“Gah!” A blunt impact from a kick to her body made Woodcarver yelp. sitting on the cold metallic chair, legs and arms tied up was not the most comfortable position to be in, being physically hit at that.

“You aren’t going to talk, huh?!” Enna yelled. “What’s it going to take? Your nails?” She brandished a plier from a toolbox beside her. The Beaver shuddered a bit as if it drove through a rock.

“I’m not afraid.” She looked at Enna with burning intent.

“Let me ask you again: What is that symbol on your wrist, and its relation to your client?” On Woodcarver’s wrist etched an ankh-like symbol that burned deep into her skin.

“The lady… does not divulge herself to anyone…!” She lashed out at Enna.

“Who is that ‘lady’ of yours anyway?!” Enna scoffed and inserted the jaws of the pliers to Woodcarver’s pinky fingernail. Try as she might, her hands cannot move, as both of them were tightly strapped individually to the chair’s arms.

“Missy… I’m going to say this again…” Enna leaned and blew on her ear.

“What’s it going to take? Your nails?” Woodcarver shuddered and squirmed, but she could not do anything. The Beaver rocked again, as the light from the small window slit on the wall was repeatedly blocked by something outside.

As much as Enna pressured her, she sat silent.

"Ah. I guess that'll have to go." As swift as the pain traveled through Woodcarver's nerves and registered in her brain, Enna forcefully wrenched out her nail, spattering drops of blood on the metallic floor.

“Ngh! Ahh!” She screamed as her finger bled. It was only one, yet her hands shuddered erratically when she saw her blood-soaked finger.

“Tch. I hate this. It’s always a mess, so I suggest you cooperate. The least I could’ve done was for you to clean up our vehicle, you know…” Enna said. “So, quickly! Spit it out already!”

“You will not get anything from me!" She barked, panting in the process. Her flushed skin put it that she has little tolerance for pain.

"It's only one, and you're already pale? I take it the pain is your worst enemy, huh."

She did not respond, only dangling her head to her chest.

“Fine. I’ll take one more, then.” Enna presented to her the pliers. Woodcarver steeled herself again, yet her face told she’s already had enough.

At every pull, she screamed. At every blood that leaked out of her fingers, she cried.

“GAH! IT HURTS! Stop!!” At every clank of her falling nails, she instinctively begged for Enna to stop.

At the last one, Enna placed the pliers on her side. “I do not enjoy this, you know. I felt this feeling too. So, make me stop already, and cooperate.” Enna suggested to her, but Woodcarver just cried from the sheer pain of all her left hand’s nails detached. She was slowly falling unconscious as Enna lifted her limp head.

“Oi. Don’t die on me. It's still only just one hand."

She was mumbling something, as if in a trance. The words ran down her lips like a flood: incoherent, yet cryptic.

‘I am loyal. With her hand, I will be free…’

"Huh. Guess you have very little tolerance for pain. Let's take a break." Enna mopped the floor to clean the blood and carefully put the five nails on a small bag for incineration.

Just as she closed the door, Enna looked back at her. Woodcarver was still dazed, still mumbling to herself.

“Hey! Make up your mind before I come back! I don't have to do this to you twice." As Enna slammed the door, she whimpered, alone, blood still dripping on her left hand.

‘With her hand… I will be free…’

"I heard like five separate screams from there. Still hasn't spilled anything?" Gen passed by Enna, who was about to incinerate the bag in a partition.

She shrugged. “No. And I’d hate it if she went for another five.”

“I pity her. But it needs to be done, right?”

“She won’t talk diplomatically. And besides, she’s too loyal to her ‘lady,’ muttering it over and over. Wiz!”

Wizbette heard Enna from the table as she was reading through some files.

“Yes?”

“If you can, can you heal our captive up? Make sure she’s in a state to speak… I’m not forcing you though if that's what you think."

“No, no. It’s fine. Should I go inside now?”

“Sure.”

Wiz quickly sorted the files, donned her uniform, and walked to the door where Woodcarver was held. Opening it, she saw the woman, blood-soaked on one hand, pale, shuddering, and still. It was a gruesome sight, but Wiz composed herself and slowly approached her.

"M-Miss? If you excuse me, I'll heal you now." Wiz notified, but no response. Not even a single twitch. Floating her hand just above Woodcarver’s left one, Wiz used her ability to stimulate structural regrowth of her nails. It took some energy from her, but it was minimal, easily shrugged.

“You know… you should’ve just cooperated. She may not look like it, but Enna is quite remorseful putting you in this situation. Myself too.” She tried to sympathize with her. However, her mouth just droned on the same repeating sentence…

‘I am loyal. With her hand, I will be free…’

‘I am loyal. With her hand, I will be free…’

‘I am loyal. I will be free…’

Woodcarver’s eyes were stagnant as if something snapped inside her head. Her wounds were now healed, but the bruises Enna made on her body and limbs persisted.

Nevertheless, Wiz heard her mumbling and realized something.

“You were dragged along by this lady, hm? You pledged loyalty to her so much. I do not know you, but I feel that your past life must’ve been better than what it is now.”

“My… life?” For what seemed a while, she spoke to her.

“You’re a mercenary, right? You worked for her, yet you are so loyal, you’re ready to accept pain than betray her.”

Suddenly, memories came flushing back to Woodcarver. As if something pulled her back, she felt the world around her take form…

“Mama! Look at this!” A little girl presented a flower wreathe to her mother.

“That’s very good, Myrrh!” She grabbed the flower and her child, as the latter giggled. They walked from the bench they sat on in front of a hut to descend from a small hill. Below was a crude workshop, smoke wafting through a chimney from the billows within.

“You want to see Papa make pots, right?” She carried Myrrh, her child, with her, who was clutching the wreathe on her hand.

"Yes! But I like grandpapa's works more…"

“Ah, so you want to be a wood sculptor?” Myrrh fiercely nodded, bobbing her maroon hair up and down.

“Grandpapa's statues are nice to look at!" She said, reaching out with both hands.

“Well, let’s go inside and see both of them, shall we, Myrrh?”

"Mmm!"

Ah, the vibrant countryside. I had a humble beginning, watching Papa and grandpa make amazing things with clay and wood. They then sell it to the local town for money and food. I always liked them, and everything they work for me and Mama, I always wanted to see, and learn: How do they move their hands and tools to make such beautiful works of art?

Oh.

…

Right.

I wanted to be like them. A sculptor. For one, a carver of wood, rendering my imagination into reality.

Wood-carver. Yeah, I liked that name.

“Ow! It hurts so much, grandpa!” Myrrh squirmed as she dug into the block of wood with her tools.

“You know, kid, you should have just followed your mom’s work as a seamstress. I know it’s your age now, but woodwork requires strength, most of all.”

“No! It’s sooo boring… I want you to see what my mind sees, grandpa! So!” She tried to carve at the wood again but failed miserably.

“Hahaha! You’re like your father, always persistent. Who knows where he is at the world now, trading his luggage around."

"Luggage!? Those are papa's-- Ow!" She yelped and hopelessly set aside the tools on her table. Meanwhile, her grandpa worked silently, slowly etching into the wood.

“Ehhh… How do you do that?” The way his hands and tools worked on sculpting amazed Myrrh, as she always did.

“Yes, strength is important… But you also need your heart to work together with it. Once you master it…” He made the last touches as he presented the sculpture of a small house on a wooden plane, whereupon four figures that looked like their humble family stood beside it. Along the left lies a hut with a chimney.

"Human art can be made from nature's art: wood.”

“W…Wow…” Myrrh looked at every intricate detail it had. The sculpture was smooth, and this was all made by an old man who was already past his prime, yet his passion still lingers.

“This is for us, little Myrrh. Come, let’s display it.” Myrrh guided his grandpa as they opened a door and into a small display room, where customers can view, browse, and purchase their works on display.

This artwork, however… he did not plan to place it here.

“Grandpa? Where are you going?” asked Myrrh as she carried the sculpture with both hands.

“To your house, of course!” He smiled.

“Huh? Let me! You can’t step that far!”

“Nonsense! It’s just a hill…”

"No! It has been a long time since you went up!"

"Ah..."

They bantered, but in the end, Myrrh let him walk up the hill. Armed with a walking stick he made himself, her grandpa braved the stone steps. Both of them placed the art in the very first room for them to see. Many of the items on the shelves were also a mixture of both clay and wood; works of art.

“That’s grandiose, I have to say, kid…” He panted as he sat on the bench.

"Yep… But I won't let you down, grandpa! I'll see to it that you'll see me, hailed as the best wood-carver in the region!" She valiantly proclaimed, her modulated voice seemed to echo with the breeze.

Her grandpa stared at her and laughed. But at the same time, he was struck with heartwarming awe at how his granddaughter had grown so much.

“What? Wood-carver? Hahaha!”

“Eh?! Isn’t that… okay?” She looked back at him.

“That’s a funny nickname!” he cackled, but slowly calmed down as Myrrh pouted.

“Really…”

“Well, little Myrrh, let’s take a walk around the hill. It’s been a while since I walked up here, and it’s a waste not to view the place.”

"Mhmm! Let's go!"

The two of them walked peacefully around the small hill. The fresh air brought a sense of nostalgia to the old man, and Myrrh was mesmerized by the countryside view. The rolling hills, the patches of trees, the small outlines of a town on one side, and an expanse on the other. On that small hill, a lot of things can be seen.

On that small hill, Myrrh had everything she needed.

Yet...

It was the last sculpture of her grandpa.

In the end, all had to stop. Grandpa died of old age. After a few years of traveling, Papa never came back, and rumors of a caravan attacked by rogue Vassals made Mama so anxious she had to do... horrible acts at the town just to ease her failing mind, if for a bit. I was the only one sane enough to protect what's left of my family. I still carved and carved art made of wood. I held grandpa’s words, and what I said to him: that I will be the best wood-carver in the region. Heck, I was so stubborn to even make it my slogan, and my pseudonym…

Sadly, we did not hold our hands when the business boomed, though.

Myrrh became successful, and patrons came to their small hill to procure her magnificent pieces. She single-handedly took care of her stricken mother and made art the rest of the day. After years of repeating the same routine, Myrrh thought all of it was a dead-end, that she’ll just carve and carve until she’s too old to do so. She thought her inspiration to become a ‘wood-carver’ was dissolved into a fleeting dream.

For years, she endured this stagnant life, until one night…

“Myrrh? What was that—”

“Mama, shh…”

They heard footsteps. The sounds circled the house, thudding along the grass. Myrrh hurriedly grabbed her father’s crossbow from a shelf and slowly armed it. Once it clicked, so did the creaking of the front door. Knowing the possibility that they may be robbed, Myrrh told her mother to hide.

“Mom, go under!” She crouched below the bed, body aching. Myrrh now heard voices.

“They might still be asleep.”

“Good. Take everything you can carry.”

“Yep. We’ll sell these and get a ton of money!”

Myrrh trembled. All of those works. Her Papa's, grandpa's, and her Mama's knitting. And hers. All her family's property and these people are just going to steal from them everything?

‘No… those are the last… of them…’

“Myrrh, my girl… don’t…” Her mother pleaded for her, but she did not look back.

“GET AWAY FROM HERE, YOU DOGS!”

“MYRRH!”

She did not stand against her instinct. She kicked the door, startling the robbers, and fired a bolt to a figure. Luckily, it was semi-auto and ran on a cartridge, so she shot another one, incapacitating him on the leg. Hiding beside the couch, she counted her bolts.

“Four more.”

“Oi! You’re the girl sculptor, right?!” A hooded man called out.

Myrrh did not respond. She swiftly stood up and shot him, throwing off the blade he had. Catching it, she slashed it at the former and the blade dug into the chest of another goon as they were entering.

"Three people inside. How many more are there?"

She ran outside, and saw another man, lugging a huge bag.

“GIVE THEM BACK!” She yelled, and shot two bolts to his back, completely rupturing a lung. High on adrenaline, she approached the bag and saw almost all of her family's works in it.

“Scum… Taking away everything we have…” She cursed at the man, who’s violently rasping, and left him there. As she was about to take the bag, she heard a scream from inside the house.

“Mom?!” She dropped the bag and immediately rushed to the room. What she saw when she slid the door open made her rage.

Her mom was held at gunpoint with a pistol. Two other goons armed with machetes backed him up on both sides.

“Drop the weapon, little girl.” The one in the center said, gun still pointed at her mom, sweating and crying frantically. Unfortunately, Myrrh was deep in rage. She had no control of herself.

She pulled the trigger relentlessly.

She did not want to hit the center, because her mother was there. She wanted to hit one of the goons on the side.

But when she opened her eyes, to her horror, it was her mother that got the shot.

Right in the head.

“ahh… haah… Ma!!!" She shook violently, tears formed in her eyes as she was grabbed by the goons. She looked in agony and confusion as she was resisting the goons. Her mother was thrown down on the floor, unmoving, with a bolt to her head.

“Why… WHY?! WHY!” She screamed and lashed at them.

“I am a Vassal. I make objects switch places, girl. To be fair, one of my men was meant to take that shot, Still, my ability was just in time.”

"Vassal… No… YOU'RE SCUM!" Myrrh cursed and yelled at him as she was dragged to their living room, restrained, and threatened to be their plaything.

The man leaned on her. “You know, if you wouldn’t have been so hostile, that would have never happened. We just needed the art, after all.” He droned on her and looked her in the eye.

“Take it away!” He cackled.

That’s right. I was too hasty. I was so enraged at having my things taken away from me that I thought of nothing. That night, I was so full of emotions. Regret, anger, confusion, all of it. My mind was going to tear.

That night, I screamed so much my throat hurt. That night, I felt something awakened inside me. That rush on energy. It was like nature’s song. A tone that served as both a lullaby and a battle cry…

A tone that clung to my only dream, ever since I was a child.

‘I will be the best woodcarver in the region.’

How could I forget that petty dream?

“Eh? Why is my… chest… ngh!”

Wooden stakes pierced the man on top of Myrrh. Blood dripped out of his abdomen and his mouth bubbled as he was violently thrown to the side and relentlessly pierced by more. The wooden hut twisted and creaked as if it had its own life. The other goon tried to hack through the tendrils grasping him, but they were so dense, his veins ruptured from the sheer grip, killing him instantly.

“How are you… Are you a Vassal?!” The Vassal goon cried out, as he tried to get away from her.

“I… I have nothing now. Nothing to lose. Nothing to live for.” Myrrh slowly crept to him, absentmindedly. The man squirmed as tendrils made from the hut’s wooden components clutched him from all limbs.

‘Shit! I can’t switch… I have nothing to switch to! Is this sculptor really… A Vassal?!’

“SO, DIE ALREADY!”

Her relentless assault using a large piece of warped wood sent the man flying outside the house and into the grass, body splayed beneath the cold night. Myrrh approached him, and the house seemed to warp itself into tendrils, piercing the man in his chest.

“Pwuah!" He spattered blood all over the wood and grass as Myrrh lifted him.

“You made me shoot her.”

“You’re a Vassal—GAH! The fucking informants did not say that… Fuck!” The wood twisted around and squeezed him, making him instinctively gasp for air, exhausting the goon even more.

“Vassal? This is… power?” Myrrh nonchalantly said. “I was to be the best woodcarver in the region… and yet… you only salvaged the spoils…”

"AH! STOP! MY VEINS!" He felt his every nerve pulsate. One more push and his veins will rupture.

“I’m already on the brink. So why? Why do this?”

I knew. No matter how good you want to live your life, there are always people that will hurt you. It's all for the balance of this world. I just wanted to make art. But now, I realized I became a Vassal, and the ability to sculpt wood, the one memory I held of my grandpa, mama, and papa, came with me.

And for people to barge my home like that night… Changed my life.

At first, Myrrh heard a whoosh, then the fog came to her view. The man was "grabbed" by that fog, and what presented before Myrrh was a terror that made her want to run without question. Even the realization of holding a powerful ability and adrenaline rush did not faze her natural response to flee.

“Hey. This Vassal was supposed to be mine.” Piercing, a pair of glowing purple orbs emanated from the fog as Myrrh grabbed the bag containing her family’s art, turned her back, and ran to the forest. As she ran, she looked behind her back and saw the fog following her.

At first, it enveloped her twisted home, then the hill, then the trees in her vicinity. It was fast, and once it caught up with her, it smelt of death, making her cough.

A root of a tree that jutted out of the ground made her stumble and fall. She had no time to react when the fog circled her and the purple glow slowly emerged in front of her. She saw they were not orbs, but are a pair of eyes, as a woman who wore dark, sophisticated clothing approached her from the trailing fog. Her eyes were snake-like, glowing a strange purple below the moonlight.

“If it wasn’t coincidence… The wood-carver, Myrrh.” She said, her voice soothing, yet ever so mysterious. Silhouettes soon emerged from the fog, robed in black. They seemed to follow her from the fog itself.

“What… do you want?” Myrrh asked, her head painfully banging from the untrained use of her ability.

“Oh? It was just this small fly.” She levitated the motionless Vassal goon that robbed Myrrh’s house.

“He ran and ran, and even tried to rob my favorite sculptor’s home. How sad. How annoying.”

"Favorite... sculptor..." Myrrh muttered, but she was exhausted to form words.

She was shocked to see that the snake-eyed woman pressed her pale hand to the man’s bloodied chest. After mumbling some incantation, she yanked out an abstract ‘shade’ of that man’s soul. An erratic manifestation of himself that seemed to teleport in and out, away from the woman. She simply crushed it as the tonal energy of the Vassal coursed from her hand and into her body and yelped in pleasure as she absorbed it into her.

“I don’t get it, but Vassal’s tones are more potent from the deceased…” She said before elegantly turning her head to Myrrh, her long, dark hair waving through the fog.

Once she locked eyes with her, Myrrh quickly mustered all the trees behind her and pierced the woman through her chest cleanly. Still embedded into the wood, Myrrh lifted her.

“Lady Aurelia!” The people in robes yelled in unholy unison.

“Gah…” She was displaced in the air, as her followers circled Myrrh. Instead of the usual painful reaction, the woman, Lady Aurelia, just laughed, as if the feeling of pain left her mind long ago.

This unnerved Myrrh all the more as the robed people circled him.

“It’s okay… How brave, Myrrh! I was about to compliment you on your art! But this…” She caressed the huge bark of wood that pierced her stomach and said an incantation.

“Gaze your eyes upon this wood and siphon it. The rest, burn it.”

Shade: Immolate.

The wood was cooked by otherworldly purple flames from the inside as it decayed from the outside. The explosion sent Myrrh flying a few meters backward and hit a tree, making her cough blood.

To her surprise, her piercing attack had done no damage to Aurelia. Sure, her dress had a gaping hole that revealed most of her skin, but most of it was eerily intact as if the chunk of wood that she disintegrated never pierced her in the first place.

“Alright, good shot. I have to congratulate you, Myrrh. You have the guts to try and kill me. And ruin my clothes! Now I need to procure more…” Aurelia calmly walked to her as she clapped, grinning.

“How… You were pierced by the wood…” Myrrh panted as she rubbed the blood on her mouth. As the glowing pair of eyes approached her, she felt hers get heavy; her body was slowly giving up. Feeling this, she mustered the last of her energy to grab the bag and hug it.

‘Is this it? Am I… going to see you all?’ she wondered, eyes slowly closing.

“Little girl… I heard… You want to be the best woodcarver in the region?”

Yes… I really want to.

“Of course, you also want to live, right?”

Why shouldn’t I? I’m not even past half a hundred…

“Then we’ll sculpt together. To be honest, even if I mantled the Void, I really, really liked your wooden sculptures.”

Really? That’s… Nice.

“Then, come with me? Now, you're a Vassal, you can shape all the art you want, without fail."

That’s what it means to be a Vassal?

“You are now the Woodcarver. I’ll let you follow me, and live, but you need to tether to me your soul. As all these people did.”

I… I have nothing now. Nothing to lose. Nothing to live for.

So, I’ll come. I’ll follow you, Lady Aurelia.

“That’s it, Woodcarver. Help me erase the likes of those who destroyed your family. If that isn’t revenge, then what is?

…

…

…

In the end, I was blind. I followed the lady out of desperation. And now, I’m here. Captured by the Vassal United. I wanted her to be like my mother, but she has a cold heart.

It’s funny. I wished for her to rescue me. But I know she will never do that. Aurelia does not care for me as much as mother did.

I wish I’d just let up and stayed as Myrrh, the humble girl on a countryside homestead, with a family of four that only knew how to carve wood.

My life changed drastically since I made that decision.