[Stella]

It took a dozen hard knocks for the door of her apprentice’s house to open, revealing a tiny, teary-eyed figure behind it. Stella recognized the child to be her apprentice’s youngest sister.

It appeared that she was too late to spare anyone’s tear-ducts.

Stella found her apprentice, Avon, sobbing into his grandmother’s embrace. The three young girls surrounding the two didn’t fare better.

These days, the office Stella worked and resided in was bombarded with unidentified corpses—all bloody, all having a letter from Gustav’s office urging a prompt report placed carelessly on their distended abdomen. It made for sleepless nights and aching headaches. Learning about Gustav’s disgusting scheme only managed to worsen her already foul mood.

But it wasn’t Avon’s fault that Gustav used his authority as a village head to send false documents to Capital City, enlisting the boy as a volunteer in Ashmore Kingdom’s quest to put an end to a tyrant’s reign. So, Stella pushed back her fury at that bastard’s antics to cut this tragic scene playing before her short, “Will you stop this already?”

The sobbing ebbed as Avon pulled away from his grandmother’s embrace, prompting everyone in the room to look at Stella. The boy’s childish voice was noticeably hoarse as he broke out, “Teacher?”

The little girl that opened the door for her dragged a seat, offering Stella to take it with a face still stained with tears. Stella didn’t want to linger for long, but she couldn’t refuse such a courtesy. She smiled at the girl and then turned to her apprentice, scolding him, “I can’t even trust you to handle herb extracts and you think you’re qualified enough to take on quests?”

“But the village head sa—“

“I don’t give a damn what that greedy bastard says!” The girls let out scandalized gasps, and so Stella attempted again, softer, more considerate to those of impressionable age, “Your grandmother and sisters need you more than this Kingdom. You can argue against that when you master treating one condition with the poison designed to cause another.”

Avon appeared terribly perplexed. “You can do that?”

“Exactly my point.”

Avon’s grandmother voiced out her own concerns, “Lady Kale, if Avon didn’t show up tomorrow at the village head’s manor, he’ll make trouble for him.”

“You don’t need to worry, I’ll take care of it.” Getting up from her seat, Stella spared a last command for Avon before walking out of the house, “After my departure, close the office and continue your studies at home. If you need the laboratory, you know where the key is.”

Avon’s eyes went wide, realization dawning. “Teacher, you can’t mean…!”

The sound of the door closing behind her with a snap swallowed up Avon’s protests.

If Stella were to be frank, working as a coroner was a waste of her expertise.

Then again, it was that expertise that had her willingly isolate herself in this part of the Kingdom, her main source of news being Avon.

Outside of teaching, Stella didn’t think her old field would come of use. She didn’t think it would be in this way, either—a way to defend herself.

It was another sleepless night Stella spent in her laboratory, sorting through concoctions and compounds she had long since forgotten about. She packed the most effective of the collection, hoping they would help her survive for a time. Otherwise, it would be a terrible shame.

When Stella arrived to Gustav’s manor early in the morning, she found him standing along with his son at its gates, casting looks of pure confusion at an unfamiliar young man with a peculiar-looking staff in hand.

Stella might’ve been a recluse, but even she knew this young man wasn’t a local to the village. The stranger detail was that she couldn’t link him to any of the candidates Gustav selected in his false claims. Not Avon, not the village butcher’s son, not the innkeeper, and not the retired Royal Diplomat’s stepson.

In response to her inquiring looks, the young man merely smiled, his dark eyes glinting in mischief.

They were soon joined by another, and it was the butcher, not his son.

The butcher’s blue eyes held a clear, burning anger. Stella only met him on the occasions where Avon was too occupied with his studies to bring her necessities from the market, but she thought him to be a mild-mannered and patient fellow. Now? He looked ready to put vital pieces of Gustav on sale.

Trust Gustav to bring the worst in anyone.

Then came the last arrival, yet another that wasn’t among the selected: a young woman Stella recognized by face but not by name. She came across her as well in one or two occasions, and those were accompanied by gossipy villagers either enviously or reverently remarking on her looks.

The young woman carried an assortment of items on her, admirably unbothered by their weight. In a hand, she held a bow. On her back, she carried arrows in a quiver. From her waist dangled a small pouch. Over a shoulder, she hung a wide strap tied to a larger pouch—one holding what appeared to be a lute among its contents. A measure against boredom, perhaps?

At any rate, it seemed Stella wasn’t the only one that took another’s place.

With every appearance, Gustav’s confused gaze dissipated, until it finally morphed into outrage. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“What other meaning is there?” Stella returned, not bothering to hide her disgust. “You wanted people to represent the village and you have them.”

“People that would have a better chance, not you!”

“What’s the point? You never had the survival of those you selected in mind anyway.”

That silenced Gustav quickly.

“Father, we don’t have much time,” Gustav’s son reminded then. “You already sent word to Cora Town. Don’t you think it’s easier to rewrite the names than starting anew?”

It was amazing how dutifully the son followed the father’s footsteps.

Gustav appeared to think about it for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. He ordered his son to bring him a booklet and a pen. Once he got them, he started with the butcher, “Name, age, and occupation?”

“William Bernard. I’m forty-two years of age. I work as a butcher.”

“Alright, now…” Gustav looked at her.

Stella raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know your age,” Gustav argued.

“Thirty-one.”

With an almost palpable relief, Gustav went on scribbling, locking onto the next target once he finished. It was the unfamiliar young man. “And you?”

“Just call me Yonten. I’m allegedly twenty-four.”

Allegedly?

It seemed Gustav shared the confusion but decided against questioning in that line further. “And what do you do, Yonten?”

“Oh, I travel from place to place, witnessing the start of a new era here, the end of another there…”

What a beautifully useless answer.

Gustav shifted his attention to the next person so quickly it was impressive. He asked the young woman standing next to Stella, expression for once expectant, “Are you as good as your brother?”

The young woman completely ignored his inquiry, answering, “Jehona Spyros. Twenty. I’m unemployed as well.” Spyros? Wasn’t that the family the retired Royal Diplomat married into?

Yonten looked in Jehona’s way, perhaps detecting the jab at his expense. It amused Stella a little.

Gustav closed the booklet after a final scribble, bringing out an emblem from his pocket. “This is Cinder Village’s emblem. Give it to the Royal Knights stationed at Cora Town along with my letter. That’ll be enough for you and your families to receive funds.”

And for some to enter his coffers, of course.

Ever since the Kingdom descended into chaos after that tyrant Aldric betrayed the King, the situation in Cinder Village slowly changed. While Cinder was far from the heart of the crisis, its economy was still affected.

The King ordered funds to those volunteering in the fight to restore peace to the Kingdom. Their families and hometowns were included, too. It was those funds that Gustav salivated after, so much that he manipulated his way into getting them.

Stella didn’t step close to take the emblem and the letter from Gustav, instead she remained rooted in her spot, hoping to convey her utter contempt for him in her gaze. William and Jehona seemed to hold their own grudges, seeing as they didn’t take the two items as well.

With no one to do it, the task fell on Yonten’s shoulders.

They spared no farewells to the bastard and his spawn, turning their backs on them and setting off on a quest of unknown outcomes.