The walls of the capital city of Vetreas stretched around from the southeast side up to the northern side, then back down to the western side. The southern side of the city opened up to the sea and served as the port for both the navy’s ships and the large trade galleons that carried much of the Sengar economy.

Traveling merchants and other travelers from distant places were waiting in line to pass through the eastern gate after some basic screening as Quinn and the others approached the city. As they passed by those waiting, they received a number of curious glances, and more than several disapproving murmurs, from the line. Appropriately, the guards at the gate stopped the group.

“Open the gate for His Highness, Prince Quinn Sengar, at once,” called out Fang as he flashed a badge bearing the Sengar crest.

Quinn, Wyen, Phillippe, and Vivette likewise displayed a similar badge while Adelade presented one with the Ghele crest. The guards at the gate instantly recognized both crests and expediently opened the full gates as opposed to the simple ones that those waiting were using. Those who had been muttering previously instantly remained quiet upon hearing who they had just been disparaging.

“Once we return to the castle, Phillippe and Vivette, you shall resume looking for the hero here. It seems unlikely that she would just pass through the area. Plus she would need to resupply her provisions. Find her and keep watch over her. Take the entire Shadow unit if you need it.”

The two acknowledged Quinn’s orders as the group arrived at the castle. Splitting off, the Shadows started on to their new task. The remaining four, having been away from the capital for about three weeks at this point, took the remainder of the day to relax and recover. Just as quickly, their situation caught up with them.

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Adelade was used to rising before dawn. Years of intense training by her father to control and use magic embedded a routine into her that was second nature at this point. Though occasionally her early days were irritating, taking the time yesterday after their return left her refreshed as she changed and made her way to the training grounds.

As a mage, melee combat was not typically expected as their magic was intended to keep enemies at range or used for defense. However, Adelade’s father, Count Ghele, was of the opinion that all mages should have some level of weapon training to use as a surprise tactic if the situation arose. While the count preferred the blade, Adelaide opted to make use of the tool she would have at hand anyway, her staff. As she went through her training regime for the morning, she ignored the knights and guards who likewise filled the training grounds for their own exercises.

While she moved fluidly through the motions, her thoughts were actually far from the training grounds. After all, two unexpected events had occurred over the relatively short venture she had been on.

First, she had a brief moment where she had trained the hero in magic. How many in the world could say that they trained the hero? Surely it was few, and for her to be one of those was something that would be documented one day, even if Adelade accomplished nothing else in her life.

Second, she had met Wyen’s parents. It was not as his fiancé, but given their initial reaction to Wyen’s presence, perhaps that was for the best at the moment. The fact that Wyen and her were not together yet was partially Quinn’s fault, since Wyen felt obligated to control the pervert’s stupid impulsiveness. Adelade herself had stopped feeling off-put by Quinn’s advances at some point, though she was not lenient towards others if they were to make such proposals. Wyen alternatively, at least when he could, properly approached her and courted her. It was part of the reason she fell for the young elf instead.

“If you are distracted while you train, then the training is pointless.”

A wooden sword was at Adelade’s neck, which caused her to pause midway through a strike towards her practice target.

“Father,” she said with a glance behind her, acknowledging the count.

“You left so suddenly without properly informing me of your destination.”

“I did tell you,” she replied as she wiped sweat from her brow.

“No. You gave a direction, not a destination. And then you did not come back afterwards.”

“We did not know the final destination,” she replied. It was half true, since though she did know they had been heading to the Graywolf territory, the stop in the Wethra territory and even now the stop here in the capital was not the final destination.

Count Ghele was giving Adelade a sharp look and seemed unwilling to let the issue go.

“Did you all succeed?”

“Well, no. Not yet.”

“You are back in the capital.”

“We think the hero is here temporarily. She seems to currently have a goal that will not be fulfilled here though.”

“Is that so? Then you will be taking care of several things while you are here. Since you clearly intend to rejoin the prince when he departs.”

“What do you mean, Father?”

“It is time for another of your tests. Also, there is to be a courting party in two days. You will attend and speak with those of a suitable arcanum capacity. You know how to test this. I shall make a decision about your husband from your report and the marriage offers extended.”

Adelade was shaken.

“What? Why so suddenly?”

“As a woman, your child bearing years are already here. The family has always increased our arcanum capacity and power in order to serve. You have the strongest capacity and power, so you need to have as many children as possible.”

Adelade could not help but see the same situation they had just left in the Blackmane Woods unfolding before her again, this time with her as the star. However, it was true that because she and Wyen were not together already that she could not even use him as an excuse. Coupled with the fact that Wyen had a lesser arcanum capacity by a large degree, Count Ghele would likely never approve of their union. Much like her secret love interest though, she had no intention of marrying another. For now, she had to go along with her father’s wishes.

Swallowing her disgust, Adelade nodded.

“Yes, Father. I will go and let you know. Please excuse me.”

Adelade hurried away from the training grounds to change into something more suitable for her magic test. She also needed to talk with Wyen, but that too would need to wait.

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Fangor Wotnese was the son of a knight of Sengar. It was only natural that he would follow in his father’s footsteps and become a knight himself. However, Fangor struggled greatly in his studies. No matter how hard he tried, it was looking like it would be impossible for him to be little more than a soldier, not a proper knight. Fangor had always looked up to and admired his father for his accomplishments and had always vowed to accomplish the same. When it looked as though he would not even make the Academy, he despaired at failing before he had even begun.

Knights, while trained in combative arts, were also learned people that had attended the Royal Academy and were subsequently recognized by the Crown. Only certain positions could be held by knights, such as the personal guards to members of the royal family or castle guards.

His father could not bear the despair that had encroached on his young son, and thus did everything he could to help Fangor improve. Because of his father’s help, Fangor barely passed the entrance exam for the Royal Academy. It looked like his dreams would come true after all.

However, Fangor would continue to face the fact that he was only just good enough to get into the Academy. The only area where he showed consistent progress of his own accord was in his martial training.

One day, after the day’s classes were completed, Fangor was asked to remain behind by the instructor. He was warned that, should he fail another exam, he would be thrown out of the Academy and never be allowed to become the knight he desired. Needless to say, the pressure that placed on a boy of eleven was overwhelming, and he spent the rest of that day wailing in despair.

Fangor often thought back to that moment, knowing that it was the moment where his life changed forever. Interrupted in the middle of a howl, he was told to shut up by an unseen classmate. Fangor had lashed out at the unseen, verbal assailant, only to realize that it was the prince, Quinn. In an instant, Fangor believed his life, not just his dream, was over. However, the young prince did not respond to Fangor’s verbal tirade, instead asking to hear what had driven a proud wolf beastfolk into a pitiful pup. Fangor had growled at the prince, making it the second life-ending failure that he committed in the span of ten minutes. Again the prince ignored his behavior, and so Fangor told him of his situation.

“Then I will just have to help you pass,” Quinn had said.

With that single phrase, Fangor suddenly had the two best students at the academy as tutors, as Wyen was already friendly with Quinn by that point. He also received the nickname Fang, in part from his wolf beastfolk heritage, his name, and reference to that first encounter with Quinn.

With their help, Fang went from in danger of failing out to barely passing. It was not the most impressive splash Fang could have made, as he was still towards the bottom of the class, but the bond of friendship that he forged with the two geniuses led to Quinn selecting him over all the other candidates to be his personal guard knight.

There were some benefits to this duty. The secure location that was the castle made it particularly easy to watch over the prince. So easy that Fang could slack a little when they were in private. Then there were the honors and attention that came from simply being a personal guard to a member of the royal family.

Suffice to say, as far as Fang was concerned, he had accomplished his life’s goal. That was not to say that he lacked any new desires, but he always considered them secondary sources of happiness. One that did nag at the back of his mind was the prospect of a family of his own in the near future. However, he had a significant lack of women in his life.

As he thought about his continued future, he received a message from Wyen which made him groan in mental agony.

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For a member of a Shadow unit, there were few opportunities to rest. As they served many different roles, training and duties blended together without pause. The unfortunate toll that a Shadow’s work took on them was often a shortened lifespan, either due to some task ending in death or the eventual complete breakdown from physical and mental fatigue and trauma.

However, these realities of their work sat far away from the focus of Phillippe and Vivette’s attention at the moment. It was the day after they had returned from the prolonged journey to both the Graywolf and Wethra territories and today found the pair currently working crowd control.

“Let me see her!” shouted one of the dozens of people, mostly dwarves, outside of the hero’s small shack clinic.

The members of the crowd were craftsmen that were mostly blacksmiths, but included a few whose work was about fine detail like jewelers. Why these rowdy people were clamouring for the hero’s attention was a mystery to Shadows, but the fervor was what was causing them concern.

“What is going on out here? I can’t work with all this noise right outside my clinic!” the hero shouted as she opened the door.

“Give me your request! I can do it better and faster!”

Several of the craftsmen shouted variations of that towards the hero.

“But several of you I spoke to over the last few days and you either said it was impossible or far out of my price range.”

“That was before I saw the final thing that washed up smith did!”

“Tymur and I made the agreement. I’m getting my supply of needles and other instruments from him,” retorted the hero.

“Better…”

“Faster…”

“And not in my budget. Now if you wish to have a rational discussion, I can make an appointment with you later. Right now, I have many other appointments. So go away!”

The hero slammed the door shut, disappearing back into her shack clinic. The various craftsmen continued to murmur to themselves and each other as they dispersed back towards their own shops.

Phillippe and Vivette shared a glance that silently said, “Let’s not get on her bad side. Ever.”

The next several days were largely the same. The hero would head to the market in the morning and purchase some provisions, then return to the shack. A steady stream of visitors would arrive at each hourly bell and slowly leave afterwards. In the evening, she would meet with others related to business ventures or take her work to the streets.

The two kept their distance, instead keeping a vigil with the aid of the others in the Shadow unit. While they continued trying to blend in and conceal themselves, their presence was known to the hero since they had been involved in the crowd incident several days prior.

They also took the opportunity to investigate the craftsman known as Tymur, since the hero had made contact with and apparently ordered something from him.

Tymur was a dwarf who had been working as a weaponsmith for nearly three decades. He had been renowned for the quality of the weapons he forged and had taken many apprentices over the years. Unfortunately it was because of an accident by one of those apprentices that Tymur had to stop. That accident left Tymur missing his thumb and two fingers on his left hand and tremors in what was left. It had drained the money he had just to save his life after the resulting infection.

His new condition left Tymur unable to forge weapons like he had for years, and he stopped receiving work. Still, his dwarven stubbornness prevented him from leaving the sphere of metalworking, and he started dealing in fine work that could be done with one hand. However, he was slow in completing orders, and his profits were still negligible as more customers stopped doing business with him. Even when he reduced the prices on his work, he could not salvage most of his base. For some reason though, the hero had decided to utilize Tymur’s skill set for her mysterious order.

One particular evening, the hero was out dining at a nearby tavern when a trio of men entered. Phillippe, who was sitting near the door, instantly picked up that they did not from this part of town. He silently signaled Vivette, who was sitting with another Shadow operative closer to the hero as she noticed the suspicious trio.

The men glanced around, then spotted the hero and approached her. Phillippe rose and followed behind them as they drew closer.

“You the woman acting like a physician?” one of the trio sneered at the hero.

She seemed unfazed as she paused her meal and glanced up at him.

“No. I’m a doctor.”

“Quit lying!” barked the second, “I saw people coming out of that pile of sticks you call a physician’s.”

“What about my clinic seems to be bothering you?”

“Your clinic? What the heck does that mean? You can’t be operating as a physician. You’re just a little girl,” the first responded.

“I’m not a physician. I’ve made that point clear.”

“Stop ignoring us! You keep stealing our customers,” the first man continued.

The entire tavern had gone quiet as everyone’s attention was drawn to this commotion.

The first physician grabbed her shoulder to force her up, but she quickly sprang up, locking his hand in place with her own grip, and placed the point of a dagger not at his throat, but his upper arm.

“Did you know that there is an artery just below the skin right here,” she said, pricking the man, “I could slip this in just a bit, and you would drop dead in less than a minute.”

The first physician paled a bit as he glanced between her cold, serious expression and the dagger. The other two physicians were standing there, equally unsure of what to do. Phillippe was quietly chuckling to himself, impressed by the hero’s movements. He would have to get her to explain what she meant, since it sounded like useful information for assassination purposes.

“Now, your ‘customers’ are my patients. I care about them, not their coin. That is why they come to me. That and I actually help them with their medical issues. The three of you will never be good physicians, let alone doctors, with the mindset you clearly possess.”

She withdrew the dagger and released the man’s wrist.

“You should scurry on back to your pathetic excuses for medical practices before something happens to you. I’d rather not have to treat any wounds you incur.”

The three glanced around at the tavern, noticing that most everyone was glaring at them. There were a number of patrons or their family members or friends that the hero had treated over the last several days. Phillippe was also standing right behind them. The three quietly left without argument.

“That won’t be the last of them, I’m certain,” Phillippe warned the hero as the atmosphere resumed its previous vigor.

“Is that not why you are here?” said the hero as she resumed her dinner.

It was a fair point, and the next night both an assassin and an arsonist were captured by the Shadow unit. Vivette was the one that informed the hero afterwards.

In the span of half a day, the hero was on the move again, leaving the city in her magic carriage as Phillippe felt his stomach drop at having failed again.