The rain began before the summons arrived.
Yelena stood in the freezing storm and howling winds, unfazed by the cold. Thanks to her class, Frost Sentinel, she was immune to all but the coldest temperatures. And there was something cleansing about the rain. Something grounding and impersonal about its touch.
I have to do this, the rain seemed to say, even as it blotted out the stars above. Without this, the world will die. I may be unpleasant, but I’m necessary.
Yelena closed her eyes and let out a sigh. She took in the sensations, grateful that the storm made her current job a good deal easier. Only the insane or the desperate ventured out in weather like this. The shroud’s miasma tended to leak into the rain, tainting it. Her Constitution and Resilience were high enough that such low levels of toxins didn’t affect her, but the same couldn’t be said for the majority of the citizens under her protection tonight.
Footsteps approached her from within the city’s direction. She turned away from the dark wilds. A squire too young to shave rushed toward them, his effeminate features lit by the orange crystals affixed to either side of the gate’s arch.
“Parcel for you, captain,” the young boy said, holding out a leather-bound package wrapped in twine. “From Major Booth. Said it was urgent.”
“Thank you, squire. That will be all,” she said, dismissing the boy.
He gave her a quick salute, tensed, then rushed back into the downpour.
“What is it?” Stensen inquired, stepping away from his post to approach her.
“No idea,” she admitted.
Pulling the twin away, she unfolded the protective leather cover to reveal a hefty seal folder. Curious, she broke the seal bearing the Major’s insignia. Inside, there was a letter clearly marked for her in Booth’s rushed handwriting. Three files were also tucked inside the folder, each bearing wax seals and just a sliver of magic across them.
Warded.
She opened the letter addressed to her. It was short.
Need you to deliver these classified documents to the mayor. Tonight.
That was it.
“Well, it looks like I’ve been asked to play the part of a courier tonight,” Yelena told her second-in-command.
Stensen looked as offended as she felt. “Doesn’t the Major know you’re a captain? What is he thinking, demanding that you run about in the rain like some no-named squire?!”
She calmly replaced the protective cover over the folder and letter and gave Stensen her best shrug. “I’m just glad to see Booth isn’t still pissed at me for being too slow to kill those orcs we hunted.”
“Hey, that wasn’t your fault. We were all too slow. He shouldn’t–” Stensen started, his face gaunt in the uneven light of the crystal lanterns and rain.
“He has. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t let anyone boring inside, yeah?” Yelena gave the man a tap of her gauntleted fist against his shoulder and walked into the storm.
Yelena wouldn’t admit it, but she did enjoy solo missions like this. It was the quiet, she’d long since realized. When you pushed so hard to forge a team from a group of individualistic glory-seekers, it was impossible to find peaceful quiet.
Despite her enjoyment of the brief respite, she made quick progress through the night’s deluge. As she approached the northernmost tip of Thistlebrush, the lights inside the mayor’s estate dominated the darkness. Past the tall iron fence stood the white columns, golden filigreed wards, and half a dozen crystal lanterns turning the mayor’s yard from night into day.
Sighing at the disgusting misuse of the town’s wealth, she made it to the gates. Two private guards stood at attention. That alone told her a whole story.
“Captain Stark. The mayor is expecting you,” the man on the right said.
“Thanks,” she muttered and walked between the two mercenaries.
From the front gates to the front doors, there was a path of smooth paving stones. Every line in the whole damned estate was like these stones. Smooth. Symmetrical. Cut with cold precision. Nothing was out of place, and everything was meant to impress.
Yelena hated it, but it was working.
Right as she began taking the steps up toward the entrance, the large black double doors opened automatically. Just inside the safety of the home, a lone woman stood waiting for her.
The girl had to be in her early twenties and wore a petite dress that barely reached her thighs. Her long black hair was pulled up in an elaborate bow of braids and sparkling pins, and the neckline of the dress descended past her sternum. Her hands were clasped in front of her in what Yelena was sure was meant to look demure and servile, but had the secondary effect of using her straightened arms to press her already considerable cleavage to the forefront.
Yelena could see the exact moment when the girl looked up, saw that she was a woman, and her entire posture changed. Without missing a beat, her hands went behind her back, and she straightened to her full height.
“Captain Stark. I wasn’t aware that you were–” the servant began.
Yelena raised a hand. “It’s fine. I’m here to deliver a package to the mayor. Can you show me the way, please?”
The dark-haired girl looked shocked. “Why… Um… Yes. Of course. I would be delighted to help the captain.”
She’s never had a red knight show her any kindness, Yelena guessed after the brief lapse of professionalism.
“Right this way.” She gave Yelena a thin smile and then swept into the massive building.
Yelena scanned the ornate halls, searching for threats as much as clues into who Mayor Vaskir actually was. The first thing that struck her was the warmth. She expected the large mansion to be cold and dark, but it was anything but. Oil paintings adorned vaulted walls, and dark mahogany chairs and tables were expertly placed just within sight to inform every guest of whose house they were in.
This was not the home of a mere nobleman. This was the mayor’s house.
Then it was the food that captivated her senses. Roasting meat, sizzling vegetables coated in butter, and crispy bread. She could smell it all. As they walked, she could hear voices coming from a large dining hall off to the left. It was boisterous and unmistakably masculine.
I see the usual dinner parties have not ceased, Yelena thought bitterly.
Together, the pair of women ascended a set of curving stairs. They passed the second floor entirely, moving instead to the third and final floor. As they swept beyond the hall leading into the second story, Yelena noticed three more servants dressed identically to the one serving as her guide. Short, black dresses. Elaborate hairstyles. All of them were young.
As she watched them dust and tidy up, she saw that one girl had a large bruise on both of her biceps. They caught her staring, and one of the women shooed the injured girl into a nearby room, hiding her from sight.
Yelena’s jaw tightened.
“Captain, are you–” her guide asked softly.
“I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. She knew what caused those bruises, and what kind of man only employed young, beautiful girls.
She didn’t need to study any of the expensive furniture or fancy oil paintings anymore. She knew exactly what kind of man Vaskir was.
“Please. This way,” her guide implored, and something like fear laced her words.
But when she looked, Yelena only saw the carefully retained mask of polite ignorance.
Within a minute, they wound their way up the final curving staircase, across a long carpeted hallway, and to the mayor’s office.
“Come in,” a cold and steely voice said from within the double black doors.
The servant bowed toward the door, then slipped past Yelena without a word.
Yelena opened the doors and stepped inside, closing them behind her. The interior of Mayor Taulkin Vaskir’s study was lined with books of all kinds, most of which she doubted the mayor had ever opened, much less read.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
She recognized many of the spine’s patterns, knowing them to originate from a dozen nations destroyed when the voidlands arrived. She spotted books in Glaswegian, Kieheartian, and even a few Kennite scripts in their steel casings.
No Mayandon leather binding or scrolls, she noted with some disappointment.
“I was expecting Commander Booth,” Vaskir said, interrupting her appraisal of his office. “When he said he would send for these documents, I assumed he would come himself.”
He’s still at your dinner party, you pompous ass, she thought, turning her critical eyes on the man.
His ruby eyes met hers. Gray streaks in his carefully slicked black hair augmented his aloof posture.
Yelena Inspected him.
[Mayor Taulkin Vaskir - Level 20]
[Description: a 62-year-old nobleman with one son.]
Her brows furrowed.
How is so much of his status hidden from me? My Inspect is level 32?!
Unable to glean more information from the system, she resorted to her old-fashioned observations. He was plumper than she might’ve imagined for a level 20 man, so she inferred he put most of his free points into Charisma and Perception, making him unoriginal amongst the ranks of politicians she’d encountered before.
His clothes were immaculate, and their dark red brought out the crimson hue to his eyes. It was also an unspoken message she got loud and clear.
I may not be a red knight, but I belong to them, and they belong to me.
“Major Booth entrusted me to bring these to you,” she said professionally, placing the leather package on top of the mayor’s desk.
He ignored it, choosing to stand instead. He was taller than she imagined, now that she was so close to him. Despite having been reassigned to Thistlebrush nearly six months ago, this was the first time they’d ever talked in person.
“Are you cold, Captain Stark? Might I interest you in some wine? Something stronger, perhaps?” Vaskir asked, pouring himself a glass of red wine from a decanter.
“I’m on duty, sir,” she answered crisply.
“Ahh, I see that the Imperial Academy has dropped its standards,” Vaskir replied, swirling his wine slowly in its silver goblet.
Yelena tensed. “What is that supposed to mean, milord?”
His eyes never left their study of the wine. “It is clear that they’ve failed to teach their women that it is impolite to refuse a man’s hospitality. See to it you rectify this mistake should you ever be allowed in my home again. Is that understood?”
Yelena’s muscles froze. Anger burned so hot inside of her that she half-expected to see steam lift off the steel of her armor.
There was no way this man, this creature, would be so cruel? Right?!
Then she remembered the girl’s bruises. Mr. Kilnsie.
Yelena’s right hand drifted toward the hilt of Archimedes. It stopped before it arrived. She couldn’t strike this man down, not without losing her rank and possibly even her life, and they both knew it. And within the comfort of his own home and hearth, this man could say anything he pleased.
“Will that be all, mayor?” she asked. It was a lame riposte, but the only one she had at her disposal.
“Actually, I–” Vaskir started, but the doors to his office flew open.
Jeremy Vaskir stormed in, ruby eyes ablaze with indignation. He wore the red sash marking him as a Red Knight Initiate—a glorified title nobles had come up with to spare their children from the everyday rigors of being a squire. He couldn’t have been a day older than seventeen, and a quick Inspect confirmed that he was at the expected level 9 that all such initiates were required to keep until they became knights.
“Father, I need one of your–” Jeremy said, before he noticed Yelena standing stiffly in the office. “Well, well, you finally managed to hire one of the knights as your entertainment, Father? I’m impressed. Though I don’t know why this one is hiding so many of her curves behind those thick plates. She should take them off.”
“Jeremy, this is Captain Stark,” Vaskir stated smoothly.
The boy’s forehead creased in confusion. “Wait, I thought all the captains were downstairs?”
Those words, more than his lewd comments, struck the true blow to Yelena’s resolve. She’d known she was ostracized by the nobles here, but to have it so blatantly confirmed stung.
Inside, her veins were on fire even as she tried to cool them down with her iron will.
“They are. This one is serving as a courier for Major Booth,” the mayor explained.
“Oh, that explains it! Finally found a use for that Mayandon bitch-blood, did they?” Jeremy asked with a wicked grin.
She moved.
At over triple Jeremy’s level, her Dexterity was leagues above his, and so she made it to him before the boy could even blink. She gripped him by the neck and hoisted him off his feet so easily, he might’ve weighed less than Archimedes.
Everything was red. Jeremy’s bulging eyes were red. The room was red. Her fury was red. Her entire vision was red.
“Say that again, boy. Please. Say it again,” Yelena whispered up into Jeremy’s paling face. Her gauntlet dug into the soft flesh of his neck. “Insult my blood. I beg you.”
She didn’t squeeze. She didn’t have to.
When Jeremy met her enraged eyes, she saw the understanding flash between them.
I can kill you. The only reason I haven’t is that I’m choosing not to.
“Captain Stark.”
Vaskir didn’t sound concerned. He sounded bored.
“Release my son.”
It wasn’t a request.
She turned, still hoisting Jeremy in the air, and watched as Taulkin Vaskir reclined behind his desk, sipping his wine. And in that moment, she knew. With horrible, certain clarity, she knew.
I am powerless here.
She couldn’t touch him.
Or his son.
Because if she did, she would die, and everyone she ever cared for—everyone who was relying on her—would die too. That was the punishment for anyone who struck down one of ‘Ardent’s venerated nobles,’ like Lord Vaskir. And even if that weren’t true, he had every captain and commander downstairs. She knew her place. Her rank didn’t matter here, outside of the confines of real war. Here, in the battle of bloodlines and money, she was powerless.
And they both knew it.
Yelena let go of Jeremy.
He fell to the hardwood floor, gasping for air she hadn’t withheld from him.
“You bitch–”
“That’s enough, Jeremy,” Vaskir cut in. “Captain, you may leave.”
“But father–” the initiate complained.
“To your room, boy!” Vaskir said with just the barest rise of his voice.
Seeing Jeremy react, it was like watching a man get whipped.
Yelena saluted the mayor and strode for the door. When her grip was on the handle, and she was nearly out of that horrible presence, Vaskir spoke up.
“Oh, captain? Be sure to tell the major I will be looking forward to our next… dinner together,” he said.
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded without looking and stepped out into the hall. The door clicked softly behind her, and she thought she could hear the softest laughter come from the room behind her.
I need to leave this place.
It was as much to prevent her slaughtering that horrible man as to save her own neck. Pulling on her Dexterity stat for the second time that evening, she slipped through the hall, down the flights of stairs, and back out the front doors before she had time to reconsider. No one stopped her.
No one needed to.
She passed the two guards at the gates and didn’t slow down until she made it to the town square. The rain had barely let up, and she was instantly soaked again. She didn’t care. If anything, the rain helped remind her of what was true.
There are forces greater than those men, she forced herself to realize. And not all men are like those… those pigs.
She let out a shaky breath, and the air misted in front of her. The rain across her armor started to crystallize, her magic responding instinctively to her mood. She didn’t possess the legendary control she knew some Sages and even Grandmasters possessed. She couldn’t control this sort of magic.
Not yet.
There are greater forces out there than these men.
Movement to her right drew her attention, and she saw the flash of brown hair and clothes too thin for this weather.
For a moment, she considered giving chase. To force whoever that was to provide identification and arrest them for breaking curfew.
But when her eyes landed on the stone gallows and the man swinging there in the stormy wind, she reconsidered.
I will not be like those I hate.
Walking slower, Yelena ignored the trespasser and returned to her post at the West Gate. Stensen took one look at her and closed his mouth.
The rain fell across her. It thawed the worst of her icy edges. Her hand, which had remained clenched tight since dropping Jeremy, loosened. Silently, she studied the howling winds and thunderous rain. Slowly, her gaze lifted to where the shroud loomed on the horizon.
There are greater forces out there. And someday, I am going to claim one for my own.
Yelena quietly opened her Quest screen and read over the same lines she’d received when she was ten years old.
╔══════════════════════════════╗
║ RECLAIM THE FORGOTTEN WAYS ║
║ Part 1 ║
╠══════════════════════════════╣
║ Difficulty: INFERNAL ║
╚══════════════════════════════╝
╔══════════════════════════════╗
║ QUEST OBJECTIVES ║
╠══════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ ? Reawaken your lost ║
║ Mayandon bloodline. [0/1] ║
║ ║
║ ? Discover the lost throne ║
║ of Queen Calypso. [0/1] ║
║ ║
╚══════════════════════════════╝
╔══════════════════════════════╗
║ QUEST REWARDS ║
╠══════════════════════════════╣
║ ║
║ ? 50,000 EXP ║
║ ║
║ ? Legendary Class Skill ║
║ ║
║ ? Mayandon Bloodline Skill ║
║ ║
╚══════════════════════════════╝
Her fist clenched again at her side.
No matter what, she would claim some part of this world.
No matter what.
