The heavy silence of the Third District was shattered by the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the groaning of wood. Four heavy wagons rolled into the square. These weren't merchant transports; they were the armored carriages of Richarde's elite recovery crew, sent on a direct order from the Village Chief to retrieve the High Priestess and the missing children.
Richarde, sitting tall on the lead wagon, leaned over to his coachman. "Straight to the Emorial Inn. Don't slow down for anyone."
Beside him, Mambo—still looking pale and shaky after his forced magical slumber—abruptly stood up. "I'll handle the perimeter patrol myself," he grunted, reaching for his weapon.
Richarde caught his arm. "Mambo, sit down. You've just woken up from a magic-induced coma; you can barely walk straight. It's too dangerous." Mambo opened his mouth to argue, but Richarde's gaze was firm. "Seven men. You take seven of my best to assist you. That's my final word."
Mambo is overcompensating, Richarde thought as he watched the man descend. He feels like a failure for falling asleep on watch. He's so paranoid right now he'd probably interrogate a stray cat if it looked at the inn the wrong way.
As the wagons screeched to a halt in front of the Emorial Inn, Richarde's demeanor shifted into that of a seasoned commander. "Surround the building! Form a steel perimeter! No one goes in, and no one comes out without my express say-so!"
While his men scrambled into position, Richarde signaled four guards to the back of the wagons. They gently lifted the unconscious twins, carrying them with a reverence usually reserved for religious relics. Richarde himself stepped toward the final wagon. He reached in and lifted the High Priestess into a protective princess carry. He checked her pulse and her breathing, letting out a long, silent sigh of relief when he found her stable.
"Sir, where should we put the little ones?" a henchman asked, his voice hushed.
"Second floor," Richarde commanded, his eyes sharp. "Clear out the guest rooms. Find a suite and lock it down. Guard those kids with your lives."
As the guards disappeared upstairs with the children, Richarde turned toward the lobby. The common room was filled with local patrons—merchants and travelers frozen in mid-meal, their forks halfway to their mouths.
Richarde stepped into the center of the room, his armor clanking, yet he maintained a beaming smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, a thousand apologies for this rude intrusion into your peaceful afternoon. However, we are on a mission of extreme urgency. For your own safety, I must ask everyone to evacuate the premises immediately. My men will guide you out... peacefully."
An old man at a corner table stood up, trembling. "Sir Richarde... what about our tabs? We haven't paid for the ale!"
Richarde chuckled, a rich, performative sound. "Oh, you make me blush! Forget the bills, my friend. Consider them a gift. Everything is credited to my personal account. Now, move along!" He clapped his hands, and the guards began ushering the stunned civilians toward the exit.
Richarde pulled his lieutenant, a man with striking blue hair, aside. "Listen closely. Ensure none of these people speak a word of what they saw. If they look talkative, dip into the treasury and bribe them. I don't want a public panic. Tell them to keep the Priestess's arrival a secret from the public, quick."
"Understood, Sir," the lieutenant replied, rushing out to intercept the crowd.
Once the lobby was nearly empty, Richarde's eyes scanned the room. He was looking for one person in particular. Where is my Daliah? I need your calm head right now.
His eyes locked onto a single strand of hair caught on the edge of a mahogany table. He picked it up, sniffing it with the focus of a sommelier. His pupils dilated. The scent... Daliah. She's close. He caught another trace—something smaller. And Ylla. That girl... she's a legal adult, yet she looks like a child. I feel bad for Rafel; falling for a woman who looks like a toddler is a social death sentence.
"You!" Richarde barked at a nearby guard. "Final sweep! Double the guard on the doors! Nobody enters the inn today! Go!"
Suddenly, a door behind the bar swung open. Two figures stepped into the light: Ylla and Daliah. Behind them, the inn's kitchen staff and a few stray children shrank back, terrified by the sight of Richarde's heavily armed crew.
"What is the meaning of this madness?!" Ylla exploded, her hands on her hips.
"Mamma mia..." Daliah whispered, her eyes wide as they landed on Richarde.
Richarde flinched, his cool commander persona evaporating instantly. He was still holding the High Priestess in his arms, looking for all the world like a common kidnapper.
"Wait! Daliah! My love! It's not what it looks like!" Richarde scrambled, his voice pitching up in a panic. "I swear to God, this is just a mission! I'm not cheating! I have no romantic interest in the Priestess, I swear! We aren't kidnappers or—or harassers! Good afternoon, by the way! You look lovely!"
Daliah just stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and horror.
"Richarde, what the hell are you doing?" Ylla growled, her eyes darting to the unconscious woman in his arms. "Why are you carrying the Priestess like a sack of grain?"
"The Chief! The Chief ordered it!" Richarde whimpered, his heart sinking. "Please, Ylla, don't make me look like a villain in front of her!"
Before he could explain further, the heavy front doors burst open. A red-haired man—Rafel—rushed into the room, his eyes wild as he threw himself in front of Ylla, shielding her from Richarde's "assault."
"Ylla, what's with all the shouting? Oh... it's just the pervert Richarde." Rafel burst through the kitchen doors, skidding to a halt. His eyes went wide as they landed on the limp form in Richarde's arms. "Wait—Your Excellency! What happened to the Priestess?!"
Rafel didn't wait for an answer. He rushed forward, nearly tripping over a chair to get to the High Priestess's side.
"Oi, watch the 'pervert' talk, Rafel," Richarde muttered, a single, dramatic tear escaping his eye. "That's harsh. I'm out here risking my life on a top-secret recovery mission, and all I get is verbal abuse from the peanut gallery. Please, someone bring justice to my broken soul."
Why is everyone so mean to me? Richarde asked himself. I'm a hero. I'm a savior. I'm a delicate, misunderstood knight.
"Lady Daliah, ignore him! We need the doctor immediately!" Ylla shouted, her focus entirely on the unconscious woman.
"Y-yes, Lady Ylla!" Daliah turned to the cluster of wide-eyed children by the bar. "Kids, run outside and find my attendants. Tell them Lady Ylla requires their help for an emergency. Move!"
The children scattered like startled birds. Moments later, four women in crisp uniforms rushed into the lobby. At their head was Cely, the High Attendant of Daliah's elite waitress squad.
"Lady Daliah, we are at your command," Cely said, bowing low. "What do you need?"
"Cely, get to the doctor's office. Tell him he's needed here now. No excuses," Daliah ordered, her usual softness replaced by the steel of an innkeeper in crisis. "Next, the kitchen needs to start a massive meal. Use the premium ingredients. We have a lot of hungry, exhausted men to feed tonight."
"As you wish, milady," Cely replied. The squad vanished into the back of the inn with practiced efficiency.
Richarde placed a hand over his heart, looking at Daliah with puppy-dog eyes. "Thank you, Lady Daliah. I'm sure my men will be touched by your hospitality."
"Hmph." Daliah folded her arms, looking away. "The food is for everyone, Richarde. Don't go thinking you've earned a special reward."
Ouch. Right in the pride, Richarde thought, his internal lip quivering. How hard is it to say 'you're welcome, my brave warrior'?
One of the guards descended the stairs, looking sheepish. "Sir, bad news. The second floor is fully booked with paying guests. There's no room for the children."
Richarde groaned. "You've got to be kidding me. My love, can we use the third floor?"
Daliah nodded without hesitation. "Fine. Take them up."
"Are you not even going to ask if I'm okay?" Richarde pouted, leaning in slightly. "Look at this scratch on my arm. It's a real 'booboo,' Daliah. I suffered for this mission."
"Stop it! This isn't the time!" Daliah snapped, pushing his face away. "Just get the Priestess to my private room on the third floor and put the children in the suite next to it. Move!"
Richarde grumbled, clearly unhappy that his "war wounds" weren't earning him any affection.
"Wait, Richarde," Ylla said, her voice turning sharp. "I'm still not over the fact that you marched in here like a kidnapper. What actually happened out there? You look like you went through a meat grinder."
"An assassin," Richarde answered, his tone finally becoming serious. "A mage, or something close to it. We were ambushed in the forest. It was a bloodbath."
Part 2
Daliah turned to Rafel, her voice pleading. "Sir Rafel, could you please carry the Priestess to my room? Richarde is... busy being himself."
"Of course, Lady Daliah," Rafel said, stepping forward. He took the unconscious woman from Richarde's arms with a pointed grunt. "Sorry about this, man. Let the adults handle the heavy lifting." He turned and marched up the stairs.
Ylla blocked Richarde's path, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Richarde. Where is Aljen? And the butler?"
Richarde shifted uncomfortably. "They're... still out there. I don't know what happened after we broke through the treeline. We were focused on getting the kids to safety."
"You did what?" Ylla's voice hit a dangerous decibel. She stomped her foot, the floorboards groaning. "You left a child and his servant behind to face an assassin alone? Are you a coward or just an idiot?"
"Hey, calm down!" Richarde squeaked, breaking into a cold sweat. "It wasn't my choice! They volunteered to be the decoy. They bought us the time we needed to escape. I'm actually quite grateful for their heroic sacrifice!"
"Are you out of your mind?!" Ylla thundered.
"Please, Lady Ylla, watch your language!" Richarde pleaded. "You're a Regent of the Church. A lady shouldn't use such... colorful vocabulary!"
"What did you call me, punk?" Ylla raised her fists. "You want to go? Right here?"
"Wait! No! Daliah, help me!" Richarde scrambled behind the bar, using the counter as a shield.
"Ylla, stop," Daliah intervened, placing a calming hand on her friend's shoulder. "If Aljen and his servant told them to go, we have to trust that. They aren't the types to stay behind without a reason. We are representatives of this village; we need to stay rational."
Ylla let out a long, frustrated huff. "Fine. Whatever. You're still a useless representative, Richarde. I'm officially disappointed in your performance."
"C'mon, I'm telling the truth!" Richarde defended, trying to salvage a shred of dignity. "The butler practically forced me to leave. He was so calm about it... it was like they had a plan from the very beginning. I know it sounds crazy, but they seemed prepared for that exact moment."
The two women softened slightly. "A plan?" Daliah mused.
"Yeah. And I didn't just leave them to rot," Richarde added quickly. "I told the gatekeepers to send an urgent message to the Chief. I ordered a backup squad to the coordinates where we left them. They'll have help soon."
Ylla exhaled a long breath and collapsed into a nearby chair, burying her face in her hands. "Phew... okay. I'm glad you at least did that."
"Glad to hear it," Daliah added, her hand over her heart.
Richarde caught the relief on Daliah's face and narrowed his eyes. "Oi, I'm the one you should be worried about. I'm your boyfriend, remember? Don't get all misty-eyed over a kid."
"Gosh, what is wrong with you?" Daliah reached out and flicked his forehead with a sharp clack. "He's barely three years younger than me! And for the hundredth time, Richarde: I am not your girlfriend!"
"Gah! My heart!" Richarde clutched his chest. "I offer you my undying loyalty, and you offer me... physical assault."
"Stop flirting, you two," Ylla waved a hand dismissively. "It's nauseating. Get a room."
"Lady Ylla, please don't misinterpret the situation," Daliah giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand. "I am not his girlfriend. And I never will be."
"I know," Ylla sighed, resting her cheek on her palm. "The man is just delusional."
"Ouch! Stop!" Richarde begged, doubled over as if he'd been stabbed. "Please... no more sharp words. I'm already bleeding inside!"
"Gosh, here we go again. You're exaggerating for the sake of it, Richarde," Ylla said, rolling her eyes as she brushed past him. "I didn't even have a weapon in my hand, let alone a knife. Stop talking nonsense and act like an adult."
Richarde let out a long, heavy sigh, looking up at the ceiling as if seeking strength. "You just don't understand the soul of a poet, Ylla. The sting of a sharp tongue is far more lethal than any blade."
Ylla ignored his dramatics, her expression softening into genuine concern. "By the way... where is her personal attendant? I haven't seen him since you arrived."
"He's with the patrol team," Richarde answered, his voice dropping the playful edge. "Mambo is taking this personally. He's currently busy fortifying the perimeter to make sure no one—and I mean no one—gets near this inn without an invitation."
Ylla let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for hours. A faint, wobbly smile touched her lips, and her eyes shimmered. "Phew... I'm glad. I honestly didn't know what I'd tell the Chief if something happened to his oldest friend."
"Lady Ylla... are you crying?" Daliah asked softly, stepping closer to peer at her friend's face.
"No! No, I'm not," Ylla snapped, though her voice cracked. She whipped out a silk handkerchief and aggressively dabbed at her eyes. "It's just... the dust in this lobby. Please, don't mind me."
"Oh, look at that," Richarde jeered, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Our tough little Ylla is actually crying because the old man is alive and well. How sweet."
"That is quite enough out of you!" Ylla shouted, her face turning a bright shade of pink. She turned to the guard standing by the door. "You! Call for reinforcements. I want the guard doubled on the second floor and the lobby immediately. I need a full escort ready in five minutes."
She then turned to Daliah. "Lady Daliah, please prepare clean clothes, fresh water, and a hot meal for the Priestess and the children—separately. We'll also need white linens for the healing rites."
"I'll have Cely handle it immediately," Daliah said with a respectful nod. "Consider it done, Ylla. I know how important this is."
"Thank you, Daliah. I knew I could count on you," Ylla said, her composure finally returning.
"And what about me?" Richarde asked, puffing out his chest and offering a hand. "Surely a brave knight such as myself has a role in this grand plan?"
"You? You're coming with me to the Church," Ylla instructed. "I have to retrieve something from the archives, and I'm not walking through these streets alone with an assassin on the loose."
"Oh, absolutely! I will—" Richarde started, but he was cut off as a massive shadow loomed over him.
"No. I'll be the one to escort her," Rafel interjected, stepping between Richarde and Ylla like a brick wall.
"Huh? What the hell is wrong with you, Rafel?" Ylla demanded, stomping her foot. "I wasn't asking for your help, you big oaf."
"Doesn't matter if you asked or not," Rafel insisted, his arms folded over his massive chest. "I'm your escort to the Church tonight, whether you like it or not."
"Don't you have a mission?" Ylla complained, gesturing wildly. "Didn't the Chief tell you to deliver those supply packages to the specific districts? You're going to get in trouble!"
"After what happened today, the supplies can wait, or my men can handle the deliveries," Rafel claimed, his gaze steady and intense. "I'm not letting you wander the streets alone. You're too small to be left to your own devices, Ylla."
"Small?!" Ylla's face turned scarlet, a mix of fury and a sudden, unexpected bashfulness.
Rafel turned his attention to Richarde, his voice turning hoarse. "Richarde, I'm going to send Nicolo back out to find that kid, Aljen, and his butler. We need to get them back here. May I borrow one of your light wagons?"
"Rafel, wait—you don't need to do that," Richarde stopped him. "The butler was very specific. He told me they didn't need backup. He almost seemed... insulted by the idea."
"Really?" Rafel looked genuinely perplexed.
"Yeah. And honestly? I think they can handle themselves," Richarde pointed out, his expression turning grim. "Our priority should be the village. We need to mobilize every guard we have tonight. If they tried to take the Priestess once, they'll try again. There is a high possibility of a full-scale invasion."
Rafel nodded slowly, his protective instincts shifting toward military strategy. "I agree. If an organization is behind this, they won't stop at a forest ambush. We need to be ready for anything."
"The mage we fought... he destroyed my Tier 4 barrier like it was made of glass," Richarde added, his voice low. "We need to man the watchtowers and start moving the families near the border to the evacuation sites immediately. It's better to be paranoid than dead."
"Right. I'll order the men to man the towers and signal the militia," Rafel said, pulling out a battered notepad and a pen, scribbling down the defensive shifts with frantic energy.
"Oi! Are you two forgetting something?!" Ylla intervened, physically pushing the two men apart. "We need to move! The Church, remember? Right now!"
"I'm sorry, Ylla. You're right," Rafel said, tucking his notes away. He looked at Richarde. "We'll finish this conversation later. I have to get this woman home safely." Without waiting for a protest, Rafel grabbed Ylla's arm—much to her vocal annoyance—and began ushering her out of the lobby.
Richarde watched them go, then turned to Daliah, bowing with his hand over his heart. "Lady Daliah, I must excuse myself as well. I need to get these defensive plans to the Chief immediately. I'm sure he'll see the wisdom in them."
"Of course," Daliah said, waving a hand in a soft goodbye. "Stay safe out there, Richarde. Don't do anything... well, don't do anything too stupid."
Richarde gave her one last wink before turning and dashing out into the twilight, the weight of the coming war finally settling on his shoulders.