"Two days," Dragan said. "You give us two days to prepare our surrender -- to ensure the safety of our noncombatants -- and we'll give him back unharmed. You have my word on that."

Behind his back, Dragan Hadrien crossed his fingers.

Nael blinked, his doubt almost emanating down the length of the table. "I have absolutely zero doubt that you'd use those two days to try and find a way to escape your predicament."

The truth was more useful than any lie here. "You're absolutely right -- but we'd be trying to do that anyway. By agreeing to these terms, you have control over the ways we'll be trying to escape -- and once two days pass, you'll be able to bring us in without a fight. I'm sure your men would appreciate the reduced risk to themselves, too."

Manron gulped, the decision clearly being weighed over in his head. This man was the sort whose thoughts showed up on their face.

The desire to protect his comrades, the yearning for a peaceful solution, the need to conduct himself in a way he could be proud of. The strings to this instrument were a little different than Atoy Muzazi, but they made the same song -- principle. Nael Manron would take risks, if it meant maintaining his principles.

Dragan's eyes flicked over to Manron's aide's hand, moving over to tap him on the shoulder -- he couldn't allow that. Outside influence could mess up the scenario he'd created.

"I'm not willing to wait forever for an answer," Dragan snapped, interrupting Manron's train of thought, allowing just enough time for consideration for the result he desired. "If it becomes apparent we have no chance of escaping this situation, we may just launch a suicide attack on this camp. We'd have nothing to lose, after all."

Manron's brow deepened in distaste. "You show your true character, then."

"Yes," Dragan agreed. "I show my true character."

There was silence in the tent for an uncomfortably long time, the only sounds being the marching of the soldiers outside and the occasional shift of someone's stance. Manron glared right into Dragan's eyes as the seconds dragged on, as if trying to drill right into his brain and pull out any true intentions right then and there.

Finally, though, he spoke: "I cannot agree to these terms here and now."

Dragan's heart skipped a beat. "I'd advise you --"

"Here and now, I said. Give me two hours to discuss this with my advisors -- this is not a decision to be made in haste. Until the decision is made, you and your associates will wait within the camp. Is that agreeable?"

His tone didn't leave much room for disagreement.

Dragan scowled. "And what if you decide you'd rather have us as hostages?"

Manron smiled thinly. "It seems you simply have to trust that I'm a man of my word."

"He's going to say no," Dragan pouted, arms crossed as he sat back in his chair.

They'd been moved to another part of the camp -- a clearing between some of the tents, meaning that guards could observe them from every direction. Dragan could feel a dozen cautious pairs of eyes on him. He had no doubt that, if they made any funny moves, that caution would become outright hostility very quickly.

Bruno glanced down at him. "You're sure?"

"One-hundred percent. If I was able to pressure him to make the decision there and then, he'd have said yes, but I don't have any influence on those advisors of his. They'll talk him out of making the stupid choice."

"You never know," Bruno shrugged. "Maybe they're like him -- they could do the honourable thing."

Dragan shook his head. "He's clearly a smart guy. He'd have picked people with different perspectives from him to serve as advisors. If anything, they're probably more like me -- meaning they're assholes. There's an even chance we get taken hostage once all this is over."

Bruno's frown became Serena's. "But Mr. Dragan," she groaned. "I don't wanna be a hostage. Can't we do anything?"

Ignoring his body's creaks of protest, Dragan leaned forward in his seat, rubbing his chin. "Well," he said quietly, so that the guards couldn't hear. “I knew this was a possibility. Guess there's no need for me to give the signal."

Serena cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

Betting all their lives on Nael Manron's unwillingness to risk a single soldier was a terrible plan. No matter how honourable he was, the leader of an army couldn't have risen to that position without a healthy sliver of pragmatism. The waging of battles, by necessity, cost countless lives -- and all this negotiation amounted to, when you got down to it, was a very slow battle. So that plan had been doomed from the very start.

It was a good thing, then, that that hadn't been Dragan's plan at all.

He smirked.

Ruth watched the camp through the line of the forest, perched high in an elder tree. Red Aether sparked around her fingers as they dug into the bark, keeping her anchored in place.

Her gaze flicked from Dragan's group, out in the open, to the tent they'd been led out of. That was the location of her target, then. The place where she'd be able to kill Nael Manron.

To kill a snake, you cut off the head -- the comparison didn't work one-hundred percent when it came to an army, but losing their leadership would still leave them in a state of confusion. That would give them a better chance of escaping once they made a real break for it.

Ruth adjusted her position in the tree slightly, freeing her hands, and as she did so the Skeletal Set appeared over her form with only the mildest buzz of Aether. The world was tinted red.

The attention of the guards was focused on Dragan's group -- she'd have a few seconds to get to the tent and assassinate Nael Manron. After that, she'd need to make a run for it: there was no telling how many Guardian Entity users were present in the camp.

This was her chance -- she felt it in her bones. This was her chance to make up for her failure last time.

A lashed corpse, strapped to a post.

Ruth Blaine never made the same mistake twice. She kicked off the tree, landed on the ground -- and with a flash of movement, rushed towards the command tent.

Nael sighed, his face in his hands as he addressed the rest of his advisors. The words he spoke felt wrong, ugly in his mouth.

"It pains me to say it," he forced out. "But you are correct. The life of one Regulator is not worth losing the chance to eliminate the rebels. We must trust he can make his own escape."

Abram nodded -- the dark-skinned, long-haired man was sat directly on Nael's right, his hands clasped on the table before him. "A wise choice, commander. I've worked with the man before -- he is capable. If we place our faith in him, he will not disappoint." He looked as if he was going to say more, but fell silent when he met Grena's harsh gaze.

The advisor opposite him -- Eris, a mousy woman with a shaved head -- continued, her voice barely expressive enough to avoid monotony. "We have a high-ranking representative of the enemy in our hands. Regardless of what he himself says, he may have value as a hostage. There is a chance we could make an exchange to get our man back."

Nael Manron was not a wise man.

He was exceedingly aware of that fact. He was idealistic, and headstrong, and somewhat naive -- and so he surrounded himself with those who were unscrupulous, and cautious, and very much jaded. They would indulge him when they could, and rebuke him when they could not.

They were his wisdom, stored externally, and he was forever grateful.

He nodded, but a frown remained on his face. "If we imprison their ambassador, it'll permanently put an end to any chance of negotiating with the rebel forces."

Eris' lips tightened into a straight line of displeasure. "That kind of thinking in itself is a liability, sir. You must remember these rebels are criminals before anything else. By acknowledging the office of an ambassador, you give them legitimacy -- that is the last thing we want. Criminals are an object of fear, but rebellion once acknowledged has a certain sense of momentum."

Abram rubbed one of his eyes. "We can't let ourselves be fooled by a young man with slick words and a smug smile, commander. Remember that we have all but won -- we have surrounded them, we have driven them to these desperate tactics. We are but one step from victory. We can't allow them to convince us to walk backwards."

Nael closed his eyes, mulling over the advice.

The notion felt sickly in Nael's stomach, but he knew that his advisors spoke sense. Capturing the ambassador was the best way forward. If this rebellion continued, it would result in countless more deaths on both sides. Better that a spark be put out now than to watch the inferno afterwards.

He opened his eyes. "Gather your men," he said. "All that wield Guardian Entities -- we don't know what kind of abilities these outsiders could possess. We'll attack at once to subdue them, and have them lead us to their main base. Then--"

Grena's grip tightened on his shoulder. Immediately, he looked up at her cautious gaze. "What is i--"

Everything happened at once.

There was a flash of red movement, a gust of what felt like wind, and a sound like a cannon going off -- and at the same time, the enemy appeared among them, having shredded right through the wall of the tent.

At first, Nael thought it was a Guardian Entity, but a second inspection showed that it at least appeared to be human -- a young woman, crouched low to the ground like an insect, with metal armour bound around her body. Claws protruded from the woman's knuckles, glinting with deadly promise, and what hair was visible on the back of her head shone like a raging fire.

Nael saw the eyes behind the mask's red lenses settle on his face. Target acquired.

Behind the enemy, Abram slapped his hands together into a prayer stance. "Guardian Entity," he cried. "Dorotabō!"

Abram’s Guardian Entity, a furry humanoid figure coated with dripping mud, began to manifest -- but the girl didn't miss a trick. She jumped to the side, crawling over the walls of the tent like a spider, and sliced right through the skull of Dorotabō with one hand as it began to coalesce into life.

The strength she exerted was unimaginable. With the slightest gasp of exertion, she wrenched the hand she'd lodged into Dorotabō's cranium free, splitting the Guardian Entity's head in half horizontally. Then, in the second before the Entity vanished, she seized it by the leg and slammed it right into Abram's body, sending him flying into a bookshelf off into the corner of the tent.

Nael kept his eyes fixed on the enemy as his advisor went flying off, but the sounds of smashing and cracking he heard were all the confirmation he needed that Abram wouldn't be rejoining the fight.

Eris drew her sword, pointing it at the intruder -- only she didn't, because the intruder had vanished. A second later, there was another smashing sound as the enemy burst through the bottom of the long table feet-first -- her kick slamming right into Eris' chest and sending her flying out of the tent, arms flailing impotently in the air.

Despite himself, Nael gulped as he thrust his hand out to summon his Guardian Entity. The girl hadn't stopped moving once through this entire assault -- perhaps she specialized in rushing opponents, then, rather than a drawn-out fight. If that was the case, Nael still stood a chance so long as he could tire out his opponent, open her up to a counterattack.

This power, though… Nael watched as blood-red godsblood danced around the enemy's armour. Was this girl wearing a Guardian Entity?

A shiver ran down his spine.

No, he told himself, his heartbeat slowing accordingly. Fear was pointless here. He'd die if he didn't fight, so there was no need to second-guess himself. He wasn't alone, either -- Grena was still by his side, pointing her handheld crossbow at the assailant.

Ten seconds had passed since the beginning of the attack.

The girl charged at him, pausing only to snatch Grena's arrow out of the air and stab it into the head of Eris' Guardian Entity -- the beast had stretched it's neck through the open door of the tent, the skull at the end opening its mouth wide. As Rokurokubi collapsed to the ground and dissipated into godsblood, the girl shot back towards Nael.

But Grena and Eris had given him the time he needed.

"Guardian Entity," he said, voice steady, hand outstretched. "Shamichoro."

He felt the familiar weight in his hand before the shamisen itself appeared. The three-stringed musical instrument materialised, the handle flat against his palm -- and in the same moment, he swung it with all his strength at the girl.

In terms of appearance, the shamisen was utterly ordinary. There were silver engravings across its surface, of course, winding arcs and curves that lent it a sense of beauty, but it held none of the eccentricities of other Guardian Entities. It was no dragon able to fly through the sky, no wheel able to burn through stone, no sword that guzzled down blood through a proboscis. It wasn't even alive. It was utterly ordinary.

And it was all that Nael Manron needed.

The attack didn't hit, of course -- the girl brought her claws together into an 'X' and blocked it. The collision sent a gust of wind raging throughout the tent, and the glass of the lanterns hanging on the wall shattered from the frequency of the sound.

Nael's hands shook as the girl pushed against Shamichoro, quickly overpowering him. That was only natural, though -- an ordinary human like him couldn't win with strength alone. It took skill to stand at the top.

This girl could move stronger than him, faster, deadlier. To put it simply, she was better than him. But Nael was more than used to fighting people better than him.

His only recourse, then, was to fight smarter.