1

The daily routine of a knight, started at the age of fifteen, had taught Yuliana to wake up every morning in the beginning of the second period before sunrise, whether assisted or not. So she did today as well, even though not only the bed but the surrounding kingdom were foreign. The room she had been given wasn't too unrefined, even for a princess, though purposefully short on furniture. No spare chairs or tables, in case she would attempt to fashion herself a weapon. There was a window, tall and wide enough for a horse to fit through, but securely locked up and without handles. Yuliana could count no less than three pairs of armed guards patrolling the orchard outside the building. To escape, she would've had to break the window and the noise—or the gaping hole at least—would've quickly attracted their attention.

And then there was the enigmatic sorcerer, who undoubtedly had his own means of detecting the comings and goings of people. Being caught meant death and a sad end to her journey. It was a risk too great to take without any guarantees of success.

So left with no other choice but to await her fate in silence, Yuliana began her morning with monk-like asceticism, kneeling on the floor before the window, eyes closed in meditation, as the light of the rising sun little by little brightened up her noble features.

Have I lost your favor, my Lord?

With anxiety, she directed her thoughts towards the spirit residing in her body.

Why, do you feel you have done wrong? Aiwesh's voice unexpectedly answered. I would like to think not, within the limits of what can be demanded of you.

Encouraged by the response, Yuliana hurried to ask,

“Then will you not lend me your strength and help me escape this peril? Before I am played as a pawn against my own family and people. I fear my power and ability alone will not suffice here.”

But what the Lord of Light asked in return astounded the princess,

And why is it that you wish to avoid this?

“Eh...?”

So far as I see, what the Emperor seeks through subjugation is the unity of men. I do not find that endeavor mistaken by itself, in spite of the less agreeable methods of his subjects. Rather, this is an objective I am compelled to share. In a situation where unanimous agreement between all parties cannot be reached, conquering without fighting is a solution worthy of commendation.

“W-what?” Yuliana could barely contain her surprise. “What are you saying, my Lord? Are you not the timeless guardian of Langoria? Are we not your chosen people? Those very people will soon be made to swear allegiance to another ruler, who by treachery and deceit wants to bend them to his will! Is that not the very threat you should advise us against?”

You are slightly mistaken, my child, the spirit answered. Though I resided in Langoria for so long, and though I have granted her people my blessings, calling me the guardian of the land is something the people decided on their own and not by my will. It is no particular flag or a crown that I love, and isolation was not the future I envisioned for Langoria. So far as I see, there is little difference between your people and the people of Luctretz and Tratovia. Are you not human beings all the same? Is your blood not red? I would have promoted forging closer ties with your neighbors from the beginning, but alas, the kings of Langoria have ceased to look for my counsel. For a long time, my name has been used without my consent for trivial, worldly purposes. Regardless, as a Divine fond of your kind, my priority is and has always been the survival of your species as a whole. The threat that concerns me is not the Empire—but the Daemonia. Unity is the only possible path for men to endure the coming Age of Chaos. I understand that your nation and its ruling dynasty mean much to you. But no matter how close, I cannot place the wishes of individuals or groups above the greater good of a race. To do so would undoubtedly prove against better judgment. I did not foresee this development, but now that the opportunity has presented itself, it would be unwise not to act on it. If your servitude makes the Empire stronger, spares the deaths of thousands, and by extension emboldens the human race as a whole, then this course of events is well. Rather, is this not the optimal role for you—a role only the princess of a nation may carry out—instead of the unlikely conquest of the Trophaeum, where you may die alone and unknown, the same as any common warhound? If I may express my opinion, that would be a great shame.

“That's…!” Yuliana was left speechless.

Had anyone else told her those words, she would have taken it as a mortal insult, both as a citizen and as Langorian royalty. But the one who had said it was the Lord of Light, one of the great Divines to whom she had promised her body and spirit. She had no choice but to listen to the voice resonating within her very mind.

How could she hope to argue back?

The idea of obeying the demands of spies and criminals seemed abhorrent, yes, but as someone groomed to be a ruler one day, the princess knew better than well that there were times—more often than not—when one had to set aside her personal feelings for the good of her people.

Langoria had next to no hope of prevailing in an open war against the much larger Tratovia, especially if Luctretz had already allied with the enemy. With only the sea to fall back to, the outnumbered defenders would be decimated, the civilian populace bearing the brunt of the campaign.

Obeying her captors, turning herself into a true traitor to her people, Yuliana would disgrace her ancestors for eternity, and most likely see her family put to death by the conquerors. But she would live, perhaps long enough to influence the invaders and help keep the civilians safe. Wasn't saving them from war, murder, and pillage sufficient to pay back for her treachery and disgrace?

The alternative was to have everything she loved burn in a futile struggle and then join her family at the gallows.

Isn't that just what I want to believe? Because I'm too scared to die the honorable death of a warrior?

Soon after the beginning of the second period, a servant came to wake the princess, only to find her already fully dressed. She was then escorted straight to the Duke's office on the top floor of the building.

The Duke's working quarters basked in the rising sun's pale rays, which now reached barely above the garden treetops on the deep cerulean sky. A room on the highest floor in a building on top of a tall hill, this would be the first part of Haywell to be illuminated each day. Thus, being an early riser, the master of the house could begin his respectful duties as the city's head as soon as was naturally possible.

Although that master was no longer anywhere to be found in the mortal world.

The Duke's house, his office and documents, rank and title, the weapons and animal pelts decorating the walls, a stuffed bear, three wolves and a deer with their blank glass eyes in the corners, the expensive, imported carpets warming the floor, the old chests by the walls and the important possessions therein—none of that rightfully belonged to the man presently sitting behind the wide oaken desk in the back of the room.

Though his audacious act appeared to express the opposite.

“Good morning, your highness. Sleep well?” the imposter greeted Yuliana.

It appeared the mage was not present, although with his ability to distort people's perception and veil his presence, there was no way to be certain. The princess chose to remain silent and without waiting, the man continued,

“So? Is there even any point in me wasting my breath asking this? Are you with us? Or against us? It's either one or the other, mind you. No third options, no compromises, no conditions. A simple yes or no. And, of course, anything other than yes will mean your end.”

Biting her lip, feeling like she wanted to vomit, Yuliana answered with effort,

“I accept. For now, I will do as you say.”

Those words alone felt like a branding iron, a poison forcefully swallowed, marking her as a betrayer in spirit, an enemy of all the righteous people in the world. But if it helped protect the lives of her beloved citizens and, as Aiwesh had said, strengthened mankind as a whole, then weren't her honor and dignity a cheap price to pay?

As bitter as it was.

“Oh?” Norenbagh seemed surprised. “And I'd heard the Langorians were stubborn to a fault. Is that so? What turned your mind, if I may ask?”

“Deserved or not, to my people I am already a traitor,” Yuliana answered, “if there is a chance I can spare them from the horrors of war which they've never had to taste before in their lives, then my shame may not have been in vain.”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Wow,” the Duke finally said, throwing his hands in the air. “Were you not the knight princess, after all? I did not expect a maiden from that antiquated kingdom of woodcutters to be capable of seeing the logic of the Emperor's grand vision. I owe you an apology, it seems, your highness. My assessment of you may have been mistaken. Then, you don't mind if I have you swear on it?”

“Swear?” Yuliana frowned.

“Yes,” he nodded. “This is a bit different from the vows we're about to exchange later. See, the funny part about betraying people is, it only gets easier each time you do it. We wouldn't want you to have second thoughts at the last minute. I want you to give me your oath. Repeat after me.”

Following the man's words, Yuliana reluctantly repeated,

“I, Yuliana Da Via Brannan, swear by my life, by my ancestors’ spirits, and by the Divines that guide us, my undying loyalty to Mayeshwal III, the Holy Emperor of Tratovia, to answer his call to service without delay, when and how his majesty so chooses, and to never by words or deeds bring harm to his rule or his people, but count myself as one of his faithful subjects from this day to my last.”

Those words, not all that unlike the oath she had given when appointed formally as a knight in the Langorian court, weighed heavily on her heart. But that was not the end of it. As soon as she had finished, Yuliana felt a sharp, burning pain deep within her chest and winced.

From behind her, a dark shadow appeared and slowly stepped past her,

“It is done,” the dark sorcerer, Joviél, spoke. “Your very spirit is now bound by the power of a gias. Should you ever break it, you will be cursed never to know rest, in this life or the next, but to go on in endless torment as a lowly wraith, a plague upon your own people.”

Yuliana grit her teeth as the pain slowly subsided. Though she had agreed of her own will, there was no way she had no regrets.

“That would be all I require of you, my lovely bride,” the Duke told her. “Why don't you spend the day by rehearsing your speech for tonight's banquet? It is going to be a night to remember, I'm sure.”

Bluntly dismissed after fulfilling her role, Yuliana was escorted out of the office.

It's black. All she could see in her future now was the pure blackness of slavery, extending to the end of her days. And beyond.

2

Miles away, several hours later, in the ever peaceful town of Grelden, Itaka Izumi stood deeply vexed in her rented little room.

“W-what do you mean, I have to leave it?” she asked the girl in front of her.

“It's so completely obvious, do I really need to answer this?” the assassin called Riswelze sighed. As promised, she had come back to take the woman to the banquet with an appropriate disguise prepared. However, they ended up with an unexpected argument. “They will never let you in with that thing, invitation or not. Just showing yourself anywhere near the gates with it is a major red flag. One that we don't want.”

The talk was, of course, about the Amygla, the greatsword.

Riswelze naturally didn't know what the sword really was and simply assumed it to be a regular, uselessly big weapon. Which was why she had great trouble understanding the woman's attachment to it. Although Izumi's fascination with the sword was mostly for personal reasons and she didn't care so much for its historical or cultural value.

“W-what am I going to do if I'm found out?” she bemoaned. “I'd be completely helpless, wouldn't I?”

“Armed or not, after what you put me through the other day, I'd hardly call you 'completely helpless', but you're right. We should get you—a smaller—weapon once you're inside. My associate inside can probably arrange that much. The Duke has quite the armory, we won't need to smuggle anything in from the outside. The less chances of a screw-up, the better.”

“No, no way, if it's not this one, it won't do!” Izumi insisted.

“Why? Wouldn't you have an easier time with, say, a dagger? Like these ones of mine?”

Riswelze herself was armed with three daggers, a bit shorter than an arm each, two hanging from the belt by her hip and one more holstered under her left arm. Aligned along her figure, you would hardly even notice they were there. The girl demonstrated their efficiency by nimbly swapping the places of the one under the arm and the bottom one on her hip, in a blink of an eye. She also had smaller throwing knives on her belt, behind her back, seven of them, as well as a more practical tool knife, discreetly hidden in the right boot. Her cloak kept them from showing on the outside.

“You have so much hair, you could easily hide a whole stack of blades in there,” the assassin pointed out.

“And stab myself by accident? No thanks.” Izumi refused the idea. “You chop veggies with knives. I want a sword. A REAL sword! The bigger the better! Like the one in Bers***. I did keigo every day just to be able to swing a Dragonslayer one day. The sticks that all the knights here use are way too light! I don't feel safe with something like that. It'd be like swinging a piece of spaghetti around, I'd only end up missing the timing for parries! It's useless!”

“Spa...Ghetti?” Riswelze repeated, squinting.

“There's no pasta in this world!? No way!”

“This world? Did you mean, 'country'?”

Izumi slumped,

“I don't think I can go on much longer...”

“Don't give me that crap,” Riswelze berated her. “The real deal only begins now. You remember your part, right? A lot depends on you, my hide included.”

“Yes, yes,” Izumi said. “Go in there, create a distraction...But, speaking of distraction, this outfit is...Don't you think it's a little too...how should I even say this...?”

As planned, Riswelze had acquired a real ball dress to disguise Izumi as a noble. It left the shoulders and a great deal of the back and the upper chest exposed, tightening around the waist to emphasize the wearer's bosom and hips. It was fine work indeed, made of the finest cloth available. The point was not to draw too much attention but to blend inconspicuously with the other noble guests, which was why the dress was colored unobtrusive forest green, with parts in light gray.

But…

Perhaps it was a bit poor choice, after all, the assassin silently agreed.

The dress, while doing its best to be mild on its own, hardly worked in suppressing the allure of the voluptuous form of its wearer. It had been designed with the intention of accentuating the attractiveness of an ordinary lady—but Izumi's toned and curvaceous physique upgraded even a modest garb into a lethal weapon. With her thick, curly hair tied up from behind, highlighting her slender, white neck, Izumi now appeared like an empress instead of a small town landowner. The modern sterile lifestyle and the genetics of her people had preserved the woman's natural beauty beyond her years in a way impossible for the folk of a rural, hardworking community.

There was no way she wasn’t going to draw attention.

In fact, Riswelze as well found she had trouble looking at the woman straight.

“It's hard to move in and hard to breathe in...and...and...I...I'm going to spill out…”

Embarrassed, Izumi quickly turned away, pulled the blanket off the bed and hid under it in the corner like a shut-in.

With the way she behaved, it was clear she had never dressed for a high class banquet before. How could she be expected to work her way through such an important event? Was she going to be all right?

“It...it will be fine,” the assassin forced herself to insist, with little confidence. “Get over here. I'll add the finishing touches.”

Riswelze grabbed and pulled off one of the gray drapes hanging by the window and wrapped it around Izumi's shoulders like a shawl. It worked unexpectedly well. With the amount of exposed skin reduced, Izumi's assets were somewhat brought under control, changing her impression to more motherly and dignified.

Motherly...?

“Hm? Is something wrong?”

Izumi's sudden question made Riswelze realize her hands had stopped.

“Hey,” the girl said and looked away, without letting go. She was pretty sure she hadn't intended to say anything, but her lips kept on moving regardless. “What do you say, let's call this off, after all? Let's just...not do this, alright? Maybe you're right, the princess is just fine. I don't really need the Duke's money that bad either, there are easier ways to get by, and...it's not worth it, really. Why don’t we leave this town and go somewhere far, far away?”

“Eeh…?”

“You have a family? You do, don't you?”

“Well, can't say I don't,” Izumi admitted. “Just the same as everybody.”

Of course, Izumi thought of family as mother and father, a biological necessity, while that was no quite what Riswelze meant.

“Yeah, thought so,” the girl said, a bit sadly. “I don't know why you were escorting the princess, or whether you were honest with me about your relationship with her. That's none of my business, really. But, whatever the truth is, it can't be anything more important than whoever is waiting for you to come home. It's not.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. Me, I don't remember a whole lot about my parents anymore. I was around seven when I last saw them. They were traveling merchants, making their living trading miscellaneous goods—plain junk, to be honest—on the markets across the continent. Always on the road. I...it was somewhere west of Mesniria, I think. I didn't know the names or the places then. We set up our little camp for the night in a valley between the mountains, the same as any other day. And I got lost. That was it. My father always warned me against going off on my own, but when did I ever listen. I always found my way back. It was too fun, thrilling, having these little ‘adventures’. But that once, I didn't find my way. I wandered off into the nearby woods, thinking I'd explore a bit, and when I came back out, I had no idea which way I'd come from anymore. Everywhere I looked was just rocks and slopes that all looked completely identical to me. I never saw my parents again. I never got to tell them goodbye. After a night of aimless wandering, I was eventually found by...not so nice people. I was sold into slavery and from then on it was only one bad thing after another. You can probably guess. A gal like me doesn't become a murdering thief the easy way, right? Yeah. I grew up to be scum. The vile kind that won't think twice about stabbing innocent, helpless men and women in their baths. I—”

“Rise...”

“Please, don't say it.” Leaning forward, Riswelze hid her face by Izumi's neck. She thought she would cry, but surprisingly enough, didn't. Her tears had ran out long ago. Why was she even telling her all this? What had made her this soft? “I know I'm not making any sense, first urging you on and then telling you not to do it. But somehow, I just got the feeling that it shouldn't be like this. If I were your daughter, if you were my mother, I wouldn't want you to do it. Does that seem weird to you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Izumi said. “My daughter or not, I wouldn't want you to live your life like this either.”

“What are you saying, to a person who tried to kill you?” Riswelze wryly chuckled. “That's why you're too sweet. And that's what makes me fear for you.”

Izumi didn't say anything.

Not that she knew what to say. Having been an awkward loner her whole life, the eloquence required to encourage others was something she hopelessly lacked. Holding the girl, trying to comfort her with basic human contact—she was too nervous to even do that.

After a while, Riswelze regained her composure and pulled back, drawing a deep breath.

“I'm sorry. That was unprofessional of me,” she said. “I don't know why, just...Please forget it ever happened.”

“Um, it’s fine,” Izumi said.

“We're not going to stop here, are we?” Riswelze donned a confident smile again and stood upright with her hands on her hips. “Of course, I know it's out of the question. We're going to rescue the princess and get the Duke's valuables, right? I'm not giving up on that much coin! Let's do this then. Come on.”

3

The whole wide hill overlooking the Haywell fields, as well as the narrow road leading up to it, were decorated with dozens of lanterns, showing the way to the honored guests. The servants of the house had worked long hours in the past few days to ensure that it would truly become—in the host's words—a night to remember. The secret surprise event had brought the servants some (uncalled for) extra work, in upgrading the festivities to the appropriately royal level.

Nobody was counting the coin spent. Or the barrels of wine.

The Duke's banquet was officially set to begin at sunset and last through the night, but plenty of guests had already arrived while the sun still lingered above the inchoate wheat. They were those who had traveled the greatest distance and so couldn't precisely time the moment of their arrival. Their circumstances were naturally taken into account by the organizers, who ensured that the early ones weren't left to sit bored and hungry.

Izumi's carriage, however, was promptly on time.

Half a mile before the estate, Riswelze jumped off the ride, to make her stealthy approach across the northern fields, under the cover of the coming dark. The summoned earthling was then delivered to the entrance of the lion's den all alone.

By the cover story, Izumi was to be the Baroness of Letham, Ilyene Lan Marel. Letham was a real place, apparently, suitably distant yet not entirely unknown in Grelden, and there had been a real Baron as well, who died recently without leaving a legitimate heir. While Risewelze was not a Luctretzian by birth, she had learned a great many things at her prior occupation as a tavern maid. Izumi would pose as the late baron's distant relative from the remote land of Cotlann, who had only recently moved to Luctretz to claim her inherited property.

Good grief. Who invented all these names?

Memorizing wasn't Izumi's strongest suit. And neither was acting or lying. No matter how she tried, she had a hard time getting into the right mindset. Why couldn't she be the one to infiltrate the place from outside and let Riswelze attend the party? She had suggested that, but the assassin had rejected the idea.

“The point is in discretion,” she had said. “We are to get in and get out without being discovered. Do you know how to hide your presence? Do you know how to pick locks? Can you use spells for distraction? Runes?”

Izumi had to admit her lack of field experience.

She had tried to learn lockpicking—it was an elementary RPG skill, after all—but the modern Earth locks were in a whole different league compared to their medieval predecessors, so there weren't a lot of opportunities to practice. And magic was obviously not in her repertoire.

“But does that mean you know spells?” Izumi had instead asked, surprised. “You can like, turn invisible and so on?”

“Nearly anyone can use magic, it's not particularly hard if you learn the basics,” the assassin had proudly answered. “While I can't turn completely invisible, I do know how to hide in the shadows or create illusory light or sound for a diversion. That's child's play. I know a few runes of power too.”

“Wow, really? That's impressive!” Izumi had applauded, sincerely awed. “Considering how easily I beat you, I assumed you were only like a level five rogue at best!”

“You're just too damn strong!” Riswelze had angrily retorted. “Are you telling me you've made it this far in life without learning magic of any kind?”

“No, not one bit. But hey! Why don't you—”

“No, I'm not going to teach you,” the girl had already guessed Izumi's thoughts and interrupted her. “We don't have that kind of time here. And no matter how strong you are, a platoon of knights is too much for you. Would you even be able to run away? Those jugs are absurd, they get in the way a lot, don't they…? Do you get back pains? It must be a real bother...How did they even get like that...?”

“Um, why did the conversation turn to my chest...?”

“Ahem...Either way! The plan's been made and we're going to stick to it. Just behave yourself and you’ll be fine. Even if your cover is blown, the worst is, they'll throw you out. Poor idiots always try to sneak into banquets in hopes of free food. No respectable noble would make noise over something as trivial as that. Successful party crashing might even make you the guest of honor in some places I know. But if you're caught breaking in...that's different. Your life will be on the line.”

Recalling Riswelze's instructions now, Izumi sighed as she got off the carriage,

“What a complicated culture.”

Quite a line had formed outside the front gate, as checking everyone's invitations and verifying them on the host's lists took time.

The guests were regular-looking local men and women, husbands and wives, some perhaps as young as thirty, but the majority way older, in their fifties or perhaps even sixties. As nobles, they tended to be safe from the harms of poverty, famine, and diseases that brought the working class to an early grave. Not to mention the beasts prowling the wilderness.

All were clad in colorful, elegant costumes, made of the best materials money could buy, crafted by the most skilled of tailors. The assassin's judgment wasn't left wanting in comparison. Izumi's costume hardly stood out, in the good way or the bad, even if its wearer did in both. But whatever they thought of her as a person, nobody who noticed her arrival was left staring for long enough for it to turn awkward.

Nervously swallowing, Izumi joined the queue.

Besides her lack of real life experience with infiltration missions, there was another, particularly pressing reason why Izumi wasn't very happy with her lot.

That was her inexperience with life in general.

A shut-in who had barely left her house for years, Izumi had developed something of an anxiety for social occasions.

One person was fine.

Two people were still fine.

Three people were okay-ish.

Four, five, even six in the same room was tolerable, so long as she didn't need to say anything.

But when a group's member count went above a dozen, they ceased to be “individuals” and became a “crowd”. A mass, a bizarre, malformed monstrosity, a hydra with multiple, disparate heads, accompanied with staggering noise and chaos.

The necessary prerequisite for Izumi to retain her composure, the sense of being in control of the situation, was completely lost when she could no longer keep track of the faces around her.

The result was—panic.

The feeling Itaka Izumi hated the most.

The feeling of being completely helpless, powerless, trapped, a child.

Half the time in her youth, she had been training to become strong enough for the other world—and half just to get rid of that terrible feeling.

It would've been fine if the people around were “enemies”. If they were mere targets she was allowed to destroy, people who gave up their humanity by trying to kill her, people who weren't really even people, but just targets to take apart and destroy, like in a game. In that case, she could re-establish her innate sense of control again through the act of slaughter.

If only she had a weapon, everything would've been fine.

But she had none.

What's more, around her were “people”.

Untouchable, inviolable beings that had to be respected, obeyed, never offended. People, who held the one-sided power to decide her fate and because of that, had to be kept smiling at all times. Izumi's world had again turned into a social minefield, where one wrong, careless step could bring on the wrath of others.

That was the one kind of a game she detested.

Now, standing in line, with people ahead of her, more people coming to line up behind her, Izumi was not only locked up in a “crowd” but also engaged in the activity she equally detested—waiting.

This is fine. I am fine with this.

Doing her best to keep her nerves under control, Izumi inched forward, step after step closer to the gate as the line moved.

There's nothing to worry about. Everything's going to go well. I'm not fifteen anymore. I can go shopping by myself, mom. Just look at what the other people are doing. First, you hand over the letter of invitation, then name yourself, easy. A piece of cake. A walk in the park.

“Next, please,” a servant's voice made the line move forward again.

The man checking the names was very much your archetypal butler in appearance, a thin, older, dry-looking man in a tailcoat, his lengthy gray hair tied from behind, and circular glasses covering his small, reddened eyes.

It's just like at the airport, Izumi thought. I've never flown and it's not, but whatever. Airport. Think about airports. Flying in the sky. Hello. Pleased to meet you. This is Itaka—not! Eh? What was it again? I...Ill-something? I knew I should have written it down...

“Everything appears to be in order, Mister Delenvale. Mrs Delenvale. Please have a wonderful night.”

The couple, who were apparently called the Delenvales, stepped past the servant with a grunt.

Delenvale? That reminds me of Delaware. There's a place like that, isn't there? In America. Not that I've ever been there. Since I've never been in a plane. But when you think about Delaware, it sounds a lot like “tableware”, ufufufufu.

Realizing she was looking stupid, chuckling at her own pun, Izumi forced her poker face back on.

“Next please.”

As the line moved on, so did Izumi's pulse quicken.

Only two more, only two more, only two more, only two more. So slow, so slow, slow, slow, slow, slow, slow. Do you even know how to read, or are you just pretending? I'm going to die of old age at this rate. I mean it. It could happen. The chances of getting a cardiac arrest double every decade past the age of thirty. I read that online once.

Brigadier General Morwain and his daughter got the go-ahead without an incident as well.

“Next, please.”

Why would you bring your daughter for an avec, you old geezer? You're totally showing off there, aren't you? If I had a daughter, I wouldn't have come alone either. Which makes me realize, why exactly did I have to come alone? Couldn't Rise have found me a fake spouse too? If it were somebody handsome, he might have become a real spouse too. All sorts of things can happen when you're infiltrating an evil stronghold together. I've completely missed my chance. Yet again. Oh wait, what would it have looked like had Rise dressed up as a boy? Oh my. Oh my oh my. That is something we should've tried. Why didn't I think of that sooner!? No, we can still try it after this, for personal reference...Ohoho—

“Madam? Is something wrong?”

The servant's question brought Izumi back to her senses.

It was her turn already and everybody was looking.

“Oh!” she quickly stepped up. “It's Ita—ouch!”

“…?” The servant raised his brows.

“Sorry! I bit my tongue there, so it hurt, tehehe!” Izumi gave her needless excuse. The servant wasn't affected by her smile, as heartwarming as it was meant to be.

“Right. Madam. Your invitation...Please?”

“Why, of course. I have it right here in my pock—Eeh? It's not? Did I lose it already? Where could it have gone?”

“Ahem...”

“Aah, right! Right! I forgot I don't have any pockets in this dress, so I stuffed it here...”

Izumi dug up the small, folded letter from her cleavage. She did have a small purse with her, but she had thought this method made the item more accessible. Of course, she hadn't intended to start searching for it in front of everyone, but discreetly pick it out before her turn. But she forgot. And as she was moving, the letter had also dug its way deeper down. The servant and the guests behind her were rapidly changing color.

“There you gooo~!” she handed over the invitation—after checking her fake identity first. “Baron Ilyene Lan Marel of Letham! Ah! I mean Baroness, of course. I'm not a guy if that's what you're thinking!”

“...”

“Though it does sound suspicious if I say it myself. You can check if you don't believe me—”

“That...really won't be necessary, ma'am,” the servant interrupted her as Izumi was reaching for the hems of her skirt. Of course, she had only intended it as a joke, but whether he saw that or not, the butler still wasn't very amused.

“My condolences for the Baron’s passing,” he poignantly said. “May I ask, how exactly were you related to him?”

“I was his sister's youngest daughter, from the north,” Izumi explained, more or less in line with the made-up backstory. “I mean, still am, of course. Nobody else wanted the house, so I kinda ended up helping myself...”

“I find it rather hard to believe no one wanted the lands of Letham,” the servant raised his brows. Apparently, he knew more about the topic than Izumi did. “Neither have I ever heard of the “Bourbon Baron” having a sister abroad.”

“It's one of those family matters you don't spread around, okay,” Izumi said with a scolding gesture. She couldn't help but notice that the two knights guarding the gate also had their eyes on her.

“Where did you say you were from again, in the...north?” the servant repeated, looking like he wanted some elaboration.

“Yes!” Izumi only nodded with a smile.

“Well,” the butler said after a heavy pause, examining his book and Izumi's letter once more, “everything does appear to be in order. Your...excellency. But, I hope I'm not being rude, but should there not be a Baron with you as well?”

“Eeh? He died, didn't he?” Izumi tilted her head and answered.

“...I meant, your husband. The new Baron,” the servant clarified, clearing his throat. “Did he not move with you from...er, north? Should he not be attending together with your excellency? His name is not even among the invited, which seems a little strange to me.”

“Well, he died too!” Izumi answered. “On the way here. From the north. Yes! Nobody told you? Asking such a thing of a poor, lonely widow…How, how naughty of you…!”

“Ah, my apologies,” the man hurried to say, “I have been too rude. You must be in the midst of mourning then, considering the old Baron was only buried last month and it can't have been any longer since your journey to Luctretz. Are you sure it is fine to be attending banquets, at a time like this…?”

It was a custom common in Luctretz and Langoria for a widow to go into mourning for ninety days following the death of a spouse or a close relative, and not attend any festivities during that time. It was nothing like a law and frequently broken among the rich in particular, but openly behaving in such a carefree fashion was still frowned upon by the common people.

Of course, there was no way Izumi could know about it.

“That's right!” she said. “It's to forget my sorrows that I'm here! Is there something wrong with that? Or do you want to keep rubbing my loss in my face like this all night, in front of everybody?”

“O-of course not,” the servant quickly responded. “My apologies again. Who am I to judge? You have the Duke's invitation, and that is all that matters to me. Please, go on ahead and have a...pleasant evening, madam.”

Apparently deeming there was less trouble in letting the lone woman go than causing a scene at the gates by turning her away, the servant let Izumi pass. The line kept building up, after all.

“Thanks a bunch,” Izumi said and walked triumphantly through the gates.

Regardless of the fashion of her entry, she was in, and surely the end justified the means.

4

The sense of relief brought by her momentary success didn't carry Izumi for long. Following a straight passage framed with slim little fruit trees, marble pillars, and lanterns, she came to the vast front yard.

What she saw first was tall fountain decorated with life-like marble statues, before wide, white stone stairs that led up to the main building's entrance. Long tables had been set in two long lines to divide the spacious yard lengthwise, in anticipation of a buffet-style service. At the moment, however, the tables remained largely empty of anything substantial, with only slices of bread, fruits, drinks, and some light cocktail snacks set up.

First in the program, the host would step forward to open the banquet with a speech, thanking the guests for coming and introducing whatever agenda he wanted their attention with. Then, a toast would be raised. It was only then that the servants would bring over the food and wine, and the “socializing” could begin at full throttle.

Being from another world—or rather, being who she was—Izumi naturally knew nothing about party etiquette, and Riswelze, under the illusion that she at least had the basics covered, hadn't bothered to describe the proceedings in detail.

Fortunately, Izumi had few chances to advertise her ignorance.

Already upwards a hundred guests were present, split into smaller groups here and there to exchange greetings. Though even that many people were nowhere near enough to make the festival grounds look crowded, the lone earthling viewed it in a different light. Izumi felt no different from a rabbit thrown out to an open field where falcons preyed.

Quickly withdrawing to the side, she disguised herself as an inconsequential NPC, determined not to move a muscle, not to look at anybody, and only repeat the same rehearsed platitudes when spoken to. The mission to locate the fireworks and come up with a way to set them off had all but vanished from her distressed mind.

I want to die. Could I please die now?

—“Madam.”

“Hi——?”

Unfortunately for Izumi, a servant had already spotted the newcomer and wasted no time bringing her a glass. A slim glass filled with light, bubbly, golden liquid stood on a silver plate in the servant's hands.

Recovering from her initial shock, Izumi grabbed the glass and—emptied it in one gulp, returning it to the plate.

“Haa, that hit the spot! Thanks, Jeeves.”

“Er...”

Of course, the glass had been given with the up-coming toast in mind. The servant courteously informed the pretending Baroness of the matter.

“Eeh? Ah? Yes, of course! I knew that! Please forgive me! I forgot! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Izumi frantically bowed many times.

“N-no, it's not an offense demanding an apology, madam, please…raise your head...!”

The other guests didn't know what the scene was about, but seeing a mere attendant make a noble so abashed—a lonely, older woman, no less—quickly earned the poor man some deeply disapproving glares. A few minutes later, that servant was not seen serving drinks anymore.

“I wonder if we get to eat soon?” Izumi pondered. As nothing worth mentioning was happening, she was starting to slowly regain her courage. “I skipped lunch too, thinking I'd have a free, eat-all-you-can service here...”

In spite of her best efforts to become one with the background, there was no way Izumi could remain alone for long.

A tall, burly man soon detached himself from one of the chattering groups and composedly made his way to her across the yard.

He had to have been at least six feet and a half, dressed in a militaristic, grey-blue uniform. Two long rows of bronze buttons went vertically down the front of his coat, with several shorter lines of no less gaudy medals cutting horizontally across. He had a thick but tidily trimmed beard framing his square jaw, brown eyes with a strong but friendly look to them, and his short, dark gray hair he had combed stylishly backward. He seemed to be older than Izumi in age. Considering his intimidating presence, it was a mystery how well he had managed to blend into the crowd before.

Worried that he had noticed something suspicious about her behavior and was coming to expose her as a fraud, Izumi bit her lip and stiffened up.

Which way should she start running?

However, her fears soon proved premature.

“Good evening, madam,” the man stopped in front of her and politely greeted Izumi with a bow. His deep voice, resonating within his mighty body, matched his looks, but the tone of it was unexpectedly suave. “I hope you don't find me intrusive in my query, but I would much like to learn your name, young madam. I believe I have not had that pleasure in the past.”

“Y-young…?”

Whoa, sleek.

“I...I'm Ilyene, a baroness,” Izumi answered in short, having already forgotten the rest of her long-winded title. “I'm still new around here and only recently became a noble and...so, I don't know much about this land and its people yet. That's about it...”

Fortunately, the man could connect the dots on his own, by natural process of elimination.

“I see,” he said, “your property would not happen to be that Letham, whence the old Baron recently passed away, would it?”

“Oh, that was it,” the woman nodded. “You're well informed, uncle.”

“Uncle…?” the man looked surprised by Izumi's excessive, reflexive familiarity, which she immediately regretted. With the overly blunt cartoons and games as her primary social role models, Izumi’s poor behavior couldn’t be helped. But again, the man proved to be unexpectedly flexible. Quickly recovering, he burst into classy laughter, “Ha, ha, ha! Indeed, I am doing you injustice, demanding names and giving none in return. I am General Olliver Matis Grohn, of the Royal Army of Luctretz. And your humble servant, milady.”

“Ooh, a general?” Izumi said, impressed. “Now that I think back, I saw another general earlier, outside. Sure makes me feel safer with so many warriors around!”

“Ah, are you perhaps referring to old Morwain?” the General asked. “What a coincidence, I hadn't heard he was here. Retired he may now be, but I have had the honor of calling that man my superior and mentor, back in the days I was but a student of war. Oh, so time flies. I oftentimes wish I could go back to those innocent days of yore.”

“I know that feeling! I totally do,” Izumi agreed and sighed. “There were so many things in the past I'd like to do otherwise, if only I could. But there are no second chances in life, are there?”

“You've dressed the harsh truth in fair words. But what regrets could there possibly be on the path that has brought you before my eyes tonight? I must confess, where you lament the fickle passage of time, I thank the Divines. For witnessing beauty like yours makes me feel privileged to the highest degree.”

“Eeh, what are you saying?” Izumi bashfully gasped. “I'm not pretty at all! You're being rather bold there, Mister General! Do they teach nothing in that army of yours but going on the offensive?”

“Touché! Ha, ha, ha!” the man laughed again. “I pardon if I've made myself look crude, but even though they call me a noble by heritage, I am deep down a simple man of the army. And as such, may only report the truth the way it appears in my eyes. I assure you, for the truth of your fairness there is no disguise. Which begs the question—why is a flower as gorgeous as yourself left unattended here, among these toxic tongues? Where is the husband to grip your hand and shield you from the malice that lurks in the hearts of these rich and wretched, right as it is about to be unleashed by the flowing of wine?”

“That is a bit troubling question,” Izumi responded, looking away. “It so happens my husband couldn't endure the toils of our long journey to barondom, and left me to walk this world by myself. Sniff. I have to admit I’m a bit anxious over what will happen. All I wanted was to forget the sorrows of the past, not find even more...”

“Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss, milady,” the General bowed again, before resuming, “painful as it undoubtedly is, please hear me out. For I understand your grief only too well. My stars of fortune hardly shine any brighter. It has now been five winters since my poor wife succumbed in the labors of childbirth, leaving me but half a man. Since our share in fate is the same, nothing would please me more but to help stave off your grieves. For the duration of our fine Mayor's banquet, at least. If only you allow it, my fair lady.”

This guy is a bit heavy, in a lot of ways…

Izumi was slightly reluctant to go along with it, but on the other hand, she did see the upsides of the situation. In General Grohn's weighty presence, even the surrounding crowds became minimized, their stares notably easier to endure. If the man's company helped avoid suspicion from the hosts, or keep anyone else from making awkward passes at her, it was probably for the best to go along with it. How she should get rid of him in the end to carry out her mission—well, she could worry about it when the time came.

“I suppose it's fine then...” Izumi ended up saying.

“Excellent!” the General nodded with an encouraged smile. “I shall not fail your trust.”

Of course, Izumi was not as naive as to misunderstand her new companion's motivations. Innocently keeping her from feeling lonely was probably not even the prologue to what he had in mind. Izumi was inexperienced, not born yesterday. She had seen a number of pick-up attempts in her home world as well, though they were quite a bit less flowery and more to the point.

Wait a minute, doesn't that mean—isn't there a very real chance that I'll stop being a maiden tonight?

At that notion, Izumi's train of thought, which had discreetly derailed again, fell off the track completely.

Like an overheating steam engine, she first turned bright red; then all the blood drained from her head and she fell white as a sheet, swaying dizzily with a hollow look.

“Milady!?” The General observed her state with concern. “Are you all right? You look ill! Would you like to lay down for a moment?”

“L-l-l-l-lay down!?” Izumi recovered, turning red again. “N-n-no. No way. Not at all. Not at the moment, I mean. Maybe in the future, who knows? I wonder. The world is a strange place, isn't it! Ahahaha!”

“Um, it certainly is...”

With a guy like that? No way, no! Absolutely not! I always wanted my first time to be something special! With someone I can really lo-lov...But then again, I'm already almost forty. Who else would have me? You only get so many miracles in life. If I say no here, will I remain an old maid to the end of my days? He's a general, at least. Better than a nobody, right? Isn't it fine? No, remember the mission! I had a mission! That's right, I'm here to see Yule, that's all. But anything might happen along the way, not like it would take long...No, would it take long? Should it take long? I don't know! How would I know!?

“Ooohhh—!”

At that moment, Izumi's troubles were momentarily swept away by the excited sounds of awe produced by the guests around the yard. Over time, even more people had arrived in their colorful costumes, and now, with most of them gathered, all those people turned their attention towards the manor and the staircase, where the host of the night was making his appearance.

Izumi followed their example.

Walking down the stairs in an immaculate white tie and tails, was a dark-haired youth. For being a duke as well as the mayor of the whole town, he certainly looked young, well younger than Izumi.

But her gaze wouldn't linger on the man for long.

Next to the Mayor walked a beautiful and dignified girl, even younger than he was, in a stunning vermilion ball gown adorned with countless, rosy little bow knots, her hand resting on his arm. Her rosy hair was braided and tied up, showing her prideful, valiant face unobstructed.

“Oh, it's Yule.”

Though she already knew the girl had been brought here and expected to run into her sooner or later, Izumi felt her pulse quicken at the sight. There seemed to be nothing wrong with Yuliana on the outside. But that blood-red dress made Izumi inexplicably uneasy. Guilty.

“You know the mistress?” the General asked her. “She does have a sort of familiar face. I could swear I have seen her before, but where could that have been...”

“Ahaha, no, my mistake...” Izumi denied, remembering that she was supposed to be from far away. Claiming to be acquainted with the Langorian princess would've been too weird.

Izumi's attention was next drawn to a third figure, following a few steps behind the Duke and the princess. A man seemingly between the other two in age, his attire of choice wasn't very festive—a black robe that veiled his body from neck to feet, its long hems trailing behind. It was surprising he could walk without tripping. Holding onto a long, black staff, the man looked like a grim reaper haunting the happy couple, effectively ruining the mood.

“You know the wizard?” Izumi asked.

“Eh, pardon me?” The General raised his brows.

“Yeah, the one behind. The black one. With the staff and all.”

“What ominous things are you saying, milady?” General Grohn looked disturbed, scanning the yard again with his eyes. “Where, pray tell, do you see such a vision? Try not to frighten me, for I take poorly to wraiths! Let that not be a demerit to my manhood, but I had a nasty encounter with a few apparitions in the past, patrolling the western shores...I shall never forget that stormy night...”

“Hmm…?”

Though the description should've left no room for error, it seemed the General had no idea who she was talking about.

Did he forget his goggles home? I'm not seeing things, am I…?

The Duke reached the lowest platform a bit above the audience, which had a guarded extension suited for giving speeches. Spreading his hands wide, he waited for the applauding guests to fall silent.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Greetings to you all!” he began with a steady voice, like a veteran performer. “You all know me, I believe, but allow me...I love introducing myself, no matter how many times I do it. I am Norenbagh Walington, a fool calling himself the Duke of Haywell, the Mayor of the beautiful town of Grelden, a humble servant of yours, a servant of your children, and your elders. And as such, I intend to ensure that tonight will become a memory you will cherish for all time.”

Everyone applauded and cheered loudly.

Clap, clap, Izumi hit her hands together for appearance's sake, annoyed by the over-confident smirk on the Duke’s face.

I don't like this one.

“Thank you,” the Duke continued after a pause. “Thank you kindly. Before we get to the eating and singing—and certainly before any drinking—I have some sobering news for you all. In a good way. Great news. Beautiful news. What I'm about to share with you, my dear guests, you will hear before anybody else in our wide world. I hope you find it in you to appreciate that fact. Because soon—I guarantee this—indeed the whole world from Yornvik to Tuestia will gush over what remains only briefly unknown to you. Yes. The wonderful woman standing by my side should need introductions even less than I do. Still, since I'm sure some of you find it just a little hard to believe, to the point of doubting your own eyes, let me confirm it now beyond any sliver of a doubt. Here stands none other than her royal highness, the First Princess of the proud kingdom of Langoria—Yuliana Da Via Brannan!”

A sea of astonished gasps and murmur filled Izumi's ears.

The hundreds of guests were understandably shocked by the reveal.

“What in the world...!” General Grohn also exclaimed, his jaw falling.

But the Duke soon gestured for silence and continued,

“Why is her highness here? I'm sure you're all just dying to know the reason. Let me keep you in suspense no further. For today is the day that we would like to announce to you—our engagement, no more. Please, my love. The stage is yours.”

The man stepped aside to make way for Yuliana.

An expectant, heavy silence took over the front yard, as the girl stepped forward. No one even dared to breathe. Beautifully containing her undoubtedly tumultuous emotions before the audience like a true princess, Yuliana's eyes swept over the crowd once before she spoke,

“Yes, it is as you have heard. True, every word of it. I am Yuliana Da Via Brannan of Walhollem, the sole daughter and heir to my father, King Astellen XIV. What has brought me so far away from the halls I call home, in this almost sneaky manner? The answer would be love. That's right, love. It is today, that I have given my vow to stand by this man, known to you as the Mayor of Grelden, Duke Walington, in sickness and health...”

The princess paused and closed her eyes for a bit, as though her head hurt, but quickly resumed,

“...Though I am but a woman of another land to you good people, you have no doubt already heard many things about me. Things that might make my present standing before you seem unsavory. Shameful things, like that I've already pledged myself to another man. Or that I ran from my father in disgrace, branded a traitor and an outlaw. But I assure you, none of that is correct. Even now, my heart remains undeniably true to the best interests of both the people of Langoria—as well as to those of Luctretz. Were we not one people, not so long ago? Could we not be so again? It was in my desire to see these two proud nations take a step closer to one another, that I've come here, even defying my father's will in the process. Because I could not lie about the way I feel...About this overwhelming emotion, that even now makes my heart tremble...”

The corners of the princess's lips twitched a little, giving weight to her words.

“My heartfelt wish is to see the people of these two lands hold hands in mutual respect—not to witness them drift further apart by each day. I...I don't want to lose to the fear and terror our enemies sow in our midst. But only words would my wishes be, if I weren't willing to act upon them in person as well. Which is why I will henceforth work tirelessly for this goal in a lifelong partnership with my Luctretzian spouse. In hopes that our example would be wider followed.”

With a quiet thank you, Yuliana ended her speech and stepped back, covering her mouth.

The audience was deeply moved by her passionate words and the great effort apparent in their presentation. Some of the women were openly weeping. The applauds were more contained in volume than before, but warmer in spirit.

“Thank you!” The Duke hurried to reclaim the front. “To have such a strong, beautiful, dedicated woman as my bride...I won't lie. I'm the happiest darned guy in the world. But!” He slammed his hands together. “I won't hold you any longer. Keep in heart what you've seen and heard, even should your brain forget. The banquet's now on! If there's anything you miss, then let me know. I will get it for you. Even the Moon from the sky, I really feel like I could do it. Cheers!”

A servant brought him a glass, which the Duke raised, and everyone in the audience mirrored his gesture. Izumi had received a refill as well. Perfectly in sync with the host, she emptied hers in one move.

Listening to his speech and Yuliana's, Izumi's mission priorities had seen an abrupt shift, where a discreet escape no longer played any part.

She couldn't tell why, in specific.

Inside her chest now was only an ugly, mixed mess unlike anything she had felt before, and for having never known it before, she couldn't even begin to understand or contain it. But in the midst of that overboiling, venomous soup of emotion, one thought stood out perfectly clear to her, even if she couldn't find the words to explain it, even to herself.

One way or another, I'm going to kill that man.

Following yet another round of applause and approving noises, the banquet began in earnest.

A small battalion of servants stepped forward, loaded the tables in the yard with the most extravagant feast, and the guests helped themselves to the offerings in a more or less orderly fashion. While everyone's attention was momentarily taken by the menu, the Duke approached his young bride.

“Try to look a little more heartbroken, will you, my dear,” he told Yuliana. “The guests just might get this funny idea that you're being kept here against your will.”

“What do you expect of me?” the girl bitterly retorted.

“I expect you to retire for the night. Effective as it may be, the gias is hardly foolproof. I can't have you find some unlikely allies among the guests, or pass any warnings to Langoria. You there,” he nodded to a trio of knights standing further away. “Escort her majesty to the guardhouse. No need to hold back.”

“What?” Stunned, Yuliana's eyes widened, “The guardhouse? What is the meaning of this?”

“Why, I need someone to keep an eye on you, while my duties keep me busy,” the imposter answered, “and you might as well learn a trick or two instead of sitting idle, weeping all night. The men that are off-duty need their share of entertainment as well, so that they won't start to harass the guests.”

“Tricks…?” she blinked. “Entertained? What in the world…?”

“Goodness me!” The Duke lost his patience with her denseness. “Our wedding night is not far off, and I don't want inexperienced women in my bedroom! No matter how many I try, virgins are always a guaranteed disappointment. I'm telling you to see to the worldly needs of our guards—the way only a woman can. And don't come back until you know how to please a man.”

As his meaning finally cleared up to her, all color drained from Yuliana's face.

“Why...That—that is preposterous, I...That is no way to treat royalty…!”

“Oh, so now you hide behind the status? Weren't you determined to throw all your past privileges away when you ran away from your castle? How about you try the commoner perspective for once? Enough already. Take her away. I have to hear dull clacking by brainless broads more than my fill tonight. And don't you worry about minor inconveniences like pregnancy. I'm sure Joviél has an elixir or two for that. When it's time for you to bear children, they'll be from my loins, my blood, make no mistake about that.”

“You're a savage…!”

Yuliana grit her teeth.

There were hundreds of people right under her eyes, who might have been able to lend her a hand in her distress, but she could only gaze at them in helpless anguish. Her oath bound her voice, as going against her future spouse would have meant directly opposing the Emperor's plans. Even if the sovereign of Tratovia knew nothing about Yuliana's plight, personally, the dark elf's ancient magic treated any gained advantage as the new point of balance, which could not be disturbed.

And so Yuliana was escorted away, sinking deeper into the abyss of despair with each step.

My lord...is this your will as well? Are you fine with your vessel being tainted…?

Mysterious were the ways of the Divines.

The voice of Aiwesh—didn't answer.

5

Standing in the line for food, Izumi eventually stirred from her dark thoughts and then directed a question to her massive companion.

“That duke boy, I wonder what he's like?”

“Boy?” General Grohn looked amused behind his beard. “He is not much younger than myself, milady! Or do you mean to insinuate that I appear that youthful in your eyes? In that case, I must thank you kindly for the compliment.”

“Eeh, he's not? But he looks...” Izumi glanced at the platform again. “Well, I guess it doesn't matter.”

“What, this can't be the first time you see his excellency in person?” the man exclaimed, raising his thundering voice in surprise.

Wondering if she had somehow exposed herself with her comment, Izumi hurried to explain, “Ah, no, well, yes, it was to properly introduce myself that I took his invitation, of course! Being all new as a Baroness and so on!”

“I see!” the General nodded. “That is very well done of you, lady Ilyene! But, if that is your purpose, then why wait? Let us go see him right away! The delicacies will not run out on us, I'm sure, but look, good old Norenbagh is up there, ripe for the taking.”

“Eeeh!?” Izumi was again caught off-guard by her unlikely ally's straightforwardness. The thought of approaching the last boss before the story mode was cleared hadn’t seemed like an option in her mind. Neither did she want to face Yuliana like this and risk being exposed as a poser. After all, there was a very real chance that the princess was still upset with her for the earlier betrayal and would have her thrown in jail. “I-is that really all right? For us to bother such important people…? The princess is there too! A real princess...! My heart couldn't take it…!”

“Throw away all modesty there, milady!” General Grohn only laughed at her anxieties. “I dare list the good Duke among my closest friends. I've gone hunting in his merry company, and in the company of his late father a good many times, and would trust him my back any time, anywhere. He will not fail us, you will see! Let us go congratulate the couple on their engagement! That is our duty as his guests! But, this is a bit funny, I was under the impression he was already married…?”

And so, against Izumi's feeble resistance, the huge General took her hand in his and led her away from the buffet line, up the stairs, to where the Duke remained, having just sent away his fresh bride.

“Norenbagh, my bugger!” the General greeted his old hunting partner. “It has been too long!”

In stark contrast, the Duke grimaced, looking anything but pleased to meet his old friend. Being a Duke in appearance only and even less of an old friend. The quick smile with which he received the approaching visitors was pitifully crooked.

“Isn’t this a pleasure…ow!”

“What a party you've set up, you old coot,” the General tightly gripped the Duke's hand, recalling the build of someone sturdier than the actual person. “I always thought you were humble to a fault, but I am not displeased by the change, not in the least. Your age started bearing that heavily on you? Well, let me tell you, when I hear the word 'feast', this is precisely the kind of a scene I have in mind.”

“I'm glad it's to your liking...General,” the young man responded with effort, shaking his brutalized hand.

“Ooh, general! Who’s general?” the guest shook his head in displeasure. “There are no generals between you and I! Didn't we become brothers over the heartblood of that Anceller we slayed? Hahaha! Your head so nearly went flying, if not for the bolt that I loosened when I did! Those were the times! What do you say?”

“Indeed, times were had. 'My friend'.”

“But you're settling down for good now? Got yourself a real princess, did you? I thought you said a woman of your own town was all you ever wanted? Indeed, I thought you already had one? Whatever happened to her? Olivia, was she? Something or the other. Well, I suppose sending off your old wench in favor of a younger princess is a temptation no man can profess resistance to. But I never took you for one of that sort. By the way, where is the new damsel?” the General looked around, as if expecting to see Yuliana hiding somewhere behind the flowerpots. “I thought I should congratulate her ladyship in person. I once saw her at a parade in the capital, back when she was only a wee little lass by her father's coattails. How quickly they grow!”

“I'm very sorry to disappoint you,” the Duke said, “but my fiancée felt ill and has retired to her quarters. She's still drained by the troubles of her stormy journey and for upsetting her dear father. You know the women. Like delicate flowers, easily withered.”

“'The wife's strength is her husband's strength. I want myself no feather, but a rock to fall upon'—Those were your very own words, weren't they, Norenbagh,” the General reminded, a bit taken aback. “So people grow, but even after growing up, they yet change! Dear me! I suppose you started to fashion yourself a gardener in your old days, after everything, when you speak so of flowers.”

“Well, a man's tastes are hard to grasp and ever evolving,” the imposter answered, his smile getting only more forced. “And I do have my position to remember. Men of power live not only for themselves but their land, and that land stands only ever as strong as they lift it.”

“I thought each man is free as a bird and even kings are only brothers of men! That is what the Luctretzian spirit is about. What you're saying now sounds a whole lot like pompous imperial garbage to me. You haven't fallen in with that lot, have you?”

“Not by a longshot, haha...” In an effort to distract the prying General, the Duke turned his attention to Izumi. “Excuse my demented memory—it has only been getting worse in my old days—but I'm not looking at your wife here, am I?”

General Grohn cheered up at once,

“Alas, not! This lovely lady here would be the fresh Baroness Ilyene of Letham, whom I've had the pleasure of accompanying on this fine eve!”

“Hello-hello,” Izumi greeted in a hollow tone and bowed like a high school student. “I’m Ilyene. Nice to meet you. Let's get along, your duke-ness.”

“Er, right,” the Duke's frown wasn't getting better. “Correct me if I'm mistaken, but was not the former Baron without an heir? I was quite certain he had willed the city of Grelden to inherit his lands?”

“That's right, that's right,” Izumi went along with the story, “what would I do with land anyway, I'm comfortable just being a Baroness. I wouldn't make for a good farmer, ehehe.”

“Very humorous, milady,” the man dryly remarked. “Nearly all the wine in southern Luctretz is produced by the vineyards of Letham, including what we serve here tonight. And good wine, as you can well see, is never without takers. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't have let such a goldmine slip from my hands.”

“Maybe you wouldn't, but I'm not too keen on gold, really,” Izumi innocently smiled, “I already have more than one old woman needs of that sort.”

“Well said, milady!” the General joined in. “A roof over your head, a stuffed belly and the jolly crackling of fire in the hearth—what else do human beings, noble or not, need to be happy? Those are the things I miss the most in the cold garrisons of the capital—not gold. Bah! I've found that there is nothing that brings more trouble in the lives of simple folk.”

“Simple folk,” the Duke repeated, his smile slightly less forced this time, but not an ounce more friendly.

Izumi glanced at the robed figure in the background.

The General still hadn't paid so much as a look to the eerie, attention-grabbing shadow looming so close by. The strange wizard hadn't said a word either or moved from his position. Everyone, including the person himself, appeared content with simply pretending he didn't exist.

But Izumi did see him in perfect clarity.

Looking closer, she saw that the boy had long, pointy ears.

An elf?

Seeing a real elf for the first time in her life, Izumi immediately became filled with giddy, childish excitement. Then she realized the elf was staring straight back at her.

Quickly pretending she was merely looking around, Izumi kept turning her head like an owl, until her neck reached its limits. Then, mimicking a surveillance camera, she slowly rotated back the other way. But the glare fixed at her wasn't released. Rather, it only gained in intensity. And animosity.

“Well! Please enjoy the night, General, Baroness,” the conversation had paused and the Duke decided it was the opportune moment to make his retreat. “I am deeply sorry, but as the host, there are still many more menial matters that demand my attention. If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to turn to my servants. And please look forward to the fireworks.”

“It was a moment to reminisce with a good friend that I needed, but I suppose the stock on that has run out.” Begrudgingly accepting the cue, General Grohn turned from his not-so-old friend and held out his colossal hand to Izumi, “Shall we?”

Izumi wasn't too sorry to follow the upright soldier back down the stairs and escape the sorcerer's glare. But behind her back, she could faintly hear the Duke turn to his elusive companion with a hushed command,

“Get rid of those two for me, will you? They mean nothing but trouble.”

6

Primal terror unlike anything she had experienced numbed Yuliana's legs as she walked. The guards were taking her across the backyard, past the stables, towards a longhouse built on the northern side of the hill, in the embrace of a little grove. That was where the knights stationed at the Duke's estate had their quarters, a distance away from the main house.

Though they were officially associated with the Luctretzian royal army division dedicated to Grelden's defense, these troops were in reality all handpicked by the false Duke and his associates, their loyalties closer to the kingdom of currency.

More than a few had background as lowly mercenaries, bounty hunters, even bandits, who never went through proper military training, and had no discipline to speak of. They were knighted on paper and bore their uniforms for appearances only. Wolves in armor, motivated by earthly gain and nothing more.

Whatever ideals or values they might have held in the past had been chipped away by years of harsh life in the wild, before being hired for more stable service, and because of that, they held no particular sympathy for the people they were supposed to protect.

The purpose behind the assembly of this haphazard brigade was simple—to guard the Empire's spies, even if that meant going against their colleagues in the town guard or the citizens of Grelden themselves.

The false Mayor was better than aware that to maintain the loyalty of his guard corps, more than a steady flow of copper, bread, and wine was needed. He sought to bind the guards tighter to his cause through various acts of villainy. Instead of trying to quell their less noble characteristics, he wordlessly encouraged them. He turned a blind eye to hazing and abuse, and assigned corporeal punishments and extended service for made up reasons, all to keep the men on edge and angry. Thieves, beggars, and wanderers caught in the Haywell fields faced no law but imprisonment and torture in the hands of the bored guards.

To balance the purposefully poor treatment, their lord bought them women, food, and drink at excess with the city's funds, disregarding their occasional drunken brawls.

Lawless and disordered, the Duke's guard platoon over time slipped into superficially contained anarchy, converting the once fair Haywell estate into a veritable nest of banditry in the process.

Foul rumors began to circulate in the area and Grelden's guards detested their colleagues in the Mayor's service, but, unable to openly oppose the city's leader, they were helpless before the rumors of atrocities. Their respect for the past lord of the land now allowed his disguised imposter to control them.

And it was the very home of those loathsome villains, where they were now taking the princess of Langoria.

“You can't do this to me,” Yuliana told the knights escorting her. “Let me go now, and I will forgive you. I will speak on your behalf when your master is brought to the justice he deserves.”

“Sure can talk, this one,” the guard walking on her right grunted.

“The tongue at least is practiced then,” the one on the left added.

“I am your superior in rank, you don’t have the right to lay a finger on me!”

“To this day, I have not learned the difference between the ass of a princess and the ass of a whore. Not that I've had the chance to do a thorough comparison before. Every day's full of firsts, ainnit?”

“Animals,” the princess looked away in disgust.

“Humans are animals, yes,” the guard replied. “It was no goddess that pushed you into this world either, bloodied and screaming, and no more was a god that lad who did the deed before. At least we're honest about it.”

“Just shut up,” the third knight at the front urged. “You're getting on my nerves with your blabber.”

“Oh, now I know where I lost my axe,” the knight on the right remarked after a pause, “seems I left it up your ass, Milfred. And sideways to boot.”

“Don't call me that,” the knight apparently called Milfred retorted, but wouldn't stop walking.

“Ah yes, you were the new one, Millie. Both in the guard and in life. Haven't had a chance with a woman yet, have ya? Don't worry. You just might get lucky tonight. You'll loosen up after that. Though not as much as her majesty, I'm afraid.”

The longhouse was getting closer.

With each successive step, listening to the vulgar exchange, Yuliana's distress deepened.

The sun had already set an hour ago.

It was the domain of the night and the Lord of Light could not manifest her power at will. Not without Yuliana performing the ritual. But would she have the chance to perform the ritual? She had to try. Once she was locked inside that house, she knew she would be done for. It was now or never.

“My lord—I beseech thee...” she spoke. Fear made every word feel unbearably heavy and stick in her throat. She was shaking, her teeth clattering and could barely breathe.

“Hey, it's too soon to be calling me a lordship,” one of the knights interrupted her, leaning closer to grab her waist. Too close. Yuliana quickly twisted herself to avoid him.

“Why, you bastard, she was talking to me, clearly!” the second knight reached out to shove his companion by the shoulder.

“Well, soon she'll be too busy to talk to anybody! For there's better use for the part of her that's usually reserved for saying things.”

As the conversation kept turning more and more colorful and Yuliana's face a darker shade of gray and green, they reached the building. There was another knight keeping the door. Seeing her time had come, Yuliana made one last, desperate attempt to turn and run. But her grandiose dress projected her moves too early, and the knight to her left was more alert than his lazy impression implied. He quickly stuck the bottom half of his halberd in the way and stopped her.

“Not so fast, oho!” he roughly levered her towards the door. “This ain't my first time at the rodeo, you know. Been catchin' hares since before I could talk.”

The second knight wasted no time to grab the princess by her arm and forcefully dragged her inside the house with him. There was no way for Yuliana to fight back. The armored glove held her like a vice. Without her gear, without a weapon of even the most primitive sort, she might as well have been but a child. She had planned to steal a knife or a fork from the banquet tables, but not even that opportunity had been given to her.

The knights crammed in through the narrow entrance, the princess with them, and the door fell shut with a heavy bang.

The trap was closed.

There was no longer any chance of escape.

The longhouse was a simple hall on the inside with a large, stone-made fireplace constructed in the middle, its massive chimney towering through the ceiling. Long dining tables on both sides of the fireplace divided the space lengthwise. By the walls, there were simplistic bunk beds for less than ninety guards, of whom thirty or so were present, free of duty. The banquet demanded heavier than usual security, but shifts would be changed at midnight, so no one was asleep. Soon enough, some thirty rude pairs of eyes were fixed at Yuliana, who stood out in her crimson dress like a blooming orchid on a dungheap.

Stepping forward to stand comically in attention, one of her escorts tore off his pot-like helmet and announced with a deep bow,

“Allow me to present to you, the crown princess of Langoria, Yuliana Da-da-daa. I've been told she is entirely unfamiliar with the finer workings of male anatomy, and it is our lord's humble wish for us to make her a scholar in the field.”

Mean laughter filled the room.

To keep seeing their faces, Yuliana squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth, wanting nothing more but for Death's hand to claim her before any of theirs.

7

Like a shadow, Riswelze leaped over the outer perimeter wall crowning the hill with the manor. So far everything had gone better than expected. Weed grew faster than wheat and, left uncared, a batch south of the hill had reached tall enough to mask her approach. Following the sun's setting behind the distant hills, the chances of being detected were further lowered. The ease with which she had found her way inside the manor grounds made the assassin embarrassed for exaggerating the job’s difficulty to Izumi. She was confident she could have robbed the few passing patrols of their helmets and they would not have noticed.

The estate was more heavily guarded than it usually would've been, with three active patrols on each side of the building and several stationary watchmen at strategic positions by the wall. But most of the security detail was focused in the festival area in the front yard and the others were clearly bored and displeased with their part. There was not an ounce of alertness in their conduct. No one appeared to expect uninvited visitors.

And Riswelze had her tricks.

Using a spell she had learned over the years, Cloak of Darkness, she masked her appearance and advanced. The magic didn't make her outright invisible, but so long as she remained stationary in the shade, her figure was difficult to tell apart from its surroundings, even at a close distance. Encouraged by her rapid progress, she had crossed over the wall without waiting for the agreed distraction by the fireworks.

None of her earlier doubts remained. She was back in her element.

Still, the girl extinguished the sense of excitement as soon as it emerged in her heart, silencing even her thoughts.

The key to a successful infiltration was patience, as she well knew.

The assassin moved in quick, short bursts, from one hiding spot to another, which the thick fruit trees growing around the manor provided in abundance. Each time she stopped, she remained perfectly still for a while, as if turned one with the earth she walked, and waited. She observed the holes in the defenses and patrol routes and always made sure to plan her moves three steps ahead.

Her search for the Duke's treasury was best started from his office, which Riswelze knew to be located on the topmost floor of the main building. Her associate inside had revealed it to her, as well as many other invaluable details regarding the place and its protections.

Yet not even this insider knew where Grelden's Mayor kept his gold. Most of the man's finances were of course safe in the town bank, but he had to keep a considerable stash of coin at hand for any sudden expenses—those that were best left unbooked, in particular. Riswelze had never known a noble without such dealings under the table.

Reaching the base of the main building after the last patrol had passed, the assassin soundlessly climbed up the drainage pipe with the agility of a squirrel. It didn't take her many heartbeats to reach the edge of the roof on the third floor and fling herself over it. No watchmen were positioned on top of the manor itself. The path was clear.

Ahead of her stood the dark windows of the smaller fourth floor, the windows of the Duke's office facing the sunrise.

But before approaching them to break in, Riswelze couldn't resist but turn and take a look at the breathtaking view spreading below her boots.

The Haywell hill, adorned with the countless lanterns of the festival, as well as the dark, silent fields encircling it, extending all the way into the distance where the night's thick curtains veiled the horizon....As she overcame this brief instance of what she labeled as “girlish sentimentality” and was about to turn back to the task at hand, something unexpected caught Riswelze's sharp gaze.

A girl in a red dress being led across the backyard by a trio of knights, towards the longhouse on the other side. Even from that distance, Riswelze easily identified the knight princess of Langoria.

The Duke doesn't value royalty much, does he?

The assassin wasn't innocent enough not to understand the situation. But even as she pitied the princess as a fellow woman, that pity alone was not enough to make her run to her aid.

You cannot save everyone—Riswelze had learned that lesson at a young age when empathy still tormented her. For each soul she had risked herself and endured great pains to rescue from the horrors of the underworld, tens more perished in ways far more abominable.

The girl's heart had quickly become hardened, her mind numbed to the suffering of others. There was no way she could have gone on living otherwise. Had she allowed every cry of anguish to shake her, every death and injury dishearten her, her soul would've sank into delirium and madness in a matter of weeks.

To preserve the integrity of her spirit, lines had to be drawn.

If an obstacle was impossible to overcome, why challenge it?

To survive, she had to pick her battles. The princess had failed in this basic task, as had so many others who overestimated their luck and ability. The rewards of stupidity were immediate and always deserved. Such was the law of the wild.

Terrible waste, but ultimately not related to Riswelze herself in any way.

Rather, the guards having one more thing to keep them occupied was only to the benefit of her thievery. Trying to help the princess would have meant giving up on the heist and escaping empty-handed. If escape was even possible anymore at that point.

Riswelze turned her back on the captive and took a step forward.

Yet, her oddly reluctant feet soon stopped.

Though she reassured herself in all sincerity that the princess meant nothing to her, something still bothered her.

The princess was someone of importance to Itaka Izumi.

Hadn't the woman come here just to find her companion? She had been willing to walk into peril not for coin, but only for Yuliana's sake.

Riswelze had always thought deep down that rescuing the princess was nonsense, but so long as it helped her to the Duke's riches, which she hadn't dared to pursue before, any assistance was welcome. She shouldn't have concerned herself with the pair any further than that.

But concerned she was.

The way the two had acted at the inn, at the market, in the blacksmith's shop—observing them from the shadows, Riswelze had been filled with a mysterious, ambiguous feeling that confused her thoughts.

It was an annoyance, a distraction, but at the same time strangely gentle.

Familial longing.

What would Izumi do if she found her companion too late?

She'd be heartbroken, for sure.

She'd be crushed, perhaps even to the point of losing her will to live.

Thinking about that, Riswelze shuddered. She didn't want to see it. Even after all the horrors she had witnessed in her life, it was unbearable as a mere thought. Itaka Izumi's tears and anguish were one thing she knew for certain she never wanted to behold, if only she could help it.

“Blast it.”

Turning away from the office room windows, the assassin dropped over the edge of the roof. Sliding down the wall from window sill to the next, Riswelze jumped to the ground and hurried to the guardhouse, a feverish compulsiveness driving her.

Fortunately, the backyard wasn't that heavily guarded.

With the outer wall and exits manned, the odds of any trespasser making it here, to the heart of the estate, were next to nil. And even if they did, there was nothing of value to steal right next to the beehive that was the guardhouse.

Avoiding the eyes of the solitary man on the door, Riswelze circled behind the longhouse and sneaked a peek through the windows.

The knights had made the princess start stripping atop one of the long tables in the middle of the hall, while the audience cheered excitedly.

Simply sneaking in, snatching the girl from under the noses of all those armed men, before escaping would have been impossible even for a god of thieves. A distraction was necessary. If Riswelze had no way in, the others had to come out. It was going to mess up the plan, Izumi hadn't yet launched the fireworks. The guards would all crowd here, when the plan had been to attract them away. But there was no choice.

With her index finger, Riswelze quickly traced a small pattern on the wall of the longhouse, and muttered,

“Brandt.”

The rune of ignition. The pattern lightened up with a faint glow, and the wooden wall around it suddenly caught fire. Bright tongues of flame quickly started to cover more area and grow in size.

Quickly leaving her hiding spot, Riswelze dashed into the woods behind the building. Whatever would happen next, she had to put distance between herself and the scene of the crime. In a matter of minutes, dozens of angry knights would be flooding out of the building and whoever would be unlucky enough to get judged guilty for the disruption wouldn't see another day, if lucky.

But at least they wouldn't be going back to their games anytime soon. She would think of her next move after.

However, Riswelze didn't make it that far.

There was something the assassin didn't know about the Haywell estate.

Something even her associate inside didn't know, and so had no way of sharing with her.

The Duke's residence was not guarded by knights alone.

In the darkness of the grove, a shadow blacker than the rest suddenly appeared to block the fleeing girl's path. By the time she realized it wasn't a natural obstacle, it was too late. That abruptly appeared, formless abyss raised its hand and mumbled something. A projectile out of nowhere, hard and heavy, shot forth, striking the assassin in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer, as she reached for her knives. A huge chunk of ice, it shattered by the force of the impact, the pieces raining on the girl as she was knocked on her back on the ground. Though her vest was reinforced, the blow was hard enough to force the air out of her lungs. Her sides hurting, gasping for breath, Riswelze saw through her blurry vision a figure robed in black approach her.

“You would dare to employ your inane scripts in my domain, child of man?” The sorcerer, Joviél, looked down at her, disgust in his cold eyes. “For that, you will know a thousand deaths.”

Riswelze tried to lift herself, but the intense pain wringing her ribs made the effort impossible. Her consciousness slowly fading, she forced her head to turn, to look behind her, and what she saw—or more like, what she failed to see—made her brow contort in disbelief.

There was neither fire nor smoke visible anywhere near the longhouse.

Her trick had failed. She had gambled everything—and lost everything.