Tyran rushed past Kyritus, exiting the access road. Turning, he saw soldiers rushing toward him. I’m a traitor anyway, he thought, putting a pin on his cloak that designated him as a member of the Escaran nobility. No sense in hiding.

Before he met the soldiers head-on to try to talk his way out of the situation, he turned toward the alley and cringed. Kyritus and Tiber were a gruesome spectacle, covered in blood from when Tyran beheaded the soldier. In a fit of doubt, Tyran looked down and ensured that his mana shield prevented blood from touching him. It did. He was clean.

This will be challenging, Tyran thought, glancing at the approaching soldiers.

“Are you dense?” he suddenly screamed, turning to Kyritus. “That flare wasn’t a firework, you dimwit!”

Kyritus froze in confusion, staring at him with wide eyes.

Play along, you knoll, Tyran said with his body language. He turned and saw soldiers pushing past the citizens. Ten feet away.

Kyritus seized up. “S-Sorry Lord—“

“Enough!” Tyran cut him off, grabbing Kyritus by the forearm and squeezing until he screamed. “You almost got yourselves killed. Look at your sister, for fuck’s sake!”

“I-I’m going to drop her!” Kyritus cried, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“You almost got her killed, yet you dare complain to me?” Tyran released his grip the moment the soldiers arrived, exposing a dark bruise on Kyritus’s arm. It was a cruel action, but it had its desired effect. The guards froze to watch, and Kyritus ignored them, focusing all of his energy on the pain and keeping Tiber up. That was good. If Kyritus panicked at the sight of soldiers, it would all be for nothing.

“My Lord,” an approaching soldier said, eyeing Tyran’s pin. “What happened here?”

“Why are you asking me?” Tyran snorted, ignoring the blatantly obvious massacre happening right down the alley. “I wasn’t stupid enough to watch. But if I had to guess, I’d say that there’s a pack of mongrels butchering each other. And judging by the yelling, I’d wager that your breed is taking the brunt.”

The soldier’s face contorted in a scowl, and he turned to Kyritus with narrowed eyes. “What happened?”

“W-We were just checking out the fire, th-thinking it was a show.” Kyritus’s lips quivered. “Then this man… H-H-He just started killing people.”

Good work, Tyran thought. He was impressed that Kyritus masked his fear and nervousness as trauma.

“S-Soldiers arrived,” Kyritus stammered, “and—”

Suddenly, soldiers started screaming in the alleyway, followed by a loud boom that shook the buildings. “Retreat! We need reinforcements!” Another boom. More screaming.

Tyran turned to Kyritus. “How many men were there?”

“J-Just one.”

“Just one, and all those soldiers….” Tyran mused sarcastically. “Pathetic.” He turned to the soldiers. “Well? Are you going to do your job? Or are you going to be as useless as your ‘brethren?’”

The soldiers’ faces paled.

“I swear,” Tyran said, grabbing Kyritus, “If Plenth knew how incompetent our soldiers were, they’d attack.” With those words, he walked past the group of soldiers with a contentious sneer.

Kyritus ducked into an alleyway a block away from the soldiers, his legs threatening to give out. Blood dripped from his face, but he couldn’t smell it. Or, rather, his senses ignored it in the way that he ignored the smell of body odor, booze, and bad breath. But he could smell something else: fear. It might not have been tangible, but it was real—real in the way that depression makes a person’s bones ache or how anger makes their chest hot. He could smell fear, and it smelled… sweet. That was the only way to explain it. It smelled sweet and it was everywhere—on his skin, on the soldiers, and most uncomfortably, Tyran. The noble looked cool and collected, but his body reeked of fear that was stronger than his own.

“Take this,” Tyran said. He removed his pin from the cloak and then stripped it off, extending the garment to him. “If you’re rushing your sister to a medic, you can’t look like the one who hurt her.” He looked Kyritus in the eye. “Do you understand?”

Kyritus slowly put down Tiber and then accepted the cloak. “I… understand. But… I’m not skilled at deceit.”

“Don’t worry….” Tyran looked at Kyritus’s bruised arm. “I’ll just beat it into you. Now hurry up. We’re only halfway there.”

Kyritus pulled on the cloak. It was too small for him, and the breast section made it difficult to breathe. “Where are we going?”

“I wouldn’t use the word we,” Tyran said. “If you’re caught, then I will be going alone. As such, I will not tell you. Now let’s move.”

Kyritus picked up his bloody sister and then followed after the noble, determined to convince people that Tiber needed a medic. Judging by the blood on her and her strained wheezing, that wouldn’t be a hard sell. “Hold in there,” he whispered. “We’ll make it through this.”

Sara’s mind deteriorated as the hours passed. Fear turned into doubt, doubt turned into paranoia, and soon, she felt like King Escar, imagining her life and dreams crumbling as a result of her actions.

She wasn’t a fool. If she were naive, she would’ve had Tyran make her a vial of silverena and then rushed to Helscope, dropping it off under the cloak of darkness—but she wasn’t. Tyrexis was the mother of all diseases, much like cancer was on Earth. If a young girl was magically cured, the townsfolk would spread the news like wildfire—and the kingdom would instantly investigate how a commoner could afford a priceless resource. That’s why she handed off the plant, waiting until she could get Rokus to get them out of Helscope before having Tyran (or another apothecary she blackmailed) make the silverena. That way, Sara could get Tiber the medicine while Rokus took her and Kyritus to a safe location that only he and Sara knew about. Judging by the situation, it was a good choice.

Sara knew this would happen. She ran the Escaran Kingdom with King Escar’s legitimate son, Alecov Escar, after Mary’s demise and watched Jason’s coup pan out. As a result, she knew what would happen when she challenged Escar—and how to counteract the backlash with martyrdom and the Hero’s narrative. That said, she wasn’t a politician in a direct sense. As someone with a no-games personality and the power to destroy armies, everyone bent to Sara’s will by default, just as they did with Mary. So, she wasn’t versed in the subtleties and strategies of politics. As a result, she used what she knew—

—and regretted it. Her plan would work, but at what cost? King Escar was scouring for weaknesses and was on her family’s trail. She shouldn’t have trusted anyone with their lives and should’ve prioritized them over taking over the kingdom. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Why did I do this? Sara thought. She wasn’t a particularly smart or well-guided person in her last life, and even with a second chance, that hadn’t changed. More often than not, she’d lay in her bed at night, reflecting on the day’s events, wondering why she knew what she should’ve said or done yet always seemed to do the opposite. And when her life’s report card came in, she was reminded that her decisions were almost always driven by the needs of her current objective at the cost of other elements of her life. This was a prime example. When her goal was to protect Kyritus and Tiber, she obtained the silvermoon bloom, made contact, and set up escorts for them. But when her task was to rip apart the kingdom (in the event King Escar attacked her), she let herself be hauled into a prison cell in mana-deprivation handcuffs because it was the best decision to accomplish that goal, putting aside the possibility that Kyritus and Tiber were in danger despite her over-elaborate plans.

Sara tried to roll on her side, but her cuffs prevented her from doing that. Of course…. Sara chuckled, white-hot coals burning in her chest. She wanted to rip out the chains for good. I swear to fucking God—

Suddenly, the door opened, and Telskal walked into the room. She looked confident, but she oozed uncertainty. Whether that meant that Telskal had prepared a lie or if she was just contemplating her mortality was unclear.

“We found your friends,” Telskal said.

Sara’s body tensed up, and her vision turned white. That visual experience was always followed up with her picking up something—or someone—and throwing them into a wall. Yet primal instincts told her to hold back, knowing that if she got furious, it would showcase how valuable her family really was to her. “What friends?”

“Kyritus and Tiberiyori Senecaru,” Telskal said. “Either of those names ring a bell?”

Sara’s arms developed webs of varicose veins, and she imagined herself peeling Telskal’s face like a potato. Yet she once again held back, knowing full and well that Kyritus, Tiber, Emma, and Raul were her only weaknesses, and two of them were untouchable. As for her family, killing them wouldn’t do them any good. At the end of the day, hostages were only hostages if they were alive.

“Nope,” Sara said.

“Oh really?” Telskal mused. “They told us all about you. The blonde-haired beauty they met a year ago.”

Sara took a deep breath and contemplated the situation. This isn’t Earth. If she doesn’t know how valuable they are, she’ll torture them for information… she thought. Or they’ll continue to torture them…. Adrenaline hit Sara’s bloodstream, making her heart beat as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. “Tell me, Telskal.”

“I’m listening,” Telskal grinned.

“Do you understand how fucked you are?”

Lord Metha trembled as he looked over a document containing the allegations posted in Lemora the night before. While every one of the king’s statues was debased, there were dozens of other important locations that should have had allegations posted on them—

—but didn’t.

“Lord Tibult didn’t follow through…” Lord Metha whispered. He opened his drawer and pulled out a stack of envelopes that had Lord Tibult’s name at the very top of the stack. Each envelope had the address of an influential business person, herald, or government office. He opened one as his heart thudded. On the page was a letter containing all of Lord Tibult’s crimes—and Lord Metha’s signature at the bottom of each.

This is insane…. Lord Metha thought. They’re going to kill me….

Yet he didn’t put the letters down. After all, if he didn’t send the letters, other nobles would send out letters with his crimes—and what the kingdom would learn about him was worse than dying for being a righteous whistleblower.

Telskal’s grin disappeared when Sara asked if she knew how fucked she was. “If you think your stunt will kill me, you’re sorely mistaken,” the advisor said.

“Oh, I don’t think it will,” Sara said. “I have something special planned for you.”

Telskal clenched her fists. “Threaten me again, and I’ll have your friends tortured.”

“I’d refrain if I were you,” Sara chuckled, clenching her jaw. “I’d refrain from doing any~thing to harm me. Because I’ll warn you, Telskal. By weeks’ end, you’ll be groveling at my feet, clinging to any leverage to entice me. So, for your sake, I’d pray that your leverage holds sway.”

Telskal scoffed and turned away. “Act tough all you want. By weeks’ end, you’ll be dead.” She opened the door. “I can’t wait until you see what we do to those two. It’ll be a treat.”

Sara watched the politician slam the door. You’ll never see them, she thought. You’ll be lucky if you see the light of day before your execution.

While every corrupt politician Sara knew of—and countless others—would experience the might of her wrath, only Telskal would understand the true depths of her fury. And she had something very special planned for the woman.

Margrave Alama, the man tasked with guarding the border between the Escaran Kingdom and its main enemy, the Prenth Kingdom, looked at a stack of envelopes in front of him. The addresses on each were labeled to the top nobles of the kingdom and powerful merchants. Then he looked at the letter inside the envelope. It contained dozens of businesses and the corrupt deals that the owners made with Telskal Serok to obtain business contracts and funding. Each of them was horrifying. If he sent the letters, the entire kingdom would be in turmoil.

This is madness, Margrave Alama thought. But if I don’t…. He opened his drawer and looked at the other three stacks of envelopes. They were all identical except for two lines that had changed. The first was the signature of another high noble. The second was the top line of the corrupt dealings, which read:

-

Margrave Delas Alama: Secretly owns a hidden mine (known as the Tranka Mine) in Neiha on the border of the Prenth kingdom. He pays approximately 1.5 million griffins worth of gold to our greatest enemy, the Prenth Kingdom, in anti-hostility bribes. The rest of the gold is exchanged for Prenth coinage, which he presents as proof of successful raids and seizure of land, all of which is fabricated. The remainder of legitimate taxation from Margrave Alama’s plantations is deposited into his private treasury. Be warned: discovery and seizure of the Tranka Mine will immediately result in war with the Prenth Kingdom. The location is as follows….

-

Margrave Alama cupped his head in his hands. Unlike other claims, if even one person brought this allegation to King Escar, there would be an immediate investigation—and he’d be executed. Yet…. If he sent the letter… the kingdom’s populace would riot, and the economic structure of the kingdom would collapse.

What am I going to do…? He rested his elbows on his desk and took deep, labored breaths. He only had a few hours to decide.

Kyritus stopped when Tyran put up his hand. They had escaped the soldiers and landed in the Elsom District, the poorest neighborhood in Helscope. The people there were mean and untrusting, but seeing a little girl “bleeding” in Kyritus’s arms as he was led by a “noble” made them turn a blind eye. After turning down an alley, Tyran led them to a cellar door, which he unlocked with a key. Then, they descended into the abyss.

For a moment, there was only darkness. Then, a series of mana crystals lit up in unison, making Tiber cry out in pain.

“Careful!” Kyritus said.

“What would you have me do?” Tyran asked. “Make silverena in darkness? Put her on the bed.”

Kyritus turned and saw a dingy mattress with red blood spots from bed bugs. He winced, but Tiber whimpered, and he complied, laying her on the mattress. “How long will it take?”

“Forever if you speak again,” Tyran said, pulling out a mortar and pestle, vials, and other tools. “Hand me the silverbloom.”

Kyritus froze, realizing that the silvermoon bloom was in his backpack the entire time. He had forgotten about it. If he had fallen….

“Don’t hesitate!” Tyran snapped. “We’re running out of time.”

Kyritus fished into the backpack and sighed in relief when he saw that the jar was whole in its mana suppression bag. Then he handed it to Tyran, who casually pulled out the glowing plant, placed it on the desk as if it were a desk lamp, and then continued his work. That told a story in its own right.

“Mana will flood into the room once I open this,” Tyran warned after he finished setting up his equipment. “Usually, we’d do this far away from the patient. But right now, we don’t have a choice. Remember that if she dies.”

Kyritus turned to Tiber with lead lungs, fighting for breath as the jaws of anxiety bit down on his chest. “There isn’t another way?”

“You could wait outside with her,” Tyran said. “I’m sure the soldiers would appreciate that.”

Kyritus folded his arms and tucked them close to his chest. “Can we… wait?”

“I hate to bear the news. But that stunt that mage pulled almost killed your sister.” Tyran’s voice became strained. “If we don’t heal her soon—she’ll die. That’s a cruel fact, like how I’ll die if she dies.”

Kyritus clenched his fists under his armpits. For the first time, he felt… pity for the man. It seemed their situation was the same, even if the context was different.

“Now please….” Tyran sighed, turning to Kyritus. “Be quiet and let me work. I’ll do everything I can to save her.”

Kyritus looked at Tiber. She was sweating heavily, her small chest rising and falling as she fought for breath. “I’ll trust you.”

Tyran nodded. Then he picked up the jar, chanted a spell that broke the seal on the lid, and unscrewed it. The second the jar opened, Kyritus was blasted by overwhelming mana—

—and Tiber let out a bone-chilling scream.