One week earlier

1

There is an old saying in the grand Empire of Tratovia, probably originating from the various provinces around it, once proudly independent and since conquered and assimilated into the endlessly expanding hydra.

“To defeat an enemy of the Empire, show him to Bhastifal.”—So the saying goes.

Nothing cryptic or deep about it, the meaning is plain. By anecdotal evidence, the sight of the Imperial capital alone is generally more than enough to cripple the fighting spirit of any warrior of the less developed world.

Already well before their feet should reach the brass gates of Selenoreion, the city’s innermost district, they would be asking to be let off, dizzy and disoriented, and abandon any thought of challenging such a thing.

Suppose you would have to see it for yourself to understand.

The test of wills begins roughly sixteen miles from aforementioned gates, down the central highway, where the farmlands feeding the Empire’s subjects begin. Measured and evenly divided in mathematical precision by the Imperial engineers, those fields seem to go on indefinitely, no strand taller than the rest. Beautiful verdant green in the spring, lustrous gold in the fall, those fields serve as one visible sample among many of the Empire’s abundant prosperity.

Following the fields, as their natural continuation, come villages with their modest, wooden huts and cottages, fences, barns, sheds, taverns, stubby stone mills built near clear little streams, and other obligatory accessories of basic human habitation.

Nothing too shocking yet.

However, one might eventually come to pay attention to how oddly close these villages have been raised to one another. The next comes already within a stone's throw from the last, so that you can't too easily tell where one hamlet ends and the other begins—or if they're not, in fact, only one lengthy village, spread thin and roughly kneaded, like a poor man's bread loaf.

Right as the travelers begin to grow accustomed to the rustic scenery, there come the manors and villas of the local lords, yarls, and the summer houses of high-ranking officials, each one a bit taller and fancier than the previous. Those mansions typically stand on lonesome hills, like watchposts, keen supervisors overseeing the hard-working peasants at their feet.

Unlike the thinly spaced huts of farmhands, the lords keep their residences a polite distance apart—but by no means so far that the neighbors wouldn't be able to tell without binoculars how well life fares for them. So it is at first, anyway.

Then, you find the distances between those fanciful estates grow shorter and shorter. Soon one will be hard-pressed draw a clear line between them. Stealthily have the crude huts from before traded place with the bourgeoisie villas and so closely are those villas and their colorful orchards moved that nothing superfluous may go betwixt.

This way, the airy villages and their lonesome overseers have been mixed and distilled into legitimate towns, with solid houses of hard brick and slanted, tile-coated roofs, where rainwater doesn't so easily find a way in. It’s as if everyone lives in a mansion, all of a sudden! There is no more place left for oat fields or cattle between these dignified homes.

Looking down, the wayfarer will see that the ragged cart path they have been following has subtly been upgraded into a proper street, featuring occasional forks and intersections, and reliable bridges to help it safely across the few rivers dividing the neighborhood.

House follows another with even more intimate pacing. There is no more room for the buildings to spread sideways—they grow taller instead, story upon story. Above those of pure practical utility, there appear establishments of culture. Postal offices, galleries, studios, even antiquarians. There are general stores of a more refined character, scribes, tailors, barbers, banks as well, and blacksmiths who forge decorative elements and small trinkets instead of only pitchforks and horse shoes.

This is where the less experienced traveler first begins to feel inexplicable discomfort.

He realizes he has become unable to confirm his bearings by gazing into the horizon anymore—for no horizon line can be perceived past all the buildings. Even the sky has been reduced only to a narrow streak of blue high overhead.

We have journeyed for hours already, with only more and more houses coming into view, bigger and bigger. How long has it taken to construct all of them, anyway? How can they all be filled by people, people, and more people? How can there be so many humans in the world!? How is it even possible to bring so many together in an organized manner? Imagine if they were to all pick up spears and shields—who would be able to resist such a mob? It would surely sweep away everything on its path from the eastern range of Hirnhan to the western shores of Luctretz, without too much trouble.

The mere thought brings cold sweat to a humble tourist’s brow, even though it's warm in Bhastifal all year round.

Fortunately, the many citizens one sees here all look peaceful and carry no arms. Indeed, the only contact with war the inhabitants of these parts have is the occasional Imperial platoon marching by on the way to field training, or a mission of great importance and confidentiality. There is no reason for caution or unrest.

Nevertheless, the urban avalanche doesn't stop.

Indeed, it has only just begun. Tornelion, the outer zone, and Bureilion, the suburban zone have been left behind, and the traveler comes to a wall.

The first perimeter wall of the urban zone, Eskeleion.

The tall houses limiting our visibility have become something to be grateful about. Taking our imaginary barbarian traveler to the rooftop of one of those houses, to show him the view that awaits us ahead—would surely be an act of bullying. For what he believes to be the heart of modern civilization is merely one small part of one modest district, among many, many others. The idea would doubtless make him faint on the spot. Remaining comfortably on the ground level, we still have the time to gradually brace our hearts for what’s to come and retain our dignity.

We move through Eskeleion, where most of the common people of Bhastifal live. Higher still do the buildings grow. The idea of climbing up along the wall of one for a better view—you should give up on it, for your own safety.

Some districts have a bit of a reputation, so wandering outside at night is strongly advised against. Especially if you have a purse burdened by too much silver, or wear expensive-looking clothes. If you must venture out into dark regardless, at least hire a rough-looking mercenary or two to guard your step.

Of course, law is upheld with commendable valor and efficiency by the Imperial Army’s urban divisions, but size and numbers have their regrettable downsides. No matter what manner of a world, a nation, or a universe it is, villains always seem to be one short but distinct step ahead of the sword of justice. Just like there are those who have everything, there are also those who have nothing left to lose, while their ambitions in life are equally great.

We occasionally pause to admire the elaborate hanging gardens atop some of the breath-taking apartment complexes, their cubic terraces of stone and ornate balustrades, some as high up as eight stories above the street level. You might also see housewives hanging laundry to dry along the various ropes dangling across the alleyways, tied from one windowsill to the next. While you’re at it, have a look at the splendid statues of granite and marble, representing mythical beasts, gorgeous women, and steadfast warriors; quench your thirst of the little fountains found in small yards and tight corners of the narrow, cobbled streets, before heading on.

But that’s strange, doesn’t it seem like everything here is slightly at an angle?

That would not be your imagination. The streets have indeed begun to ascend towards the east, so that you soon find yourself facing an uphill march.

Perhaps this is far enough.

The journey can end in this peaceful neighborhood, where you can look up a decent inn at your leisure, and sleep away the fatigue from your travels. Your natural curiosity has been sated, you have already seen plenty, surely no one’s mind can digest more than this in just one brief day?

True, if you felt even the slightest bit overwhelmed by the sights you've come across until now, then you had better take a day or two off at Eskeleion. Let it all sink in before even thinking about moving on.

But, perhaps a stop isn’t an option for you.

Some travelers are in a great hurry and are therefore unable to enjoy even a brief respite. They press on, even as they grow light-headed, and after a lengthy ride uphill through the urban district, they finally dive out from the shaded alleys onto the Triumph’s Square, where sight of a magnificent gate awaits them.

That would be Ptoloios's Gate.

We laconically call it a gate, but a man torn from a village in the northern Cotlann, or the remote ports of Melgier, would see a mountain instead. Not many would have the understanding or courage to turn their chins up high enough to recognize the shape as something artificial.

Over a hundred and sixty feet wide and more than three hundred tall, Ptoloios's gate is an angular block of red-brown, straight-cut rock, with only a narrow passage pierced through. All of that is a single piece of earthly elements, sculpted into the shape of a minimalist gateway of prodigious proportions.

How could human hands build such things?

The answer to that one would be simple—they never did. The truth is that this gate existed here long before people did. No one alive today was there to see it raised. Was it made by magic? Or was it built by some now gone race, superior to humans in stature as well as ability, who then exited the pages of history without even a passing mention, their achievements appropriated by the rising Empire of men? You will have to ask one of the scholars at the Imperial Academy for that. Nothing would make them happier. Even if you are likely to receive a different answer each time, depending on which professor you ask.

No matter.

In this hasty fashion, we have rushed straight through the outer districts of Bhastifal, giving you but a taste of the city and all it holds. Books far more verbose have been written on her splendors and each day spent living there would give more than enough material to write a few more.

But, we happen to be in a hurry.

As breath-taking as the city was from a tourist’s point of view, to Itaka Izumi, hailing from the 21st century Tokyo, even magnificent Bhastifal was only a “fantasy city” like any other, and secondary before her objective.

No symphony of trumpets greeted the small group of elite soldiers, the proud knights of the Stohenkartes, as their weary horses neared the Gate of Ptoloios.

Regardless of the silence, it was pointless to even dream that their less than glorious return had gone unnoticed. Already before the travelers had the first huts on the edge of Tornelion in their sights, the news of their return had reached the Imperial Palace.

That news was simply not worthy of a fanfare—as much was obvious by a glance—and the travelers themselves were better than aware of this.

The only soundtrack for their unlikely homecoming was their weary mounts’ hooves lazily clip-clopping on the Triumph’s Square’s artistically patterned pavement.

Colonel Miragrave Marafel, riding in front as the commander of those sad knights, lowered her gaze from the impressive gate and its guards, and spoke to the woman riding beside her. Technically, the horse was ridden by someone else and that woman, Izumi, entirely unfamiliar with the art, could only tightly hold onto the rider to not fall off.

Behind the gate, high up on the rocky hill of Meuvelie, awaited Selenoreion, the inner district, and the Imperial Palace with its countless towers, walls, and appendices, a fortress built upon fortresses.

“Now do you see it?” the Colonel asked Izumi. “What you plan would be beyond a God. You will never make it. Draw your sword here and you will only face one inexhaustible platoon after another, and a ceaseless storm of arrows.”

“Are you that worried about me?” Izumi lightly chimed in return, not particularly discouraged. “Thanks, I love you too!”

“...Where does that endless confidence stem from?” Miragrave heavily sighed. “Or is it plain madness? You do realize I need only to say the word and you will burn at the stake by sunrise?”

“Maybe. But you're not going to say it, are you? Not even a word. Because you know as well as I do that this Emperor of yours blows and everyone will be better off without the guy. So if you consider yourself a real Americ—I mean, a patriot, you'll play along quietly now and pretend you knew nothing. It’s not like you lose anything, even if I fail, right?”

“Thinking so only goes to show how little you understand,” the Colonel wryly remarked. “For the record, it matters not to the Emperor whether I knew of your childish intentions or not. Should you fail, I will hang all the same, together with everyone else involved.”

“Well, I don’t think I’ll fail,” Izumi gave her bold opinion without a hint of shame.

“Hm,” Miragrave could only snort at Izumi's optimism—arrogance. “Do as you will. It makes no difference to me. Not anymore. I am already dead and so are my men. For failing our mission, for all that we’ve lost, just to come back empty-handed.”

“They’re that harsh around here?” Izumi frowned. “Then why come back at all? You could've stayed at Luctretz. Ask for a political asylum. Hole up in somebody's embassy? Worked pretty well for some people.”

“I've come to report back, because it is my duty as a soldier,” the Colonel solemnly answered. “And because this is my home.”

“Hmmm.”

Naturally, Izumi couldn't understand. Getting away from home had been her lifelong goal, after all. She wanted nothing more but to forget she had ever lived in another world. Neither had she ever felt anything comparable to a sense of duty, let alone honor.

Izumi's rider, Yuliana Da Via Brannan, the former crown princess of the Kingdom of Langoria, listened to their conversation—or rather, couldn’t avoid hearing it—with growing anxiety. As their horse approached the mighty gate, the princess failed to keep her hands on the reins from visibly trembling.

“How did it come to this?” she lamented aloud. “All I wanted was to meet with his majesty, to ask him to not start a war with my people...Only to learn that my closest friends are plotting his murder! Why did this have to happen? My luck is the worst! My Lord, please grant me strength, grant me the courage to endure this terrible, hideous trial that has been forced on me out of nowhere...”

“Relax, Christmas!” Izumi hugged the princess tighter. Which failed to calm the girl in the least. “It’s going to be all right!”

“W-what did you just call me?” Yuliana asked.

“It just occurred to me, ‘yule’ means Christmas in some language—I forget which. It’s kind of cool, isn’t it? Naming a person after a big holiday. I'm so clever.”

“I think the point of a pet name is lost when it's longer than my actual name and doesn't resemble it in the least...”

“Don't be so tense. You need to learn to go with the flow! That's the most important thing about fencing too. Relax. Just breathe. Want me to give you a massage? Full body. To-ni-ght~!”

“I will respectfully decline that...Not that either of us is going to live that long.”

“Wanna make it a bet then?” Izumi suggested. “Yeah, let's gamble! If we’re all still alive tonight, then you'll let me massage you. Your boobs, I mean.”

“Was that specification really necessary?” Yuliana retorted. “It wouldn't help me relax at all! What's wrong with you, anyway? Your act is even worse than usual!”

“Well...” Izumi mumbled, looking at the distant palace’s dark facade. “I guess I'm a bit nervous too.”

As the group reached the root of the massive monument of stone, a squad of knights in sparkling armors emerged to receive them. Unlike Miragrave’s elite company in their deep purple robes and black armors, these men's capes were blood-red, their mirror-clear outfits decorated with golden engravings. They were men of the Legion of Selenoreion, the Imperial Guard, the last line of defense between his majesty, the Emperor, and his enemies.

Of course, no foreign military had been able to challenge the Guard for thousands of years. Their role was largely ceremonial, with any actual fighting left to the Stohenkartes, the Stormcrows, his majesty’s special task force.

Still, regardless of the difference between their roles and combat strength, the Imperial Guard held unquestionable authority over the crows.

“Halt!” The man leading the shiny knights called out to the travelers. He had his head bare, silvery hair cut short, signs of old age apparent on his dry, narrow face. Although his build was still fairly robust and his steps light, even under all the layers of steel.

As ordered, the riders stopped and dismounted, facing the approaching soldiers.

“General Loth,” Miragrave greeted the officer with only a quick look. Either she no longer cared enough to respond formally, or she knew the man well enough to skip the theatrics, in spite of the wide gap in rank.

The General stopped a few feet away and stared at the red-curled woman for a moment, struggling to find the words.

Finally, he found some and hurried to present them,

“What happened?”

“Confidential,” Miragrave answered. “For his majesty's ears only.”

“Marafel,” the man called Loth raised his voice a notch. “His majesty doesn't want to see you. He ordered you under house arrest. You’ve been dismissed from service, stripped of rank, all of that before daybreak. Let me ask you again: what happened? For the love of Divines, explain yourself!”

“I suppose I saved effort by not writing the report beforehand,” she remarked.

“I can't believe you,” the General spread his arms in disbelief over her senseless behavior. “What are you playing at? What could possibly be worth making your case even worse than it already is? You set out with a hundred men, a hundred of his majesty’s finest, and, what, eight come back? You were supposed to investigate the wreck of the Ikanos and determine what sank it! How did it turn out like this? Where's Rubeus? Yornwhal? Leterrié? Grimsay?”

“I'm right here, sir,” Master Sergeant Grimsay said and raised his visor to show his unshaven face.

The General rolled his eyes.

“I spoke on your behalf,” he pointed at Miragrave. “The board opposed, remember? I risked a lot to change his majesty's mind, to assure him it could be important. I've had your back ever since you were still only that promising rookie at the Academy. I've invested in you, gods damn it! I believe you owe me answers. Where exactly did I send those men and what happened to them? What happened to you? Speak!”

Miragrave gave the man a tired look and answered,

“What does it matter, Olliver? The truth is the one thing those people aren’t interested to hear, whether it comes from me, or you. I'm under house arrest now, yes? Can I at least walk home with my own two feet? Hands free or bound?”

“Under constant surveillance,” General Loth slowly articulated, twisting his face in displeasure.

“I'll be on my way then,” Miragrave turned to leave, with two knights from the Imperial Guard coming up to escort her. However, after a few steps, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. “My last request to you, Olliver. Have word sent to the Prince of Luctretz: a daemon roams his land. Let him warn his people. Give me your word that they will be warned.”

“A daemon?” the General blankly repeated. “Are you being serious now?”

“Pray tell, does it seem to you like I’m jesting?”

“Yes,” the man replied after a pause, his expression turning even more sullen. “I'm looking at a woman whose career has just become the biggest joke in all Empire. Off you go.”

The General nodded for the escort to take the Colonel.

“Yuliana.” Miragrave gave the princess a regretful look.

“Master...” And Yuliana looked back at her, deep worry clouding her beautiful face.

The Colonel had been the princess's mentor for only a few weeks in the distant past, only for play, but there was no one in the world Yuliana had admired more. Their long journey together hadn't changed that, on the contrary. But the emotions between the two were too heavy and complex to be easily put into words now. Yuliana wanted to somehow encourage her friend, but how, when she saw no hope for herself either? Anything she might have said would have only rang hollow and insincere.

Unable to find a way to express her goodbyes any easier, Miragrave simply looked down, then nodded to her remaining knights, and walked away, toward a set of stone stairs to the east, away from the square and the indomitable gate.

“Sergeant, have your...unit report back to the garrison,” General Loth absentmindedly instructed the surviving knights of Miragrave’s company, before turning to the two women left behind. As if the older one didn't even exist, apparently dismissing her as a mere servant, the man looked at the princess, slightly bowing his head in the bare minimum expression of respect,

“Your highness. His majesty is expecting you.”

2

A city within a city, Selenoreion, like many strongholds of similar age, stood on a hill simple to siege, impossible to conquer. Simple in the distant past, anyway. In the present, the invading army’s path to the inmost district would have had them squeeze through the preceding maze of stone, no doubt depleting the strength required to overtake the walls of Bhastifal’s heart. And even if those walls were somehow breached, the battle would not even be half won by that. Beyond, one would struggle to find the natural hill under all the towers, palaces, temples, courts, fences, and gates.

Selenoreion—‘a city of spires’ it was called, for there stood hundreds of towers, needle-like lances of stone, and obelisks of shorter stature everywhere around the district.

Tratovians didn't simply like to set up tall buildings for the pleasure of it; most of them were religious in nature. They were parts of shrines and temples dedicated to the glory of the many Divine spirits of myth, to the mighty Lords who embodied the powers of the departed Gods. Power was what the Tratovians worshiped, first and foremost, and in the endless pursuit of it, each tower aspired to reach higher than the rest.

At the heart of the district, at the summit of the hill, reaching even higher than all those surrounding minarets, was a massive complex of buildings closely adjoined, expanded, appended, and elevated untold times over the centuries.

The Imperial Palace.

Izumi thought the general appearance of it was an odd mixture of the Gothic Notre Dame of Paris and the Byzantine Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. There was a dome-like cover over a larger central building, with straightforward wings spreading sideways and down to produce the shape of a conventional cruciform. The green-plated roofs of the palace wings were sharply angled, surrounded by numerous buttresses and appending structures. Further down were luxurious terraces stacked on top of one another, breath-taking skywalks connecting the lofty levels, and starkly defined, thorny reliefs and statues of beasts to decorate them.

Approaching the palace, the travelers followed the road from the Ptolois’s gate, which did not take a direct path, but circled uphill counter-clockwise, navigating through the densely built district.

Compared to the rest of the city, the streets of lower Selenoreion were quiet, left perpetually in the shadow of the mighty palace hill and the towers. There was a mysterious, timeless, almost stagnant air hanging in those narrow alleyways, Izumi thought. Perhaps the impression was only inspired by the numerous serene buildings and little altars along the path, but there was also a vaguely unnatural quality to it. She looked at the temples they passed by, some great enough to be called churches or cathedrals, while others were no larger than the roadside shrines one might see in Japan, with only a small table for candles and offerings.

The spicy scent of incense was distinct and everywhere in the windless afternoon.

Following the knights, the princess and her lone champion eventually arrived at another gate. It was quite a bit smaller than Ptolois’s, but also more beautiful, with large brass doors, engraved with images of air and sea.

The gate was already open. They were being expected, after all.

Beyond the gate started stairs.

Izumi didn’t think she had ever seen so many stairs before. Not as big, wide, and long. They were of pure white stone, and had endured the passage of countless feet without a mark. Anyone going to the palace would think twice whether it was important enough to challenge that stairway, but the two had no choice.

“How much do you know about this emperor guy?” Izumi discreetly asked Yuliana, as they started their ascent after the General and his escort.

“The current Emperor goes by the regnal name Mayeshwal III,” the princess answered. “I met his father, Istafalan VI, when I was still little, but the old Emperor passed away four years ago, if I remember correctly. His seventh son acceded the throne.”

“Seventh?” Izumi raised her brows. “Busy guy.”

“The late Emperor had twenty-eight children. Eleven wives. Officially, that is. No one could keep track of the concubines or their children. But he was not a bad man. He was a charismatic and wise leader, gentle to his friends, reliable to his allies, fearsome only to his enemies. His rule brought the Empire an age of peace and stability. Or so we remember him in Langoria. I've no idea about the son, however. Rumors say that a fierce power struggle took place after the death of his father, where a lot of people lost their lives overnight. To have survived through all that to seize the Throne, Mayeshwal III must be extremely cunning. Be careful.”

“I will,” Izumi nodded. “Do you think he’s married?”

“What?” Yuliana blinked. “Why are you asking about that?”

“No, just in case.”

“By what I've heard, he remains unmarried. I think.”

“Maybe he's your age?”

“No way!”

“A late bloomer, then?”

“The Emperor has made it his mission to unite mankind,” Yuliana dryly explained, “and make the other races see us as their equals. I doubt he has the time to think about weddings.”

“Yeah,” Izumi nodded. “Would be pretty bad if you got engaged for the third time.”

“Me!? Why me!?”

“Well,” Izumi looked up ahead, “not like he'll live long enough for that.”

“...Is there no other way?” Yuliana’s expression darkened as she asked. “Can't we at least try to discuss things with him like civilized people first?”

“You want to get engaged again?”

“Forget the engagements!”

“Too late for second thoughts now,” Izumi said. “I've never even met the guy and he’s managed to piss me off twice. I don't get upset easily, but when I do, it's mayhem. I'm not about to wait for the third time. I know how these stories go. Some problems are better nipped off straight at the bud. Unless I cut him down now, I’ll be sure to regret it.”

“Reconsider,” Yuliana appealed. “Life isn’t some play following a script you think you know! Luck has been on your side this far, but it won't be as easy as you imagine.”

“We'll just have to see about that.”

“I don’t want to bring this up,” the princess added with a regretful expression, “but would Riswelze want you to risk yourself in her memory?”

“Um, yeah?” Izumi immediately replied with a blank look.

“Ah, damn it, she probably would...”

Izumi lost count of the stairs somewhere after four hundred, and they were not even halfway to the palace gate yet. Yes, atop the arduous climb awaited yet another gate. Those turquoise, gold-engraved gates were certainly work of art that made the effort seem worthwhile.

Two men in the Imperial Guards’ armors stood on both sides of the entrance, ceremonial halberds in hand. As intimidating as those guardians looked on the outside, it was clear that their heavy gear severely impeded movement. Their role was largely only for show, anyway—or perhaps a “psychological deterrent” would've better described it? No open bloodshed demanding the interference of guards had occurred in the palace for hundreds of years. Discreet poisonings and daggers in the back aside. There was nothing an average guard could do about political in-fighting.

As the visitors approached, the gates opened up by some hidden mechanism, and a courtier stepped out to receive them. He was a bony older man with nearly white hair, dressed in a simple black, silver-laced doublet, and tiny round glasses on his nose.

“Your highness,” the courtier greeted Yuliana with a deep, formal bow, before turning to the knights. “Thank you, General, your escort may now return to their posts.”

General Loth gave Izumi a glance.

More precisely, he looked at the large sword the woman carried on her back, and made a face like he wanted to protest the dismissal of the armed escort. But Olliver Loth hadn't become a General only because he had been officer material from birth; he also knew not to voice opinions at the Court when none were asked. He sourly turned and gestured for the other knights to follow, and so they left hiking back down the stairs.

“This way, if you will,” the courtier instructed Yuliana and Izumi while the two were giving pitying looks to the soldiers' distancing backs.

They followed the servant in, coming to a tall, shady entrance hall. Its marble floor, stone walls, and arcing ceiling were all covered with colorful, flowery imagery and geometrical shapes, with colors of gold, red, silver, and green across.

From there, they passed through another set of gates, already open, this time made of ancient wood an arm thick, and entered a long, predominantly sky blue hall. It resembled the interior of a church, with walkways higher up on the sides. There were, of course, no benches, altars, or images of crucified men to be seen. Even this magnificent hall, illuminated by flashy chandeliers, was only something to pass through on the way further in.

Yet another gate followed, this time made of bronze, skillfully engraved full of complex pictographs illustrating historical events, or perhaps ancient legends.

And then, another large room.

Wider but slightly shorter than the previous hall, it was something of a connecting hub, with doors in every direction, as well as staircases taking up to the second floor, making various other destinations accessible from there.

Izumi’s attention was drawn further up ahead.

Facing the entrance stood one more massive doorway at the end of a brief flight of steps that differed from the others. The double-doors were of black stone, with silvery handles, but otherwise bare, with no engravings or decorations. A pair of guards stood in attention on both sides of that ominous entrance, tall candle stands near them for lighting.

Upon entering this hall, the courtier stopped the visitors.

“We shall go upstairs,” he turned to explain in a hushed voice, “where you shall wash away the dust and sweat from your travels and change into clothing...erm, better fit with for royal reception. Afterwards, I shall take you to see his majesty. He is looking forward to meeting your highness, so we must not linger any longer than is absolutely necessary.”

They obediently followed the servant up the stairs.

“So, the big chief’s through that boss gate over there?” Izumi asked him as they reached the second floor, nodding towards the black doors.

“...Uh, that’s right,” the man answered with a pause, slightly confused by her choice of words. “There is the Throne Room, yes.”

“Thanks, Alfred, I’ll take it from here,” the woman said, stepped up next to the courtier and smacked him in the back of the head, at the base of the neck. The man fell limp at once. Izumi grabbed him by the collar as he collapsed and dragged him behind a flower pot in the corner a short distance away, where he wouldn’t be immediately discovered.

“What are you doing...?” Yuliana asked in a hollow tone. She was certain nothing could faze her anymore.

“As much as I’d like a bath and a change of clothes, they're going to want my sword before that, and raise an alarm when I say no,” Izumi explained. “Palpatine is right behind the corner, so let's not keep him waiting any longer.”

“We're dead...We're so dead...” the princess listlessly bemoaned.

“Come on, Christmas. I need your help just a little more.”

Izumi hurried back down the stairs, pulling Yuliana along by hand, and then casually approached the black gate across the room.

“Greetings and meetings!” she called out to the pair of guards, poorly imitating a servant. “The princess is here to see his majesty, I believe she’s being expected.”

“Where's the courtier?” The other guard asked. “No one sees his majesty without an escort.”

“Something came up and he told us to go ahead. So do excuse us.”

Izumi kept walking straight past the knights and laid her hand on the black door.

“Hey! Your weapon!” the second knight clutched his halberd and stepped forward.

“What weapon?” Izumi turned back and asked with a surprised face.

“Your sword! No one goes in armed! Hand it over!”

“Eeh? What sword? I don't know what you're talking about.”

“The sword you have there, on your back! Don’t play fool with me!”

“Oh, I see. You're talking about my sword? Well, excuse me, honey, please go on in while I clear up the matter with these gentlemen.”

Izumi pushed Yuliana on. Closing her eyes in a silent, resigned prayer, the princess stepped past Izumi and started to push open the doors to the lion's den.

“Why do you want my sword, anyway?” Izumi asked the guards. “You have plenty fine weapons yourselves, don't you?”

“Look here,” the guard to her left leaned on his halberd and pointed at the woman to emphasize his words. “I don’t know who you think you are, or what is your problem, madam, but you are not going anywhere until I—”

He didn't reach further with his lecture.

Izumi kicked the bottom of the polearm aside. The knight lost his balance and staggered. She immediately grabbed the halberd around his grip and spun it around like a rotor. His wrist violently twisted, the guard was forced to let go of the weapon with a grunt. Continuing the spin, Izumi swept the legs from under him, dropping the man on his back onto the floor. In his heavy armor, the guard was like an overturned turtle and struggled to get up.

“Hey!”

The other knight reached out to seize the woman. Too late.

“See ya!”

Yuliana had opened the door by enough. Before the guards could recover from their surprise, Izumi slipped through the crack into the Throne Room after the girl, pushed the doors back shut again with her rear, and stuck the stolen halberd through the handles. The path was sealed, for the time being.

As difficult as the feat had looked from the outside, they had made it into the Throne Room.

For a throne room, it was unexpectedly simple, a space about the size of two tennis courts. The floor was coated with square tiles of polished, black stone, clear enough for one to see her likeness on it. Across the room went a path made out of contrasting red stone, outlined with plates of gold and silver. Surrounding the path were marble pillars, holding up the ceiling where colorless, celestial imagery was painted.

The path of red ended at the root of the throne itself.

The Emperor's regal seat was of jet black, spotless onyx, atop a set of stairs to ensure that the person seated was higher than anyone else in the room. It didn’t look particularly ergonomic or warm, but the fleece of some unknown animal of spotted fur had been cast on the seat for added comfort. On both sides of the throne burned pedestals of clear, magical flame, illuminating the room, or at least the part of it that mattered.

The room wasn't empty, but neither was it too crowded.

Clearly enough, the guests hadn't been expected to appear just yet, which was partly what Izumi had been counting on. Had the room been filled with armed bodyguards, not even her confidence could've prevailed.

Who was there then?

On a quick look, Izumi counted four people.

Two men stood near the midway to the Throne.

They weren't regular soldiers, judging by their eccentric looks and highly personalized attires.

The closer one was a burly man of exceptional stature, a figure straight from ancient Greek mythology. He wore a light metal vest that left the arms and shoulders bare, and black, knee-length shorts, light sandals on his feet. His blond, slightly curly hair was cut short, his youthful face shaved clean. Before his graceful looks, Izumi's attention was drawn to the object he was leaning on—an enormous shield.

The shield was round as a manhole lid, slightly outward bulging, and shone like silver. What separated it from an average shield was its ridiculous size. It reached up to his armpit height as he leaned on it, making it at least five feet and five inches across. How could such a thing even be used in combat?

Then, the next person.

A man slightly older than the first and not quite as brawny, he gave off a somewhat more intelligent yet also a more sinister impression. His hair was black, tied back, and his hawkish gaze met the visitors with distinct enmity. As if to emphasize the mean look, the man held in his grip a simple, black spear. Dressed in a dark leather armor that restricted the movements as little as possible, black trousers, and riding boots, it was clear that like his companion, he was no idle noble but a soldier trained to take lives.

But Izumi wasn’t interested in either of them.

Neither of the men could be the Emperor, and so they didn’t matter.

Unnecessary. Irrelevant.

Next.

By the throne, on a stair a few steps below its level, stood a tall woman in a black dress. Her hair as well was pitch black, braided and tied up behind in a spiral bun, clearly showing her pointed, elongated ears. The woman was unarmed, empty-handed. A magic-user, most likely, if not a concubine.

And the last one.

The one Izumi was looking for, by natural process of elimination.

As if it weren’t already clear otherwise, by his position.

Seated on the throne of black stone was a man seemingly in his early fifties. His black hair, slightly gray on the temples, was swept back and kept out of the eyes by a dark silver headband, fully showing the creased forehead, as well as the pair of deep, dark, calculating eyes, which now examined the visitors. His strong-jawed, distinctly masculine face didn't look particularly friendly or compassionate, as expected. He wore a simple black cassock, a gold medallion around his neck, and a ring with a large, blood-red stone on the left hand middle finger. It appeared the Emperor didn't care much about flashy looks, but was a man of more pragmatic character.

“Yes?” His deep, resonant voice carried clear across the spacious room. “Is there a reason you storm into my hall like thieves at night?”

Yuliana, a righteous soul throughout, froze embarrassed at being so questioned.

“I'm terribly sorry, your majesty, but...”

——“Well, hello there, buddy!” Izumi interrupted her, as she strode past the princess. “I’ve come to kill you!”

To emphasize her blunt threat, she drew the Amygla. With a sharp, metallic zing, the ancient sword slid off of the magnetite plate and flashed brightly in the light of the enchanted flames.

“And who are you?” The Emperor asked, not looking particularly threatened.

“The name's Itaka Izumi, a hero summoned from another world,” Izumi answered. “Oh, I didn't get hit by a truck and reincarnate with lucky stats, if that's what you're thinking. I worked hard for this body!”

“Summoned...?” The Emperor’s frown deepened.

Meanwhile, the burly man with the large shield moved to block Izumi's path.

“Madam, please put down the sword,” he said in a conciliatory—or just condescending—tone. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“And I will definitely hurt anyone who gets in my way, so be a good boy and sit!”

Izumi picked up the pace and jogged straight at the man, lifting her weapon above her head, as if to stab. Seeing that, the guard raised his shield with both hands to defend. Reaching close enough, Izumi suddenly dropped her weapon to point at the floor instead. Leaning heavily sideways, she leaped over the sword hand, pulling the blade along in a rotating motion, and cut down with her full weight behind the swing.

She bashed straight at the corner of the raised shield.

Normally, you wouldn’t do such a thing.

As impossibly sturdy as it looked, the shield was probably wood for the most part, with only a metal coating—naturally, it would've been too heavy for any human to lift otherwise. This detail didn't make it any less of an impossible obstacle to any conventional weapon, however, as the metal used in the coating was the ever-precious orichalcum. The same metal was also used in Yuliana's armor, as it was next to impervious to attacks by light swords, arrows, even most battleaxes.

Any sword would be bent if not broken upon contact, rendered useless.

But Izumi knew what she was doing.

In fact, she had counted on this very reaction, baited it. Because the weapon in her hands wasn't normal, by any means.

“Ha!”

Sporting hardness and durability surpassing any known metal in the world of Ortho, along with the sharpness of a fine razor, the Amygla cleaved straight through the shield, splitting it clean in two, right in the middle. The tension in his arms abruptly released, the warrior lost his balance and fell on his back onto the floor.

Before he could get back up again, Izumi dashed past him.

She ran at full speed now, straight for the throne.

The second guardian recovered from his surprise and acted. He had clearly assumed his companion would get the job done without aid, and so was left late with his reaction, allowing Izumi to pass him.

Nevertheless, unalarmed, the man calmly raised the tip of his black spear on his brow, took aim, and hurled the weapon at the woman, as if merely hunting a deer. He clearly lacked his colleague’s gentlemanly qualities, seeing no issue in outright killing the intruder.

The heavy-looking polearm darted through the air with uncanny lightness for its size, aimed precisely at the assassin's heart, through the exposed, unprotected back.

But Izumi was paying attention.

Expecting the attack, she glanced briefly back to confirm the trajectory, flipped the greatsword over her shoulder, and threw a well-timed pirouette mid-run.

The spear hit its mark—and was repelled. Rebounding from the Amygla’s blade at an angle, it hit a pillar across the passage, broke through it, and remained stuck wobbling in the marble.

Murderous excitement flared brighter within Izumi, her heart beating now almost unbearably heavily.

Nothing. Compared to the might of a daemon, the Emperor's guards were nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Only one more obstacle before the main event.

The woman in black.

No, there was no need to care about her. By her looks, the woman was obviously a magician. A witch as typical as one could get. But whatever absurd tricks she could conjure with her mysterious arts, there was no way she could dispose of Izumi quickly enough to keep her sword from cleaving the man on the throne.

No, did she even intend to do anything? Even now, with all the guards defeated, the unknown woman simply stood there, a faint smile on her lips, not even looking at Izumi, not disturbed in the least by anything that happened around her, as if it had indeed nothing to do with her.

Instead—the Emperor stood up.

“You mean to kill me?” he asked. “Why? State your reasons, assassin. Don’t I deserve to know why I must die?”

“Your knights killed my friend,” Izumi replied, running up the stairs. “Eye for an eye, said Hammurabi!”

“Soldiers of mine have murdered a civilian, is that correct?”

“That’s right!” Izumi exclaimed, raising her sword. Only a few steps more. “She sacrificed herself to save my life! For such a stupid reason—!”

“Then the villains must face the law. Name their commanding officer.”

“Huh?”

Izumi stopped her swing, half an inch from the man's bare neck.

Suddenly, everything started to look real strange to her.

Strange. Strange.

Too strange.

Why didn't this person even flinch before death?

Why did he carry on, as if they were in the middle of a simple argument, instead of an attempt on his life? Had he shrieked at his guards to kill her, begged to be saved, tried to hide behind his companions and flee, or otherwise fought back with the desperation of a cornered animal, he would’ve been dead already.

But—it really was too odd.

No matter how Izumi looked at him, there was no trace of fear, malice, anger, or desperation to be seen in the Emperor's steady gaze, his deep blue eyes. No arrogance, no haughtiness, no spite, nor contempt. Only earnestness, and strength of will.

Indeed, nothing like a greedy villain who had everything in the world—he looked like a man who had nothing at all left to lose.

“...You believe me?” Izumi asked with a confused frown.

“Was it a lie then, what you said?” the Emperor asked in return.

“Well, no, but...”

“Yes, you do not look like one to risk your life for a lie, or make up far-fetched excuses for your actions.”

“But...What do you care? I mean, won’t you say the killers were right just by the virtue of being your servants? That you or yours can’t ever do wrong? Even though you’re an Emperor and I’m a nobody?”

“I am a ruler of millions, yes,” the Emperor said. “Surely you do not expect me to know what each and every one of my subjects does at any given moment, and be able to interfere even where there is no one to see? Tell me, do I seem like such a God in your eyes?”

“Um...I suppose that would be unreasonable,” Izumi agreed.

“Indeed, I am far from almighty or all-present. But that doesn’t mean I will simply say, ‘nothing I can do about it’, and hide behind my rank, using it to justify crimes done in my name. That is one thing I must not do. After all, our society is built on certain laws, without which it wouldn’t be able to function. And my rule is only as strong as the laws I base my governance on. Therefore, I depend on others to inform me of such transgressions, so that proper measures can be taken to correct them.”

“Ehh...right?”

“If it is as you say, then we are already too late to save your friend. But what I can do is express my condolences for your loss, and act to prevent such tragedies from occurring in the future, yes? That much is within my power. You could say it is my duty, even. Yet, if you strike me down now, I will be unable to carry out this duty and nothing at all will change in the world. The one to take the throne after me is only liable to repeat the same mistakes, perhaps commit new ones, without learning anything of value from my example. Is that the outcome you seek to our dispute?”

“...Eh, not exactly,” Izumi admitted.

“As I surmised,” he nodded. “Then, onto business. You came with Colonel Marafel's expedition, no? I put Rubeus Attiker in charge of that, therefore the responsibility lies with him. I will have the man hung to death tomorrow morning. Will that be satisfactory?”

“He's already dead, though,” Izumi pointed out.

“Then, Marafel shall take his place at the gallows.”

“But, it wasn't her fault, technically...”

“Fault and responsibility are two different matters and not necessarily always linked. I was not at fault, yet you hold me responsible, see? Otherwise, you are not making much sense. Then, if we free myself and the commanding officers from blame, all we have left is dealing with the criminals themselves. Yes, it must be direct vengeance that you wish to see? I understand. Then, I will have the knights involved executed at once. Of the remaining, every tenth shall be hanged, for the deterioration of morale which allowed this to transpire.”

“But, there's not even ten of them left alive at this point.”

“Is that right?” The Emperor powerlessly spread his arms. “Then what do you want me to do, exactly? Surely you do not expect me to dig the men from their graves and bring them back to life, only so that they can be executed once more?”

“…Not really, no,” Izumi had to admit again.

“Rather, wouldn't you say that justice has already been served?”

“In a way, yes, it has, but that wasn't the problem...I was simplifying the story a bit.”

“Then, why do you want to kill me?” he asked. “What is the problem? Do get to the point. We don’t have the whole day here!”

“I suppose I was only trying to break the pattern, mostly…?” the woman pondered. “How should I say, it was supposed to be a subversion of tropes? Something along those lines?”

“You are not making any sense, if I may say so. So in the end, is there any rational reason for you to cut me down now or not? Because if there aren’t, I would appreciate it if you withdrew your weapon.”

“...Er, my bad,” Izumi apologized, lowering the sword. “It seems I’ve made a bit of a mistake.”

“It happens,” the Emperor said. “Humans make mistakes. Yes, even I make mistakes. And then we repent and correct one another. It is only this way that our society may go on existing and advance. Problems such as these won’t go away simply by killing them. A criminal is a product of the society he lives in, and not some spawn of impersonal evil. What we should be doing is tackling the root causes of criminality instead of chopping necks at every available opportunity. Is that not the case?”

“Well, you’re not wrong about that.”

“I am glad that we have found an understanding. But this and that are separate matters. Your assault against my person is still breaking the law, and I must hold you directly accountable for that. I want you to surrender yourself to the guards and go wait for your rightful trial and sentence. Would you do that for me?”

Izumi considered her options for a moment, before shrugging.

“Okay. I suppose I will.”

“Excellent,” the Emperor said and nodded approvingly.

Izumi turned around, walked down the stairs, and headed back the way she had come.

“A-are you all right?” Yuliana asked her as the woman passed by.

“Maybe he's not that evil, after all?” Izumi replied. “Sorry about that. I'll be fine, so carry on.”

Izumi cut the halberd stuck on the door in two and presented herself to the astonished guards on the other side, who were busy working their way in. As a matter of fact, quite a crowd of them had gathered.

“You wanted my sword? Well, here it is,” Izumi dropped her weapon into the arms of the nearest of them, as they all stood stupefied by her appearance. “Shall we go?”

Left behind, no less dumbfounded herself, Yuliana slowly turned to face the Emperor, unsure of what to say or what kind of an expression to make. Everything looked like a bizarre dream to her. She saw the athletic warrior examine the halves of his broken shield, scratching his head. The other one was trying to pry his spear off of the marble pillar with great effort. And the Emperor sat back down on the Onyx Throne, as if nothing special had happened. Next to him, the woman in black hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time and remained quiet still.

“I...I'm sorry about that...” the princess said. “I...I tried to stop her, I think. But...”

“I understand the situation,” the Emperor told her. “And I can see that you are exhausted. Servants will escort you to the quarters reserved for you and see to your needs. We shall speak again tomorrow.”

“Yes. Thank you...? Your majesty...”

And with that, the heroes’ first audience with the Emperor of Tratovia came to its awkward conclusion. The first, but not the last.

3

Itaka Izumi's new home was quite far away from the magnificent palace, outside the walls of Selenoreion. It was in the northern side of the city, on the banks of the river Thuleios. There, circled off by a tall, wide bulwark composed of natural rock, was a prison. The prison was nothing short of a castle on its own, with three large, cylindrical towers in each main corner of the perimeter wall.

Like checking in to a hotel, Izumi gave her name and other basic information in the head warden’s office located in the entrance hall. Her earthly possessions were cataloged and stored, her clothes exchanged for a simple prisoner's tunic and trousers. Finding clothes that fit her physique was a challenge and her moth-eaten, ash-gray tunic ended up looking quite baggy and unfashionable on her. Not that Izumi particularly cared.

“What's the crime?” the warden gave the woman a glance and sighed heavily as she was brought in. “Stole a loaf of bread? Or—migosh—strangled a kitten?”

“Attempted assassination of his majesty, the Emperor,” the guard reported.

The warden's jaw fell and he quickly straightened himself on his chair.

“Well, I'll be...Where are we going to put you then?”

“Somewhere with a beach view would be nice,” Izumi requested.

Treated like a patient with a highly contagious disease, Izumi was taken to the lowest underground level, into a dungeon cell without a beach view. Or a view of any kind, for the cell had no windows. She was unceremoniously shoved in and the door locked up.

“Enjoy your stay,” the guards said as they departed. “It might be a while.”

And then, silence.

The only light source around was a singular candle on a rusted and bent iron holder sticking out from the hallway wall. A lump of melted wax, its flame was small and dim, soon to expire.

In a few minutes, Izumi's eyes adapted to the poor lighting and she was able to examine her quarters closer. What she saw first was an old steel bucket in the corner, riddled with holes. Her toilet. Then, a mattress—or more like, a roughly knit sack with a bit of hay stuffed inside—on the floor in the other corner. There were dusty, smelly tufts of hay scattered on and around the sack too. Blackened chains with handcuffs hung from the wall, to assist in the prisoner's questioning, or to allow the examination of the cell without interference.

That was all.

The floor was cold, being made of large blocks of bare, coarse stone. The walls were the same way. Feeling them with her fingers, Izumi discovered various little scribbles left by the previous residents, mostly straightforward lines to keep track of the passage of days or curt profanities aimed at the authorities. The contents were quite universal.

Next, Izumi moved on to examine the iron bars holding her in.

They were just about wide enough apart that she could squeeze her face through, but nothing more. Even if her shoulders could have somehow fit through sideways, her chest and hips were clearly not going to follow. She was going to have to lose a lot of weight before escape that way would become possible. As medieval and poorly maintained as the place looked, the bars weren't particularly rusted or frail but embedded deep into the floor and ceiling. Izumi tested each and failed to shake them even a little.

The door had a rudimentary lock. Additionally, the lock was backed up by a large horizontal bar, which was held in place by another lock, on the wall by the cell, outside arm's reach. Even if Izumi could somehow fashion a simple lockpick and figure how to use it too, there was no way to fully open the door without more elaborate tools or outside help.

Concluding her examination thus, Izumi yawned. She thought about trying the Rune of Ignition on the lock, but was in no rush to follow through with the plan.

“Could be worse,” she said to herself. “I get a roof above my head, some peace and quiet, and don't even need to pay rent. If only I had a laptop with Wi-Fi, it'd be better than home.”

Izumi lay down on the hay mattress and thought about Riswelze.

How many prisons had the young assassin seen in her tragically brief and stormy life? How many had she escaped, swearing never to go back, yet breaking that promise soon again? Were she here now, how would she advise Izumi? Who knew?

Nothing disturbed the silence of the cell. There were no other prisoners along the same hallway. Not this deep. No one to talk to.

“...I think I'm done with adventuring.”

Forgetting about her earthly concerns, Izumi soon fell asleep, tired out by the long journey, and the many unusual sights along the way.

Without windows, it was difficult to tell for how long she had been sleeping, but when Izumi stirred again, she felt like it had been quite a while. Thanks to the cold air and tough bed, she slept lightly and was awoken by a restless feeling. The feeling of not being alone.

Izumi drowsily turned her head and glanced outside the iron bars. And in the faint light of the nearly extinguished candle, she saw a dark shadow stand in the corridor.

“Hi——!?”

For a split second, Izumi's sleepy mind saw in the shadow the horror from two weeks back. The creature she had faced on the fields outside the town of Varnam by the Felorn woods.

With a gasp, Izumi leaped up to her feet, throwing her back against the cell wall.

However, looking again, she saw that this horrid vision had only been a figment of her imagination. The visitor standing beyond the bars was only human—a woman in a black dress.

Or no, that observation was slightly mistaken. The elongated, knife-like ears protruding from under the night-black strands of hair made it evident that she was not a conventional human.

There could be no question of it. It was the same elven lady Izumi had seen in the Throne Room earlier. Although that scene had gone by so quickly, Izumi hadn't forgotten about that woman’s inhuman beauty, which utterly lacked any diminishing signs of age, but had also outgrown the childish, round softness of youth. That mysterious person was there now again, wordlessly observing Izumi in her captivity.

The visitor’s eyes showed a faint glow, like those of a wild beast in the dark. The limited light couldn’t have hindered her sight by much.

“Goodness,” Izumi relaxed her shoulders and sank back onto the floor. “Don't scare me like that...”

—“Why did you hold your blade?” the visitor suddenly asked her. The elf’s voice was calm and softly hoarse, resembling the purring of a cat, but also completely neutral, devoid of emotion.

“Huh?”

“Not only did you spare your target when he was at your mercy, you walked into confinement of your own will. I fail to comprehend why.”

“Well, what else should I have done?” Izumi asked back. “I expected to meet somebody literally worse than Hitler, but he turned out to be a pretty reasonable guy, all in all. So I lost my motivation. No matter what they say, I’m not killing people just for the heck of it, okay.”

“Most would not be so willing to admit their mistake,” the unknown woman said. “After coming so far, the true character of their enemy should matter little, when weighing the integrity of their beliefs in the scale. Then, why did you turn yourself in?”

“Whether I killed him or not, my choices after that were either to die fighting the entire imperial guard or to simply give up. And I don’t like to work too hard, so I took the easy way out. Simple as that. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing threatening me in here, so things worked out pretty well, all in all.”

“Does it not make you the least bit resentful? You spared the man's life out of respect, yet he has you trapped in this hideous hole, where you will eventually perish of famine and disease, surrounded by your own filth. Never to see daylight again.”

“I'm already an adult, so I have to take responsibility for my actions, right?” Izumi lightly replied. “I’m not delusional enough to insist I’m still Lawful Good after all the folks I killed along the way, so I won’t waste energy complaining about my just deserts either. And it's not that bad here, really.”

“Not...bad?” the elven woman repeated, looking around.

“I mean, when you're a NEET, everyone expects you to get your act together, go out there and start working for the common good. But when you're a prisoner, you're only expected to be still and not cause any more trouble for anyone. Wouldn't you say that's the ideal form of life, really? I do miss a modern toilet, but life's about making compromises. It's not like I have a reputation of cleanliness to protect down here.”

The visitor fell silent.

She stared at Izumi with a blank look on her face, as if trying hard to understand what the woman was talking about. Of course, there was no way she could, and soon altogether gave up in the attempt.

“There was something else I wished to ask of you,” she then said instead.

“Me? What could it be?”

“A bit over a month ago, in a town called Grelden, in the principality of Luctretz...An Imperial agent posing as a local lord lost his life in a nightly raid. Surviving witnesses reported that he was slain by a human female, a foreigner, wielding a large sword.”

“I...may have heard about the case, maybe,” Izumi replied, forcing a smile. “What about it?”

“There was someone accompanying this agent on his mission,” the woman continued. “A cirelo, a man of my kind. A certain Joviél of Elevro. No trace of him was ever found on site but the witnesses claimed he was also slain by this unknown woman. I personally find this somewhat difficult to believe. You—would not happen to know more of his last moments?”

Izumi thought she felt a somewhat dangerous tension in the air. The elven woman's polite tone—there was an underlying edge to it. It was definitely personal, she thought. Her intuition told her so. She had to weigh her words very carefully now, especially knowing she was guilty as charged.

“W-were you perhaps acquainted with the guy...?” Izumi innocently inquired. “Not anybody dear, was he?”

“He was my brother,” a quiet but clear answer came from the dark.

“Oh. I—I'm very sorry to hear that. It sure is a terrible world, isn't it?”

“What I want to know, I am sure you can already tell. My brother's murderer—I would not be looking at her right now, would I?”

The piercing gaze of the cirelo's eyes drilled into Izumi through the bars.

Right now, that obstacle felt altogether impotent.

Under that stare, Izumi felt there was no way for her to lie. Not that lying had ever been her forte. Therefore, to minimize the damage, the only option she saw was to be perfectly honest and hope her sincerity earned her pardon.

“Well, I didn't land the finishing blow but if you count the total damage, then I guess it was mostly my fault, yes.”

Maybe she was being too honest already.

During the following heavy silence, Izumi started to think that there might have been more sensitive ways to break the news to the grieving sister. But she was nervous and whenever she was nervous, her tongue got too loose, and what was done was done.

The light in the black-clad woman's gaze appeared to momentarily intensify. And then—she suddenly slapped her hands gleefully together, a smile spreading across her lips.

“Excellent!”

Following the oddly cheerful exclamation, the strange lady spread her hands wide apart. As if to follow her motions, the iron bars between her and Izumi were forcefully bent aside and squeezed against the corners of the cell in two heaps of twisted metal.

“Come out of there,” the sorceress told the prisoner in a more composed tone. “I have business to discuss with you.”