He failed to understand what he was looking at. The elven Rune of Annulment wasn’t familiar to him, and as far as he could tell, Izumi wasn’t a mage. He had no time to make up a theory of his own either. A blink of an eye later, Izumi’s steely fingers gripped his throat, closing his windpipe. His words were spent for this life.

In berserk rage, she ground his larynx between her fingers to mush, like squeezing juice out of a lemon. She let go and the man dropped on the floor, soundlessly gasping and choking, his face turning blue. Lifting her knee high up, she stomped on the back of his head and neck, this time holding nothing back, until his mangled body stopped twitching and the parquet was slippery of blood.

“H-hey!”

Stunned by the unceremonious ruin of the person they had considered nothing short of untouchable, the other villains hesitated. The nearest of them now left Iris and stood to apprehend the woman. Instead of running away, Izumi stepped up to meet him and swung the rogue in the face with the heaviest haymaker she could muster, her full weight behind it. Her knuckles flattened his nose, driving the sharp bones and cartilage into his head in a burst of blood and torn skin, and the man fell back against the book shelf. Three of Izumi’s own fingers were broken by the force of her own punch, but she hardly noticed the pain, and carried on towards the remaining bandit.

Left all alone, he wasted no time giving up.

“P-please don’t kill me!” The man whimpered, raising his hands.

Retreating before the advancing woman, he tripped and fell, but kept crawling backwards, until his back reached the bed frame and his exit was sealed. “I’m just—I’m just a hired hand! Only in it for the money! I haven’t hurt anybody! Spare me!”

“Ohrm.” Izumi muttered and crouched in front of the rogue. She held up her broken hand in front of his face, turning it slowly around. His jaw trembling, he watched the pale bone ends sticking out of her fingers reconnect and mend, while faint green lights glimmered. Blood poured back in, skin melted close, and not even a scar was left.

“P-p-please…” he whispered. “I...I have a wife and a son...”

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” Izumi calmly told him. “I need you to tell me where I can find Mr Loyd today.”

“At the gang house,” the man quickly answered. “Southeast district, the big house, the red one, three stories. Can’t mistake it!”

“Thank you.” Izumi nodded with approval. “Now I’m going to kill you.”

Her face distorted in rage, she seized the bandit’s head with both hands and forced her thumbs in through the eye sockets, pushing the slimy orbs in, and wriggling her fingers around, while a most hideous, pitiful howl of pain and horror escaped his throat. He tried to remove her hands, push her away, claw at her shoulders, but his arms lacked strength, his consciousness occupied by the destruction occurring in the private confines of his skull.

“HYEEEAAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGHHHHHHH—!”

In a moment, the man stopped moving.

Seeing that no one was moving, Izumi hurried over to Iris.

“Oww…”

The girl lay still, quiet, pale. There had to be broken bones after the beating. Attempting resuscitation was liable to only make the injuries worse. Izumi failed to think of what to do. It was hopeless.

Another unfortunate soul was gone, because of her involvement. One might have said that Iris’s life was over the moment she had ended up in the slavers’ hands. Yet, Izumi had sincerely wanted to save her. She couldn't tell when the desire had been lit in her, exactly, but one way or the other, she had wanted to overturn fate. All the while aware that it was nothing but a pipe dream for someone like her.

“What…?”

Unexpectedly, holding Iris's face, Izumi thought she felt something on her hand, a brush of air.

It hadn't been an illusion. Bringing her ear close to the girl’s lips, Izumi was startled to discover a faint breath of air. She moved lower and listened to her chest, where a faint, but unmistakable thumbing could be heard. It turned out the criminal hadn't had much medical expertise, after all. There was both breathing and a pulse.

Iris was still alive.

3

The rain remained heavy even after the coming of dark, much like the day before. Baler had only just put a pot on the stove to boil, and was going through his respectful collection of tea blends, when there carried hurried knocking from the front door.

Baler knew a lot of people and visitors were never a rarity, but the timing got him wondering. Over the years he had lived in Mescala, he had learned to identify his acquaintances by the mere style of their rap, and was quite sure this was not one of the usual faces. But who would be willingly out there in such hideous weather? Nevertheless, with only slight hesitation, he went to open. He was an old man already, of little wealth, and lived alone. He had nothing much of real value to lose.

To Baler’s surprise, the visitor standing on the porch was his new neighbor. Tightly in her arms, the woman carried the slave girl, who appeared unconscious. Both were drenched and miserable, but that didn’t seem to be their only concern.

“Please help me!” Izumi petitioned as soon as Baler opened the door, wasting no time for courtesies. “Iris is hurt! Do you have medicine? Can you treat her here!?”

Anyone else would’ve been rather stunned by such an introduction, but the former army surgeon was nothing if not accustomed to surprises.

“Come in,” Baler said, making way, and gestured in the kitchen’s direction. “Set her on the table.”

Izumi did as instructed without delay, clearing room, and setting Iris on the wide table. It might not have been the best possible operating room, but there was an alchemical lamp above in the ceiling to give light and space to move. Baler had seen worse conditions.

Izumi described the girl’s wounds to him with great detail. Cranial fracture, some cracked ribs, a broken left arm, broken wrist, hemorrhaging. It had been sixteen years since the man had retired from service, but now that he had a patient again, it was as though no time at all had passed. After hearing everything and confirming the case for himself, he told Izumi to get a towel to dry with, and wait in the living room. He halted the internal bleeding with select words of power, starting with the head wound, and moved on from there. He set the arm and bound it with a cast. Treating the more delicate rib fractures, he read select charms to reinforce the bones, to soothe pain, and help the girl breathe easier. Out of an old habit, he kept a good stock of medicinal herbs at hand, which he retrieved from the cupboard, crushed in a bit of hot water from the tea pot, and used to bind the bruising with.

In some aspects, youth worked better than spells.

Having done all he could and saw fit, Baler moved the patient to the more comfortable alcove bed to rest, and went to see Izumi in the living room.

“How is she?” Izumi quickly got up from the sofa and asked. “Is it bad?”

“She’ll live,” Baler assured her. “But a word of warning.”

“Yes?” Izumi tensed.

“Due to the nature of the head trauma, there is a chance that the girl’s memory may be affected. Try not be too shocked if she opens her eyes again and doesn’t recognize your face. Regardless, though it will take some time, I am certain she will make a full recovery yet. She’s a fighter at heart. And still young.”

Hearing it, Izumi exhaled a deep sigh of relief and dropped back onto the sofa, wiping her face.

It could’ve been a lot worse.

“How about yourself?” the man asked. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Izumi grunted, as though even thinking about herself made her sick.

It didn’t seem like she had any intention to explain the situation in more detail.

Not that she needed to. The circumstances spoke for themselves.

“It was Loyd’s men?” Baler guessed.

She said nothing. Her moody silence and the air of murder about her told enough.

“I warned you it was only a matter of time,” Baler wryly remarked. “What are you going to do?”

Izumi maintained her silence for a moment longer, leaning on her knees, staring at the floor. There could be no doubt that whatever had happened had shaken her, but observing the woman closer, Baler noted that she didn’t seem merely frightened, or indecisive.

No, she had already made up her mind, and was only looking for the right words to express it.

Shortly, she found them too. She stood up and took a step towards the window ahead, which the rain battered.

“Could you keep looking for a family that might take Iris?” Izumi quietly requested. “Find someone who will treat her right. People who are…normal. If you find no one, take her in yourself. She’s fairly independent already. Smart, a hard worker. Teach her herbs, or whatever. When she’s old enough, you can give her my house, if she wants it. I...probably won’t come back there again. The ownership certificate is in a chest under the kitchen floor. There’s some gold too. Take whatever you feel is right for your troubles, and leave Iris a bit to get by. Could you do that for me?”

“...I could, aye,” Baler answered with slight reservation. “But what about when they come for her again? I’m an old man, not a warrior. I’ve told you as much before. They will kill me, or whoever is with her.”

“No, they won’t,” Izumi assured him and departed for the door.

“What makes you so sure?” he called after her.

Gripping the doorknob, Izumi paused and answered over her shoulder,

“There won’t be any of ‘them’ left.”

Saying nothing more, she opened the door, and disappeared back into the night and rain.

Leaving Baler’s house, Izumi returned back to her own cottage. She dragged the corpses out of the house, piled them in the front yard with some wood, and set them on fire with Brandt. In the light of that struggling pyre, she went back into the house, to the wardrobe, and fastened on the magnetite vest. She then strode into the kitchen, kicked the table out of the way, knelt, and tore off the floor board. Lifting up the Amygla from its dark storage, she wiped the blade clean of what little dust had gathered and held it up in the air.

“Kept you waiting, huh?” she told the blade, checking the edge. “Let’s break some eggs.”