1

After returning to Argyll, Ras left the Vildhjärta in Izai’s capable hands and headed to the palace to meet with Fiarca.

Ras’s mission to prevent the assassination of Princess Tishna had been one of the utmost secrecy. Only a few souls among the imperial palace personnel even knew that he’d been gone. And yet, upon his return, Ras noticed a difference in the way people were looking at him. It wasn’t so obvious as to be called hatred, but there was a coldness in the way he was treated. The men looked at him with envious eyes, while the women regarded him with bitterness and scorn. It was treatment Ras was used to by then, yet he couldn’t help but wonder what had brought on this sudden intensity.

However, there was no time to corner anyone and grill them about it.

“I’m coming in, Aur.”

Capitalizing upon the privileges afforded by his position, Ras entered the crown prince’s office without knocking first. Since Elmira was away, the room was populated by several minor bureaucrats, while Kanalayka stood on guard duty. Naturally, Fiarca was wearing her disguise, complete with a black mask.

“Hey, Ras. You’re back early,” said Fiarca with a sly smirk.

The plan had been for Ras to stay in Barlama after his mission was done and meet up with the royal princess. As such, Fiarca realized something was amiss as soon as he returned. She quickly finished up her business and ordered all the officials to leave, so that only she, Kanalayka, and Ras remained in the room.

“Now then, would you mind telling me what happened?” asked Fiarca, removing her mask and setting it aside.

“There’s something I’d like to ask you first, Fi,” Ras forcefully interrupted. “This Princess Tishna—just who is she really?”

Fiarca raised one eyebrow inquisitively.

“What do you mean by that, Ras? I sent you her file, didn’t I? Did you forget to read it?”

“Drop the act,” he said with a glare. “You can’t say you didn’t know what they call her over there.”

“Of course I did,” she said without an ounce of guilt. “I just didn’t tell you and Elmira.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted you to go in with fresh eyes,” Fiarca explained. Her bold declaration left Ras speechless. He scowled in displeasure.

But the princess had a point. There was a big difference between hearing something and seeing the facts for oneself. Especially when those facts concerned such an exceptional figure as Princess Tishna.

“But if you learned about the Wicked Princess that quickly, that must mean her actions are common knowledge,” Fiarca went on.

“Sure seems that way,” said Ras. “At least, the mercenaries at the guild acted like everyone knew.”

“Interesting. So that means either she’s so notorious that even the royal family can’t keep people quiet, or else somebody has been spreading those rumors on purpose.”

Fiarca adopted a serious look and began to ponder. Kanalayka, meanwhile, became quite flustered and tried to interrupt.

“Excuse me, Your Highness. By Wicked Princess, are you really talking about Princess Tishna?”

“That’s right. She has quite the track record. There are tales of her seducing her own sister’s fiancé and taking him on a date, or bullying the daughter of a newly lorded baron until she left the royal academy… They even say she evicted an entire village just to buy up the land to build her private villa.”

“What?!”

Kanalayka’s eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Is she really allowed to get away with behavior like that? She may be a princess, but surely the king and the rest of her family have something to say!”

“They don’t. Because whatever she does, it always works out best for her people.”

“…How so?” asked Kanalayka, tilting her head. Fiarca shrugged.

“The fiancé turned out to be seeing three other older married women in secret. It all came to light because of Princess Tishna’s actions. One of those women even came to the palace to start a fight, and Tishna almost ended up getting seriously hurt while standing up for her sister.”

“I—I see…”

“Meanwhile, the girl that she drove from the academy turned out to be an imposter, an illegitimate child born out of wedlock, while the real daughter was being kept prisoner in the baron’s cellar. And that village that Princess Tishna displaced? Not long after, a freak landslide wiped the place off the map. There’s no trace of it now.”

“But how? Did Princess Tishna know those things were going to happen?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” said Fiarca with a noncommittal shake of her head. “It’s all a little too perfect to be called coincidence.”

Looking only at the results, Tishna’s actions saved many people. That was why she was never blamed. And yet her deeds were undeniably selfish and evil. It was little wonder she had come to be known as the Wicked Princess. The question remained: Was that part of her plan?

Fiarca turned her gaze back to Ras. “So, would you mind telling me what happened on your end?” she asked.

Ras’s expression turned sour.

“We ran into a dragon,” he said.

“A dragon?” asked Kanalayka with an uneasy look. “You mean a dragon dragon?”

Ras nodded lazily, hoping it would set her nerves at ease.

“Yeah,” he said. “An aquatic dragon. Fully grown, too.”

“And Princess Tishna just so happened to be there at the time?” asked Fiarca with an arched brow.

Ras let out a languid sigh. “She said she was going sightseeing or something and turned up with a bunch of armed guards. Because of that, we were able to keep local casualties to a minimum despite the many fiends.”

“And meanwhile, you took care of the dragon?”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave it there, could I?”

“So the princess just so happens to go for a meander when a dragon shows up, and then there just so happens to be an experienced dragonslayer nearby? It’s all so laughably perfect,” Fiarca added with a smirk. Ras looked at her dubiously.

“Can we really call it a coincidence?” he asked. “I feel like I was forced into being there.”

“You’re a member of the Imperial Guard, Ras. There was no reason to expect you to be in Barlama at that time. Not unless somebody planned it.”

“I guess you’re right…,” muttered Ras, reluctantly accepting Fiarca’s point.

The princess giggled at him, then asked, “Did you meet her?”

“That’s the problem. She knew who I was.”

“Wooow, you’re famous.”

“Drop it. She knew my real name and everything—even the fact that I’m a Guardian of Silver. Maybe the empire has a mole.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Fiarca, suddenly growing serious. Ras raised his eyebrow at her.

“What is?”

“We’re not stupid, Ras. All countries spy on each other as a matter of course. That’s why we take action to prevent such leaks.”

“What kind of action?”

“With the assistance of Priestess Lisa, we’ve been able to make it seem as if you never left the empire at all.”

“Lisa?” replied Ras, suddenly looking blank. “What’s she got to do with this?”

“Um, Ras… Take a look…,” Kanalayka stammered, timidly handing something over to him. It was a newspaper, one of the major tabloids covering any sports, entertainment, scandals, and celebrity gossip that took place in Vif Arger.

And there on the front page was a full-length article that made Ras tense up.

“‘Broodmare Priestess? Stallion Beds Again!’ What’s this garbage?”

According to the article, a certain high-ranking officer of the imperial palace had been seen disappearing into the night with a priestess. While the paper didn’t name any names, it was obvious to anyone who read it to whom the story pertained. There were even clear pictures of Ras and Lisa included.

The newspaper was dated four days prior, the day after Ras arrived in Charlgia. Ras, of course, had no recollection of this supposed tryst, but in the first place, such a meeting was definitively impossible, because the two implicated persons had not even been in the same country at the time.

“You see what I mean now? With a scandal like this in the papers, not even the kingdom’s spies would suspect your true whereabouts, would they? There’s no way Princess Tishna could have known you were coming!”

Fiarca punctuated her explanation with a proud grin, but Ras immediately flew into a rage.

“You soiled Lisa’s reputation for this?! There was no need to involve her!”

“We did ask her permission, for the record. Once we told her it was to help prevent Princess Tishna’s assassination, she was all for it.”

“She’s too kindhearted for her own good, that girl! And you know better than to take advantage of it!”

“Oh, and her brother played the part of you, so you don’t need to get jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!”

Frustrated, Ras tossed the crumpled newspaper onto Fiarca’s desk. He felt a migraine coming on, so he pressed his fingers to his temples, shook his head, and took a few deep breaths.

He was letting himself get distracted. This fabricated scandal wasn’t the main problem right then. There was something far more pressing that needed to be addressed.

“In that case, how did Princess Tishna know I was coming?”

“That’s a real mystery. I’m afraid I don’t have the answer.”

Fiarca shook her head. Then she looked up at Ras with a confident smile on her lips.

“But I’m pretty sure therein lies the secret to unravelling Princess Tishna.”

2

“The secret…you say?”

Kanalayka turned to Fiarca with a puzzled look.

“That’s right,” said the silver-haired princess. “Putting aside the stories for the time being, what I’m interested in is how she knew Ras’s name. Do you have any ideas, Ras?”

“None whatsoever. I didn’t even know who Princess Tishna was until about two weeks ago.”

Fiarca chuckled. “It was me who asked you to make contact with her, after all. I suppose I’ll believe you, for now.”

“How gracious.”

Ras scowled bitterly in response to Fiarca’s playful words. The princess’s violet eyes remained trained on him.

“So then, what did you two talk about?” she asked.

“She whined about me entering the country illegally and told me to piss off.”

“And so you came back with your tail between your legs. Did you mention why you were there?”

“I told her about the assassination plot. She said she had enough muscle, and for me to get lost.”

Ras felt bitter all over again as he recounted the events of their first meeting. He was curious as to why the princess had been so forceful with him, but as a soldier of a foreign state, he’d had no choice but to comply.

“Didn’t she believe you?”

“I…don’t think that’s it,” Ras replied. “In fact, I think she already knew. It’s more like she didn’t want my help…or she didn’t need it.”

“She didn’t need it?” repeated Kanalayka, her eyes wide with surprise. “Even when she knows there’s a secret organization after her that even we don’t fully understand?”

For generations, an intelligence group known as the Silver Fangs had aided the empire in its espionage efforts. It was only thanks to them that the plot against Tishna had been discovered at all. For her to be aware of it as well, Charlgia would need to have access to an intelligence network as formidable as them.

Suddenly, Fiarca’s countenance turned grave.

“The Silver Fangs have concocted twenty-seven hypotheses as to how Princess Tishna could have access to such information,” she said.

“Twenty-seven?”

Ras frowned. Fiarca gave him a weak smile.

“Of those, three stand out as the most likely explanations. The first is that Princess Tishna maintains an information network equal in magnitude to the Silver Fangs.”

“So some large organization we don’t know about is on her side?”

“That’s right. However, there’s one glaring flaw in this theory. It fails to explain why such an important asset would fall under the purview of the fourth royal princess and not someone higher up on the chain.”

“Couldn’t it be something to do with her mother? Isn’t she a queen or something?”

“Of Lumede, the country next door to Charlgia,” replied Fiarca, nodding. “Princess Tishna’s only seventeen, and she couldn’t possibly have built up an organization like that by herself. With that in mind, what you said is the obvious conclusion. There’s one problem with that, however, and it’s the fact that nothing she’s done has ever contributed to Lumedian national interest.”

“…You’re right.”

Ras thought back to the stories. Forcing impossible demands on a merchant who came to the palace. Bullying a classmate until she left the academy. Even if those actions eventually worked out in her country’s favor, they were petty in the grand scheme of things. With a network of spies like the Silver Fangs on her side, Tishna should have been capable of so much more.

“Plus,” offered Kanalayka, “isn’t it unthinkable that such a large organization should be able to operate undetected by our own spies?”

Fiarca tipped her head. “Maybe.” It didn’t sound like the imperial princess herself was too convinced by this intelligence agency hypothesis.

“Then what are the other theories?” Ras asked.

“If there’s no organization supporting her,” said Fiarca, “then that means all this information must come from the princess’s own abilities.”

“Abilities?”

“Perhaps Princess Tishna has the power to read minds,” Fiarca suggested. “Then she would know all about the ill intents of the people visiting the palace, and finding out your name, Ras, would be child’s play.”

“Reading minds? Is that even possible?” asked Kanalayka in shock. Fiarca smiled and shook her head.

“Not for me, at least. I think if I met her, I would know if my mind was being read or not, though.”

Fiarca turned her gaze to Ras.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I don’t think she can read minds,” he answered. “At least, that’s not the way it felt.”

Fiarca raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

Ras’s answer was immediate.

“Because she knew about the dragon,” he said. “Princess Tishna started recruiting mercenaries just days before setting off. She knew precisely when and where it was going to appear. You can’t explain that away just by saying she can read minds.”

“That’s true. You can’t read somebody’s mind to find out when an event like that is going to happen.”

Fiarca nodded as if convinced.

“So then, what if we say she can see the future instead?”

“Is that theory number three?” asked Ras.

“Precognition…,” muttered Kanalayka. “Is that like star-reading, I wonder?”

Star-reading was the practice of analyzing the movements of heavenly bodies in conjunction with the flow of aura to predict the future fortune of people or places. Out in the desert, every few centuries or so, there appeared figures with such outstandingly accurate predictions that they came to be known and worshiped as prophets. If Tishna had a power like that, it would explain how she knew about the dragon’s coming.

But did revealing the corruption of nobles and ministers really fall under the purview of an ability like that?

“It’s a little different from mere astrology, I think,” said Fiarca. “She can’t just see the future, she knows it, as if she’s experienced it once already.”

As Fiarca went on with her explanation, Ras noticed a strange confidence in her words.

“What makes you so sure?” he asked.

“Her reputation as the Wicked Princess.”

“What?”

“If Princess Tishna really had powers of precognition, she wouldn’t have to go out of her way to disguise her interventions as callousness. It’s the same with the dragon, too. If she had told the king, she could have borrowed an army. There’d be no need for all that shifty recruiting of mercenaries and whatnot.”

“Well…I suppose. Even if it sounds like a tall tale at first, she’d have no trouble convincing the king of her powers if she pointed to her track record.”

“And yet, she stays silent. She can’t tell anyone about it. Why?”

“It sounds like you’re about to tell me.”

“That girl cannot change the past,” Fiarca stated. “If history strays from how she remembers it, her ability to predict the future will disappear.”

With that, Fiarca smiled a defiant smile.

“That’s why Princess Tishna is limited to petty interventions that won’t majorly alter events,” she explained. “Exposing a criminal just a little earlier than they would be otherwise, or keeping the victims of a dragon’s appearance to a minimum, that kind of thing.”

“Then that means,” said Ras, “the reason she knows my name and title…”

“Correct. I’d wager that in the history that Princess Tishna remembers, it was still you that fought the dragon. The only difference is that in that timeline, the losses were much greater.”

Ras fell silent. Fiarca’s logic seemed sound, if only it hadn’t been predicated on such a ridiculous premise. He was finding it difficult to accept, and so, apparently, was Kanalayka.

“You’re saying Princess Tishna has witnessed the future personally and come back in time? I’ve never heard of such a thing being possible, even with auramancy!”

“Nor I,” said Fiarca. “Which is why this might not be auramancy, but a unique power of Princess Tishna’s. Perhaps some hidden art passed down through the Lumedienne line.”

“If I can be frank, Your Highness, I’m not sure I believe that.”

“I think that’s best, for now,” said Fiarca, unhurt by her legate’s doubts. “It’s just a theory, after all. And even if Princess Tishna can return to the past, we still don’t know what her goal is.”

While Fiarca sadly shook her head, Ras appeared skeptical as he considered her claim.

“Her goal, eh?”

Princess Tishna was reliving events she’d already experienced. And to change how they played out, she was willing to besmirch her own good name, all while keeping collateral damage and ripple effects to a minimum. Because if she altered history too much, the path of events would stray from what she remembered.

Ras grasped all that. To him, it was the explanation that made the most sense.

So then, why doesn’t Tishna want the future to change?

Is it because what she really wants to stop is yet to come?

Perhaps some devastating event was just around the corner. Perhaps preventing that was Princess Tishna’s true goal. When Ras thought about it that way, all the pieces started to come together. To change the future, Princess Tishna needed Ras out of her way. That was why she had sent him back to the empire.

“Hold on,” said Ras. “So Princess Tishna has witnessed the future once already?”

“It might be more than once; we don’t know,” said Fiarca with a gentle smile. But Ras was starting to realize something.

“Right. So that’s why she said what she said…”

“Ras?”

“Fiarca…I think I know what Princess Tishna is planning to do. She’s planning to die.”

As soon as he said it, Fiarca’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean by that?” asked the ever-serious Kanalayka.

“The princess knows about the assassination attempt. That’s why she sent me away.”

“To prevent you from trying to stop it,” muttered Fiarca, her mind as keen as the edge of a blade. “Do you have any proof of that, Ras?”

“I remember what she told me,” he said, his voice growing more forceful by the second. “She said she was glad to see me once more. Dammit, the kiss—it was her way of saying goodbye!”

At the mention of a “kiss,” Fiarca froze. Even Kanalayka was shocked by the sudden coldness that seemed to seep from the princess’s every pore.

“Oh, so you kissed her, did you? Keeping that to yourself, were you?”

“Uh… Fiarca?”

It was only upon seeing the princess’s puffed-out cheeks that Ras realized his mistake. Instead of acknowledging her wrath, however, he could only think about how cute and pokable her cheeks looked.

“I see,” said Fiarca. “Even though it was your first time meeting her, she’s met you before in her memories of the future. That makes sense. What doesn’t make sense, Ras, is this: How did some strange woman manage to land a kiss on you, the Black Blade’s disciple? Are you sure you’re not going soft?”

“That’s hardly the most important part, is it?” Ras asked. “It’s just a kiss. Besides—”

As Ras prepared a flimsy excuse, a loud noise cut him off. It was the sound of Princess Fiarca slamming her hands on her desk and getting to her feet.

“That does it,” she said. “Kanalayka, make preparations for us to depart at once.”

“Depart, Your Highness? Wh-what do you mean?”

Even Kanalayka wasn’t sure what to make of the princess’s sudden declaration. But Fiarca quickly made her intentions clear.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said. “We’re heading to Charlgia at once.”

“W-we are? B-but according to the schedule, we aren’t meant to depart until next week!”

“We must be at the conference sooner or later, and a week is nothing in the grand scheme of things. The work might pile up in my absence, but it’s better than being too late for what’s to come.”

“V-very well, Your Highness.”

Kanalayka acquiesced to Fiarca’s demand. She knew that once the princess made up her mind like this, not even a Greater Dragon could dissuade her. Ras was fully aware of Fiarca’s hardheadedness as well.

“And you’re coming with me, Ras. Not undercover this time, but as my escort; a Guardian of Silver.”

Ras said nothing in the face of Fiarca’s brazen order. Instead, he gave her a small, silent nod.

3

Even if, in truth, she was only filling her brother’s shoes, the world knew Fiarca as Crown Prince Auriol. She couldn’t just saunter over to a different country as she pleased, even an allied one like Charlgia. There were bureaucrats and officers to be selected, escorts to be arranged, and schedules to be planned.

In addition, there was a magnificent send-off party, complete with a parade for the citizens, such that by the time Fiarca finally left Vif Arger, it was five days after Ras had returned to the capital. For all Fiarca’s efforts, she only succeeded in moving her departure date a mere two days forward.

Even after departing for Barlama, there were still several stops Fiarca had to make along the way. Whenever the crown prince left for foreign lands, it was common practice to lodge at every major city en route. In this way, the imperial family bolstered their reputation among the people while also providing a slight boost to that city’s economy. Bureaucrats and officers included, the entourage numbered over two thousand people. Even just a stay of one night meant an exorbitant sum spent on room and board. Keeping the nation’s economy afloat in this way was an important job of the imperial family, Fiarca included.

“Even so, I can’t help but feel this isn’t the time to be relaxing with a dinner party,” muttered Ras, standing at the bridge of the Rito, overlooking the town.

The Rito was a type of ship known as an octopedal transport, an enormous warship that moved across land on eight mechanical legs. All in all, it measured about 38 meters wide and 240 meters long. Its engine was similar in construction to a Chasseur’s core, and although it looked clunky, it could cross rough terrain at frightening speeds. Standing on the deck felt not too dissimilar to being at sea.

Fiarca’s imperial convoy numbered three of these land ships, with a combined total of forty Chasseurs aboard. Among them, of course, was Ras’s unit, Vildhjärta.

“I’m afraid you’re just going to have to accept it,” said Fiarca. She was in her disguise as Crown Prince Auriol, with the black mask covering her face. “The lord of the northern march is the most powerful man on the Council. This is one port we can’t afford to just sail past.”

The geography of Argyll divided the nation into four regions: north, south, east, and west. Among the Council of Seven, it was the four marquises who were tasked with ruling those lands. In addition, the empire was comprised of three more remote territories, which operated more or less independently. The counts of these lands made up the rest of the Council and were charged with securing the nation’s borders.

If the forces of Central Command were scored as a ten, then the combat potential of each of the counts sat around a five or a six, while the marquises each commanded a three. It was difficult for the counts, in their far-off lands, to concentrate their powers inward, but if just half of the Council joined forces, they could pose a serious threat to the throne. That was why visits like this were so important.

“Are you sure we can afford to leave these assassins alone?” asked Ras. “If they get to the princess before we reach Charlgia, it’s over.”

“Hmm… You’re awfully concerned about Princess Tishna’s safety, Ras. Did her kiss leave that much of an impression on you?”

“You’re the one who ordered me to protect her,” Ras shot back. Fiarca didn’t even try to hide her displeasure, and with a sullen look, she shrugged.

“We don’t need to rush. They won’t assassinate Princess Tishna for a while yet.”

“How do you know?”

“The fact that they employed assassins from the empire means they plan to pin the blame for this murder on Argyll. Otherwise, they could have just hired local hitmen, don’t you agree?”

“I see… You’re right.”

Ras didn’t know who was behind the assassination plot. But whoever it was, there was no doubt that their objective was to damage relations between Argyll and Charlgia. The kingdom was home to a grand total of seven unwed princesses. Even if Tishna was killed, there was always the chance that Auriol could marry one of the other six instead.

If whoever was behind this plot really wanted to sabotage the two nations’ relationship, it wasn’t enough to just kill Auriol’s fiancée. They also had to pin the blame for the murder squarely on the empire itself.

“Thinking about it another way, the mastermind has to be able to show beyond all doubt that the assassin is from Argyll. How do you suppose they plan to do that?”

“They need a witness, I suppose. Preferably a neutral third party.”

“That’s right. Fortunately for them, in just two weeks, representatives from all nations will be gathered in Charlgia for the Shrumland Alliance summit. If our mastermind wants witnesses, they simply have to strike then.”

“In other words, until the conference starts, the princess is safe.”

“I hope so,” Fiarca said.

She looked at Ras and heaved a deep sigh.

“That’s why we need to get to the bottom of this before the summit begins,” she said. “I can’t believe you let Princess Tishna send you away without even putting up a fight.”

“What did you want me to do?” Ras muttered under his breath. “How am I supposed to argue with a girl who knows the future?”

There were many personnel up on the bridge of the Rito, but the only one besides Ras and Fiarca with knowledge of the assassination plot was Kanalayka, standing guard by her mistress’s side. The constant, deafening noise of the octopedal transport’s engine made it all but impossible for anyone else to pick out the contents of Ras and Fiarca’s conversation, but an abundance of caution was nonetheless required.

“Under normal circumstances, you can’t.”

Fiarca accepted Ras’s excuse with surprising grace.

“Normal circumstances?”

“Yes. Which is why we’ll be pushing for abnormal circumstances instead.”

“What are you planning this time?”

“You’ll see. For now, let’s focus on how we’re going to get through the northern march.”

“Is the lord that much of a problem? You’re not usually this timid.” Ras turned to Fiarca with one eyebrow raised. The marquis was an experienced statesman, but he was ostensibly on Fiarca’s side. There was no need for a member of the imperial family like her to fear him to that extent.

Fiarca frowned and shook her head. “It’s not him. Pell lives here in these lands. I just can’t stand that woman.”

“Pernille, eh?”

Ras understood well the source of Fiarca’s ire. The princess let out a long sigh, just moments before the Rito ground to a complete halt. Three Chasseurs bearing large flags had suddenly appeared in the wasteland, blocking the land ship’s path. All of them were beautifully maintained custom models that clearly belonged to the noble class.

Their standards bore the emblems of both the empire and of the northern march, identifying them as envoys sent by the local lord. However…

“My name is Pernille. I am the daughter of Marquis Frédérique Auver Burndy. I come in his name to greet the crown prince of Argyll.”

When Fiarca heard the voice that came from the pilot’s seat, her face noticeably stiffened. The bearer of that voice was precisely the person that she was most afraid to meet.

It was Pernille Burndy, the eldest daughter of the lord of the northern march, and Auriol’s former betrothed.

4

That night, Fiarca and Ras were brought to the lord’s mansion. As the leader of the empire’s northern reaches, the marquis’s home was more like a castle. Though it paled in extravagance to the imperial palace, it was roughly equal in terms of size. The reception hall was lit to a dazzling extent by aura lamps, and a live orchestra decorated the air with graceful tones.

More than a thousand people filled the hall, dressed in colorful costumes. The purpose of this feast was to welcome Crown Prince Auriol to the marquis’s lands.

Standing at the center of the hall was Fiarca, in her disguise, obviously. Kanalayka, wearing a dress, was acting as her partner. Kanalayka was the daughter of Marquis Aluarche, so it was perfectly fitting for her to accompany the crown prince. Her looks were a match, too, but more than anything else, she was perfectly positioned to ensure Auriol’s safety. It was Ras who had foisted this responsibility on Kanalayka, while he killed time elsewhere at the party.

Ras was wearing his ceremonial garb, complete with a red-and-gold cape that identified him as a Guardian of Silver. From his shoulder hung an ornamental braid awarded to all knights who had slain a dragon.

Ras considered whether the full ensemble might be overdoing it, but the purpose was to impress, and in that respect the regalia did its job. Add to that Ras’s status as the son of a count, and his ill reputation as the Stallion, and it was little wonder not very many people at the party approached him.

Thanks to that, Ras was able to enjoy the luxurious standing buffet undisturbed. From time to time, he felt the envious gaze of Fiarca, who kept having to deal with the aggressive introductions of various local noblemen, but that was none of Ras’s concern. He’d probably have to face her wrath later, but that was a problem for another time.

However, in brazen defiance of Ras’s self-imposed solitude, a lone woman came up to him. She had green hair and wore a dress more splendid than any other at the party by far.

“It’s been some time since we last met, Sir Talion. I was hoping for the chance to speak with you, if you’d be so kind?”

“Well, well, if it isn’t Lady Pernille Burndy. Three years ago, in Vif Arger, was it? You’ve only grown more beautiful with time, my lady. Why, the moon itself should be ashamed to show its face beside your radiance tonight.”

Ras’s exaggerated greeting earned him a stifled titter from Pernille.

“Oh, cut it out, Ras. That isn’t funny. When did you become so versed in flattery?”

“It wasn’t all flattery,” Ras replied. “That’s a nice dress you’re wearing, Pell. Is it one of Madame Percival’s designs? That emerald necklace really suits you, too.”

The young lady’s eyes went wide.

“You’re quite right. I’m impressed, Ras. You really have been hanging out around the brothels of Prouss.”

Pernille was the daughter of Marquis Burndy, while Ras was the third son of Count Veredica. As children of Council members, the two had been introduced countless times when they were younger. But they really got to know each other when Pernille was taken into consideration to be Auriol’s wife. At that time, Ras was Fiarca’s fiancé, so due to proximity, the two had become close.

That was why Pernille was so stunned to see Ras now. The man she knew from three years ago was nowhere near knowledgeable enough to be able to comment on a dress’s design.

However, it wasn’t like Ras had come by that knowledge of his own volition. The ability to notice changes in and compliment a woman’s hairstyle or attire was essential for surviving the harsh environment of his favorite brothel, ParadiasH.

“Let’s just say I’ve been through a lot,” said Ras. “So have you, I’d imagine.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry about Princess Fiarca, Ras.”

Mistaking the jaded look in Ras’s eyes for grief, Pernille lowered her gaze and offered a few words of consolation. Ras scratched his head, unsure how to respond, for standing but a few meters behind Pernille was the very princess whose death she was presently commiserating. Ras locked eyes with Fiarca and received a glare of reproach in return. No doubt she was resenting Ras for leaving her to fend for herself while he went off and chatted with a beautiful girl like Pernille. Of course, this all went completely over the head of Pernille herself.

“You never did get along with her, did you?” asked Ras.

“Of course I didn’t. She was always prettier and smarter than me, and you and Auriol both showered her with affection. How could I not be jealous of someone like that? Even though we would have been sisters-in-law, I could never stand her.”

Pernille pouted at Ras, but then her face relaxed into a lonely smile.

“But now,” she said, “I’ve begun to wish it really had all worked out. Even if we never got along, I had nothing against the woman.”

“I see…”

Ras wasn’t sure how to respond. He only managed a weak nod. He suspected that, although she wouldn’t say it aloud, Pernille knew that Auriol was to be wed to a princess of Charlgia. As someone raised from birth with the possibility of being the crown prince’s wife, that news must have been like a boot treading on all the sacrifices she’d made.

To make matters worse, the very purpose of this party was to see Auriol off to that destination. Once he reached Charlgia, it was only a few days before he would meet Princess Tishna and the engagement would be made public. This must have been the saddest party of Pernille’s life. And yet despite all that, she could not refuse to show her face. At a party attended by sore reminders, perhaps Ras was the only ally she could find.

“Be that as it may, I think you’re better off keeping your distance from me,” he said.

“Why’s that, Ras?”

“Because the gossips love to spread lies about the Stallion,” Ras explained, “and anyone who associates with him. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

Despite his efforts to push her away, however, Pernille smiled coyly and brought herself closer.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “You’re single now, are you not? All you have to do is say you’re serious about me.”

“Drop it. I don’t want to make an enemy of your father.”

“I don’t think he’d mind, either.”

As Ras took a step back, Pernille looked up into his eyes, a cheerful smile on her lips. The next moment, without so much as a sound, somebody in a deep crimson dress stepped between the pair. It was Kanalayka.

“Ras,” she said, leaning close and whispering into his ear. “I know she might be eligible, but don’t you think you’re getting a little too friendly with this woman?” Although her words blamed Ras, it was clear her motive was to stall Pernille’s actions.

“You’re quite right,” Ras replied. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Taking advantage of the distraction, he moved behind Kanalayka, putting her between him and Pernille. It was probably Fiarca who had sent the legate over for precisely that purpose. The reason partly being to prevent any bad blood from forming between the empire and Marquis Burndy. The two families were already on thin ice with each other, thanks to the breaking off of Pernille’s engagement. If Ras, the crown prince’s aide, were to be seen making a move on her now, it could very easily invoke the marquis’s wrath. It was only natural that Fiarca should want to prevent that.

The other half of the reason was, of course, pure jealousy. Fiarca had been fielding the introductions of noblemen all evening and hadn’t even managed to eat. Seeing Ras happily enjoying himself at a time like that was enough to stoke the fires of rage in even the most levelheaded imperial princess. Especially when the person Ras was talking to was Pernille.

Kanalayka, of course, had nothing to do with any of this, but the bonds of loyalty forced her to take part in her mistress’s revenge. Pernille, meanwhile, hadn’t the slightest inkling of the complex motives underpinning Kanalayka’s actions, and so her anger fell squarely upon the legate’s shoulders.

“Are you really in a position to be interrupting us, Lady Kanalayka?” she asked. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you seem a little jealous, wouldn’t you?”

It was clear that Pernille was trying to rile up Kanalayka on purpose. It wasn’t as if she had been trying to make a serious move on Ras, but even so, she was annoyed at having their conversation cut short and decided to take out her anger on Kanalayka.

To make matters worse, Kanalayka was acting as the crown prince’s partner this evening. If she got into a catfight over the Stallion, it wouldn’t reflect well on Auriol.

In response to Pernille’s malicious words, Kanalayka stiffened and attempted a mature response. “I am simply ensuring that Ras engages in behavior that is appropriate to his new station,” she said. “I would ask you to be more temperate with your accusations, Lady Pernille.”

“Are you not accompanying His Imperial Highness tonight? Why is it any of your business with whom Ras decides to associate? Don’t tell me you’re allowing desires of the flesh to cloud your judgment?”

“I have no such desires! The only things I feel for Sir Talion are love, respect, and faith! You take that back at once!”

“Love?” repeated Pernille, her eyes wide. “I didn’t know you really did have a thing for him…”

“N-no! Not that kind of…! I—I misspoke… I mean…”

Kanalayka immediately started to stumble over her words. It appeared that while she made an excellent military officer, she was not so well versed in the verbal taunts enjoyed by young ladies of the noble class. For better or worse, she wore her heart on her sleeve, and while Pernille had only meant to tease the legate a little, the embarrassed reaction was so far from what Pernille expected that it threw her off her game instead.

Ras noticed that many of the partygoers were staring in their direction, and he cursed under his breath. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before stories started to spread about Kanalayka and Pernille, locked in a battle for the Stallion’s affections.

But Kanalayka still didn’t understand what was at stake, and Pernille seemed unlikely to back down. If she turned tail and fled as soon as Kanalayka showed up, it would only disgrace her reputation even further.

In addition, because of Pernille’s prior engagement, both Ras and Auriol were not neutral parties and could not intervene without being seen to take sides. Just as Ras started to consider resorting to auramancy to beat an expeditious retreat, there came a voice he didn’t expect to hear.

“What an interesting conversation you’re having, Pernille.”

The unassuming voice nonetheless filled the air with tension. Pernille’s breath caught, and Ras clicked his tongue in exasperation. Turning up alongside the crown prince and a contingent of guards was a tall man with gray hair—Marquis Frédérique Auver Burndy, the very host of tonight’s party, lord of the northern march, and Pernille’s father.

5

Marquis Burndy was a man in his late forties. Many years had passed since his time on the front lines, but he still possessed a respectable dignity and impressive bearing, which was in no way overshadowed by the magnificent attire of Fiarca’s crown prince disguise. If anything, the marquis was the more intimidating figure by far.

“I apologize for the late introduction, Sir Talion,” he said in a deep voice. “The house of Burndy extends its warmest welcomes to a hero of your caliber. I do hope my daughter has been treating you kindly.”

The man’s stern look failed to betray the presence or absence of a threat veiled within his pointed words. Pernille simply stared at the floor and said nothing. Ras returned a simple and inoffensive reply.

“What a splendid feast you’ve prepared for His Highness, Lord Burndy. You honor me with your gracious invitation.”

Despite being the son of Count Veredica, Ras had never had reason to meet the marquis before. He was a little surprised that Frédérique Burndy had decided to speak to him, and even more surprised by the man’s next words.

“Lift your head, Sir Talion. A Guardian of Silver should not debase himself before a mere marquis.”

“You jest, my lord. I am nothing more than the emperor’s lapdog, a humble mercenary promoted far beyond his station.”

“Beyond your station, you say? Prince Auriol appears to think otherwise. His Highness speaks very highly of you, isn’t that right?”

“Quite right,” answered Fiarca. “I believe that Ras’s achievements speak for themselves. There is no doubt in my mind that he possesses the courage to face what is required of him.”

“Speaking of achievements,” the marquis went on, “I recently heard word that a man going by your name, Sir Talion, slew an aquatic dragon within the borders of the Kingdom of Charlgia. There wouldn’t happen to be two of you running around, would there? If the rumors are to be believed, you saved the life of Princess Tishna Lumedienne Charlgiana.”

Frédérique’s words sent ripples of “Did you hear that?!” and “A real dragon?!” through the crowd. The northern march saw much trade with the nearby kingdom, and so it was expected that the marquis would have sent his spies there. Even so, the news had traveled astonishingly fast. Both Argyll and Charlgia had been keeping the fact that Ras had met with Tishna a highly classified secret. Lord Burndy shouldn’t have had easy access to that information.

“You’re well informed, as always,” said Fiarca. Frédérique raised an eyebrow.

“So it’s true, then?”

“Yes. Because of that beast, Ras was discovered and sent back to us.”

“Your Highness, I don’t think…”

Kanalayka leaned over and tried to stop Fiarca from giving away too much. Anyone at the party might overhear and learn about Ras’s infiltration. However, Fiarca didn’t seem worried.

“It’s okay, Kanalayka,” she said. “The marquis is our trusted ally. There is no need to keep secrets from him.”

“In that case,” said Frédérique, frowning, “might you elucidate to me as to why a Guardian of Silver was tasked with infiltrating a foreign kingdom in the first place?”

“Because we have reason to believe that a party of assassins operating out of our own country seeks to harm Princess Tishna,” Fiarca replied.

“Is that because of your planned marriage arrangements?”

“Many of our advisers think so.”

As Frédérique let another state secret slip, Fiarca said nothing in reproach. The engagement between Argyll and Charlgia was well known around the court by that point. Most of the nobles attending this party were surely aware of it.

Suddenly, one of the people surrounding Marquis Burndy stepped forward and, taking a rather familiar tone, said, “That’s quite the troubling news, Father. Our house would not escape suspicion if such a thing were to happen.”

The man was a slightly foppish aristocrat with the same ash-colored hair as his father. This was Valdemar Grey Burndy, the marquis’s second son. The young man possessed territory known as the Grey domain, situated in the northern march, and was also a deputy commander in the northern border guard, which made him an aura knight of some repute.

He was also an old acquaintance to both Ras and Fiarca, as he was an upperclassman at the military academy they both had attended.

“Watch your tongue, Val,” cautioned Frédérique. But his son only responded with a carefree shake of his head.

“It’s only natural. Our house is not without motive to want the princess dead. After all, with her gone, Pell can marry Prince Auriol, just as she always planned.”

“Brother!”

Pernille had jumped at the sound of her name and glared sharply at Valdemar. It was clear from the way he’d spoken that Valdemar’s words were more than a simple jest. If Tishna hadn’t come into the picture, Pernille would still be a candidate for Auriol’s marriage. She was therefore one person who stood to benefit from this assassination if it went ahead.

“Calm down, Pell. I’m just saying that the empire’s gossips will surely spin these kinds of rumors, should we do nothing.”

Valdemar gave his incensed sister a teasing smile. Frédérique, meanwhile, turned a cold gaze upon his son.

“Then what is your suggestion, Val?”

“What if we put a stop to those rumors before they begin? Our house invites suspicion only because Pell is eligible to be married. If she finds a suitable match, our motive for murder vanishes without a trace.”

Valdemar scanned the faces of everyone present, scrutinizing their individual reactions. Slowly, they each became looks of understanding.

“But who should she wed?” asked Frédérique. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

As if anticipating that precise question, Valdemar turned to Ras. “Why, I think you’ll find the perfect candidate is standing right in our midst. Wouldn’t you agree, Sir Talion?”

As all eyes fell on him, Ras almost choked on his wine.

“The son of Count Veredica is a worthy groom. And he’s fairly handsome, to boot. Who else can boast they married a dragonslayer? Quite a lucrative betrothal for our house, wouldn’t you say?”

A conniving smile spread across Valdemar’s face. Ras had to stop him before things got out of hand.

“Hold on,” he said. “Have you forgotten? I’ve brought shame to my name with the two years I spent in the whorehouses. There isn’t a chance Pernille would want to sully her reputation with a man like me.”

“Would these ‘whorehouses’ happen to include the establishment of the Black Blade?” asked Frédérique in an imposing tone. Ras turned to the man in shock.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“I was working as an imperial guard when Fon Cigel slew the Sand Dragon in the deserts of Lagyllia, and as a result, I was there for the battle. I know what reward she asked of the emperor, and I also know the true purpose of the women she trains there.”

The marquis’s eyes bored into Ras’s skull. He and the emperor were around the same age, and so it wasn’t surprising to learn that the two of them had stood together on the same battlefield twenty-seven years prior. It made for ample opportunity to learn of the Black Blade’s secret.

“Besides,” added Valdemar with a sly smirk, “it’s not strange for an unwed mercenary to relieve his tensions at the pleasure-houses from time to time. That’s a far sight better than some nobles I could mention, with a mistress for every day of the week! Oh, not to insinuate that I’m in either camp, you understand.”

Before he knew it, Ras felt that the atmosphere had shifted somewhat into a blessing upon his and Pernille’s union, quite against his own will. The most surprising thing of all, though, was that even Pernille herself appeared to be giving serious thought to her brother’s suggestion.

Finally, Fiarca, who had not said a word throughout, spoke up.

“Indeed, Ras would make a splendid spouse,” she said. “But you would need to seek the emperor’s blessing for a marriage among the Council.”

“On that front,” said Valdemar, “I wonder if we might persuade Prince Auriol to put in a good word on our behalf?”

Though he turned to face Fiarca, Valdemar spoke to his father. Given his low status, it was not allowed for him to address the crown prince directly.

“I understand your plight, Lord Valdemar Grey, but alas, I cannot grant that request.”

The black mask on Fiarca’s face altered her voice to match that of her late brother. Valdemar bowed deeply in deference, then spoke again.

“I wonder if we might hear the reason for that?”

“I’m afraid,” said Fiarca, “that I cannot grant Ras’s hand to Pernille without upsetting my ever-loyal legate here.”

With that, she shot Kanalayka a meaningful glance.

“Y-Your Highness, y-you misunderstand… I—I harbor no such…”

Suddenly the center of attention, Kanalayka was reduced to a stammering mess.

Of course, Fiarca was under no misconceptions when it came to the imperial guardswoman’s feelings for Ras. Even if there was something there, it wasn’t strong enough to be called love. Yet for the purposes of extricating Ras from his present predicament, that meager affection made for the perfect excuse.

Ras couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at the princess’s characteristic mischief.

“On that note,” said Fiarca, “how about a little light entertainment, Lord Burndy?”

“Entertainment, you say?”

“Why don’t we settle who earns Ras’s hand with swords? Since Pernille cannot fight, I suggest Lord Grey duels in her stead. There’s no need to spill blood, of course.”

Frédérique was stunned speechless by Fiarca’s abrupt suggestion. No doubt, in his mind, he was speedily weighing up the potential gains and losses of such a match. As the crown prince’s host, however, he didn’t have the liberty of refusing a request from Auriol himself. Plus, winning the duel would free his house of motive to assassinate Princess Tishna, and the fight itself would liven up the party. It was a hard proposition to turn down.

“If your son wins,” said Fiarca, “I will ask His Majesty to allow Pernille and Ras to be married. Should Kanalayka be victorious, however, then I would like to ask a favor of Lord Grey. Is that acceptable?”

“Hmm. What say you, Val?”

Frédérique turned to his son. The major risk of this battle was for Valdemar to suffer an embarrassing defeat. He was the deputy commander of the marquis’s border force, and so if he didn’t at least put up a good show against the imperial legate, people would start to doubt the Burndy house’s capability to defend the empire from invasion.

Valdemar adopted a confident grin.

“I accept,” he said. “Lady Kanalayka shall make for a worthy opponent, and our guests tonight shall have an exciting tale to tell their families when they return home.”

And so, a new item was hastily added to the night’s program: a duel between Lady Kanalayka and Lord Valdemar Grey.

6

The night’s guests were gradually shepherded out of the reception hall and into the mansion’s courtyard, where they were told to await the commencement of the night’s spectacle: a test match between Lord Valdemar Grey, deputy commander of the northern border guard, and Lady Kanalayka Aluarche, legate of the Imperial Guard.

Such a high-level duel was a rare sight, even in Vif Arger, and so the spectators were abuzz with excitement. All save for one young man, whose tired features betrayed a deep sense of fatigue.

“What were you thinking, Fi?” asked Ras.

“You should be thanking me,” the girl by his side answered. “This way, you don’t have to lift a finger. Or are you telling me you really did want to get married to Pernille?”

“There’s not a chance Marquis Burndy was serious about that. The engagement is simply a way to stop rumors spreading about the Burndys’ involvement in Princess Tishna’s assassination. Once that risk passes, he’d use my infamy as the Stallion as an excuse to call the marriage off.”

In response to this, Fiarca pouted her lips.

“You haven’t changed, Ras,” she said. “You’ve never understood how charming you really are.”

Then she turned to the woman by her side.

“Well, none of this will matter so long as you win tonight. Are you ready, Kanalayka?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Still wearing her crimson gown, the imperial legate responded in the same, no-nonsense tone as ever. She was completely unarmored and held in one hand a ceramic training sword. While an aura knight’s blade appeared blunt, when energized it could slice through steel like butter. Against such an opponent, light or medium armor was less than useless, because it encumbered the wearer for no gain.

“Be careful,” Ras warned her. “I know you trained across the ocean, so you might not be aware, but Lord Grey won first place at our academy’s auramancy tournament six years ago.”

“Auramancy tournament?”

Kanalayka blinked at the unfamiliar words. When Ras hesitated to explain, Fiarca filled in.

“What he’s saying is that six years ago, Val was even stronger than Ras was at the time.”

“I see. So he is a formidable foe, then.”

Kanalayka’s expression became stern. At the time, Ras would have been fifteen years old, and Valdemar seventeen. Even taking those two years of adolescence and learning into account, besting the teenage Ras was no small feat. Of course, the Valdemar of today would have only grown since that time, as well.

Valdemar advanced to the center of the courtyard and awaited his opponent.

“I’m ready to begin when you are, Lady Kanalayka,” he said. “Your Highness, we start on your command.”

The young lord’s chosen weapon was a one-handed sword. From the look of the scabbard on his back, Kanalayka had expected a long sword, but she was surprised to see him enter the duel with a short sword.

“Be sure not to overdo it, you two,” said Fiarca, before barking her orders aloud. “Rassemblez! Saluez!”

Kanalayka called upon her aura, and her body and sword began to glow with a crimson light. Seeing her perfect stance, Valdemar narrowed his eyes in respect.

“Prêts! Allez!”

On Fiarca’s signal, Kanalayka flew into action. Her weapon was a rapier, well suited to hit-and-run tactics with its light, thrusting strikes. But she didn’t go straight for Valdemar right away. Instead, she moved as if in a dance, with long, sweeping steps and twirls that fascinated all who saw her in motion. Her long hair and the hem of her dress fluttered in the night air, and the spectators were captivated.

“Aha,” said Valdemar. “So this is the famed Kidean style. I can see how this speed would get one over on any ordinary soldier.”

Kanalayka’s swift movements and relentless strikes put Valdemar initially on the defensive. She was able to quickly attack from range, making evasion a futile task. The young lord quickly realized this and concentrated on parrying her blows instead.

Even so, Valdemar didn’t break a sweat. In fact, he appeared to be enjoying it.

“I’m afraid, Lady Kanalayka, that you have forced my hand.”

Valdemar’s left palm began to glow with a crimson light, and Kanalayka was forced to abandon her relentless assault and deal with the young man’s counterattacks. A second sword, identical in shape and size to the first, had suddenly appeared in Valdemar’s other hand. He had been hiding it within the sheath upon his back the entire time.

“A twin-sword style…,” muttered Kanalayka.

“The men of my family face no shortage of disputes,” Valdemar explained, “and so we are quite equipped to take on anyone. We never start fights, you understand, but we finish them. And if it’s a battle of speed you’re looking for, my lady, I think you’ll find me a formidable opponent.”

With a smile on his lips, Valdemar lunged, using the sword in his left hand to keep Kanalayka’s blade at bay.

While a rapier allowed for fast strikes, it was also light and easily moved. With Valdemar’s superior physique, it was not difficult to halt Kanalayka’s sword, even with one hand. Meanwhile, Valdemar was capable of rapid combination attacks, forcing Kanalayka, even with her considerable speed, to gradually adopt a more defensive stance. The look of frustration was clear on her face.

“Tch!”

“You’ve done well to last this long, my lady. I see you really do live up to your title! But let’s see how you handle…this!”

Unable to withstand the relentless torrent of strikes, Kanalayka was forced to halt in place. Seizing this opportunity, Valdemar crossed his swords, channeling and releasing a vast concentration of aura at once. Realizing what was coming, Kanalayka’s face froze with fear, just moments before she was engulfed by a massive explosion. Only three people present were able to respond to such a swift action.

“An Over Art?!” muttered Frédérique, his expression grave.

“Ras!” yelled Fiarca.

“Tch!”

Fiarca conjured a shield of ice to protect the spectators, but even that was too slow. Drawing his sword, Ras deflected the stray shots that managed to make their way through.

What Valdemar had done was unleash a fan-shaped scattershot of aura blades. The effective range was about seven or eight meters, and the technique endangered everything in that zone, friend or foe. It was a move specialized for taking down human enemies, completely different from any of the arts Ras knew, and its indiscriminate fire was perfect for pinning down an elusive opponent.

“Cease fire, Val!” Frédérique bellowed. “Have you forgotten where you are?!”

His anger was only natural. Without the quick thinking of Ras and Fiarca, Val’s imprudent move could have harmed the valued dinner guests.

But Valdemar barely heard his father’s complaints, for something even more terrifying weighed on his mind.

“That’s impossible… She’s unharmed!”

As the smoke cleared, Valdemar raised his swords once more. Standing at the center of the explosion was Kanalayka, illuminated by the moonlight, without a single scratch on her smooth and fair skin. She had managed to defend against every last one of Valdemar’s flying blades.

“Not so,” she said. “This dress is not my own, and yet I allowed it to be damaged. My training is still far from complete.”

Sure enough, there was a large rip in Kanalayka’s dress that ran all the way up one leg, revealing the soft skin of her thigh. The legate sighed deeply, as if more embarrassed by her own mistake than the indecent exposure. Blocking Valdemar’s attack had been no challenge, but Kanalayka had failed to take into account the way her dress fluttered.

“As my way of atoning for this failure, I shall show you my full strength as well,” she said, leveling the point of her sword at Valdemar. Her cold eyes bored straight into the young lord’s, yet he returned only a gleeful smile.

“Fascinating! I must say, I’m quite taken by you, Lady Kanalayka! Once this duel is over, allow me to ask for your hand!”

Valdemar leaped high into the air. The benefit of a two-sword style was the overwhelming quantity of strikes it allowed. The best way to take advantage of that was by getting into ultra-close quarters with one’s opponent.

The only reason Valdemar had not done that yet was because in such a state, it was difficult to hold back. For an aura knight, just a few millimeters could spell the difference between a grazing blow and a fatal wound. In many ways, unleashing an Over Art, the danger of which was obvious at first glance, was the kinder option.

However, right before Valdemar unleashed the culmination of his training, Kanalayka vanished from his sight.

“I’m honored, Lord Grey, but I shall have to refuse.”

The voice was like an icicle dropped down his spine. It came from directly behind him.

Valdemar suddenly thought back to the fleet-footedness Kanalayka had displayed in their duel so far. It was almost as if the legate had been trying to warn him. Valdemar had mistakenly believed that to be the limit of her speed. Perhaps that was Kanalayka’s intention all along. As it turned out, neither combatant had been showing their full strength from the beginning. If anyone had been merciful so far, it was Kanalayka.

“I never show favor to men who are weaker than I.”

“…What?!”

When Kanalayka unleashed her full potential, not even Valdemar could track her. Before he knew it, he was lying on the ground, with the tip of the legate’s blade pressed against the back of his neck. To all the spectators, watching with bated breath, it must have been impossible to tell what had happened. For a while, the crowd was dead silent. Nobody spoke a word. Then after ten seconds had passed, a murmur spread among the guests, which gradually turned into loud cheers.

“Are you willing to continue, Lord Grey?”

“No. You got me fair and square, I’m afraid.”

The point of Kanalayka’s rapier was rigid and unmoving, and Lord Grey slowly raised both hands beside his head. Kanalayka lowered her sword and reached out to help him up.

“My, my, I might really fall in love at this rate,” said Valdemar, going in for a hug.

“I’d prefer you didn’t, Lord Grey,” parried Kanalayka, stepping aside with flawless ease. “You’re a nuisance.”

Instead, the legate walked back over to where Ras and Fiarca were waiting. The imperial princess took a step forward and addressed the crowd.

“That settles it, Lord Grey. Ras and Pernille shall not be married. Any objections, Marquis Burndy?”

“None at all, Your Highness.”

Frédérique gave a dignified bow. From his point of view, there was very little difference between Lord Grey winning and losing the duel. The match had already served its purpose, both to entertain the night’s guests, and put to bed any rumors about the house’s involvement in the plotted assassination of Princess Tishna. Even though Valdemar had lost, he had more than shown his capabilities, and to top it all off, no one had been seriously hurt. The marquis could hardly hope for a better outcome.

Meanwhile, Ras and Fiarca were not without gains as well.

“Now then, Lord Grey, I believe you owe us a favor.”

“I’m a man of my word, Your Highness,” Valdemar said, straightening in response to Fiarca’s words. “Ask me anything you wish.”

“I would like you to accompany our delegation to Charlgia and assist us in rooting out the organization seeking to assassinate Princess Tishna.”

“An assassin hunt, you say?”

For a moment, Valdemar looked blank. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to hear such a proposal.

“Should you succeed in preventing the princess’s assassination,” said Fiarca, “your house will surely be absolved of any baseless suspicion. Plus, you’ll be upholding your sister’s honor. What do you say?”

Valdemar bowed deeply. “I humbly offer my life in your service, Your Highness.”

“Thanks,” said Fiarca with a small nod. “We’ll be counting on you.”

Just then, Ras leaned over and whispered in the princess’s ear.

“Was this your plan all along?” he asked.

From their time together at the academy, Ras was well aware of Valdemar’s personality. He was never the most diligent student, but he was exceptionally talented at human psychology and gathering information—two skills that made him perfectly suited to hunting down the princess’s assassins. He was also well informed about goings-on in the kingdom, thanks to the many trade routes between the northern march and Charlgia.

Ras was starting to wonder just how deep Fiarca’s schemes ran, but the princess only gave him a sullen look.

“It’s not like that, Ras. We needed some diplomatic way to stop you getting married off to Pernille, and this was the first thing I thought of. Besides, none of this would have been necessary if you’d just minded your own business.”

“And what if Kanalayka lost the duel?”

“Oh, there was no risk of that,” replied Fiarca with a smile. “I’m pretty sure Valdemar realized what I was up to halfway through.”

Startled, Ras turned around to see the man grinning at him.

“I can’t stand that guy,” he muttered under his breath. By his side, Kanalayka looked down sadly at the hem of her torn dress.

1

Guided by the kingdom’s Chasseurs, the imperial fleet made port in Barlama, the capital of Charlgia. From their anchoring point, Ras and the rest of Fiarca’s entourage were brought to the city proper by camion trucks. For the crown prince himself, special lodging quarters had been prepared to the north of the city—within the private villa of the fourth royal princess, Tishna Lumedienne Charlgiana.

“Eh-hem, quite a fine room, I must say. That’s Charlgian craftsmanship for you.”

As she entered the room bequeathed to her, Fiarca gave her thanks to the maids who had guided her there. The maids all bowed, obviously quite relieved, and left the room, blushing.

Disguised as her brother, Fiarca’s charming looks made her seem as though she had stepped right out of a fairy tale. That was in no way diminished by the black mask covering the bottom half of her face. No doubt the villa would soon be abuzz with rumors of their newest guest: a kindhearted prince who treated commoners and aristocrats alike with grace and warmth.

Of course, even that was part of Fiarca’s calculations, all carried out with the aim of gaining even the slightest favor toward her marriage with Princess Tishna.

“I’ve ordered half the men to remain aboard the Rito in case of emergency, while the other half have been granted shore leave,” said a man standing beside Fiarca. “Is that to your liking, Your Highness?”

“Make sure they don’t get too rowdy,” the princess replied. “We don’t need any more trouble on our plate.”

The man accompanying the crown prince was a major general of Central Command named Count Adamkus, in charge of the 1st Division. In contrast to the heroics of Major General Hunlahan, Adamkus was more famed for his brilliant political mind. He was the right choice to bring along on a mission like this one.

“Count Alcor, you shall be in charge of foreign affairs,” said Fiarca. “I want you to keep an eye on the eastern states for me. Especially Lumede, if you can.”

“As you wish.”

“Viscount Oz, I want you to handle commercial affairs. Investigate all trade routes leading in and out of the kingdom. You may offer the merchants special trade deals on grain if you must.”

“Understood.”

Fiarca continued to assign tasks to the various court officials, until at last, the only ones left in the room were her, Ras, Kanalayka, and Valdemar.

“And what would you ask of me, Your Highness?” the young lord asked with a grin, after observing the crown prince’s duties with curiosity. Fiarca tossed him a small cloth bag, and after catching it, Valdemar’s eyes widened at its surprising heft.

“What would this be?” he asked.

“There are twenty fleurs inside,” said Fiarca. “Use them as you wish and get to the bottom of this assassination plot.”

Valdemar’s face stiffened. “Twenty fleurs? Why, the imperial family certainly is generous. Nothing like my penny-pinching father at all.”

One fleur was equivalent in value to ten gold pieces. The yearly salary of a junior officer in Central Command averaged about five gold, and even the luxurious stipend enjoyed by imperial guardsmen and -women was only about twenty. In other words, two fleurs. That meant that the coins in Valdemar’s possession were enough to hire ten aura knights of Kanalayka’s standard for a whole year.

“I’ve made arrangements for a member of the Silver Fangs to get in touch. If you have trouble, just follow his commands.”

“I might have expected you’d keep tabs on me, Your Highness. I hope this agent of yours tells lovely Kanalayka what a good boy I’m being.”

Valdemar had brought with him six men from the northern march to assist him on his mission. While he seemed like a rich, libertine fellow at first glance, Valdemar obviously possessed the keen mind of his father. It certainly made him better suited for reconnaissance and investigation than the other stuffy bureaucrats in Fiarca’s entourage, but it was still unclear how far Ras and the group could trust him.

After watching him leave, Kanalayka continued to stare at the door.

“Are you sure we should be leaving such an important job in his hands?” she asked, annoyed. Evidently, the man’s overly familiar attitude rubbed her the wrong way.

“It’s fine,” Fiarca answered. “All we really need him to do is throw a bit of money around and attract some attention.”

“Why’s that? You’re going to use him as a decoy?” asked Ras, puzzled. Fiarca made a sly grin that was only visible due to the creasing of her eyes.

“You said it first,” she said. “We can’t argue with a girl who knows the future. Which is why we’re going to change that future, into one Princess Tishna knows nothing about.”

“I see. So that’s what you meant by ‘abnormal circumstances.’”

“Exactly. Originally, Val was not meant to be here at this time. We let him do what he wants, and perhaps that’s going to pose a problem for Princess Tishna. It might pressure her into coming forward a little earlier than she planned.”

An angelic smile, deeply at odds with her devilish suggestion, graced the princess’s face. Ras sighed inwardly, then said, “You realize it’s not necessarily in our best interests to change the future, right?”

“I know. But it’s better than letting her control the board as she wishes.”

“I suppose.”

“Plus, Princess Tishna has one very important weakness. One that works to our advantage.”

“And what’s that?”

“Her options. Tishna’s main weapon is knowledge. And knowledge grows less impactful with the more people who know it. In other words, she has a vested interest in keeping that number low.”

“That’s why you brought Valdemar along?” Ras groaned.

Fiarca’s main advantage over Princess Tishna was that the number of pieces she had to move was much greater. That was why she had decided to recruit Valdemar, even at the cost of sharing classified state secrets with him regarding Tishna’s assassination.

Having studied alongside him at the same academy, albeit in different years, Ras and Fiarca understood Valdemar’s personality and skills well. Princess Tishna, on the other hand, didn’t know him at all. Under normal circumstances, it was practically unheard of for a member of the border patrol force to be operating under the direct command of Prince Auriol.

“And Val isn’t our only asset,” Fiarca went on. “We know about Tishna’s power of knowledge of the future. That’s one thing that she will have to plan against.”

“I see,” said Ras. “The more people in on our plan, the more difficult it becomes for her.”

“That’s right. And that’s why I asked one more person to join us, as well.”

“Who?”

Following Fiarca’s gaze, Ras spun around, and when he saw who was standing there, his face fell. Being led into the room by a maid of the villa was the woman who was the spitting image of the late imperial princess.

“E-Elmira?!”

Ras sensed the woman’s wrath, and his voice trembled. Her violet eyes, the color altered by auramancy, were oozing with malice.

Elmira Almathe was a member of the Silver Fangs, Argyll’s top spies. She, like Ras, had been tasked with infiltrating Charlgia and rooting out the Argyllian assassins. After Ras was sent home, she presumably continued his mission by herself.

But for some reason, when she saw Ras, she marched right up to him without even greeting Fiarca. With both hands balled into fists, she yelled, “Sir Talion, prepare to receive a beating!”

“What?”

“Why!” she screamed between punches, “Did you! Leave me! Alone! Without! Notice?! Do you have any idea how worried I was when I heard you’d been seen fighting a dragon?!”

Ras was too shocked to even defend himself. “C-calm down, Miss Almathe!” he cried.

Even Kanalayka stared in mute amazement. She had never once seen Elmira lose her temper, especially not to this extent.

“I’m sorry for making you worry, Miss Almathe, but I wasn’t given much choice!”

“Worry?! Who said I was worried about you?!”

“You did! Just now!”

“I was worried about our ability to complete the mission!”

“Oh. Well, I must admit you did slip my mind. Apologies.”

“You forgot about me?!”

“I thought the Silver Fangs would let you know!”

“They did! After a week, when the letter finally made its way from Argyll to Charlgia!”

Elmira sank a fist into Ras’s gut, causing him to double over and groan. Ras was used to all sorts of trickery on the field of battle but was left at a loss against an opponent like Elmira, who declared her attacks in advance.

And so he did nothing as the silver-haired agent let out her pent-up stress. Off to the side, Fiarca was trying her hardest not to laugh, while the maid who had escorted Elmira stood frozen in horror.

2

“Barlama welcomes you, Your Imperial Highness Crown Prince Auriol Ref Argenteia. What do you think of our fair nation?”

In the audience chamber of the Charlgian royal palace, a man seated on a grand throne addressed the prince.

“It is even more beautiful than the stories say,” Fiarca replied. “The people are happy and productive; a testament to your wise and gentle rule.”

“An honor to see the silver tongue of Argyll’s son in action. Versed though you are in flattery, your words gladden me nonetheless.”

King Marian VI was a plump fellow with kind eyes. Beside him sat a slender, golden-haired woman, so beautiful and youthful despite her age that people said the blood of the forest elves ran in her veins. Her name was Maia Lumedienne Charlgiana, the fifth queen consort of Charlgia.

“I heard the mask conceals a terrible war wound. Is that true?”

“You hear correctly, Your Majesty. I apologize for showing such disrespect, but I fear removing it would upset all present.”

Playing the role of her brother, Fiarca kneeled before the king. Since Prince Auriol was visiting the kingdom in the capacity of his father, there was normally no need to do such a thing. But at least away from the eyes of the public, Fiarca wished to show her respect. Here, she was not a representative of the empire, but a candidate for Princess Tishna’s marriage.

“Wear your scars proudly, Prince Auriol. They are the mark of a true warrior.”

“Thank you for your gracious words, Your Majesty. In fact, it was artisans of your nation who kindly made this mask for me.”

“Was it, now? That is surely a point of pride for our kingdom.”

Fiarca’s audience proceeded in a relatively casual manner, with small talk sprinkled among the formalities. Aside from the court guards, only four were present: the king, queen consort, Fiarca, and Ras. At times like this, Ras’s rank as a Guardian of Silver came in handy. No ordinary bodyguard of a foreign nation would be allowed to stand in on important international discussions like this one.

Suddenly, however, the king said something Fiarca didn’t expect.

“Crown Prince Auriol, allow me to thank you once again for hearing my daughter’s plea and visiting us earlier than we originally planned.”

Fiarca’s eyebrow shifted almost imperceptibly.

Under normal circumstances, moving an engagement like this placed a large burden on the host’s side. There were guards to be arranged, catering to supply, and it cost a sizable sum of money. Fiarca had understood all that when she changed her plans and was prepared to take on some of the costs herself, if need be.

But within Charlgia, it seemed that the crown prince’s early visit was seen as a result of Princess Tishna’s selfishness, and not Prince Auriol’s.

Of course, this was no simple misunderstanding. Someone must have conspired to make it seem that way.

“I have asked my daughter to keep you company until the conference begins. I have no doubt you shall spend a fruitful time together.”

“Your kindness knows no bounds, Your Majesty.”

Fiarca bowed deeply. The king of Charlgia retired, content, and Queen Maia followed him out of the room. However, just as she reached the door, she stopped and looked back at Princess Fiarca. A small smile appeared on her lips for a second, then she turned and went away.

Ras waited for Fiarca to rise to her feet, then, knowing the audience was over, breathed a small sigh of relief.

The rumors painted King Marian as kind and gentle, but with a rather weak impression, and Ras couldn’t help but agree. If anything, the golden-haired woman silently sitting by the king’s side commanded more of Ras’s attention.

“So that was the Queen of Lumede, was it? She seemed nice enough.”

“Did she? You must be losing your touch, Stallion,” Fiarca replied. “Did you fail to see the look in her eyes? She’s a malicious, ill-hearted schemer if ever I’ve seen one.”

“What, like in a mirror?”

“Are you saying we’re the same?”

“Well, you both wear masks.”

Judging by the deeply unpleasant look on her face, Ras’s joke had caused the princess more offense than he’d intended. He didn’t understand why, but Fiarca apparently had something against this woman. If that was the case, then Ras shuddered to think what would happen if the marriage went ahead and Queen Maia became Fiarca’s mother-in-law.

Soon, the palace guards came to lead Ras and Fiarca out of the audience chamber. Today’s meeting had been an impromptu one, and no other events were planned for the day. Thus, Ras and Fiarca were expecting to be quietly ushered into a waiting vehicle and taken back to the villa where they were staying.

However, when they arrived at the palace drawing room, they found that someone was already there. She had hair like glittering gold, and her features were so smooth and perfect they seemed to be carved out of ice.

“Lovely to meet you, Prince Auriol,” the girl said. “My name is Tishna Lumedienne Charlgiana.”

She conducted herself with perfect courtesy, in a manner both modest and suggestive at the same time.

“A pleasure, Your Highness. I am Auriol Ref Argenteia. What an honor it is to finally lay eyes on the one they call the Snow-White Tranquility. Why, the tales hardly manage to express your true, captivating beauty.”

Fiarca stood up straight and returned Tishna’s greeting. It was enough for the air of the room to feel so tense that even the guards stiffened.

“I thank you for your kind words. However, any beauty I may possess pales in comparison to that of the Argyll Empire’s Silver Bloom. Ah, what a shame that she is no longer with us.”

Hearing Tishna’s words, the maids in the room all paled.

The Silver Bloom was another name for the late Princess Fiarca of Argyll. For Tishna to bring up her name now, two years after her death, to Fiarca’s own twin brother, could only be either the gaffe of the century or a deliberate insult. But to Ras and Fiarca, those words concealed a third possible meaning: I know who you really are.

A stare down commenced between Tishna and Fiarca, as if each were probing the other’s motives. Then, Tishna suddenly broke the eye contact and turned to Ras.

“As for this aura knight, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she said. There was a hint of annoyance in her eyes, which Ras pretended not to notice.

“Ras Talion Veredica, Your Highness.”

“Well, Ras, please call me Tishna,” said the princess with a giggle. “You know, you look an awful lot like this man I banished from the country rather recently, how strange. I could scarcely believe he would have the nerve to show his face after only ten days.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t the faintest idea whom that might be,” said Ras. “I make no enemies, except among the wicked.”

“Is that right?” said Tishna, unruffled. “Then I suppose I must be mistaken.”

Though their conversation appeared innocent enough on the surface, a fierce battle was brewing within. Princess Tishna demanded to know why Ras had come back, to which Ras stayed silent. The guards and maids in the room, who knew nothing, could hardly tell why the atmosphere was so tense. Still, they were able to maintain their composure despite Tishna’s strange questions, which could only mean that they were used to the princess’s eccentricities.

“Your Highness, the transportation is ready.”

“Very good. Then let me accompany you to my villa, Prince Auriol.”

“Thank you, Princess Tishna.”

Princess Tishna led Ras and Fiarca to the royal palace’s carriage porch. Just like in the empire, the vehicle of choice for urban areas was the goose-drawn carriage, pulled by mountable birds. The large and expensive aura cores used in camion trucks made them unsuitable for use inside the city.

As was to be expected of Barlama, the carriage was unusually grand, and the birds particularly magnificent specimens. After admiring the intricate ornamentation decorating its surface, Ras and Fiarca entered the carriage alongside Princess Tishna.

Inside, the three were completely alone. It was the perfect chance to speak without being overheard. As soon as the carriage began moving, Fiarca asked Princess Tishna a question.

“Why did you pretend that it was your decision to move our arrival forward?”

In all likelihood, Tishna knew the real reason Fiarca had come to the kingdom early. It was supposed to put a wrench in Tishna’s plans, but strangely, the princess had taken pains to accommodate it.

She shrugged and gave her answer. “I feel a little sorry for you, you know.”

“Sorry?” replied Fiarca, blank-faced.

“The reason you hurried to see me was to protect me from assassination, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m sorry to cause you a wasted trip, but I’ve already captured the assassin myself.”

“Wh-what?!”

Ras couldn’t help but show his surprise. Even Fiarca furrowed her brow in suspicion. Seeing their reactions, the edges of Tishna’s smile crept up.

“We were fortunate enough to receive a tip-off from the traders who helped smuggle him into the kingdom,” Tishna explained. “He’s an imperial, and quite a notorious one at that. I believe they call him the Black Owl.”

“His allies sold him out?”

Ras could scarcely believe what he was hearing. For such a grand plot to be unraveled by a simple blunder was beyond disappointing. Still, infiltrating a foreign country outside the usual scope of operations was a daunting task. Even professionals slipped up from time to time.

“Did you find out who ordered the assassination?” Ras asked.

“Not even the assassin himself knew that information,” Tishna replied. “However, his orders came from a crime ring called Eterusia, who operate out of the empire’s northern lands. Would you happen to know that name?”

“I don’t believe I do,” replied Ras, shaking his head.

The name Tishna mentioned was the same one that had appeared in the Silver Fangs’ report. That meant it was highly likely Princess Tishna was telling the truth. Furthermore, the fact that they operated out of the north of the empire was new information that even the Silver Fangs had not uncovered. But Ras could not risk letting Princess Tishna realize this.

“Your prudence is wise.” Tishna giggled, as though seeing to the heart of Ras’s internal struggle. “I’m afraid this is being treated as high treason, and as such we cannot extradite the criminal. However, we can arrange for you to visit him in jail, should you wish. We have so far managed to extract confessions to the killings of several high-ranking members of the imperial nobility.”

“That would be very kind of you,” said Fiarca, bowing her head. She was wise enough to show deference when it worked to her benefit. An awkward smile appeared on Tishna’s lips, as though she had expected the crown prince to refuse on principle.

“Very well,” she said. “I do hope you understand now the reason I stood up on your behalf.”

“We do,” answered Fiarca. “And your consideration is very much appreciated. However, I would not go as far as to call our journey a wasted trip.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Because there is always the chance that this crime ring employed a second assassin, is there not?”

Fiarca turned to look at Tishna head-on, and the royal princess averted her gaze. It was clear that she didn’t have the means to refute this possibility.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you that this is none of your concern?” she asked, puffing up her cheeks in a pout.

“Your safety is our utmost concern, Princess Tishna,” Fiarca replied with confidence.

Tishna glared at her for a moment, then a thought appeared to occur to her, and she turned to Ras. “In that case, you shall be my protector, Sir Talion,” she said, suddenly clinging to his arm.

“Me?” asked Ras, as a bad feeling slowly came over him. Meanwhile, Tishna crossed the carriage and seated herself next to Ras, pulling his arm into her surprisingly ample chest.

“Why, yes,” she said. “That way, until the Shrumland Alliance summit is over, I shall remain under the protection of the empire’s finest knight. Is that a problem?”

“Of course it is,” Ras shot back. “An unwed princess shouldn’t be seen in the company of a man, least of all a foreign mercenary.”

“Such appearances matter little to me. And rest assured that none of my people would dare come between us. Or could it be that my partnership with Ras weighs uneasily on your mind, Prince Auriol?” Tishna turned to Fiarca and spoke in a strangely suggestive manner. As the “crown prince” struggled to respond, Tishna adopted a victorious smile.

Ras’s true mission was to seduce the princess of Charlgia. When viewed from that perspective, Tishna’s suggestion was heaven-sent. But the royal princess should have had no reason to know that motive.

“We shall take you up on that, Princess Tishna Lumedienne Charlgiana,” said Fiarca in a quiet, emotionless voice. For some reason, her eyes were filled with anger as she turned them on Ras.

“Then it’s settled,” said Tishna, pulling herself toward Ras once again. “I look forward to your company tonight, Sir Talion.”

Though Fiarca’s eyes were crinkled as if she was smiling behind her mask, Ras could tell she was displeased. And so, he was forced to endure the most uncomfortable carriage ride of his life.

3

“The princess took Sir Talion with her?!”

After leaving Ras in Tishna’s care, Fiarca returned to the royal villa alone and broke the news to Elmira. Kanalayka jumped to her feet, nearly toppling her chair, when she heard. The imperial legate was never that versed at hiding her emotions, but the panicked look on her face was easier to read than ever.

“What do you mean by that, Your Highness?! What happened?!” she cried.

“Calm down, Kanalayka.”

Fiarca unfastened her mask and smiled bitterly.

“She hasn’t taken him prisoner or anything. Ras is safe. He’s simply going to be acting as the princess’s escort until the summit is over. Of course, that means you shall have to work twice as hard to make up for his absence.”

“I will work as hard as it takes, Your Highness, but what about Ras? We cannot trust Princess Tishna to act true to her word, and it would be a severe blow to the empire should anything happen to the Guardian of Silver.”

“I don’t think we need to fear that,” Fiarca assured her. “Ras is an important international asset, even more so than the kingdom’s fourth princess. Princess Tishna wouldn’t dare harm him and risk angering her allies.”

“I see… I hope you’re right.”

Kanalayka continued to bite her lip with worry. Ever since witnessing them for herself at Prouss, the legate seemed to harbor an almost blind faith in Ras’s abilities. If this was Kanalayka’s way of compensating for her initial misguided prejudices, then Fiarca couldn’t help feeling that the girl had swung too far in the opposite direction.

Of course, Fiarca was only too glad that her two most trusted aides had grown to be on such good terms, but at the same time she couldn’t shake her worry. If the ever-celibate Kanalayka finally awakened to feelings of romance at this stage, there was no telling what she might do. Compared to her, the machinations of Princess Tishna were far more manageable. At least those had some logic to them.

“The more pressing issue,” said Fiarca, turning to Elmira, “is the question of this captured assassin. How far do you think we can trust what the princess says?”

The silver-haired agent produced a file from among her belongings and handed it to Fiarca.

“There is indeed an assassin known as the Black Owl working with Eterusia,” she said. “The Silver Fangs have previously identified him as a person of interest.”

“So his specialties are disguise, auramancy, and long-range stealth attacks,” said Fiarca, reading the file. “I can’t think of a better choice to assassinate the princess of Charlgia while the whole world is watching.”

Eterusia’s main goal with Princess Tishna’s assassination was to send a bold message. It was difficult to do that with other methods, such as poisoning, which could be passed off as a natural death, or explosion, which could cause collateral damage and make it unclear who the intended target was.

With that in mind, sending a sniper like the Black Owl was the correct choice. But the assassin had been arrested before managing to carry out his task.

“The Black Owl was previously involved in eight cases, including the succession war of the Barony of Prevtz, and the murder of the chairman of the Nilsen Company,” explained Elmira. “All of them took place in the northern reaches of Argyll.”

“Which means the princess was telling the truth,” said Fiarca with a sigh. “That makes things even more difficult.”

The northern region of Argyll provided trade access to Charlgia, and traffic was high. If the princess was assassinated and relations worsened, it would lead to a lot of strife in the area.

“How are we going to proceed with the Black Owl’s questioning?” asked Elmira.

“I’ll leave that to Major General Adamkus,” replied Fiarca. “I doubt we’ll be able to pry anything useful out of him, though.”

“Very well. Counterespionage is a job for the army, after all.”

Assassins very rarely acted out of loyalty to their employers. As a result, it was common practice to provide them with the bare minimum information required to do their job. Even if he was made to come clean, it was vanishingly unlikely that questioning the Black Owl would prove fruitful.

“I also considered putting Val in charge of this task, as it pertains to his home region. However, Tishna still doesn’t know he’s here, and I’d prefer to keep it that way as long as possible. Also, I’m still not sure how far we can trust him.”

“You think he might have reason to order Princess Tishna’s assassination?”

“I couldn’t say. He does have a motive, but he also knew the assassination would make him a suspect. If Lord Burndy wanted to strengthen his relations with the emperor, there are safer ways to go about it. He could offer his daughter as my concubine, for example.”

If all the mastermind cared about was stopping Auriol and Tishna’s marriage, then there was no need to assassinate her in such a grandiose way. In the worst case, they could even have Tishna murdered after the wedding.

But there was also the possibility that the high-profile assassination was meant as a distraction from some other sinister aim. It wasn’t prudent to strike Burndy’s name from the list of suspects just yet.

“Elmira, what do you think the chances are that this Eterusia organization has sent agents other than the Black Owl?”

“That depends on how much money the employer has to spend,” Elmira replied, “but I would figure it highly likely. They cannot trust that he will keep to his word, after all.”

The international conference made the perfect stage for a group to showcase their skills to the criminal underworld. Eterusia would no doubt spare no expense to ensure the job was a success.

Now that the Black Owl was down, it could be expected that his replacement would begin to move.

“If that’s the case, then perhaps it’s for the best that Ras stays with Princess Tishna,” Fiarca said, half muttering to herself.

“Why is that?” asked Kanalayka, looking puzzled.

“I’m guessing Princess Tishna has something to do with why the Black Owl was caught so quickly,” Fiarca explained, putting on a prideful air. “She knew all along how he was going to enter the country and fabricated the story about his friends selling him out to cover her tracks.”

“Oh.”

“But now she’s changed the future, she’s going up against a foe whose behavior she hasn’t seen before.”

“Which means she won’t be able to stop it this time?”

“Not with her abilities, no,” said Fiarca, shaking her head. “Which means we’ll have to let Ras handle it. But if the princess dies while in Ras’s care, it’s really going to reflect badly on the empire.”

“Doesn’t that mean you’re putting Ras in great danger?” asked Kanalayka, her expression growing graver by the second.

There weren’t many assassins who could get the drop on Ras in a one-on-one. However, their target was Princess Tishna, and if Ras needed to protect her and fight at the same time, the risk to his own life spiked. And there was always the possibility that the assassins would choose to strike as a team.

“All we can do is trust in his skills,” Fiarca said, not showing a whit of the worry the legate did. There was nothing Kanalayka could say in the face of such overpowering confidence, which meant it was Elmira who spoke up in her place.

“What I’m more worried about,” she said, her expression even sterner than Kanalayka’s, “is that Ras will give in to temptation and lay his filthy hands on the princess. Could the kingdom not use that as an excuse to bring him over to their side?”

This possibility appeared to unnerve Kanalayka even more than the last.

“Th-that’s not… H-he wouldn’t…” she stammered.

Ras was a son of one of the great noble houses. He had once been engaged to marry a princess and was perfectly suited to do so again. The kingdom knew him as a hero who had slain a Greater Dragon, and more recently, an aquatic dragon that threatened their lands. Plus, nobody yet knew about the planned marriage between Tishna and Auriol.

Charlgia would no doubt welcome Ras with open arms, and if he managed to knock the princess up, there was little Argyll could say in protest.

But for some reason, Fiarca wasn’t the least bit troubled by this possibility.

“You don’t need to worry,” she said. “I don’t think that’ll happen.”

It wasn’t because she trusted Ras. If anything, it was the complete opposite.

“I knew there was a chance that wicked princess would make a move on Ras,” she said, “which is why I’ve taken steps to prevent it.”

“Y-you have…?”

Kanalayka and Elmira both watched Fiarca grin gleefully, and they looked to one another in confusion.

4

After parting with Fiarca, Tishna took Ras to the east wing of the villa. While the west wing was used for entertaining guests, the east wing comprised the private quarters of Princess Tishna and Queen Maia.

Keeping in line with the nation’s historic reputation, the villa was grand in scale, but the decorations were tasteful and understated. In terms of grandeur, it clearly lost out to the more splendid royal palace, where the king and his first wife lived. The private east wing was even more modest than the parts the guests usually saw.

When Ras arrived there, a small child dressed in servant’s clothes ran up to him.

“There you are, Master! Master!” she cried. She had the ears and tail of some beast but otherwise looked like an ordinary ten-year-old girl. The short breeches of her uniform fit well with her androgynous appearance.

“Koko?!” exclaimed Ras when he saw her. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought you a change of clothes, Master,” the young girl said, cheerily lifting a stack of suitcases in one hand. There were three filled with dinner suits, and one with military dress, including a ceremonial sword. It was more than even an adult could carry, and all the other palace servants turned and stared in shock at this unimaginable feat.

Koko was not human, or even a living being at all. She called herself the “external access point” of Ras’s Chasseur, the Vildhjärta. Ideally, however, that was something Ras wanted to keep to himself as much as possible.

“Ras is my Master,” said Koko. “Wherever Master goes, I go.” Then, still holding the stack of suitcases, she ran up to Ras and attempted to jump into his arms. Ras used one hand to keep her at bay, then turned to Tishna with a bitter look.

“Erm… I’m afraid this girl’s telling the truth. Do you mind if she joins us?”

While Ras was nowhere near the level of a royal princess, he was still a noble. It wasn’t at all peculiar for him to have a retainer. What was strange was that he would bring that retainer along on an escort mission. Of course, Tishna was partly to blame for headhunting Ras out of the blue, but since Argyll also shared responsibility for the domestic assassins targeting her, it was only right that Ras obtained the princess’s approval before inviting Koko along.

Sure enough, Tishna appeared a little peeved by Ras’s suggestion. But the target of her annoyance didn’t seem to be either Koko or Ras. It was rather like she was frustrated at having fallen into the trap of someone not present.

“I see,” she muttered to herself. “So this is her way of countering my attempts at seduction… I don’t mind at all, Ras. Bring your servant with you, if it pleases you so.” A strained smile appeared on her face. Then she kneeled to match Koko’s height. “So your name is Koko, is it? Pleased to meet you. Please call me Tishna.”

“Tishna! It’s in my memory now! My name’s Koko! Master gave it to me!”

Tishna wasn’t the least bit offended by the young girl’s discourteous manner. Smiling, she reached out and stroked Koko’s head. Immediately, Koko was like putty in her hands. It seemed almost like the two had known each other forever.

Suddenly, a second girl in servant’s clothes appeared behind Koko’s shoulder.

“Welcome back, Your Highness,” she said.

Tishna stood up straight and adopted a regal posture.

“Thank you, Emma-Leonie. This is Sir Ras Talion Veredica, a Guardian of Silver from the Argyll Empire. Kindly show him the same respect you would me.”

“You are Sir Ras Talion?” said Emma-Leonie, turning to him in surprise. “Apologies, my lord. My name is Emma-Leonie Curbell. I work as private maid to Princess Tishna. Please let me know if there is anything you require during your stay.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

Ras was unused to the maid’s cordial tone. Back at the imperial palace, the servants all knew his reputation as the Stallion and kept a wide berth.

“Ras will be staying with me for the time being,” Tishna told her. “Could I ask you to bring his and Koko’s beds here?”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Tishna swiftly began giving orders, which Emma-Leonie followed without a word of complaint. It was surely the mark of an excellent maid to be able to keep such a composed expression in the face of the princess’s outrageous request.

As Emma-Leonie trotted off in compliance, a middle-aged man stepped forward in her place. While he was dressed in nobleman’s attire, his every action was that of a military officer. He was also flanked by two soldiers, which meant he was probably in charge of security here at the villa.

“Princess!” he cried. “Welcome back. And who might this gentleman be?”

“Surely you haven’t forgotten, Girrith. This is Ras, the dragonslayer.”

“Sir Talion! It is you!”

As he stepped forward to shake hands, Ras suddenly remembered the man. It was Count Girrith Tegnail, who stood at Princess Tishna’s side when Ras fought the aquatic dragon.

“I commend you on your performance at Gradage, Sir Talion. We of Charlgia are much obliged. I had heard the crown prince was due to arrive early, but I see you are accompanying Her Highness instead! Might it have something to do with this ghastly assassin business?”

“You are quite right, Girrith. Ras has kindly offered to keep me safe. At all times.”

“He… He has?”

Girrith raised a puzzled eyebrow.

Under normal circumstances, it was unthinkable to put a foreign soldier like Ras in charge of the princess’s safety, even if she was the crown prince’s fiancé. It sent a clear message that Argyll didn’t think that Charlgia’s bodyguards were up to snuff.

“Princess Tishna insisted upon it,” explained Ras. “And the crown prince agreed. He’s worried about the assassins, you see.”

“Hmm, I understand. Given the circumstances, I suppose we can’t well refuse.”

Girrith accepted Ras’s argument so quickly, it was almost a letdown. The soldiers by his side didn’t look unhappy with the decision, either.

“Thank you, Count Tegnail. I promise I won’t make the place look too drab.”

“Ha-ha, perish the thought! It’s a great reassurance, and if I may say, an honor to have a famed dragonslayer like you on our side.”

After saying this, Girrith came in to shake Ras’s hand again. Ras felt no resistance through the man’s arm, which probably meant he was being honest about his respect.

“I’ll smooth things over with Mother,” said Tishna. “Will there be any other problems, do you think?”

“I’m sure everything will be all right, Princess. The court is accustomed to your whims.” Girrith punctuated his words with a wry smile, then excused himself and left the room.

Ras waited until he was completely gone, and then whispered, “Your right-hand man is awfully understanding.”

“Girrith is very special to me,” Tishna replied. “He’s been watching over everything I’ve done since I was very little.”

“Right.”

Ras could only assume that Tishna was referring to the actions she’d performed in the name of the Wicked Princess. Girrith had learned from experience that the princess’s erratic behavior always worked out in the kingdom’s favor.

“I wonder if you’ve noticed anything about the villa here, Ras?” Tishna suddenly asked. Ras thought about it for a second, then gave his honest impression.

“There aren’t many people,” he said. A building of this size required many servants just to keep the place running, but Ras hadn’t seen very many of them at all. It had been harder to tell in the west wing, where security was tight and there were guards around every corner, but after coming here to the east wing, the difference was stark.

“I’m sorry to say,” said Tishna, “but we’ve actually increased personnel for the crown prince’s stay. Normally, it’s even emptier than this.” She shrugged, looking ashamed. “I may be royalty, but around here I’m treated no better than a baron’s daughter. That’s all the child of a consort deserves, and I daresay it would be even worse without Count Tegnail on my side.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that, given the number of mercenaries you were able to bring with you to Gradage,” said Ras. “Where did all that money come from?”

“You know, it’s funny you should ask,” replied Tishna with a sly smile. “Those funds were kindly donated by a very generous nobleman wanting to support my efforts.”

In other words, Ras realized, Tishna had blackmailed someone for it. It made sense, given the amount of information she had access to.

“The kingdom’s purse strings are tight enough as it is,” Tishna went on, “and it’s no surprise nobody wants to waste that money by handing it over to a no-good princess like me. I care little for luxury, though, so that suits me just fine. I have no talent for auramancy, and I cannot wield a sword; my only use is to be married off to suit the kingdom’s aims.”

Saying this, Tishna gazed down the long corridor. Coming toward them was a splendidly dressed woman—Queen Maia, Tishna’s mother. Although she couldn’t have failed to notice Ras and Tishna, the woman didn’t even look in their direction. Instead, she walked right on by without stopping, a slight smile upon her lips. An entourage of about a dozen men followed. Two of them were wearing particularly fine clothing: one’s was made of crimson cloth and trimmed with gold, while the other was dressed completely in black from head to toe. All the other men in the group appeared to be their bodyguards.

Once the group had completely passed by, Tishna continued, whispering, “The problem is, some people aren’t content with a life like that.”

Ras thought back to the queen’s expression. It wasn’t the smile of a mother to her daughter; it was more like that of a queen bee happily watching her hive work away. If Ras had to guess, she must have been pleased to see Princess Tishna building rapport with an important figure of another nation.

Many nobles and royals saw their children as nothing more than pawns to be traded away, and Queen Maia was no exception. Ras thought that perhaps Fiarca’s unfavorable assessment wasn’t too far off.

“Who are those people accompanying your mother?” Ras asked.

“The finely dressed gentleman is her brother.”

“So he’s a prince of Lumede?”

“Prince of nothing,” said Tishna with clear disdain. “He is a man of no import.”

“Right. But the other man…”

“Do you know him?”

Tishna shot Ras a puzzled look. He shook his head.

“No, I was just cursing his damnably good looks.”

Tishna tittered. “Oh, you needn’t worry. I much prefer men of your type.”

“Me too!” chirped Koko.

But Ras wasn’t listening to the two girls’ affirmations. His mind was solely fixed on the attire of the black-clad man he had seen accompanying the queen consort. At first glance, they looked like extremely commonplace garments of the subjects of Charlgia, but the sword at his hip had caught Ras’s eye. It possessed a basket hilt that would enclose the hand—a feature unique to the swords made in Registan, the enemy state of the Shrumland Alliance.

5

The guest room that Emma-Leonie had prepared for Ras turned out to be on the same floor of the villa as Princess Tishna’s bedchamber. Ras had half expected the Wicked Princess to insist upon sharing a room but was pleased to see she hadn’t. At least she wasn’t quite as lacking in common sense as Fiarca, Ras thought—an evaluation that, unfortunately, would not survive until the dawn broke.

In the dead of night, an intruder crept into Ras’s room—an intruder with beautiful blond hair, wearing a semitransparent nightgown that revealed her undergarments.

“What are you doing in my room, Princess Tishna?” asked Ras, lying atop the bed, his eyes still closed.

Tishna froze in her tracks like a startled kitten.

“Sir Talion. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I’d make a pretty poor excuse for a bodyguard if I slept through someone entering my room.” Ras sighed and languidly sat up.

In fact, Ras had woken the moment he heard Princess Tishna leaving her own chamber, because in doing so, she triggered the aura network that Ras had set up outside her door for precisely that reason.

The two years he’d spent living at Fon’s brothel had instilled in Ras the marvelous ability to sleep without dampening his senses. He had created a sort of independent thought process in his brain that automatically alerted him to what was happening in his immediate proximity and activated it whenever he retired for the night.

It was complicated to explain, but quite simple for Ras to pick up. That was because such a skill was an absolute necessity for surviving the harsh environment of ParadiasH.

“All you had to do was just lie back and relax,” said Tishna, pouting.

“And what were you going to do with me? It’s the dead of night, you know.”

Tishna responded unabashedly to Ras’s accusation. “I was going to create for myself a convenient excuse,” she said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“There’s only one thing for a young, healthy couple to do on a bed, is there not?”

“Ah. A pillow fight.”

“Quite right. I was going to unleash my Over Pillow Arts and— No, of course not!”

Despite Ras’s valiant efforts to ignore Tishna’s implications, the royal princess leaped atop his bed and crawled over him on all fours. Dangling her ample bosom over Ras, she brought her face close to his.

“You’re an odd man, do you know that?” said Tishna, her voice full of allure. “What I’m offering you, men would kill for. You can have the night of your life, no strings attached.”

“It’s all strings as long as you’re involved,” Ras replied coldly. “What are you planning?”

Tishna smiled coyly and brought her lips to Ras’s ear.

“I’m just trying to make your job easier,” she whispered. “Isn’t it your mission to seduce me?”

“Is that what I told you last time?”

Ras did his best to keep his presence calm and his tone steady, so as not to betray his inner turmoil. His mind went back to Gradage Canyon, where the princess had kissed him out of the blue.

“You know why these people want to kill you,” he said. “And you’re planning to let them do it.”

“I already told you I’ve captured the assassin, didn’t I?” replied Tishna, a little peeved. But Ras shook his head firmly.

“You know as well as I do that there’s every chance they sent more than one. Tell me, who is it that wants you dead?”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” replied Tishna with a casual smile. “My enemies are too numerous. Auriol is the heir to the imperial throne. If I marry him, then the black sheep of Charlgia becomes the most powerful woman in the empire overnight. There are more people opposed to that than I can count on all my fingers and toes.”

“Could it be jealousy, perhaps? Do you suspect your sisters?”

“The ringleader is definitely from the empire. But I’m sure somebody from the Charlgian royal family is helping them, whether that’s my half sisters or their mothers.”

Ras was impressed by the princess’s rational analysis. She accepted and understood that the culprit could be someone she thought she knew well. Hers was a level head that could only have come from many years steeped in backstabbing and intrigue.

“I see,” said Ras. “So the person you’re trying to protect is Queen Maia.”

He sighed quietly. Maia, Tishna’s mother, plucked from her vassal-state kingdom and kept all alone in the royal palace. It was unsurprising that her daughter, Princess Tishna, would be willing to die to keep her safe—so unsurprising, in fact, that it was a bit of a letdown.

However, after Ras said it, Tishna’s shoulders drooped.

“You’re so perceptive that you’ve missed the most vital point,” she said.

“Doesn’t that make me unperceptive?”

“I suppose it does. In any event, that is not important right now.”

Tishna reached for Ras’s covers and pulled them back. After admiring his toned, muscular chest for a moment, she said, “I should like you to get ready to go out, if you may.”

“Go out? Where to? It’s the middle of the night and there are assassins after you.”

Ras was understandably peeved. In what world did a princess’s bodyguard help her break out of her own castle? Not to mention that if anything happened to her, it wouldn’t just be on Ras’s head—it could cause an international dispute.

But the princess cared less than nothing for the trouble she caused Ras. “It is precisely because it is the middle of the night that I have come,” she stated boldly. “I’m sure I shan’t escape Emma-Leonie’s watchful eyes, but at the very least I should like to leave before Koko awakes.”

Their path illuminated by an aura light, Ras and Tishna traversed the long underground passageway. This secret path led directly from Tishna’s room.

“If this is supposed to be a secret passageway,” said Ras, looking serious, “should you really be showing it to a foreigner like me?”

“I don’t mind,” replied Tishna without hesitation. “It’s not like you’ll have another chance to use it.”

This escape route was only to be used by the royal family in case of coups and other emergencies. Its existence was such a closely guarded secret that ordinary people would be killed if they found out about it. However, Tishna used it as casually as though she were leaving to go play at a friend’s house.

“Do you always sneak out of the villa like this?”

“Sometimes,” said Tishna, suddenly averting her gaze in the way liars do. “Not always.”

Really? Because you seem awfully familiar with the route, thought Ras, glaring at the princess.

“In that case, should you really leave without telling anyone?” he asked her. “I don’t want to be branded as a princess-napper if I can avoid it.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” replied Tishna. “I do this all the time. Girrith and the rest of the staff should hardly be surprised.”

“That’s the complete opposite of what you just said,” said Ras, heaving a defeated sigh.

Just then, the exit came into view. As they pushed back a door hidden within a wall, a damp scent streamed into the passage. The secret path came out into a sewage drain by a canal, many of which crisscrossed the streets of Barlama like woven threads.

Ras was wearing a pair of leather pants and a rough tunic—the inconspicuous attire worn by many young mercenaries. Tishna, on the other hand, was dressed in a fine yet unmistakably plebian dress, with her trademark golden hair tied up so it wouldn’t stand out as much. Right now, the pair looked just like a rich merchant’s daughter and her servant boy. Their good looks were sure to attract eyes, but they could at least expect to walk down the street without anything seeming amiss.

In any case, it was impossible to disguise Tishna’s legendary looks. It was a futile effort from the very beginning.

“Morning market, already?”

Dawn had still not broken, and yet all sorts of stalls and stands lined the avenues. A large crowd of customers had already gathered, the vast majority of whom appeared to be locals.

“This is Barlama’s famed weekly market,” said Tishna proudly. “Isn’t it lively?”

Without her makeup on, Tishna looked less like a princess and more like an ordinary girl her age. Watching her mercurial expressions, Ras couldn’t help but feel charmed.

“You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t think there was anything like this here.”

“Mm-hmm. It’s a little different from Vif Arger, is it not?” said Tishna with a know-it-all look. Ras looked into her eyes with suspicion. As far as he knew, the royal princess had never been to Argyll.

“You say that like you’ve seen it for yourself,” he said.

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

Fiarca had already deduced that Princess Tishna had knowledge of the future, but Ras had no way to prove it. If the princess decided to play dumb, there wasn’t anything he could do.

After entering the market, Tishna stopped in front of one of the stands. “The skewers here are delicious!” she said. “You’ve got to try one! Two, please!”

The stall owner seemed to know Tishna, because he smiled broadly as soon as he noticed her.

“Back again, missy? And I see you’ve brought another strapping young lad with you.”

“Isn’t he just? We’ve pledged our futures together, you see,” said Fiarca with a grin, holding on tight to Ras’s arm.

“Enough of the jests,” said Ras, shaking his arm free, playing the part of a reluctant manservant forced to endure his mistress’s teasing. Tishna sulked, and the man running the stall broke into laughter.

“Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, lad,” he said. “Here, something extra on me.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

As Tishna retrieved a copper coin from her purse, Ras took the skewers. The stall owner had smeared them both with some kind of sweet-smelling sauce, free of charge.

“I have to say,” said Ras, “that’s the first time I’ve ever seen a princess pay with a copper.”

“Take care of the denas and the fleurs will look after themselves,” replied Tishna with a boastful smile. “You have one too, Ras.”

Tishna took one of the skewers Ras was holding and gestured for him to taste the other one. It was a standard lizard meat and vegetable skewer, but the moment Ras put it into his mouth, he widened his eyes in surprise.

“That’s good,” he said. “The meat’s tender, and the sauce is great. There’s a bit of a kick to the scent, but it brings out the taste of the meat.”

“Once you get used to it, the smell tempts your appetite,” said Tishna. “The sauce is made from salted fish, with fruit and honey added to give it flavor. At least, that’s what I heard.”

Looking pleased with Ras’s rave review, Tishna bit into her own skewer. No one nearby would have ever expected it was their own country’s princess getting sauce all down her chin.

“Charlgia is blessed with clean waters,” said Ras. “You couldn’t get food like this anywhere else.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Tishna replied. “There’s a lot more you can get around here— Ah! Hilica! They have hilica sorbet!”

“Slow down, Princ—I mean, miss!”

Tishna ran off, her cheeks still stuffed with food, and Ras chased after her.

Tishna continued sampling the offerings at the market for some time, and as a result, when the sky was starting to lighten, Ras was completely stuffed. Tishna had also had more than she could eat, and so picked a quiet place, away from the crowds, to lean against the wall.

1

“Oh, really? So the two of you snuck out of the villa at night, went around the morning market, and watched the sun rise over Lake Barlama?”

Wearing only a towel, Fiarca slowly repeated Ras’s report. Her soft words and gentle smile failed to conceal the anger simmering beneath.

“You’ve sure been having fun since we arrived, Ras. Are you trying to make me jealous? Here I am, stuck in meetings with no chance to enjoy the sights.”

“You’re the one who ordered me to seduce her,” Ras replied with a sigh. Whether he got friendly with the princess or kept his distance, Fiarca seemed to complain either way. He wanted to ask her just what on earth he was expected to do.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “These are the men’s baths.”

“They wouldn’t let me in otherwise,” Fiarca replied, looking around the spacious bathing area. “I had to tell them I needed a private conversation with the Guardian of Silver just to make them go away.”

The hot spring waters that gushed forth from beneath the royal villa were rich with alkalies and had a slightly muddy texture, and were said to enhance a person’s beauty. Even in Barlama, blessed as it was with natural resources, there was no other natural spring like it.

Tishna had dragged Ras here so she could ask him afterward what he thought about it, and it seemed that Fiarca had seized that moment to sneak in.

“It’s too dangerous,” Ras scolded her. “What if someone finds out who you really are?”

The fact that Crown Prince Auriol had been replaced by his twin sister was a national secret of the highest order. This deep behind foreign borders, it was bad enough for Fiarca to remove her mask, let alone the rest of her clothes. It was such a reckless move that Fiarca really ought to have known better.

“You don’t need to worry,” said the princess. “I have aura charged and ready to go at any time. If anyone sneaks in on foreign royalty taking a bath, they deserve what’s coming to them, don’t you think?”

“I think you shouldn’t join me in the baths with something that dangerous, thank you.”

Fiarca chuckled. “What’s the matter? Are you being shy? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, Stallion.” She leaned forward, showing more of her uncovered bust.

“I’m surprised you’re not more embarrassed,” said Ras, hastily averting his gaze. It was true that he’d grown accustomed to seeing nude women from his time at the brothel, but Fiarca was special. Hers was the body of his old friend and ex-fiancée.

“Well, I will be if you keep blushing like that,” she replied, seeing Ras’s unexpected reaction. When she was the imperial princess, Fiarca often entered the baths attended by maids, so she was used to other people seeing her naked. Even now, it was less like she’d grown shy about her nudity and more that she’d suddenly realized the kind of situation she was in, alone with Ras.

“Did you really have such a pressing reason to come here?” he asked. “There’s a bath in your room, you know.”

“I want to avoid suspicions about my behavior as much as possible,” she explained. “And this spring is so famous that even the Argyllian nobles speak highly of it.”

“I suppose it would seem strange if you stayed here for a week and never tried it.”

“Exactly. Perhaps Princess Tishna already knows about my secret, but if she does, it looks like she’s happy to keep it under wraps for now, thank goodness.”

“I wonder what she’s thinking…”

Ras adopted a serious look and turned to Fiarca.

If Princess Tishna really did have knowledge of future events, then it was likely that she knew who Fiarca really was as well. By revealing that secret, Tishna could plunge Argyll into civil war, and yet she had not, nor had she approached Ras or Fiarca to blackmail them.

That was precisely why they found it so difficult to gauge Princess Tishna’s motive.

“Do you think that girl really does know the future?” asked Ras.

“That’s what I was hoping to ask you,” Fiarca replied. “You’ve spent the most time with her. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. It certainly seems like it, but I haven’t seen anything that proves it for sure.”

Fiarca looked surprised. “You’re telling me you’ve been going to the theater with this girl, dining at fancy cafés, helping her pick out underwear, and you still haven’t managed to do the one thing I asked of you?”

“I was her bodyguard. I didn’t have a choice. Also, how do you know about all that?” Ras frowned. It had already been three days since he was assigned to protect Princess Tishna, and in that time, all she had done was take Ras out on the town. He expected that Elmira or somebody had been spying on them the whole time and faithfully reporting back to Princess Fiarca. “Anyway, I didn’t help her pick out underwear, she just dragged me inside.”

“I’m not saying I care either way. But just so you know, people around the city are already beginning to talk.”

“Despite what she said in the beginning, the princess really hasn’t been trying to hide our relationship at all,” Ras agreed.

“Well, of course not. That’s precisely what she wants.”

“What do you mean?” Ras turned to Fiarca in surprise. He hadn’t suspected that the princess had a motive beyond taking advantage of the moment to have fun around the city.

“It’s different with Prince Auriol,” said Fiarca. “No matter how close Tishna acts with me in public, people will assume that, at best, she’s tolerant of our arranged marriage.”

“Well, that’s the way it goes,” Ras agreed. Marriage among those of high rank was the same wherever one went. It was rare for feelings of love or romance to factor into the equation.

“But what would people say,” asked Fiarca, “if Argyll assigned their top soldier to guard Princess Tishna, and even take her out on the town to show her a good time?”

“They’d probably assume there was something going on behind the scenes,” Ras said.

“Exactly. People would start to think that she has some influence with Argyll—or at the very least, some pull with the Guardian of Silver.”

“But how does that benefit her?” asked Ras, puzzled. Tishna’s path to marriage had already been laid out, and those in charge of the decision hardly cared for her interpersonal relationships. Her future wasn’t going to change just because she was seen flirting with Ras in public.

“It doesn’t,” Fiarca answered. “At least not directly. But think about how it affects her enemies.”

Fiarca shot Ras a suggestive glare. At that, he suddenly realized what she meant.

“She’s trying to provoke her assassins to action!” he cried, rising to his feet with a splash.

A princess married off for political convenience was not expected to have any say in the affairs of her new homeland. Even after her marriage to Crown Prince Auriol, Princess Tishna’s reputation would hinge on that of Charlgia, and she would live her life constantly seeking to maintain their approval.

If Tishna were ever to gain power independently, it would only be through supplying the empire with an heir, and even then, only after that child took power. That would be at least a decade down the line. Nobody could predict what would happen in that time. Perhaps, for some reason or other, that day would never come.

But what if Tishna had already gained influence within the empire? Say, through an intimate relationship with the Guardian of Silver? With that kind of power under her thumb, she could mobilize Central Command if she wished, and by doing so flatten even an alliance of the kingdom’s most powerful families.

That was precisely what she had been trying to flaunt over the past few days—that she had that kind of power at her disposal and wasn’t afraid to use it. Her half sisters and the other nobles who mistreated her would surely be feeling the heat. And if so, perhaps they thought that their only option was to eliminate Princess Tishna before her alliance to the empire was complete. That was her aim. The reason she had recruited Ras—it was to send a message: “You’d better kill me now, or you might not get another chance.”

“P-please don’t stand up without warning me, if you can help it…”

Uncharacteristically flustered, Fiarca hid her eyes with her hand. Through the gaps in her fingers, there was a look of enjoyment on her face.

“B-but the princess is in danger. We have to hurry,” said Ras, concerned at Fiarca’s lack of urgency.

“There’s no rush. They won’t attack straightaway. At the soonest, they’ll strike two days from now, at the evening ball.”

“The welcome party. Delegates from every country will be there.”

“Right. That’s when the summit begins in earnest. And it’s also when my engagement to Princess Tishna will be announced.”

“Hmm? Isn’t that a little ahead of schedule?” Ras asked. Previously, he was told that the marriage would only be announced after the summit was over. After all, the story was to be that Tishna hosted Auriol during the proceedings, and that they fell in love during that time.

“Unfortunately, we’ve had to move it forward,” said Fiarca, with obvious meaning behind her words. “The point is, our assassins won’t make their move until then.” She sank down, submerging her whole body in the hot water. “Until the party starts, we can take it easy and keep our spirits high. We’ll certainly need them.”

“You just want to stay in the bath, don’t you?” replied Ras with a glare. Fiarca pouted like a child and turned her head away.

“Don’t blame me,” she said. “I’ve had an absolute nightmare of it lately, being forced to speak to diplomats day and night in that stuffy mask!”

“So it is stuffy…,” said Ras, as though a burning question of his had finally been answered.

2

Valdemar covered his face with a gaudy golden mask and swirled the wineglass in his hand. He was at a masquerade ball put on by one of the dukes of Charlgia. Usually, only a select few elites were allowed to attend, but thanks to the spending money the crown prince had given him, Valdemar had been able to buy his way in with little trouble.

“Please keep in mind we have a mission to complete,” said a man attempting to keep stride while Valdemar stopped to speak to every woman who caught his eye.

This man wearing a white porcelain mask was Jože Divak, who was like a brother to Valdemar. Out of all the hangers-on Valdemar had brought with him from the northern march, Jože had been with the family for the longest. His combat style made heavy use of stealth and reconnaissance auramancy, which made him incredibly versatile, and indispensable to have along on a mission like this. The only problem was that he wouldn’t stop wagging his tongue in Valdemar’s ear.

“I spent a pretty penny getting a hold of this invitation,” Valdemar replied, “I’d be a fool not to get my money’s worth.”

Then, ignoring Jože’s protests, Valdemar set his sights on a group of nobles standing at the far end of the hall.

Three of them were middle-aged men in tuxedos, while the fourth was a woman wearing a black party dress. There was a prickly air about them, which even nearby partygoers seemed to notice.

“Could that be them?” asked Valdemar.

“It seems so,” Jože replied. “The broad-shouldered man is Viscount Kozmus. The man with the pencil mustache, Viscount Premru. The one in the back is a big name. That’s the current Marquis Peterka. He used to be the royal treasurer, too.”

“I’m surprised you can recognize them when they’re all wearing masks,” Valdemar remarked. “Since when were you so knowledgeable about foreign nobles?”

“They’re important people, young master. It would behoove you to learn their names and faces, too,” replied Jože wearily.

“That gloomy lot? They sure don’t look it.”

“I didn’t say important in a good way.”

“True.”

“They’re all the same, young master. Each of them was affected by the actions of Princess Tishna.”

“The Wicked Princess’s victims, eh?”

Valdemar scoffed.

The three men had a poor reputation around these parts. So much so that when the news broke of an assassin targeting Princess Tishna, people started to suspect it might be one of these three who had hired him. There was no proof or anything linking them to the plot, but it was enough to pique Valdemar’s interest. After hearing that they would all be attending this masquerade ball, Valdemar had decided to come and meet them for himself.

“I wouldn’t call them victims,” said Jože coldly. “They’re all guilty of something, after all. But the fact remains they all have reason to hate Her Highness.”

The Wicked Princess Tishna had been responsible for uncovering various crime and corruption plots around the royal court. Strangely, however, it wasn’t out of a desire to mete out justice. If anything, it was the complete opposite. Tishna acted in selfishness, and yet by sheer coincidence, her actions always seemed to bring those crimes to light.

For example, she once took an interest in the necklace worn by a nobleman’s daughter and demanded he present it to her as tribute. Because of that, it was eventually found that the necklace was stolen. That led to the discovery of an enormous burglary ring that the nobleman had been operating in secret. Tishna, of course, earned nothing from it except that man’s ire.

“Are these three the only people who have been harmed by her?”

“It’s better to say that those are the only three left,” said Jože.

“What happened to the others?” Valdemar asked.

“They’re all slaving away in the mines these days.”

“…All because of a seventeen-year-old girl?”

“If so, she’s even more terrifying than the stories say. It’s no wonder that even the king himself is afraid of her.”

“You don’t say.”

No matter how well Tishna kept up appearances, it was obvious at first glance that there was something dangerous about her. The current king wasn’t brave enough to keep the girl close by.

“That’s why he’s trying to get rid of her,” mused Valdemar. “I did think it strange that the fourth princess was first in line to wed Prince Auriol, but it all makes sense now.”

“His Imperial Highness surely noticed it as well,” said Jože. “I wonder why he agreed.”

“I’ve never been able to understand that boy, ever since our academy days,” remarked Valdemar. “Perhaps those two really are perfect for each other.”

“I sure hope so,” added Jože with an awkward smile.

Valdemar’s words may have appeared disrespectful at first glance, but coming from him, they were the highest praise. Contrary to his frivolous behavior, Valdemar was a proud man with noble blood and a stout arm. Even after losing his duel to Kanalayka, he kept his end of the bargain without complaints. That was all because, on some level, he respected the crown prince.

Or perhaps that, too, was all in accordance with Auriol’s plan. Valdemar’s strengths lay in gathering intelligence through all the means available to him. The crown prince knew that, and he also knew just how to pique Valdemar’s curiosity.

“Ah, they’re on the move.”

As if on some signal, the four people suddenly began walking. They left the main hall and entered a small lounge, clearly preparing to have a private conversation.

“Don’t tell me you mean to follow them in there, young master.”

“Why else do you think I brought you along?” said Valdemar, striding toward the group. “It’s time to earn your pay.”

Jože sighed. “Just try not to make any noise.”

Following alongside him, Jože cast auramancy that altered the refractive index of the surrounding air, allowing the pair to blend seamlessly into the shadows as they tailed the four partygoers.

“Is it true that they captured the empire’s assassin?”

Hidden from view, Valdemar listened in on the nobles’ conversation. The first to speak was the broad-shouldered man, Viscount Kozmus. It was Viscount Premru, with the pencil mustache, who answered.

“It appears so,” he said. “He and his broker were both seized as they attempted to enter the country.”

“This Eterusia has turned out to be nothing more than a group of bumbling idiots,” Viscount Kozmus spat.

“True. The empire’s resources in this capacity are scant. We were right not to trust them from the start.”

“Indeed.”

Marquis Peterka nodded along to the conversation between the viscounts before looking up at the woman seated opposite him. She was wearing a mask modeled after a bat, and her hair was a burning crimson, like fire. Judging from her voice, she seemed surprisingly young, yet with a commanding radiance that captivated all those who saw her.

Behind her stood a man with silver hair, a loyal lapdog ever-present by his mistress’s side. He wore a black mask around his eyes, and while weapons were confiscated at this party, he alone wore a sword at his hip. That was because the woman he was guarding was the host of the evening’s event.

“I trust the arrangements are all complete on your end,” said the marquis. In response to his stiff words, the woman nodded coolly, as though she outranked even his lordly status.

“Yes,” she said. “The ingredients have been gathered.”

“And when is the cooking to begin?”

“Before dawn breaks on the night of the feast.”

“That is…earlier than I was expecting.”

“The ingredients will not last,” the redheaded woman replied. “I trust that does not present an issue, Marquis?”

She leveled a gaze through her bat mask at Peterka. The marquis quickly shook his head.

“Not at all, my lady,” he said.

“Doesn’t it displease you as well, seeing that woman do as she likes with the empire’s blessing? When the big day comes, try not to leave the house, if you can help it.”

“As you wish.”

The three men all bowed their heads at once to the woman, who looked upon them with a pleased smile. Just then, the silver-haired man leaned over and began whispering into the woman’s ear.

“My lady,” he said. “It seems we are joined by a pair of flies. Do you mind if I deal with them?”

“Flies? The empire’s lapdogs, I wonder?”

The redheaded woman’s lips curled in disgust. Meanwhile, the three men became disordered.

“The empire’s spies, here?!”

They swiveled their necks, scanning each corner of the lounge, but there was no one there. Then, the silver-haired man snapped his fingers, and a burst of aura swept the room. For that one instant, a ripple betrayed the silhouettes of a pair of figures. It was two young men, wearing masks.

“Deal with them, Hilbert,” the red-haired woman barked.

“As you wish, my lady.”

The silver-headed man bowed, then slowly drew his sword. A flash of steel rent the air, and fresh blood splattered in the gloom.

“Jože!”

With a sound like shattering glass, the auramancy illusion was dispelled. Valdemar grabbed the bleeding Jože and dragged him back to safety, while Jože howled in pain and loosed auramancy—the third-level technique, Flame Strike—toward their aggressor, the silver-haired aura knight.

But the man known as Hilbert shot an aura-infused fist at the fiery projectile, obliterating it completely.

“What the bloody hell was that?! Jože, who is he?!”

“Damned if I know! Let us be out of here, young master!”

Jože unleashed a smoke-screen technique to cover their escape. Valdemar wasted no time in deciding upon a plan of action. Their opponent had already shown his true strength—anyone who could take auramancy like that upon their bare skin was a force to be feared.

Due to the strict security at the party, the only weapons Valdemar had been able to smuggle in were two concealed knives. Even with Jože’s arts backing him up, taking on the silver-haired aura knight in combat would be a struggle.

“Intruders! Do not let them escape!” Hilbert bellowed. Auramancy amplified his voice so that all the guards stationed around the mansion responded at once. Seeing them draw their blades, Valdemar gritted his teeth. He could take on a guard or two, no problem, but their sheer numbers posed a significant challenge.

“I will hold them off,” said Jože, while the guards moved to block their escape. “Find a way out of here!”

“I’m not leaving an injured man on his own,” Valdemar protested. “I’ll hold them off. You find a way out.”

“But you are the marquis’s heir!”

“Just get going before I lose my temper! You’re slowing me down. Go right and take out as many of the bastards as you can while you’re at it.”

“You do ask a lot of an injured man…”

Despite his protests, Jože prepared and unleashed another auramancy technique. This time, it was the fourth-level Flame Rain. Countless balls of fire rained down upon the mansion courtyard, halting the guards’ advance.

“Stay safe, young master!”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll have my fun here and be right with you.”

With that, Valdemar stopped to take stock of the guardsmen who had circumvented the burning courtyard and come round to arrest him. He drew his hidden knives, one in each hand, and unleashed his signature technique—the Over Art, Dancing Blades. The ensuing scattershot of aura blades made short work of the mansion guards advancing toward him in tight formation.

Seeing that the crowd had been thinned, Valdemar turned to make his escape, but at the last moment, he leaped back instead—just in time to avoid a streak of crimson light, an energized aura blade.

The sword’s wielder was none other than Hilbert, the silver-haired aura knight.

“Leave this man to me,” he said to his underlings, leveling his sword at Valdemar. “The rest of you, handle the one that got away.”

Valdemar clicked his tongue. The mansion was located in an affluent noble district, with wide roads and unobstructed sightlines, terrible for losing one’s pursuers. Given Jože’s wounded state, it was difficult to see how he was going to get away, but Valdemar didn’t have the liberty of going to rescue him, because the man standing opposite him had already sealed off all paths of escape.

“A man of Argyll, I see,” said Hilbert, taking stock of Valdemar’s features. “One of Auriol’s goons, are you?”

“I’d prefer to call myself an old friend,” Valdemar replied. “We were school chums, that’s all.”

Valdemar wasn’t lying, exactly, but his words caused Hilbert’s brow to furrow in displeasure. Perhaps he thought the man was toying with him.

“Why did you sneak into the party?” he asked.

“To find myself a girl. What other reason is there?”

“If you’d prefer me to extract the reason by force, then that can be arranged. Tell me, now, and your death shall be swift and merciful.”

“I’ll pass. How about I just leave and pretend I didn’t hear anything?”

“Enough. Further words are pointless, it seems.”

His patience finally worn out, Hilbert lunged. But Valdemar was just a little quicker on the draw. Slipping in close to his foe, he unleashed a double strike at point-blank range—a sucker punch of a move designed to catch his opponent off guard.

However, right before his triumphant eyes, the blades in Valdemar’s hands shattered. A spray of blood shot from his left shoulder just as he realized what Hilbert had done—he’d destroyed Valdemar’s twin swords with nothing more than his bare hands.

The searing pain twisted Valdemar’s lips into a frown, and he stepped back in retreat. He had barely managed to avoid taking a lethal blow, but a torrent of blood flowed from his wound, and it was obvious he couldn’t keep up the fight for much longer.

“A shame,” said Hilbert. “You seem good with a blade. Were you armed with a real one, things might have been different.”

“I won’t complain if you go fetch me one,” Valdemar said, smiling.

“I’d rather we ended this quickly, if you don’t mind,” Hilbert replied. “If it was a fair fight you wanted, you should have thought about that before you trespassed upon the house of my mistress.”

“I see. And here I thought the men of Registan were an honorable sort.”

At Valdemar’s provocative words, Hilbert’s eyebrow twitched. The distinctive twang of his accent and the unique basket hilt on his sword spoke volumes about the silver-haired man’s heritage. He was most likely a soldier of the Registanian military, a foreign agent sent to sow discord within the kingdom.

“I should have thought twice before employing my trusty blade,” said Hilbert in repentance. “However, I suppose it brought me to victory, as it always has.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“What?”

Hilbert seized up as, all of a sudden, he felt a surge of aura coming from directly behind him. Its source was the sixth-level auramancy technique, Fiery Blast. An enormous ball of flames materialized above his head, before crashing down to the ground and immolating all in its path.

“Bastard!” he cried.

“You’re the one who said this wasn’t going to be a fair fight,” Valdemar taunted, his lips stained with his own blood.

Jože had not fled, as he had made it seem. After dazzling the guards with his Over Arts, he had activated his stealth auramancy and remained hidden in the mansion courtyard. While Valdemar kept Hilbert distracted, Jože had spent the time charging up his technique. This impromptu combination attack, performed without prior arrangement, was the fruit of many years spent together as master and servant.

Hilbert managed to escape the flames unhurt, but by that time, Valdemar and Jože had vanished. The streets were already starting to crowd as noblemen came out of their houses to deal with the sudden fire—no doubt it had been the plan all along to disappear amid them.

Suddenly, the woman with red hair appeared in the courtyard.

“Did they manage to elude you, Hilbert?” she said. “I do hope you didn’t let them get away on purpose.”

“Of course not, my lady,” replied Hilbert, kneeling in the presence of his mistress.

The woman grinned triumphantly. “It matters not,” she said. “Whatever the empire’s flies learn now, it is far too late to stop anything, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Looking up at the glowing night sky, the woman spoke as if to somebody not present.

“Hmph. Struggle as you wish, my foolish sister. I can’t wait to see the look on your face as our glorious nation executes you like the traitor you are. What a fitting way for the Wicked Princess to meet her end.”

Her features looked like they were plucked from a painting. The silver-haired aura knight simply watched her in stone-faced silence.

3

A week had already passed since Ras and Fiarca arrived in Barlama. The opening feast was now upon them, and Ras still had no clue as to the identities of the conspirators plotting to assassinate Princess Tishna.

That night was the unofficial opening ceremony of the Shrumland Alliance summit—a feast to welcome all member-state dignitaries and their entourages. In the royal palace’s banquet hall, tables were overflowing with culinary offerings of the highest caliber, and the party itself was in full swing. At the height of it all, the king of Charlgia called Fiarca and Tishna up to the stage to announce the marriage of Auriol Ref Argenteia, crown prince of Argyll, and Tishna Lumedienne Charlgiana, Princess of Charlgia.

“I count myself supremely blessed to be able to stand here and share this news with you all tonight,” he declared. “I sincerely hope that this will serve to tighten the bonds between our nations, and, dare I say, those of the entire alliance.”

The crowd erupted into cheers at his high-spirited announcement, only dampened somewhat by the fact that many of those present had known what was coming for some time.

“It’s over already. I thought there would be more of a celebration,” noted Kanalayka, speaking to Ras on the outskirts of the party. Since Tishna was Fiarca’s partner for the night, Ras was left to accompany the imperial legate instead. In her black dress, Kanalayka outshone many of the other women at the party with her tall, slender, yet womanly figure.

“Nobody’s surprised,” said Ras. “The leaders of the Shrumland Alliance have been planning this marriage for over six months now.”

“I thought at least somebody would be upset.”

“Tishna’s the black sheep of Charlgia. At most, this is a wake-up call for Agarte and Darrol to send off their own daughters as Auriol’s concubines.”

“It’s not a very happy state of affairs, is it?” said Kanalayka, her displeasure written all over her face.

The marriage of the battle-scarred Auriol to the kingdom’s Wicked Princess was fraught with difficulty from the very beginning. Perhaps that was partly to blame for the lukewarm response.

“We’re lying about the prince’s true identity,” Ras shot back. “We can’t exactly talk.”

“That’s true…”

Kanalayka cast her gaze down at the ground, searching for a response. She was party to the lie, effectively deceiving every last person at the feast tonight. She was in no position to be dissatisfied with how the public reacted.

“But enough about that, are you not going to eat?” Ras asked. “I don’t know what kind of meat this is, but it’s damned tasty.”

“That’s dragonfish from the Orange Ocean,” Kanalayka replied. Ras was a little taken aback. Charlgia was a landlocked country, quite far from the sea.

“Well, I’ll be. How do they get it so fresh? You’re not telling me they airlift it here via Caladrius?”

“It might be due to the latest technological advancement to come out of Kidea,” suggested Kanalayka.

“And what is that?”

“I heard they were developing a means of using ice auramancy to freeze fish while they’re still alive, allowing them to reach their destination fresh,” the legate explained, attempting to recall the memories of her youth. “They were still figuring out the logistics when I was there, though,” she added.

Approximately four years prior, Kanalayka had studied at a Kidean academy just before entering the military. The continent of Kidea was ruled by two powers, and aura technology was said to have reached a much higher level than it had on the northern continent of Danakil. This new preservation technology was surely one of those advancements.

But freezing produce with auramancy required a high level of skill, and there were not many practitioners who could perform it. Just gathering the personnel necessary to perform experiments surely cost a pretty penny.

“That’s big news, if it’s true,” said Ras. “I wonder how much one bite costs.”

“A fortune, I’d say. I’m a little curious to see how the taste measures up. May I?”

“Of course.”

Kanalayka smiled and opened her mouth to be fed.

Ras cut off a bite-size chunk of meat and offered it to her. When she ate it, Kanalayka apparently found it so delicious that she squeezed both her cheeks in delight. It was such a childish way to react that Ras couldn’t help but smile.

Meanwhile, he felt the prickly gazes of nearby partygoers converging on him. They couldn’t have felt happy seeing Ras get so friendly with the eye-catchingly beautiful legate.

“You sure are popular with the men, Kanalayka,” Ras said. “Everyone’s looking at you tonight, and even a young nobleman from Agarte and a councilman from Darrol made passes at you, didn’t they?”

Ras offered a sympathetic smile, but for some reason Kanalayka tipped her head.

“What do you mean, Ras? You’re far more popular with the men than me. Why, just a few minutes ago, you were surrounded by them.”

“That’s not nearly the same thing,” said Ras with a grimace. “Besides, men only come up to me to recruit me or to test their mettle.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a man to test his mettle against me instead of fawning over my clothes or jewelry,” said Kanalayka, sighing. She really did seem ready to go at a moment’s notice, and Ras couldn’t help feeling that the next words out of her mouth would be a challenge. Come to think of it, she had been surprisingly eager to duel Valdemar at the marquis’s manor, too.

“That’s a shame,” replied Ras. “Did none of them catch your interest?”

“None. If only any of them were brave and strong enough to shatter my sword bare-handed…”

“How would they have a chance to prove that?” said Ras, shaking his head in astonishment.

It was at that moment that an unassuming maid called out to the two of them.

“Sir Talion, Lady Kanalayka.”

The voice sounded familiar, and they both turned to see who it was. When they did, their eyes widened in shock. Her hair and eye color were different, but it was someone the pair knew very well. She was dressed in the royal palace maid uniform, and her unflattering hairstyle, when paired with her slouched posture, served to conceal the extraordinarily graceful shape of her features.

“Is that you, Elmira?” asked Kanalayka.

“It is,” the maid replied. “I apologize for making contact with you like this, but I am currently on duty.”

No doubt Elmira’s duties involved scouring the party for information while simultaneously standing guard for Princess Fiarca.

“I don’t mind,” said Ras. “That outfit suits you.”

“Does it, now? If only that compliment had come from someone more respectable, I might be flattered.”

Ras frowned, then lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Has something happened?” he asked. If it was important enough to temporarily abandon her duties, then Ras couldn’t imagine she’d simply come to chat.

“Lord Grey has been wounded.”

“Val? You’re joking.”

Ras couldn’t believe his ears. Valdemar had been under orders to investigate the assassination plot surrounding Princess Tishna. That wasn’t to say it was completely without risks, but a man of Valdemar’s caliber would surely be aware of how to avoid them. This could only mean that the situation had evolved beyond even his meticulous predictions.

“He and Sir Divak are both in serious condition, and the army’s top healers are tending to them as we speak,” explained Elmira. “The doctor says they will both survive, but they have lost a lot of blood and are in no condition to act.”

“I didn’t think there was anyone in this country skilled enough to inflict that kind of injury on Lord Grey,” muttered Kanalayka. It was obvious that she had grown substantial respect for the man during their duel.

“It appears they were attacked by a Registanian aura knight while attending a party at the house of Duchess Knauss.”

“Did you say Registanian?” Kanalayka’s eyes flared in surprise. “What’s a man from Registan doing in the house of a Charlgian duchess?”

The empire of Registan was the sworn enemy of the Shrumland Alliance. If it was found that a noblewoman from one of the alliance’s member states was sheltering a foreign agent, the results would not be pretty—especially during such a critical event as the alliance summit.

“Wait,” said Ras, interrupting the legate. “Did you say Duchess Knauss? Isn’t she…?”

Ras was not familiar with the names of each and every member of other nations’ noble class. However, this was one name he knew. It was one he couldn’t afford to forget.

“Anita Knaussia Charlgiana,” said a voice. “The former second royal princess of Charlgia…and my sister.”

“Your Highness?!”

It was Princess Tishna, wearing a silver dress, who completed Ras’s thought. Standing next to her, of course, was Fiarca, dressed as Prince Auriol. The reason the whole party did not stop and stare at this strange turn of events was that Fiarca had applied auramancy to avert people’s attention. It was a subtler trick than simply turning invisible; so subtle that Fiarca’s guards had not even noticed she was gone. Cloaked by her technique, Ras and the others moved outside to an unpopulated balcony. The party continued on, and most likely, none of the attendees would notice Fiarca’s absence.

“I can’t say I’ve heard of this Lord Grey,” said Tishna, eyeing Elmira suspiciously. “But am I to assume he was tasked with investigating my enemies here in Charlgia? Does that mean that Duchess Knauss is among them?”

Anita had been a member of the royal family, until around two years back when she was caught in an embezzlement scheme. As a result, she was stripped of her royal title and made a duchess. She lost her right to succession and was effectively living in exile.

Tishna, for once, had taken no part in exposing Anita’s crimes. This, when paired with her distance from the royal family, meant she was initially excluded from the list of suspects.

However, taking the woman’s personality into account, it was easy to see how she might bear a grudge against her sister. Tishna’s mother was a mere consort, and Lumede a mere vassal state of Charlgia. Anita had always looked down on her sister, and yet now that girl was poised to be married to the crown prince of a powerful neighbor. Meanwhile, as a disgraced noble, Anita’s own prospects were dim.

“It does sound that way,” said Elmira. “It is highly likely that she is plotting something alongside Marquis Peterka and…”

“I see. That is good.”

Tishna breathed an honest sigh of relief. As a satisfied smile spread across her face, Ras turned to her in confusion.

“How is that good?”

“It is far better to know who one’s enemy is than to struggle blindly in the dark,” Tishna replied, seemingly without a whit of care. Fiarca raised an eyebrow warily.

“Are you going to take revenge?” she asked.

“I would never,” replied Tishna with an unconvincing smile. “More to the point, I cannot. I’m afraid that I am out of time.”

“What do you mean, out of time?”

Fiarca suddenly adopted a fearsome glare. Tishna, meanwhile, simply walked out onto the balcony, and beneath the light of the moon, bowed deeply before all present.

“Before that, though,” she said, “could I ask but a few moments of your time? I would like to tell you everything I know.”

“Of course,” said Fiarca, in the soft yet serious tones of her brother. “What kind of man wouldn’t listen to what his fiancée has to say?”

It was an utterance so banal that Ras could have sworn it had come from the man’s own lips. And yet, when Tishna heard it, she tittered.

“Thank you, Princess Fiarca Jeva Argenteia. There is something I would like to give you, if you’d be so gracious as to accept.”

Ras and his companions all stared at her coquettish grin with expressions of pure shock. It was there that the night’s calm came to a sudden and definite end.

4

“Princess Fiarca, you say?”

Placing a hand to her mask, Fiarca muttered the name back to herself. The look she shot Tishna seemed genuinely tender, but behind the windows of her eyes shone a deep, unbridled hatred.

“I advise you to choose your words with more care, Princess Tishna. My jealous subordinate over there has more than enough reason to kill you, my fiancée, already.”

Before Fiarca even finished speaking, Elmira—still dressed in her maid uniform—moved behind Tishna and pressed a dagger to her back. One word from Fiarca, and she could kill the princess where she stood.

Yet even though she was completely without means to protect herself, Tishna’s smile did not waver.

“Oh dear, what a terrible fiancée I make, to forget my own partner’s name like that.”

Tishna pushed her cheek out with her tongue in a gesture as calculated as it was devastating. Its primary effect, however, was to cause Fiarca and Elmira to boil with anger. Sensing she’d gone too far, Tishna quickly dropped it.

“Rest assured, Your Highness, I have told nobody of your secret. It was simply the only way I could think of to earn your trust.”

“In other words,” said Fiarca, “you want us to believe that what you’re about to say is really going to happen?”

“I should have known you’d realize it by now,” said Tishna. “The fact that I have traveled back in time.”

The way Tishna so easily expressed her deepest, darkest secret caused Fiarca to loosen up a little. By laying everyone’s cards on the table, it was clear the royal princess intended to have a frank and open discussion. At the same time, her words were a message: “Kill me now, and you’ll regret not hearing me out.”

“Then let us go,” Tishna went on. “There’s something I would like to show you all.”

Elegant despite the dagger at her back, Tishna began walking. To anyone who saw, it appeared just as if the party’s host was showing her most important guest and his escort around the palace gardens. Nobody would have batted an eye, even without Fiarca’s auramancy shielding the five of them from suspicion.

Tishna led everyone through the vast garden until they arrived before a glass-walled greenhouse. Around the back of the structure was a small wooden toolshed, hidden within the basement of which was an underground passage.

“Is this…a secret passage?” asked Kanalayka while eyeing her surroundings, never allowing her wonder to distract from her vigilance.

“Yes,” Tishna replied. “It leads straight from the royal palace to my private villa. Only the king of Charlgia is supposed to know of its existence.”

Tishna sounded like she was boasting, but Ras couldn’t help but sigh. This made twice in one week that Tishna had led him down a secret tunnel.

“I suppose you learned about it in the future, then?” asked Fiarca.

“That’s right.”

“Which means the future is one in which the king needs to use this secret passage. Some kind of terrorist plot or coup d’état, perhaps.”

“What?!”

Ras gasped at Fiarca’s words. Even Tishna looked a little taken aback.

“I should have expected you to piece together as much,” she said, giving a self-deprecating sigh. “It looks like I was right not to engage you in a battle of deception.”

“Oh, did you not? Your games with Ras certainly appeared as much to me.” For some reason, Fiarca shot Ras a contemptuous glare as she said this.

Tishna, meanwhile, seemed eager to tease the imperial princess further, and wrapped her arm around Ras’s. “Oh, you misunderstand!” she said with glee. “It’s simply that a battle of looks is far more stacked in my favor!”

No sooner had she got the words out, however, than a fusillade of ice spears materialized out of thin air around Fiarca, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“I was joking! I was joking!” Tishna shrieked. “Don’t shoot, I beg you!”

It seemed that despite the conversation finally adopting a productive tone, Fiarca still wasn’t ready to let go of her grudge. Tishna swiftly put some distance between her and Ras, after which Fiarca dissipated the spears. Even so, Tishna kept shaking for some time.

“I didn’t think anyone alive could put together offensive auramancy so quickly,” she said, shuddering. “Why do you get to be so special? It’s not fair.”

“I’d rather not hear that from someone who’s seen the future, thank you very much,” Fiarca replied. Fighting was something she could leave to her armies, and auramancy talent was one gift that the imperial princess had no use for. She would much rather have possessed Tishna’s ability, and rule with foresight and precision when she became empress.

However, Tishna failed to find much hope in Fiarca’s words.

“My gift is useless to me,” she said. “What is the point in knowing the future when you are unable to change it?”

“Is that why you told us your secret, then?” Ras asked after a moment’s thought. “Because you need us to help you change the future?”

The matter had been on his mind for some time: why, after such a long game of cat and mouse, Tishna had finally decided to come clean.

At that moment, a sliver of doubt crossed Tishna’s glass smile.

“I cannot alter what is to come by myself,” she said. “I have no choice but to trust you.”

“Is that why you moved the wedding plans forward?” asked Fiarca.

“What?” said Ras. This deduction was new information to him.

“It was Tishna who petitioned the king to announce our marriage at this party,” Fiarca explained.

The announcement was originally supposed to come after the summit had ended, with the premise that Tishna and Auriol had grown close during their time together.

The royal princess had moved that announcement forward. It could only be because the future she wanted to avert could not be changed any other way.

“That’s right,” she said. “Because of that, we still have time. Precious little, but enough.”

Tishna stopped and slowly turned to face the others. Her smile failed to reach her eyes. The sudden change in her demeanor put Ras on edge.

“Time?” he asked. “Time for what?”

“Very soon, a horde of fiends will assault Barlama.”

“What?”

Kanalayka gasped. Ras shook his head in denial.

“What a crock of shit,” he said. “Are the watchtowers manned by imbeciles? The kingdom would have noticed such a large group by now.”

“Nevertheless, it is the truth,” Tishna replied without a moment of doubt. “The royal guardsmen will be rounded up to assist with the defense of the city, leaving the royal palace undefended. Looters will seize that moment to invade the palace, slaughtering the king and much of the royal court, and even harming the delegates of foreign nations staying there for the alliance summit.”

“Who’s behind this? Is it Registan?” asked Ras.

“It can be no one else,” replied Tishna. “As we speak, the empire is gathering an army on the northern border, under the pretense of a military exercise.”

“A show of force with the entire alliance watching.”

The Shrumland Alliance was a cooperative display of defiance in the face of Registanian expansion. It was no surprise that the power-hungry empire would constantly be seeking opportunities to undermine that cooperation by demonstrating its overwhelming might and thus sow the seeds of doubt among the alliance’s four members. This massing of forces on the kingdom’s border would constitute an obvious threat, and its timing to coincide with the alliance summit was surely no fluke.

Of course, the kingdom was not foolish and would soon prepare an army to oversee the border, should Registan prove daring enough to invade. Assuming, of course, that no sudden calamity threw the chain of command into disarray.

“The Registanian army will take advantage of the chaos in Barlama and stage an attack, beginning a full-scale invasion of Charlgia,” Tishna explained. “That is the future I have seen with my own eyes.”

“What happens next?” asked Ras with trepidation, though he feared he already knew. A kingdom left without its king, just as a land-grabbing empire was poised to attack, was about the worst scenario imaginable. It was entirely plausible that after Registan’s military campaign, there wouldn’t be a Charlgia left at all.

“I do not know,” said Tishna, a faint smile on her lips.

As soon as she said it, Ras gasped. Now that she mentioned it, of course she wouldn’t know. Tishna was from the future, but at the moment of her death, she had been sent back to the present day. Tishna had died and returned to the past.

“The last thing I remember seeing,” she said, “is you, Ras. I saw you and your black Chasseur fending off the Registanian army.”

A deep sadness possessed her as Tishna spoke of her final memories. Ras could find no words with which to speak.

5

After a protracted silence, it was Fiarca who spoke.

“What do you want, Princess Tishna?”

Tishna’s face grew grim. By exposing all her secrets, she had finally brought Fiarca to the negotiation table. Now was when the real battle to win her over began.

“I want you to transport the imperial fleet over to the border with Registan,” she said. “You will be escorted by Count Tegnail, and you have my express permission to pass through the country.”

“You want us to fight the Registanian army in your place?” asked Fiarca with an unimpressed glare. But Tishna did not shrink.

“I believe your mere existence will be enough to deter the Registanian forces from attacking,” she said. “You will likely not have to fight at all.”

“Out of the question,” Fiarca replied. “The imperial forces are the protectors of our nation. I cannot expose them to unnecessary risks. To protect your country, you must be willing to shed your own kinsmen’s blood first.”

“I know that,” said Tishna, screwing up her delicate features, “but…there’s no other way!”

The mask of the selfish princess slipped away, and she stood before Ras and his companions as she truly was.

“Every time I close my eyes,” she said, “I watch Barlama burn. I listen to the screams of my people, calling out for a salvation that never comes. Every night, I sleep to the stench of their burning flesh. Five years ago, I was reborn into the body of my twelve-year-old self, and every day since then I have been working to stop this war from coming to pass again. I willingly took up the mantle of Wicked Princess. I bore my people’s scorn and hate, even my own mother’s disappointment, all so that I could keep moving forward.”

Tishna’s wild eyes began flooding with tears. Once the sobbing overcame her, there was no stopping it. The dam broke, and tears streamed down her face like a river.

“I tried and I tried to change my fate, but there was nothing I could do to make this future go away!”

The strength left her body, and she collapsed where she stood. It almost looked like she was begging at Fiarca’s feet.

“If only I could ride a Chasseur!” she screamed, weakly banging her fists against the floor. “If only I could do something! Why am I so weak?!”

What Ras was seeing was not a Wicked Princess and her schemes, just the powerless wails of a young girl. A girl entrusted with a secret too big for her, and who had no one to confide in. A girl left to struggle against fate, alone.

Her screams were the sound of her soul tearing itself apart. They echoed down the underground passage, drawing Ras’s attention to a large cavern just ahead. Because of that, he noticed it.

Lying in the cavern ahead was something large and metallic. It was the shape of a person, with fine engravings etched into the white frame—a Chasseur.

Ras was captivated by the sight of it, sitting alone enshrouded only by an indescribable majesty. “Is that…yours?” he asked.

Even from a distance, Ras could tell it had seen many battles in its time. There was a certain unmistakable air about it.

“That is the Lescar,” Tishna answered. “A custom Chasseur passed down through the Charlgian royal family. The king gifted it to me for my marriage to Prince Auriol. Since I possess no land, this Chasseur is the only proof of my royalty.”

It was common practice for noble daughters to offer either land or a Chasseur to their new husband as a dowry. In Tishna’s case, that was this machine, the Lescar. A unit of this quality would go far in bolstering the rapport between Charlgia and Argyll.

“Is this what you wanted to give me?” asked Fiarca.

“Yes. It was to be gifted to Prince Auriol, for him to do with as he wished.”

“Why are you doing this now?”

“Because I have nothing else to give.”

Tishna looked up at Fiarca with a tear-streaked face. Then she clasped both her hands as if in prayer.

“You can do with me as you like. If you need me to play the part of the faithful wife, then I will happily do so without question. Just please…help me.”

Tishna’s voice grew hoarser and hoarser until she could barely be heard over her own sobs. She may have been able to see the future, but at the end of the day, she was only a seventeen-year-old girl. She was offering her entire life just to secure Ras and Fiarca’s help.

Ras couldn’t look directly at her. The sight was too painful.

“Fiarca…,” he said.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Fiarca shot back, in a voice devoid of passion. “She knows tears will move you. It’s all part of her plan.”

The royal princess’s face was so full of despair that Ras could barely speak, but her feelings didn’t seem to reach Fiarca at all. Instead, the imperial princess turned to the black-haired woman by her side.

“Kanalayka,” she said. “Send a message to Major General Adamkus. Tell him to recall all our forces from shore leave immediately. Leave a garrison to defend the capital and send the rest of the fleet to the Registanian border.”

“Huh?” Tishna whimpered, unable to comprehend. Just a second ago, Fiarca had sworn not to waste her precious troops on Charlgia’s defense. Now it sounded like she was prepared to do precisely that.

“Ras, go wake up Izai. Tell him to make sure all our Chasseurs are ready for urban warfare. Cut down on caster types and refit them as striker units. He can scrap the Ella for spare parts if he wishes.”

“You mean, you’re going to pilot this one?!” asked Ras in shock. Fiarca was preparing for all-out war. Ras could scarcely fathom why.

“If we help prevent the chaos in the city, then the Registanian army will have no opportunity to invade,” Fiarca explained, making no attempt to conceal her displeasure. “They’re not prepared to sustain a full-fledged invasion against Charlgia at full power. At the very least, the 1st Division should be able to buy enough time for the royal guard to catch up.”

Fiarca had decided that the best way to stop the Registanian invasion was to keep the chaos inside Barlama to a minimum. That way, even if the worst should happen, the damage to Argyll’s fleet would be small.

“Do you have some idea to stop the riots?”

“I didn’t until just now. I was ready to turn our fleet back and leave Charlgia to its fate. But with what we’ve learned from Val, and with this unit, I think we can do it,” Fiarca said defiantly as she set her eyes on the snow-white Chasseur.

“How can one Chasseur make such a difference?” Ras asked, bewildered.

“This is no ordinary Chasseur,” Fiarca replied. “It bears the crest of the royal family.”

She shot Ras a suggestive smile, but before he could work out what she meant, Tishna, crawling on the floor, called out in a ragged voice.

“Why…?”

“Hmm?”

“Why would you help me?” she screamed. “There’s no reason for you to grant my wish!”

Fiarca’s refusal had been the logical choice. There was no benefit to going along with Tishna’s plan, and yet Fiarca was doing it anyway. Tishna wasn’t sure what to believe. Might her homeland yet be saved? Or might the imperial princess change her mind just as easily a second time?

There was no reassurance to be found in the crafty smile that appeared on Fiarca’s lips.

“Isn’t that why you called me here and showed me your little crocodile-tear act?”

“No…it’s not an act…” Tishna instinctively replied, but then she stopped. She realized that Fiarca’s cold words were a white lie designed to protect her pride. If Fiarca helped Tishna out of pity, then it became a favor that would have to be repaid. Their relationship would become that of the merciful savior supplying charity to the weak.

But if Fiarca recognized those tears as part of the negotiation, then the relationship became equal. Fiarca and Tishna were two partners engaging in a cooperative venture.

The hand Fiarca was offering was not one of mercy.

Argyll had good reason to help its neighbor. For if it did so, their bond might grow stronger yet. And Princess Fiarca might gain something she couldn’t find in either her brother or in her lover Ras—a friend.

“…You’re right,” said Tishna at last, wiping the tears from her cheek and looking up at Fiarca with a combative stare. “I am the Wicked Princess. There is no measure to which I will not stoop.”

Tishna was in a miserable state, with her eyes red from crying and her makeup smudged. Still, she looked somehow far more wonderful now she was her true self, compared to when she had been hiding her feelings and playing the part of an enigmatic princess.

“Very good,” Fiarca replied. “I will accept nobody less as my partner.”

Then, she removed her mask and, with a smile, extended a hand to Tishna.

“You really are as devious as they say,” Tishna replied, taking Fiarca’s hand and rising to her feet.

Now, they looked into each other’s eyes as equals.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Wicked Princess,” said Fiarca.

“Likewise, Scheming Princess,” replied Tishna.

The two clasped hands and glared. Ras had the troubling thought that perhaps these two got on just a little too well.

1

It was just before dawn, and from the rooftop of a mansion on the outskirts of the city, Hilbert Farias of the Imperial Registanian Army, 3rd Division, looked out over the sleeping scenery of Barlama.

It seemed quieter than usual, like the city had tired itself out with the previous night’s banquet. The streets were empty and silent, as though cast to the bottom of a dark lake. It would still be a bell or two before the nation’s subjects awoke and began going about their business.

Meanwhile, Hilbert’s men were busy within the mansion, showing no signs of fatigue even after working through the night. All were energized by the thought of seeing the culmination of six long months of subterfuge.

Soon the time would come to execute their long-awaited plan. Even the coolheaded Hilbert had to admit, he was starting to feel a little excited.

Suddenly, one of his men ran up to him, a scrap of paper in his hand.

“Commander Farias. We’ve received an urgent report from the mercenaries we employed as scouts. It seems that the Argyllian imperial fleet is on the move.”

“The imperial fleet, you say?”

Hilbert frowned slightly. For him, it was an exceptionally expressive reaction. What puzzled him most was the messenger’s use of the word “imperial.” He couldn’t help but feel this had something to do with the aura knight he recently encountered in Duchess Knauss’s mansion.

The Argyllian imperial fleet numbered three octopedal transport ships, and probably about a battalion’s worth of Chasseurs on board. Prince Auriol was Argyll’s only heir, and so it made sense that they would go to any lengths to keep him safe.

How strange, then, that Auriol’s escort would turn and leave Barlama at the drop of a hat. Something peculiar was afoot, of that there could be no doubt.

“Is there any indication of their location?”

“Our scouts are tracking them as we speak, sir. At present, the fleet is heading north, up the Cagliari Highway. We also have unconfirmed reports that Count Tegnail’s militia is leading the vanguard.”

“Count Tegnail? Don’t tell me Princess Tishna’s the one behind this.”

Hilbert’s scowl deepened. Girrith Tegnail was one of the few members of Charlgian nobility who stood with the Wicked Princess. In other words, his was the only force she had the power to mobilize.

Plus, the Cagliari Highway led to the northeast of Charlgia—right toward the border with Registan.

“If our army crosses the border, they might end up running into the imperial fleet,” mused Hilbert. “But as far as I can tell, the royal army isn’t working with them.”

There hadn’t been any change to the kingdom’s patrols that Hilbert knew of, yet the fleet’s movement bothered him. It was almost like they were trying to counter an impending Registanian invasion.

But unless they could see the future, there was no way they could know that such an invasion was coming.

“I highly doubt they’re here to fight, but just in case, inform our forces stationed by the border. Order the mercenaries to keep up their observations. Any other questions, report to Javier.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldier gave a Registanian imperial salute and departed. It was a highly careless move for an agent currently carrying out sabotage on foreign soil, but Hilbert said nothing. The plan was already in its final stages, and there was no need to hide his group’s identity now.

Having apparently heard the man’s report, Anita came over, a small amount of worry in her voice.

“What has the Wicked Princess done this time, Hilbert?”

Hilbert showed no unease at her familiar mode of address. He simply adopted a businesslike smile.

“It’s not her, my lady. The imperial fleet has left the capital.”

“What? Is she with them?”

“No. We’ve been watching the villa, and no one’s gone in or out.”

Anita sighed with relief. “Ah, that’s good, then.”

Cooperating with an agent from an enemy state, Anita clearly harbored no love for her younger half sister. While her own ticket to the throne had been revoked, the black sheep Tishna was granted power in the form of her marriage to Prince Auriol of Argyll. It was not an easy turn of events to stomach.

Because of that hatred, Hilbert and his team of saboteurs had been forced to lay an expensive trap at the private villa of Princess Tishna, despite the location’s complete lack of strategic value. It had come at no small risk to Hilbert and his men, either.

“What are you fussing about, Hilbert? This is the perfect arrangement, is it not? That meddlesome fleet has left Barlama of its own accord, and the crown prince’s fate will soon be sealed. Whatever tricks they are planning now, it is already far too late.”

“Right you are, my lady.”

Hilbert let his mistress’s childish words go by unchallenged. Sure enough, in just a few more hours, the streets of Barlama would be aflame, with many nobles and members of the royal family lying dead. Plus, although she hadn’t an inkling of it yet, Anita would be joining them, once she outlived her usefulness.

“Escort our lady somewhere safe,” he said to one of his men. “Somewhere she can have a good view of what’s coming.”

Although Hilbert was just trying to get rid of her, Anita didn’t look the least bit displeased, and she gladly went where she was told. Once she was gone, Hilbert spoke to another one of his men, this time in a hushed tone.

“How many Chasseurs can we mobilize?”

“We have four inside the city right now. The rest are waiting outside the walls to ambush the royal army.”

“Arsinoes, correct? Be sure to leave me a unit. Don’t worry about specialized tuning; just leave it in the all-purpose configuration.”

“Will you be joining the battle, Commander?”

“Yes. I’m sure our lady won’t like it, but there can be no mistakes. Not after what happened at the party.”

“Understood. I’ll go pass on your orders.”

With a nod from Hilbert, the man left, and Hilbert looked once more out over the city. With its chalk-white walls and pristine rivers, there was little wonder the people of this kingdom were proud of it. There was no sight quite like it in all of Registan.

“What a shame this shall be the last time I see it.”

It was not common for Hilbert to be so moved by sentimentality that he spoke his thoughts when no one was listening. It wasn’t the kingdom he’d grown attached to, but Barlama itself, that had committed no crime and yet soon would lay in ruin and ash.

Hilbert almost felt like he could sympathize with the city’s plight, but he soon put such thoughts out of his mind and restored his focus to the mission at hand.

“How long until the auramancy wears off?” he asked, unusually impatient.

“About half a bell,” was the response. “But I heard it can vary, so expect to see some action soon.”

“What’s that light?”

Far off in the shadowy streets of Barlama, there was a dazzling light, like fire, accompanied by a sound like gunpowder. If one were none the wiser, they would surely think a fire had broken out. A pillar of smoke, stained by the fire’s light, rose off it.

“It… It looks like fireworks, sir.”

“Who would be setting off fireworks at the break of dawn?”

As Hilbert and his men watched, there was a loud sound, like the firing of an enormous cannon, and a blinding flash lit up the sky as bright as day. This time, there could be no mistaking the light’s source. It was a military flare, made for distracting nighttime fiends sensitive to light.

Very soon, the once silent streets came alive, as people flooded out of their houses to see what was causing all the fuss.

“Our scouts have just returned, sir. Shall I send them out to investigate?” asked a confused soldier.

“Hold!”

Hilbert immediately began analyzing the situation. Someone had set off a series of flares, waking the city from its slumber, just as he and his men were poised to cause chaos in the streets. Given the sheer number of flares, it couldn’t have been the work of just one or two people. A commotion on this scale would very quickly spur the royal guard into action, preemptively foiling any plans of a surprise attack.

Whoever these people were, that was their plan all along—to raise the alarm before the operation had even begun.

And as to who was behind it, the answer soon became clear. A short distance from the city center, from a royal villa standing alone, there came the sound of collapsing brick and stone. Brushing aside the rubble, a pure-white mechanical frame stepped out.

“The Royal Chasseur of Charlgia…,” muttered Hilbert, unsettlingly calm, as a daring smile spread across his lips.

2

“Meat!”

Inside a pantry built around the back of the royal villa where Ras and company were staying, a beastfolk girl wearing a maid uniform looked up at the shelves with stars in her eyes.

In front of her was a large block of ice, about ten meters across, inside of which was frozen a single giant fiend in its entirety.

It was an earth dragon, covered in liver-red scales. While not quite as dangerous as a Greater Dragon, the beast was still counted among their kin.

“You’re not wrong,” said Ras with a grimace. “But I wouldn’t call it ‘meat’ just yet. It’s still alive.”

The frozen earth dragon had suffered many cuts, some of them quite deep, but none of them were enough to count as more than a scratch to the extraordinarily tough fiend.

“Could this be the ‘ingredient’?” asked Kanalayka, staring at the ice block in wonder. Her mind went back to the dragonfish served at the ball the previous night. Whoever froze this fiend had made use of the same technology. Someone had smuggled it in here disguised among the rest of the ingredients.

“I can believe it,” said Ras. “Barlama needs to import a lot of food to keep up with demand from the alliance summit.”

He shook his head, feeling a migraine coming on.

Fiend meat was a sought-after delicacy on the mostly barren continent of Danakil. It was even common for fiends felled on the front lines to be transported back to the nearest city to be cut up and sold. It was particularly valuable in cities, as the meat from some of the larger varieties could provide enough food for up to hundreds of people at once. As it was so in demand, it wasn’t rare for the meat to be brought inside the walls after only a cursory examination.

“This block of ice is covered in aura crystals,” said Ras, reaching out and touching the surface with his hand. The ice should have been cold to the touch, but Ras felt nothing. That was due to the thin layer of crystal isolating the block from the outside world.

Ras recognized the phenomenon immediately, having seen it once before. It was in the mausoleum of the imperial palace in Vif Arger, when Ras discovered the sleeping Vildhjärta. It too had been coated in a thin layer of crystals, thanks to which it had slept untouched for over twenty years without even beginning to rust.

These aura crystals were what meant that the huge block of ice had not yet melted despite being kept at room temperature.

But of course, if the ice didn’t melt, then the beast inside could never be cooked. The chefs of the royal villa had begun gossiping about this marvelous never-melting ice, and from there the rumor made its way to the ears of Emma-Leonie, who passed it on to Princess Tishna.

Fiarca turned to Valdemar, his left arm in a sling, and said, “Thank you, Val. This is all thanks to you.”

It was Valdemar who had first learned of the danger this “ingredient” posed by listening in on Countess Knauss’s conversation.

“I’m just glad I could be of service,” Valdemar replied in a somewhat subdued tone. “But since I’ve been such a good boy, I hope you don’t mind if I take my leave. The doctors say I shouldn’t get too excited, or I shall faint.”

It was little wonder that Val wished to be excused from his duties. About half a day ago, he had been a patient suffering from acute blood loss.

“Didn’t the physicians patch you up with auramancy already?” asked Fiarca.

“They’re not miracle workers like the priestesses, you know. It’ll take more than one night’s rest to recover from this. Damn, that silver-haired bastard really got me.”

Despite standing in the presence of the crown prince, Valdemar saw little need to hold back vulgarities. To him, Auriol was an old schoolmate from the same military academy. It probably had nothing to do with the fact he was wounded and irritable.

“A silver-haired aura knight by the name of Hilbert,” mused Kanalayka. “Could it be Hilbert Farias, I wonder?”

Ras turned to see the imperial legate with a brooding look on her face.

“Someone you know, Kanalayka?” he asked.

“Just the name,” she replied. “He’s a dragonslayer from Registan. I’ve never met him in person, but I heard he visited Kidea around the same time I did.”

“Which means it’s possible he brought the secrets of this new technology back to his home country,” Ras muttered.

“Quite right. And if that’s the case, then this ‘ingredient’ must be some kind of trap brought here by the empire.”

“It’s not the most elegant of plans, is it? I suppose it could probably take down this villa without much trouble, but beyond that…”

“Yes, I was just thinking the same thing.”

Chasseurs were more or less prohibited within the city, even for members of the royal guard. The reasoning was that Barlama’s thick walls kept fiends out, so there was no need. The only exceptions to this rule were the personal Chasseurs of the royal family, but these were treated more like works of art than fighting machines.

If a dragon were to suddenly appear in the center of the city, that would be a big problem, but not so much if it was spotted in advance like this. There were plenty of Chasseurs defending the walls from the outside, and it would be a small matter to bring a few inside to deal with an emergency situation.

The earth dragon was a powerful foe, but immobilized in ice, it would pose no problem for even a single Chasseur. If this was Registan’s grand plan, then Ras couldn’t help feeling underwhelmed. It basically amounted to little more than a nuisance.

“Is this the only one here?” asked Ras.

“Yes,” Tishna replied. “The storeroom may be large, but hardly big enough to hide multiple beasts of this size. I believe it was my uncle who smuggled it in, though it was surely Registan who manipulated him into doing so.”

“The prince of Lumede? Was he trying to pin the crime on you, do you think?”

“That was probably Anita’s intention, yes. It sounds like what she would do.”

If a fiend suddenly appeared in the royal villa and razed the place to the ground, it would be the owner of that villa, Queen Maia, who would face suspicion first. Princess Tishna’s reputation would fall even further than it already had, while Duchess Knauss got to watch on in glee.

For such an ill-natured and frankly inconsequential plot to be Registan’s undoing, well, it was just embarrassing.

“…In any case, we now have proof of the empire’s involvement,” said Ras, a weary tone to his voice. “Once we hand this over to the authorities and round up the perpetrators, Barlama will be safe, right?”

It was Fiarca who answered, still gazing at the crystal-preserved ice.

“I’m afraid not,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because these aura crystals are set up to dissipate on their own after a predetermined length of time,” Fiarca explained, making use of her genius-level aptitude for auramancy to swiftly reverse engineer the technique’s makeup. Having seen the technique in action once before on the Vildhjärta, such a feat was child’s play for her.

“What’s more,” she went on, “there’s not a lot of time left. Once the crystals dissipate, the ice inside will soon melt. What do you think will be the first instinct of a fiend shoved inside a block of ice against its will?”

“You’re kidding…”

“I’m afraid not. This block of ice is a ticking time bomb. And I’m willing to bet good money it isn’t the only one in the city. If they all wake up at once, it’ll be devastating. I can see how things might end up like Tishna described.”

Fiarca glanced at the royal princess, who was already turning pale with fright. Even Ras was hard-pressed to keep his courage while imagining the horrifying scene that would follow. Only the most exceptional aura knights like the Black Blade were capable of slaying a dragon without the aid of a Chasseur, and there were none to be found in the capital. How long would it take for the garrison outside the city to notice the commotion and send their Chasseurs inside? And what if even that wasn’t enough?

Barlama would suffer untold damage, and countless lives would be lost. That was precisely what the empire’s saboteurs were hoping for. It was a terrorist plot using fiends in place of gunpowder.

“Master, this one’s already awake,” said Koko innocently, looking at the frozen earth dragon. As the Vildhjärta’s external terminal, she had access to the advanced sensor array of a Chasseur, the detection capabilities of which far outstripped those of any human. Using those, she was able to pick out the fiend’s heartbeat.

The beast was not sleeping. All that was needed was for the ice sealing it away to melt, and the earth dragon would be free to do as it pleased—with all the memories of its violent capture still fresh in its mind.

“How much longer will the aura crystals last?!” Ras roared. But Fiarca only gave a grave shake of the head.

“We’re already out of time, Ras. I watched the technique come to an end; that’s how I was able to decipher it.”

“How can you stay so bloody calm?!”

Ras watched as a large crack ran right through the thin crystalline layer, and the aura crystals began dissolving into motes of pure light. As if on cue, the ice beneath began to rumble and crack, and parts of it sheared away, revealing the scaly skin of the beast beneath.

“You’ve got to be joking!” cried Valdemar, ready to turn tail and flee. He hadn’t counted on facing down a dragon on a good day, let alone when he was wounded.

But apart from him, everyone else was strangely calm. Koko, Fiarca, Elmira, Kanalayka, and even Tishna all looked silently up at the awakened dragon with expressions of purest serenity.

Then, once the beast let out an earsplitting roar, Fiarca turned to Ras, a little disappointed, as if her time observing the fiend had come to an end.

“You’re up, Ras,” she said.

“Curse it all… How did I know this was coming?”

Ras sighed and drew his sword, a large blade almost one meter long. Against a ten-meter fiend, however, it was little more than a toothpick. Ras readied his stance, holding the blade parallel to the ground, and stared down his foe. His blade began glowing with the crimson light of aura energization, which drifted outward as particles on the air. Those particles reformed into a high-density Aura Edge in the shape of a spear. As the dragon lunged to attack, Ras thrust his spear with the force of a tightened crossbow.

Vajra—one of the fundamental techniques of the Black Arts. The tip moved faster than sound, making it more than enough to break through the repulsive field surrounding a fiend’s body, pierce the hardened scales making up its hide, and skewer the beast’s heart.

Nobody heard a thing until it was all over. Then the effects of Ras’s supersonic strike manifested all at once. A sonic boom rippled outward, rattling the stone-wrought building, with enough force that anyone outside would have suspected an earthquake struck long before imagining it to be the work of one man.

“A-an Over Art?!” cried Valdemar, aghast. “I’ve never seen anything so devastatingly powerful!”

Out of all the people standing there, his was the only reasonable reaction. Elmira glared coldly, unable to decide whether to be impressed or annoyed. Kanalayka watched the display of martial prowess with starry eyes, Koko danced for joy, singing her master’s praises, while Tishna merely blushed. Fiarca seemed almost completely unsurprised, and her only worry was for the damage suffered to the food stores caught in Ras’s blow.

Ras, meanwhile, looked at the dragon, heavily wounded but still standing, and cursed to himself.

“Looks like I’m still a long way from being able to end the fight in one blow like Fon can,” he muttered.

Dragons possessed staggering levels of endurance, and in some cases were even able to regenerate a missing heart. Ras’s Vajra hadn’t been able to finish the beast off. It glared at him once more, a burning desire to live visible deep in its eyes.

“No hard feelings,” said Ras, leaping into battle again, his sword raised.

The sweep came down like a guillotine blade, slicing clean through the dragon’s neck. It was the same technique he had used on the aquatic dragon at Gradage Canyon, only that time, Ras had been riding a Chasseur.

After Ras landed and confirmed the beast was dead, Tishna called out to him from behind.

“That was Pangu Blade, wasn’t it?” she said. “One of the forty-eight techniques of the Black Arts.”

“Yeah,” Ras replied. “But don’t get your hopes up. Even against Lesser Dragons like these, using it repeatedly is no easy task.”

Ras held up his ceramic blade to show Tishna. Instead of cracks, rifts of crimson light ran across the partially stabilized zirconia blade, like veins. It was incapable of withstanding the strain of Ras’s technique for long. This was the reason Fon Cigel usually fought bare-handed—the one weakness of the formidable Black Arts.

“Repeatedly?! How can you even do it once?! You just cut a dragon in half with one swing!!”

Valdemar gazed at the carcass of the beheaded dragon, unable to believe his eyes. Fiarca ignored him and turned to Elmira.

“Tell the Silver Fangs to go make some noise in the city,” she said. “I’ll leave the method to you. Use your imagination.”

“Some noise, you say?”

Elmira raised an inquisitive eyebrow. For all her time spent as Fiarca’s aide, even she couldn’t tell what the princess was planning sometimes. The reason, however, soon became clear.

“I’d like to ensure the city guard is roused to action as quickly as possible,” she said. “I know; put on a little fireworks show. Make it as loud and bright as you can.”

“At once, Your Highness.”

Elmira bowed and ran off immediately. Fiarca next turned to the imperial legate.

“Kanalayka, I want you to take command of our forces outside Barlama. Have all our Chasseurs ready for action before Registan makes their move, do you understand? Get in touch with Agarte and Darrol and apprise them of the situation as well.”

“As you wish.”

“And Val?” Fiarca shot him a cheerful smile. “Thank you for your service. You can go home and rest if you like.”

“How am I supposed to sleep with this thing haunting my nightmares?!” yelled Valdemar. After seeing the things he’d seen, and learning of the true threat to the city, there was no way he could crawl back under the covers and spend the next few hours unconscious.

“If you say so,” Fiarca said with a shrug. “In that case, please send a message to the king. Tell him everything we’ve just learned. If he doesn’t believe you, show him this sword; it bears the seal of a herald of the imperial family.”

“Couldn’t I have something partway between those two extremes?” Valdemar complained, taking the sword and sighing. If he’d known the alternative was presenting himself before the king of a foreign nation as a representative of his empire, Valdemar might have chosen to take the rest of the day off after all.

“And Ras, I believe you know what you have to do.”

“Yeah, with this one’s help.”

Ras looked back into Fiarca’s eyes and placed his hand on Koko’s head. The smile on his face said that while he knew what he had to do, he didn’t have to like it.

“That’s right,” Fiarca said with a smile. “Good luck out there, Koko.”

“Thanks! Now I get to play!”

The smile on Koko’s face, meanwhile, said that she didn’t understand what she had to do at all. So long as she followed Ras’s commands, though, it didn’t really matter.

Finally, Fiarca turned to one last person.

“That leaves us, Tishna. Shall we go?”

“Go? Go where?”

Tishna looked puzzled, as though she hadn’t expected to be part of the plan. She didn’t have the authority to mobilize the city guard, and it went without saying that she was no use in a fight, either.

However, Fiarca held out her hand and grinned behind her mask.

“We’re off to grant your wish, my love.”

3

A few minutes later, Tishna was packed kicking and screaming into the passenger seat, and secured in place with the seat belt. All around her, threads of scarlet aurons twinkled like stars.

“Fiarca Jeva Argenteia! You cannot be serious!”

“Hey, don’t blame me. Aren’t you the one who said you always wanted to ride a Chasseur?”

“This is not what I had in mind!”

She and Fiarca were riding the Lescar in tandem. Or perhaps it was more precise to say Fiarca was riding the Lescar, while Tishna was unwillingly brought along for the ride. Fiarca had seized her unawares and crammed her into the back seat before the royal princess even had a chance to react. Now Fiarca, her mask removed, had already started the unit’s boot-up sequence.

“Well, the Lescar sure seems happy to see you,” she said. “Maybe that’s because you’re a member of the Charlgian royal family?”

“D-do Chasseurs really know that sort of thing?”

While it was true her current predicament was unwanted, Tishna had always looked up to Chasseur jockeys and idolized their way of life. To imagine the royal family’s custom model recognized and accepted her was a great honor. Unfortunately…

“Sort of. In a manner of speaking. Okay, no.”

“No?! You lied to me?!”

“Only slightly. The Chasseur does know you’re here. It wouldn’t boot up otherwise. Those sorts of security systems are standard practice for Chasseurs like these.”

“That’s why you’re bringing me along into the midst of battle?! Couldn’t you have just started it up and then let me out afterward?”

Fiarca didn’t deign to answer the royal princess’s totally reasonable question. Instead, she gripped the controls and made the Lescar stand.

There were no Chasseur stables at Tishna’s villa, so instead, the Lescar was being housed inside the carriage barn. It didn’t take a keen eye to realize that a standing Chasseur stood little to no chance of making it through the relatively narrow doorway.

Fiarca, however, showed no hesitation in maneuvering the unit upward, breaking through the roof and landing in the villa courtyard. Tishna probably would have had something to say about that, had she not been busy clinging to her armrests for dear life.

“It looks like Elmira’s already gotten to work,” said Fiarca, spying the signal flares going up all across the city. Confused townsfolk were already coming out into the streets, and it wouldn’t be long before the city watch was on high alert. Even if the fiends struck now, Barlama at least stood a fighting chance.

“I see what you’re trying to do,” said Tishna, “but you do realize the city guard are not nearly well equipped enough to battle fiends of this class?”

“I didn’t think they were,” replied Fiarca. “But I’m hoping they’re at least competent enough to guide the citizens to safety. I don’t want to worry about stepping on any of your subjects.”

“That’s…kind of you.”

Tishna wore a dissatisfied smile. Not a few minutes later, the sky over Barlama turned red. A fire had started outside the city walls. Given the timing, it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“It’s coming from the city garrison,” cried Tishna, staring at the plume of smoke rising into the night sky.

The city garrison was a unit of the royal army deployed to protect the city, primarily against fiend incursions from the outer wastes, although in practice they frequently carried out inspections of foreign merchants and mercenaries coming in at the land port, too.

All this was to say that it was undoubtedly the only source of Chasseurs this close to Barlama. There was little surprise that Registan would want to see it taken out first.

“Sabotage, I’d wager,” said Fiarca. “They’re trying to prevent the royal Chasseurs from booting up.”

“Can you stop explaining and just stop them?!”

“Now why would I do that? Isn’t it your people’s job to look after your own military assets?”

Tishna grumbled but said no more.

The only reason Fiarca was helping was because Registan’s invasion posed a grave threat to the Shrumland Alliance. She had neither right nor reason to interfere with the affairs of the royal army.

“I have my hands full as it is, trying to protect the city from these fiends. Now, where are they going to come from…?”

Fiarca enabled the Chasseur’s search functions and scanned the city below.

“They were smuggled into the city under the guise of frozen food,” said Tishna. “There are not many places you can keep a giant block of ice without drawing attention, and the old buildings of Barlama aren’t that large, either. Perhaps they borrowed the stores of one of the large trading houses along the canal…”

Contrary to the luxurious grounds of Tishna’s private villa, the streets below were rather tight, and there weren’t many buildings of the same size as her pantry. But on the other hand, if any ordinary trading house had come into possession of a dragon encased in ice, there was no way the Silver Fangs wouldn’t have picked up on it.

So, where on earth have those frozen fiends gone off to?

“Of course! The canals!”

When she said it, Tishna suddenly jolted her head upright.

“Those beasts haven’t been hidden anywhere; they’re still being carried in! The empire must have smuggled them in on ferries, which means they’ve got to still be there!”

“That’s it!”

Fiarca energized the Lescar’s auron core, immediately readying it for battle. Its pure-white casing became wreathed in flickering flame, and several overlaid auramancy circles appeared in midair.

Those circles unleashed a blinding light, and a searing heat—the sixth-level technique, Fiery Flash, which converted fire into spears of superheated plasma that ripped through the predawn sky.

Fiarca’s targets were the small transport ships floating in the city’s canals. When concentrated on one target, this auramancy was enough to take down a large fiend, and so each individual spear was more than capable of turning the unmanned ships to splinters.

“F-Fiarca?!”

Watching the silver-haired imperial princess take aim and fire at civilian ships without a moment’s hesitation, Tishna was lost for words. Wondering if perhaps she’d hitched a ride with the wrong person, she tentatively looked out the viewing port at the damage below.

When she did, she got another big surprise. Swimming in the canal was another enormous fiend, clad in black scales, and surrounded by fragments of its icy prison.

“An alligator, I see,” said Fiarca, smiling to herself. “So even the great Registan isn’t capable of capturing that many dragons.”

Fiarca had unearthed a fiend known as a Boarcroc, a giant beast reminiscent of a crocodile or alligator, with a terrifying charging speed and a powerful jaw capable of biting clean through a Chasseur’s machinery. In some places, they called it the “mercenary-killer,” due to how many lives had been lost to its fearsome maw.

“A crocodile’s no less scary than a dragon when it’s over ten meters long!” shrieked Tishna.

“At least it doesn’t have any special powers to worry about.”

Fiarca launched the Chasseur forward in a bid to finish off the wounded creature. Her earlier auramancy had already dealt a serious wound, and so it was a small matter to draw the Lescar’s sword and drive it into the Boarcroc’s hide.

Tishna watched with a deeply unpleasant look on her face. Part of the reason for her displeasure was the amount of blood and gore, not to mention her proximity to a dangerous beast. Witnessing the death of a living creature, even such a ferocious one as this, was not easy for a princess to endure.

The other reason was that riding back seat in Fiarca’s Chasseur was not exactly a gentle trip. A Chasseur was more akin to a battle tank than a carriage, and this wasn’t helped by the immense g-forces Fiarca’s leaps and landings were causing. The imperial princess was trying to keep things as smooth as possible, but for Tishna, without any aura to protect herself, the cockpit was practically a torture chamber.

Fiarca knew this, of course, but she hadn’t brought Tishna along just to torment her. She had a mission, and the royal princess understood that as well.

“Tishna, the people are panicking. It’s your job to calm them down. You like attention, don’t you? Well, here’s your chance to shine.”

The Chasseur’s sensors transmitted to Tishna a vision of the terrified townsfolk. Fierce beasts had suddenly appeared within the walls, and a strange Chasseur had shown up to fight them. It was no wonder the streets were in chaos.

“I don’t exactly have much practice, but fine, I’ll do it. I can hardly make things any worse.”

More out of desperation than anything else, Tishna grabbed the unit’s comms and took a deep breath.

As the black sheep of the Charlgian royal family, Tishna was rarely invited to speak at official meetings. She’d seldom even spoken in front of a crowd before, let alone a city full of her subjects.

However, nobody but her could take on this task. The townsfolk wouldn’t listen to Fiarca, but Tishna was a royal princess of Charlgia, and these were her people.

“Attention, people of Barlama. I am Tishna Lumedienne Charlgiana, fourth princess of the Kingdom of Charlgia.”

Amplified by the Lescar’s built-in speakers, Tishna’s voice echoed far and wide. The people looked to the skies in shock. But they didn’t seem as terrified of the Wicked Princess as Tishna had feared.

What Tishna didn’t know was that she was actually fairly popular among the common people. The daily newspapers were filled with stories of her exploits, from taking down corrupt nobles, to employing hordes of laborers with her immense wealth, and bringing new sweets and medicines to the market. Most commoners didn’t even know the names and faces of their own princesses, but Tishna was the sole exception.

So when she appeared in the city’s hour of need, not a soul was surprised. In fact, it was almost like they had been expecting her to be behind the chaos somehow.

“The city is currently under attack by vicious fiends released by agents of the empire of Registan,” she announced. “I repeat, the fiends are servants of the Registan Empire.”

When they heard her words, the faces of the townsfolk suddenly changed. Everyone knew that Barlama was currently hosting the Shrumland Alliance summit, and that the supposed enemy of that alliance was the empire of Registan. Hearing that Registan was behind the attacks made sense to a lot of people.

“But do not be afraid,” Tishna went on. “My fiancé, Auriol Ref Argenteia of the Argyll Empire, stands with us. And this Chasseur, the Lescar, will eliminate all foes in the name of the Charlgian royal family. Fine men and women of the watch, please protect this city’s people!”

While Tishna gave her rousing speech, Fiarca raised the Lescar’s sword up to the sky. The unit bore the seal of the Charlgian royal family, and so nobody doubted that the voice really belonged to their princess.

Suddenly, a chorus of roars erupted from all across the city, as the sleeping fiends finally awoke. Barlama was blessed with fresh water, and sparkling canals crisscrossed the streets like a mesh. Registan had used that fact to place the fiends in strategic locations ahead of time.

“A lovely speech, Your Highness. I’m impressed,” said Fiarca.

“Thank you…,” replied Tishna coldly. With the smirk on Fiarca’s face, it was impossible to take her praise seriously. “But anyway, can you really handle all these fiends? There’s a lot, you know.”

“Probably not.”

“What?!”

Tishna was horrified by how quickly Fiarca threw in the towel. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to be joking.

“That Boarcroc would usually require a squadron of Chasseurs to take down,” she said. “Even a custom-model Chasseur can’t hope to take on this many fiends in one go.”

Tishna was lost for words, but Fiarca wasn’t lying. In terms of auramancy ability, the girl’s skills were almost foul play, but a Chasseur was a machine, and the simple, unfortunate truth was that machines had their limits.

“On top of that, I have to hold back because there’s a civilian in the back seat,” Fiarca went on. “Realistically, it’s just not doable.”

“But then…why…?”

Tishna couldn’t find what to say. She had thought that with Fiarca on her side, anything was possible. Together, she and Fiarca had tried everything. They had played every last card. But at the end of the day, they only had one Chasseur. This was an incontrovertible fact. That simple fact would be responsible for Barlama’s inevitable downfall.

“Which is why we’re going to start thinking unrealistically,” said Fiarca, grinning.

Then Tishna noticed it.

From out of the corner of the Lescar’s viewing port, an enormous figure swept the sky—a wolf on crimson wings. A jet-black Chasseur, capable of shapeshifting and flying unaided. Without the slightest effort, it scaled the impregnable walls of Barlama and landed by Tishna’s villa, where its master was waiting.

Tishna knew its name, for she had seen the beast many times before—in the nightmares of her memories.

“Vildhjärta!”

Fiarca looked to it, and her violet eyes glimmered with hope.

“It’s all down to you now, Ras. You’re my last battalion.”

4

“I’m here, Master!”

A small girl with animal ears and wearing a maid outfit bounded through the gardens of Tishna’s villa. Behind her, an enormous metal wolf touched down on the lawn. The wolf then transformed into a jet-black Chasseur—Ras’s gift from the Argyll Empire, the Vildhjärta.

“Nicely done, Koko. You found me all on your own. Good girl.”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh!”

Vildhjärta had been standing by on a campsite just outside Barlama, waiting for Koko’s signal. Reacting to the call of its external access point, the machine made its way unmanned. Vildhjärta wasn’t the only Chasseur to possess a mind of its own, but it was surely the one with the biggest ego. Even Fon Cigel had trouble dealing with the Vildhjärta’s independent antics and had sealed it underground.

However, this time, Koko’s daring nature worked to Ras’s advantage. The Registan Empire had done everything they could to prevent Barlama’s Chasseurs from aiding in the city’s defense, but they could never have imagined that one would fly over the walls by itself.

Ras climbed into the cockpit, and Koko’s virtual form dissipated into raw aurons. In return, the Vildhjärta’s eyes glowed crimson, transmitting sensory information directly to Ras’s brain.

“The chaos is the worst over at the royal palace,” Ras muttered. “Figures.”

It looked as if frozen fiends had been carried into the palace storehouses, just like the earth dragon at Tishna’s villa. But this time, there were three of them, each bigger than the one Ras had already fought. It was clear that Registan’s main goal was to eliminate the king of Charlgia.

“We don’t have much time,” said Ras. “Let’s get this over with!”

He drew the unit’s sword and, without a moment’s notice, activated his Over Art—Thundering Blade, one of the fundamental techniques of the Black Arts.

Ras lunged past the first of the earth dragons, delivering a devastating horizontal slice that cut the beast in half.

“One down!”

Thundering Blade conjured superheated plasma using auramancy, then took advantage of the immense pressure produced by the expanding plasma to accelerate a Chasseur to high enough speeds to catch the enemy completely unawares. It could only attack in a straight line and thus wasn’t much use if the opponent knew it was coming, but of all the Black Arts, Thundering Blade was unmatched for raw force and speed.

Without letting that speed drop, Ras slew the remaining two earth dragons before they or any of the royal guard could even process what was happening. All they saw was a black shape cross their line of sight like a storm, and the next moment, the dragon’s slaughtered carcasses lay before them.

“That should keep the king safe, at least.”

Ras turned the Vildhjärta around and surveyed the rest of the city. Most of it lay in ruins, with fires on every corner. Furious fiends ruled the streets, while the people fled in a panic. The horrifying scene made the predawn calm of earlier feel like a hazy memory.

But so long as those people filled the streets, Ras couldn’t take one step down into the city. The narrow avenues of the historic town were not built to accommodate a Chasseur in the first place, and the Vildhjärta would not be able to move without endangering the civilians.

The fiends, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about the mayhem they caused, and every second Ras hesitated, more and more victims filled the streets.

“So this is the Registan Empire’s way,” Ras muttered to himself. “No respect for humanity.”

His calm tone belied a simmering anger. The armies of the world were formed to slay the fiends, not to capture them and use them as weapons against fellow human beings. The Registan Empire’s soldiers had crossed a line that Ras could not tolerate.

And nor would his master, Fon Cigel, if she were here. With that in mind, Ras resolved to hold nothing back—not even his most forbidden techniques.

“If that’s how you want to do things…then so will I!”

With a howl, the Vildhjärta leaped into the city, but not into the streets where the people were. Instead, Ras’s target was something that similarly existed all throughout Barlama, but where there was no danger of hurting anybody—the canals, or to be precise, the boats floating atop them. Unmanned cargo ships that ferried lumber and other materials to different parts of the city.

A Chasseur may have appeared graceful at first glance, but with its metal construction and synthetic muscle structure it was a lot heavier than it looked. Ras’s unit, with its built-in transformation mechanism, was even more so. A simple boat couldn’t hope to support that weight, but before it sank, Ras leaped off it and onto the next one.

“If Fon were here, I bet she’d show me how it’s done,” Ras said to himself. His master was capable of all kinds of mind-boggling techniques that even he couldn’t fathom. She could probably forego the boats entirely and walk on the water with aura instead.

Ras couldn’t match that feat, but right now, he didn’t need to. The fiends had been sleeping on canal boats, and they wouldn’t have traveled far yet.

“Boarcrocs, Basilisks, and I even saw a Flame Turtle,” Ras muttered, slaughtering every fiend he came across as he went. “How did they manage to capture all of them alive?”

Ras kept count up to ten, but after that it became a chore. There seemed to be no end in sight. Just then, as he failed to cleanly deal with a fiend in a single blow, a beam of light finished the beast off.

“It looks like there’s a lot on your plate over there, Ras.”

“Fiarca!”

Ras turned to see the light’s source, the Lescar with its snow-white frame. Then he heard Princess Tishna’s voice over the comms.

“I’ve ordered the city watch to guide people off the squares and main roads,” she said. “You should be able to use them to fight now.”

“Appreciated. Let them know they’re doing good work.”

“Well, it was me who gave them such good commands.”

Tishna sounded a little out of breath, probably from having to keep up with the Lescar’s wild movements.

“I assume it was you who slew the earth dragon at the royal palace. Thanks to that, the king is safe. We should be out of the woods now. We were caught by surprise before, but we have the advantage if the battle begins to drag on.”

“It sure doesn’t seem like we have the advantage; there’s no end to them! How many fiends did Registan manage to smuggle in, anyway?”

“Going by the number of ships moored on the canal, I’d say about thirty at most,” deduced Fiarca. “That’s nothing for you, right?”

“I’ll decide that, thank you very much!”

Ras sighed. Even after all he’d done, it still sounded like there were more than half of them left.

“Actually, Ras, scratch that. We’ve got company.”

“What is it now?”

Hearing Fiarca’s voice on the comms, Ras tensed up. Then as if on cue, he felt a surge of aura, alerting him to the execution of a fifth-level auramancy technique, Cannonshot.

“Who the hell is that?”

The source was a bronze-colored Chasseur that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the city. It was smaller than both Vildhjärta and Lescar, and the chassis was of simple make, marking it not as a custom model but a standard issue. Ras, however, didn’t recognize it.

Normally, a Chasseur was a symbol of a noble’s pedigree, and even those with standard-issue models tended to dress them up smartly. This unit, on the other hand, looked more like a sinister omen. Its head was shaped like some kind of demonic mask.

“That’s the newest Registanian model,” explained Fiarca, evidently displeased. “I suppose they’ve decided the fiends aren’t giving us enough trouble.”

There were four of the unfamiliar Chasseurs. They had probably been stationed here to allow the imperial saboteurs to make a clean getaway once the city fell, but they took to the front lines once it became clear that Charlgia was at risk of staging a comeback.

“You’re joking,” cursed Ras, seeing one draw its sword. “They’re going to fight us here, in the middle of the city?!”

A Chasseur was not designed with urban warfare in mind. If Ras had to take evasive maneuvers, he could end up causing more damage than the fiends he was trying to protect the city from in the first place.

“Stop!” yelled Ras over the public comms. “There are civilians here!”

“So there are,” replied the enemy jockey, “but they are not my kinsmen.”

Ras was surprised enough that the enemy had deigned to respond, but what shocked him more was the callousness of the reply. Ras couldn’t feel a whit of hesitation in the man’s voice.

“Hilbert Farias, I presume?”

“You’ve heard of me? That gray-haired gentleman—I knew he was an Argyllian spy,” the enemy jockey spat.

He had invited the imperial spies into his own mistress’s home and handed them the information they required on a silver platter. Thanks to that, Argyll learned of Registan’s involvement in this plot, and as a result were allowed to militarily intervene, ultimately slaying almost half of Registan’s carefully prepared fiends.

Hilbert’s blunder could cost his side the war, and he knew it. That was why he had come ready to make amends.

“That jet-black Chasseur,” muttered Hilbert. “So you are Argyll’s dragonslayer.”

The Registanian Chasseur was equipped with a two-core engine. Powerful for a custom model, but nowhere near enough to compete with Vildhjärta. However, Hilbert was using the city’s civilians as human shields. The buildings had not yet been completely evacuated, and if Ras fought using the Vildhjärta’s full strength, it would damage them as well.

“Why do you hesitate, Ras Talion? There is no value in protecting those who cannot fight. This is war, and war is no place for the weak.”

“It wouldn’t have to be this way if you just minded your own business!”

The bronze Chasseur came at Ras, who tried to dodge as best he could while staying in one place. That wasn’t too difficult, as the Vildhjärta’s specs far outclassed its opponent’s, but it was impossible for Ras to fight back, and the longer the fight dragged on, the riskier Ras’s position became. There were still plenty of fiends running around, and on top of that, the enemy Chasseurs had the advantage in terms of numbers.

Ras was busy fending off Hilbert’s attacks when the jockey spoke.

“You are skilled, dragonslayer of Argyll, I’ll give you that,” he said, “but as we speak, my men are concentrating on bringing down your master. How long will the Little Lion of Argyll last against three of the Arsinoe?”

“Is that the name of your new Chasseur? I’m impressed; it doesn’t feel like fighting a standard-issue model at all.”

Ras briefly wished he had possessed one of these in his duel with Hunlahan. He and Fiarca would have had no trouble taking on any other model in their customs, but the Arsinoe was a cut above.

Fiarca had to worry about collateral damage, just like Ras did. Plus, Tishna was in the cockpit with her. It wasn’t an easy task, even for a jockey of her level.

“But do you really think three is going to be enough?”

“What?”

Ras’s words didn’t sound like a bluff, and Hilbert reacted with confusion. That confusion turned to shock when he heard the roar of a new Chasseur joining the fray. A unit with navy blue and silver markings was deftly sprinting down the narrow streets of Barlama.

With sublime footwork, the Chasseur closed in on its foe, one of the three Arsinoe models harassing Fiarca’s unit. The rapier in its grip skewered the enemy’s frame, disabling it immediately.

“Pardon my tardiness, Your Highness.”

The Iorii, treasured custom Chasseur of the Aluarche house, stepped before its mistress, defending the snow-white Chasseur from further aggression.

“Not at all. That was good timing, Kanalayka.”

Fiarca fired another attack at one of the remaining Arsinoes while it was still reeling from the loss of its ally. The technique was called Ice Blast, and while it was only third-level, it more than made up for its lack of power with peerless casting speed and precision. Fiarca’s attack struck the unit clean in the cockpit, causing it to topple over, while Kanalayka cut down the remaining foe with her sword. In less than ten seconds, it was all over.

Meanwhile, Hilbert noticed that some of the fiends were acting afraid. A battalion of Chasseurs had climbed the city walls and were beginning to thin the herd.

“Argyllian reinforcements? Impossible! How did they get here so fast?”

Not even fifteen minutes had passed since the fiends awoke. That wasn’t enough time for the imperial Chasseurs to make it to the city, even if they reacted immediately—not unless somebody knew about the attack in advance.

“There’s nothing fast about it,” Ras answered. “This day’s been a long time coming. Five years coming, in fact.”

Hilbert’s panic affected his sword strokes, allowing Ras to push him back with a strong parry. Vildhjärta’s horsepower far outstripped that of the Arsinoe, and Hilbert had no choice but to step back in retreat.

That was the moment Ras had been waiting for. While parrying Hilbert’s blows, he had been making miniscule adjustments to his positioning, and right now, the Arsinoe was lined up perfectly with what was behind it.

“You said that the weak weren’t worth protecting, Hilbert, but you’re wrong. It’s one of this country’s people that saw through your plans—a powerless princess with no skill in weapons or auramancy at all.”

“What—what a ridiculous lie!”

“But while I’m here, allow me to pay you back on Valdemar’s behalf!”

“It’s futile, Ras Talion!”

Finally given the opportunity to riposte, Ras moved in for a close-quarters strike. That, however, was precisely what Hilbert had been waiting for. He knew that if Ras wanted to keep damage to the city to a minimum, a close brawl was his only option, and Hilbert had a trick up his sleeve for that occasion. He possessed an Over Art capable of intercepting any blow, shattering the opponent’s sword with his bare hands. Hilbert was confident that with it, he could defeat any foe, even a custom Chasseur.

But what happened next threw his expectations into disarray. Right after Ras moved into close range, he activated an Over Art of his own.

“What?! Are you out of your mind?!”

Hilbert couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Ras had activated Valdemar’s signature move, Dancing Blades.

While it wasn’t as strong as the Black Arts, with all the Vildhjärta’s power behind it, there was no doubt it could annihilate Hilbert’s standard-issue unit—along with every civilian building in a hundred-meter radius.

Before Hilbert’s technique could land, Ras sliced the Arsinoe in half with such force that the excess power became blades of light that rushed straight ahead.

However, those blades did not damage a single building for the simple reason that, at that precise moment, a large fiend happened to be behind the Arsinoe. The beast was struck by the blades, and before it even knew what had hit it, it was on the ground, twitching in pain.

Hilbert watched the entire unbelievable sight from the cockpit of his ruined Chasseur, and his bloodstained face grew taut with rage.

“Impossible… You used the fiend as a shield to protect the city!”

But Ras was no longer listening. With Hilbert incapacitated, he immediately turned his attention to the remaining fiends. Working in sync with the Argyllian reinforcements, it wasn’t long before Ras managed to exterminate every last one. And so the Registanian sabotage that had once reduced Barlama to ash was stopped before dawn had fully broken.

For many of the townsfolk, their most terrifying memory was that of the pitch-black Chasseur leaping across the waterways, gleefully cutting down any fiend in its path. Stories turned to legends, and for a while afterward, parents would chastise unruly children by telling them the Black Stallion would come for their heads.

Ras, however, would remain blissfully ignorant of all of this.