Alwyn Triscan
The headquarters of the Unraveler's Company in Zestier was a strange place.
It reminded me of the headquarters of the Adventurer's Guild in the Grand Nectary from before it was closed, five years ago. I had been just a child then, barely old enough to understand what I was seeing.
But I remembered. I remembered standing in the shadow of the Grand Nectary's soaring trees, watching His Highness face the human guildmaster across a polished floor.
The man had been tall, broad-shouldered. He had looked down at the prince—the prince who was barely five years old, who barely reached the man's waist—and he had smiled.
His Highness had not flinched. He had simply stood there, small and steady, and I had understood in that moment just how unbelievably great he was. And now he had filled the empty spot left behind by the Guild with his Company.
My fist was clenched around my own tag, the small plate that confirmed me to be an Unraveler, a member of the Moonguard party.
It was noisy inside, just as noisy as the Royal Palace, but lacking its formality. Here, there were no courtiers whispering behind cupped hands, no nobles measuring each other's worth with cold, appraising eyes.
Here, voices rose and fell with genuine excitement, with laughter, with the particular energy of people who had chosen to be where they were.
Both dwarves and elves were chatting—Unravelers and not. Merchants were trying to strike deals to obtain the precious resources gathered from the Beast Glades, their hands moving in animated negotiations.
Bards listened to stories they would soon be ready to tell, their fingers already plucking at the strings of their instruments, testing melodies, searching for the shape of a new song.
"Alwyn! My dear boy!"
I turned. Behind me stood a ginger-haired elf with an Almondling strapped to his back—the lyre-like instrument made of almond wood from Eidelholm, polished to a soft gleam.
Kamiel Rennoux. His smile was wide, his eyes bright, and something in me tightened at the sight of him.
"...Rennoux," I greeted him coldly.
I did not like the man. I hated how he tried to court Alea, how blatant it was that he did not even care about her. He did not see her. He saw a target, a challenge, a way to pass the time. And I hated him for it.
"What is with that expression, boy?" Kamiel asked with a grin. "You can call me Kamiel just fine."
"I don't want to," I replied. "What are you here for?"
"Just here to admire the work of my pupil and gather some new stories from the Unravelers," Kamiel answered. He turned on himself with a flourish, admiring the main hall of the Company. "Corvis truly had a spark of genius with this project of his. What do you think, little Alwyn?"
"Don't call me that," I said, frowning.
What was Rennoux's problem? He was just the music teacher of His Highness. He was the only noble I did not respect.
Something about him was wrong, but I did not know what, and it was certainly not because he courted my sister. I had seen nobles who chased after women before. I had seen their smiles, their empty promises, their wandering eyes. Rennoux was different.
Lord Elder Virion would surely know how to resolve my dilemma. I needed to speak to him about Rennoux. Perhaps he could order Rennoux to stay away from the Royal Palace entirely.
But Lord Elder Virion had absolutely forbidden me from staying near him until I had properly rested from yesterday's session. My muscles still ached.
My core still throbbed. And the memory of his lessons—the endless repetition, the relentless correction, the quiet, unshakeable belief that I could be better than I was—echoed in my mind.
"You and the Little Prince both do not like your monikers, do you?" Rennoux asked with a grin.
I don't care about nicknames, I thought. I just dislike you. But I immediately chastised myself for the thought. He remained noble. He remained noble. I repeated the words in my head like a prayer.
Soldiers, especially commoner soldiers who had the utmost privilege to serve directly under the Crown, did not disrespect nobility.
From beside Rennoux, I spotted another familiar face entering the headquarters of the Company. Lord Albold. His hair was windswept, his cheeks flushed from the cold, and he was scanning the room with the particular restlessness of someone who had never learned to be still.
Luckily, he spotted me. He waved his hand—a casual, almost lazy gesture—and I felt something loosen in my chest. He was noticing my existence.
The eldest son of the great Sister House Chaffer, the House that was going to have the major decision-making power over my dream: becoming a member of the Royal Police and, perhaps, even its Commodore.
The head of the guards of the Royal Palace and of the law enforcement in the Queen's Grove.
"Oh, Alwyn, hi," Lord Albold greeted me, walking toward me and ignoring Rennoux entirely. The musician looked at the eldest son of Sister House Chaffer with bored eyes, as if he were a piece of furniture that had been placed in his path.
I wondered what Rennoux thought. Their two Houses were not known as particular rivals. They were as rivals as anyone else fighting over the favor of the Eraliths, but they were not Auddyrs and Chaffers either.
The rivalry between those two Houses was legendary, ancient, etched into the bones of Elenoir itself. But Rennoux and Chaffer? There was no history there. No blood feud. No reason for the coldness in the musician's eyes.
"Lord Albold," I greeted back with a subconscious bow.
Lord Albold snorted. "Just call me Albold," he said, sounding very much like His Highness with that statement.
"No," I denied him.
It was the same as with His Highness. But he was not like His Highness. No one was. He was noble, and I was a commoner. That was the shape of the world. That was the truth I had been raised to accept.
Albold scratched the back of his head, looking around himself.
"Anyway," he started and as he talked, I searched for Rennoux, but he was gone. Vanished. As if he had never been in the Company's headquarters at all.
"Seeing as you are at the Company," Albold continued, "want to spar? There is a small park nearby. We—as in the Dungeon Crawlers—use it as our base camp before our Unravelings."
The Dungeon Crawlers. The most famous Unraveling party of Dicathen, after perhaps our own. But that was only because of the presence of His Highness and the Princess. There was Finn Warend too, in the Dungeon Crawlers.
"It shall be my pleasure," I replied with another curt bow, accepting Lord Albold's kind offer. The Chaffer snorted at my over-politeness.
—
The little park that Lord Albold spoke of was truly a small pocket of peace in a section of the city that was becoming one of the most trafficked. I almost had a hard time believing we were so close to the Unraveler's Company.
The noise of the headquarters had faded behind us, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves, the distant chirp of birds, the gentle murmur of the Winetail flowing past.
Snow dusted the branches of the trees, and the last light of the afternoon sun painted everything in shades of gold and amber.
Lord Albold stood at the other end of the park, twelve meters from me—the conventional distance of Elenoir's formal duels.
His Courtblade was tight in his hands, the blade catching the light, the water magic already beginning to coil around the steel like a living thing.
In my hands, I held Lord Elder Virion's rapier—a Briarspire—and in my other hand, a Mirrshield.
This style was often criticized by the King Emeritus, but he had eventually begun to commend my efforts and my originality with it. It seemed my arrogance had been repaid. But surely, it was just because Lord Elder Virion was wise and compassionate.
"Lord Albold," I said, keeping my head lowered to not sound disrespectful, "should we be sparring in a public park?"
From observing Alea working as a maid, from watching how she treated His Highness, and even the King and Queen, I had learned that a good servant is not the one who is blinded by loyalty, never asking questions, never expressing doubts. A true servant is the one who speaks their mind, but is extra careful to sound polite and respectful to their liege.
"Yeah," Lord Albold said, then shrugged his shoulders. "And if someone complains, well, we were just playing, weren't we?"
That did not sound very law-abiding for a noble.
"I guess so," I replied, securing my stance and augmenting my body with mana.
Lord Albold did the same. Water magic answered his call as his Courtblade was surrounded by a thin layer of magical water.
The Waterfencing.
The technique of Sister House Chaffer that had defended Elenoir against the fire spells of Sapin in both the First and Second Wars. And Lord Albold sprinted toward me, mana pushing his body beyond normal speed.
I raised my Mirrshield. I felt a fast swing cut through the air in front of it, the impact sounding like a harmless splash of water, but hitting like the fury of the sea at storm.
I was pushed back a few steps, and before I could lunge with the Briarspire, another slash was coming my way. I parried it with the Mirrshield, barely in time.
Lord Albold seemed to be swimming across the ground. His footwork was one with the Waterfencing, fluid and relentless.
As rapid as a torrent, his Courtblade hit and retreated, hit and retreated—a rain of precise slashes that required both my hands on the Mirrshield to resist.
Lord Albold was considered the greatest talent of his generation not by chance. Why had Lord Elder Virion taken me as his disciple and not someone like him? The question gnawed at me, even as I fought.
Gritting my teeth, I lunged. I could not beat Lord Albold in speed. Even if he was older than me, I still had to rely on overpowering him.
I hit Lord Albold with my Mirrshield, the shield being too large for him to deflect.
Immediately, I took back the Briarspire and, with half my body still covered by the Mirrshield, I attacked.
The point of the Briarspire collided with the flat of the Courtblade. The coating of water mana absorbed the force of my attack as if I were trying to pierce a body of water.
Lord Albold reacted immediately after his initial surprise at my counterattack. His Courtblade clashed against my Mirrshield—this time more powerfully than before.
I had to pour a great deal of mana into the shield, augmenting its defenses, to keep Lord Albold from shattering my defense entirely.
Lord Elder Virion had always explained that a Mirrshield is just as durable as its wielder. It will not defend you if you are not able to defend yourself without it in the first place.
He had explained it as the core philosophy of elven weaponry: they are companions first, tools second, and weapons third.
That was the difference from dwarven weapons, which the people of Darv saw as tools first and foremost, and human ones, which were weapons and weapons only, instruments of war and destruction.
I shoved hard with my Mirrshield, using both my weight and mana-augmented strength to launch myself against Lord Albold once more. But this time, I left my Mirrshield behind.
From the storage ring I kept on my finger, I withdrew a Thorncurve—the elven longbow—and an arrow, which I immediately augmented with mana.
Lord Albold had just deflected my Mirrshield away when I shot. My arrow flew true, but the moment it reached Lord Albold, he cut it in two. Right. Sister House Chaffer was trained to deflect fire spells. Arrows were not going to help.
I stashed the Thorncurve back into the storage ring and took up the Briarspire once more. I was sweating. I could feel fatigue beginning to win over. While Lord Albold seemed totally unfazed by our spar.
Tiredness did not matter. I would push and push and push. Just like His Highness always did.
I lunged toward Lord Albold again. The Briarspire pierced through the air as his Courtblade cut through it.
The two blades met at the center of the small park—one in a surgical slash, the other in a precise pierce.
The impact traveled through my body, shaking my bones.
I thought I was overpowering Lord Albold when—
The Courtblade swooshed by my side. Lord Albold stopped the blade just beside the tip of my right ear. The formal sign that a duel was won.
"Good duel, Alwyn," Lord Albold said, sheathing his Courtblade and taking a deep breath.
"Thank you, Lord Albold," I said, bowing my head.
"Tch." Lord Albold clicked his tongue, again annoyed by my formalities. "Anyway. You are a member of His and Her Highnesses' party, yes?"
"I am, yes," I replied. "May I know why you ask?"—I corrected my tone immediately, not wanting to sound rude—"So I can answer better!"
"No particular reason," Lord Albold answered. "I just do not like all these rules of parties and stuff. I mean, if I want to go on an Unraveling, can't I go without needing to be affiliated with a party?"
"It is for security and organization," I replied. "Or at least, that is how His Highness explained it to me."
"I guess if Corvis says so, then it must be like this," Lord Albold sighed. "Not like I can complain. It is a miracle I am an Unraveler to start with."
"A miracle?"
"I had to... beg... Corvis to let my parents give their permission for me to join." Lord Albold's voice was tight, his jaw set. "Another rule of the Company I cannot begin to understand."
Lord Albold did not like being a noble all that much, did he? I wondered. How would I react in his place? Would I like to be a noble? If I were one, I would have a much greater chance of fighting by His Highness's side forever.
But apart from that? No. I liked the way I was living. The time when I resented my station was long, long gone.
And if I wanted to be by His Highness's side, I simply needed to become Commodore of the Royal Police. By doing that, I would be directly under the command of the Crown.
I would be where I belonged and not because of my birth, but because of what I had earned.