They fell asleep together. The straw mattress wasn’t very big, so they slept close to each other. Even though it was meant for guests, the room only had one bed—probably something used by the occasional messenger rather than a noble or anyone of higher standing. From the look of the hall and the village, it was clear Rolbart hadn’t been in good economic shape lately; that was likely why a proper guest room wasn’t an option.
Slowly, they drifted off to somewhere more peaceful than the world around them. The breeze, the chirping of cicadas, and the slow descent of obsidian leaves went on as if nothing had happened.
It was their first deep slumber after two days of lying, poisoning, and scheming against everyone.
Night turned into dawn. Vierna woke earlier than usual. She pulled her hands from Lina’s body.
Using the leftover paper and ink Lina gave her yesterday, Vierna drew the storage runes onto it. She also added a few Eidrecht spell runes she’d learned from Albrecht—simple body-enhancement spells, just in case she needed them later. After that, she slipped the runic drawings into her satchel and headed out of the room. She didn’t wake Lina, knowing she probably needed more sleep than Vierna did.
She looked out as the sun began to shine over Rolbart Village. Vierna decided it would be best to take a look around.
The morning rays warmed her skin, almost like Lina’s embrace. A cool breeze from the nearby forest drifted in, carrying the quiet promise of a new day. It could have been a good morning—if yesterday hadn’t happened, and if she hadn’t been sent here as a spy. In another life, it might have been a simple start to a simple day: no experiments, no duty, just a village girl beginning her morning.
She passed the square where Korrn had whipped Lina. Faint streaks of blood still lingered in the dirt, and the sight made her hatred flare again. She didn’t linger and continued toward the residential homes.
Some houses had already begun their morning routines. Humans, Beastkin, and elves were stepping out of their doors. Vierna waved to some of them, and they waved back.
In a strange way, Rolbart seems like a second place that had welcomed her warmly. Yet, she knew it was only because they didn’t know her true self—a Faintborn girl used as a test subject by the Arkmarschall. The thought grounded her in her mission. She was never going to belong here, and knowing they would probably reject her like every other place eased the burden of spying on them.
She put on a smile—polite and friendly, as best she could. She still needed their trust if she wanted to succeed, after all.
As she walked further, Vierna noticed that each house had a small root garden, likely for vegetables.
In the village center, where most of the Beastkin lived, the sight struck her like a page from an herbal tome. Their gardens were nothing like the modest plots near the human homes: thick-stemmed plants with pale blue leaves curling toward the sun, tubers veined with silver that glimmered whenever the wind stirred, blossoms that pulsed with faint bioluminescence.
Vierna had never seen these plants before, but she remembered reading that Beastkin were able to cultivate a plant no other race could. Mana plants, they were called—so she guessed these must be them. Being able to grow something unique, something no other place could easily replicate, should have boosted the village’s economy. At the very least, they should have been able to fend for themselves.
Yet that wasn’t the case. Their clothes should have been like those worn in Haustwitch—perhaps even better. Instead, everyone wore worn, threadbare garments barely better than dirty washcloths, which stung Vierna’s heart. The weight of corruption and extortion was bleeding them dry.
She wondered how the races here actually coexisted. Maybe the elves, with their long lifespans and supposed wisdom, handled administration. Humans, adaptable as ever, were probably the merchants, carrying the Beastkin’s crops to market. And the dwarves—whom she hadn’t seen during the assembly—might have been the ones who built most of the homes and structures. It all seemed like a fragile sort of synergy: diverse, functional, and yet easily strangled by incompetent rulers.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
As she continued, she recognized the abandoned houses. Too many stood empty—doors sagging, frames swallowed by vines. The briefing book had spoken of a larger village, but from what she saw, Rolbart had already withered. That alone should have forced Baron Haustwitch to act.
But it seems that he was a dullard, idle and careless—just like Korrn. The Count was no better. It seems that as long as taxes were paid, no matter where the money came from, he turned a blind eye.
She knew that Herr Leopold would never. Even the smallest sparks drew his attention. And Rolbart was a powder keg. With constant mistreatment and prejudice festering, it wouldn’t be surprising if the whole village went rogue. Their numbers weren’t large, but if they managed to live in the dangerous Schattwald Forest, they would become a constant threat to Silbermark.
From there, they would start recruiting. Vierna didn’t know about other villages, but there was bound to be no shortage of the discontent—people worn down by endless wars and crushing taxes. The whisper of a new way spread like a disease. And once their ranks swelled, raids wouldn’t stop at caravans—they would strike at villages, recruiting more until they became an army.
All because the baron hid behind his convenient “no evidence” excuse.
I need to make this mission succeed.
As the thought settled inside of her, she then went back to the hall. Loran’del have promised to give her something to do today and she was counting on it.
Feeling she had stretched her legs enough, Vierna headed back to the hall where she had slept the night before, preparing to meet Loran’del for her job assignment. As she approached, she saw him already there—much earlier than their appointment.
“Good morning, Fr?ulein Vierna.”
“Good morning to you as well, Herr Loran’del.”
He looked at her with a smile. Yet Vierna knew he was still cautious of her. “I see you aren’t resting. May I ask where you went?”
“I was just walking around my new village, Herr Loran’del,” she replied with a polite smile. “On the road I also met some of my neighbors. Ah—do forgive me, am I familiarizing myself too quickly?”
“Not at all, Fr?ulein.” His tone was courteous, but suspicion still crept beneath it. Vierna wondered if things would have been different had he not learned her real name. “You said that you are a good hunter, correct?”
“Yes, Herr.”
“Good. We are in need of one. I will introduce you to our current hunter. He will explain the details. Now come along.”
Vierna followed as the elf led her back the way she had come. Most villagers greeted them warmly, and Loran’del waved back, laughing and chatting as if he were just another villager. Yet even in those warm greetings, she sensed something else beneath the surface—frustration, perhaps, or a tired sort of resignation. She couldn’t quite tell.
Still, the bond between him and his people was clear, which explained why he had even put her under a spell.
Yet she still didn’t understand why Loran’del remained passive in the face of Korrn’s abuse.
“Herr Loran’del, I am a bit confused,” Vierna said. “As far as I know, when a village elder is dissatisfied with the baron, he can report the mismanagement to the count.”
“You are correct. I did go to the count. But the answer was always the same: they would ‘look into it.’
And that’s not all Fr?ulein.” Loran’del continued. “Right after I went to the count, Korrn come here just one day after that. He said that there were emergency collection.”
Vierna studied Loran’del. His expression had softened, as though he were longing for something lost. “Have you ever gone directly to the duke?”
She knew Loran’del couldn’t do that. Still, if the situation was this desperate, he should have at least tried.
“That is not how it works. We can only appeal to the count. To go directly to the duke would offend him—and that is something we cannot risk right now.”
Loran’del glanced around before lowering his voice. “I know I seemed passive back then, but believe me, caution is the best approach for now.”
Vierna thought Loran’del too rigid in his obedience to the Reich’s peerage system, but she nodded nonetheless. Her task here was not to repair Rolbart’s condition, but to gather information on the revolutionary group.
Once her mission was complete, she could go directly to Leopold and report the situation. She just hoped Herr Leopold would show the same care he displayed when inspecting Einhartturm’s infrastructure toward Rolbart.
Finally, they arrived at a manor near the edge of the village. Built of dark timbers with a thatched roof patched in hide, it carried the sharp scent of smoke and drying meat. A tanning rack leaned against the wall, strung with half-cured pelts—rabbit, squirrel, small birds. No boar. No stag. Not a single large game in sight.
There were only small bundles of feathers and tiny bones. Spears and bows rested against the wall beside sharpened stakes, yet all of them felt too clean. Either this hunter was meticulous with maintenance, or they were never used. Vierna could only wonder.
She frowned inwardly. If this was a hunter’s house, then what kind of hunter lived here? How could he possibly supply enough meat for a village if all he hunted were small game?
The home itself was somewhat large, but not grand—more like a small house that had been expanded again and again. What struck her most was the lack of trophies, the absence of any ornament that marked a seasoned hunter.
Still, she carried on.
Just as they stopped in front of the house, the door opened and a figure emerged.
Is this hunter going to be an enemy? A Friend? Or just another person she needs to deceive?
