NOTE: The prose is done and visualised in anime/manga format

Summary: Peace that once dominated the continent, now thrown into a world of growing chaos. Blood will spill between right and wrong to the point it'll be blurred. Hrist Aegis is one of them, and she will stop at nothing to end this pandemonium.

Bloodfest
By: Outlaw-2

Opening Theme Song
Planet Hell – Nightwish

Denying the lying
A million children fighting
For lives in strife
For hope beyond the horizon

A dead world
A dark path
Not even crossroads to choose from
All the blood red
Carpets before me
Behold this fair creation of God

My only wish to leave behind
All the days of the Earth
An everyday hell of my kingdom come

The first rock thrown again
Welcome to hell, little Saint
Mother Gaia in slaughter
Welcome to paradise, Soldier

My first cry never-ending
All life is to fear for life
You fool, you wanderer
You challenged the gods and lost

Save yourself a penny for the ferryman
Save yourself and let them suffer
In hope
In love
This world aint ready for The Ark

Save yourself a penny for the ferryman
Save yourself and let them suffer
In hope
In love
Mankind works in mysterious ways

Welcome down to my Plant Hell

Save yourself a penny for the ferryman
Save yourself and let them suffer
In hope
In love
This world aint ready for The Ark

Save yourself a penny for the ferryman
Save yourself and let them suffer
In hope
In love
Mankind works in mysterious ways

… … …

An audible gasp, followed by crimson fluid trickling down a metre long blade was seen by ash grey eyes. A slender left hand grasped firmly onto the right arm, which had recently inflicted a vertical cut just under the spaulders she had worn. The woman, from a kneeling position after being affected by that assault, rose up to her feet as dust kicked up by her dark grey leather shoes.

Her clothing was of a short sleeved deep purple cotton top with spaulders held firmly by her shoulders. A metal choker was seen worn on her neck; its width just wide enough to act as a form of armour. Several black leather belts were fastened rather loosely around her midriff and hips, very much acting as crude protection. A black skirt was seen from her waist downwards till below the knee, though a long slit to her right was spotted, with her modesty covered by a pair of shorts that ends at the thighs. Black was her long hair that ends at her busts while her side-parted fringe stretched just below her chin; her height stood at 1.68m.

Sharp eyes the lady possessed took much attention of the surroundings; trees dominated the area while faint marks one could call paths were seen on the ground, though very much covered by more vegetation. The humid environment had very much made her sweat to the point her eyes could barely open for just a few seconds. In haste, she wiped them off with her free left hand- another thrust, this time from the back, sent her lunging forwards, literally hitting the trunk of a tree torso first. Ignoring the wound on her right arm, she kicked herself away from where she was before doing another kick backwards, where her target was in view. Even though in bright sunlight, her adversary was still very much in shadows; as if he had done so intentionally.

“Don’t think that scratch you gave me won’t affect my performance, Aesir Frost,” her voice came through while her sword literally aimed at her target. “The problem to this chaotic uprising in the continent.”

Not a word left the adversary’s mouth; not even a mere tch. Instead, Aesir spun while his black clad hooded coat formed a sudden gust of wind, just enough to make the woman retreat by shielding her eyes from the current of air. A unique blade in a form of a katana was produced under his dark clothing- a hard clang ensued. The said lady had made the first move an overhead strike that ended being blocked by him. His mouth moved, finally voicing out his opinion.

“Far from what I had expected, Hrist Aegis.”

That was enough to set the lass of twenty four summers back, to the point leaving her open for any assault. Aesir took that chance by initiating another thrust to her torso, then a swift upwards slash. The belts the woman wore did manage to minimize the damage, but was not enough to receive a cut on the right side of her midriff. Hrist leaped backwards as a form of instinct, but due to her adversary’s quick agility, a hard boot met to her busts, literally sending her careening to the ground, before mere sounds of stones falling off were heard. Grey eyes widened; she knew what it was. There was not any form of water splash; a steep cliff. Emergency set in for Hrist; swiftly up to her feet, she got herself in her battle stance- a hard right fist to her face occurred, the immense force had her tilting to the right, almost tipping her off balance.

That was the chance for the brunette to counter; with her sword in her right hand, she swung her arm while her body went into an arc, increasing the force. An immense, metal grinding clang ensued before a faint splatter overcame it. Hrist knew what it was, but could not bother to view it. She was right on the edge, just centimetres before meeting a highly probable death. Her left hand soon reacted; curled into a fist, she did a forward strike to Aesir’s torso. She did hit him, but barely. That move alone left the brunette very much open; a hard left knee met her midriff again before a right upward punch made Hrist’s trunk tilting backwards, with nothing to prevent herself from falling. Her leather shoes slipped at that specific moment. By then, all the grey eyes could see was simply the blue sky, with sunlight literally blinding her from view.

Her right hand lost its grip onto the hilt of her blade, but that was not much for her case; very little would survive such a fall from a great height, even an animal would know that. But even so, Hrist felt that she could make it out alive; a very slim chance. With her right hand stretched towards the sky, time that felt so slow in those moments quickly caught up, before pitch black darkness was all she could see.

“How sad,” Aesir’s voice muttered. “A mere human meeting instant death.”

… … …

1st Chapter
Maiden From The Skies

“Man, what a bother,” remarked a man to himself before glancing at his broadsword, where its tip was still doused in blood. “To think a wolf beast in this forest was the cause of the problem for the town of Wincheston; and a big one at that.”

The path was very much scarce for him to navigate down the forest. All he could see ahead was trees, and more trees. One could even refer to this place as a maze; it was that much of a puzzle. He gazed upwards; thick canopy of tree branches interlocking was what he could see as bright sunlight pierced through the seams of it, producing a unique lighting effect.

Black eyes then turned towards a stream where fresh water from the mountainous area ran through it. Seeing it as a chance for him to take a break, he paced his way nearer to the source, while impaling his blade to the ground. It was a crude way of maintaining his weapon, but the durability of his blade had not failed him since when he first lifted it ten years ago. His attire was of short sleeved maroon leather shirt while a white cotton variant was seen underneath it. Spaulders were what he wore as protection for his shoulders, and thick leather gauntlets for his wrists and hands. Long brown pants were what he wore with leather cuisses underneath them. Typical brown peasants’ shoes were the footwear he used; he preferred comfort over protection for this case.

Near the stream, his head tilted towards it, looking at his reflection; short brown hair was what he possessed before his two hands rippled the surface of the fresh water. Cupping the water up, he took a sip from it before using the remaining of it to wash his face, just in case if there were any bloodstains from the beast had splattered onto him. Twenty-eight was the age of this man, and yet, much to his surprise…

“God… I’m starting to feel like a forty year old if I keep doing this; going around the continent slaying beasts and bandits that caused trouble to towns and villages.”

That was what his main issue was; it had been ten long years the 1.78m tall man had been doing this stint. He longed to receive anything interesting; like recruitment for treasure hunting as an example. That would very much make him feel younger once again. But as of now, so long there was something different to entertain him; he would very much take it without hesitation- several cracks of branches breaking were heard from above. Black eyes swiveled upwards, scanning the canopy of trees. It ceased all so suddenly. The man paused, rooted to where he was. A loud thud was heard, just to his left. That alone was enough to make him kick backwards, not realising where he was heading towards. An audible splash was heard. Several remarks left his mouth, most probably blaming the meander of the stream. His bottom was very much drenched, but that was not his main concern. What had impaled right next to him earlier on was a sword, a gleaming one at that.

“Very funny,” he thought. “What? God suddenly wanting me experience something different, like that? I could have died!”

Another audible thud ensued, this time very much farther from where he was. He spun, looking at the source. Leaves were spotted literally falling towards the ground, revealing a body lying on several branches.

“A person?” he muttered. “Hope those branches slowed down that fall; don’t want to see a dead body.”

Grasping his impaled broadsword, he dashed his way towards the said body. It was then he found himself in awe. Yes, it was a body, still breathing; but a woman with an attire of a warrior at that. That part alone was enough to impress the man. In those ten years of wandering through the continent, he only saw only two female warriors out of some tens of them; of which one of them was his comrade. Very scarce, one would say. He examined the lass’ body, in case that fall had fractured any bones, or caused cuts. He spotted several cuts on her right arm while her midriff was badly scratched and bruised, considering that a tear was seen just below the woman’s bosoms.

Not a word left his mouth; instead, with his arms, he carried her closer to the stream before setting her lying on the grass while he rummaged his inventory for any form of cloth. A grey cotton cloth was what he had, and decided to use it; he had little use for the material. Wetting the cloth with the streams fresh water, he then mildly dabbed onto the wounds, cleaning it in the process. While the ones on the lady’s midriff were very much left alone to its own devices, he made a crude bandage for the woman’s right arm. It was not really spectacular as a typical dressing, but at least it functions. A jolt from the woman sent the man kicking backwards again.

“Oh no,” he yelped, knowing what was going to occur.

Another splash ensued. The male brunette could do nothing but get out from the stream while scowling out remarks-

“Where… am I?” went a female voice.

The 28 year old brunette turned his attention to the lady, who had roused from unconsciousness. Ash grey eyes met black ones. The woman was still in a daze, but it was clearing up very much quickly. The man simply stayed put, not uttering a word for a few moments before doing so.

“In a forest near Wincheston. All I know is that you fell from the sky. Did you fall from a cliff or something like that?”

That response from the unknown man was enough to make her mind sharp again. That blasted Aesir, she thought. That hooded scum had the cheek to kick her off the cliff to her death. Fortunately branches from several trees managed to break her fall, only knocking her out momentarily. Getting up to her feet, she grasped her impaled sword that was just across the small stream, only to be questioned by the man again.

“Where are you heading, without any appreciation that I had tended to your wounds?”

Hrist, literally had forgotten all about his presence, turned around after noticing the makeshift bandage on her right arm. Though, her face was a little red, not because she was not used to talking; she had a minor complex when it came to thanking people. Every so often, she would find it very hard to show gratitude to anyone.

“It’s just that… I’m not used to thanking people; a small complex of mine,” the female brunette replied, just audible enough doing so before her tone changed when it came to introducing. “The name’s Hrist Aegis.”

“Bristol Silverlake,” the tall man replied.

“That’s… quite a mouthful,”

“Bristol would do,” he said before adding in. “But don’t call me Bris. That annoys me.”

“Anyway, you said the town of Wincheston was nearby, am I right?” responded Hrist after sheathing her sword.

“Yes, but what’s the rush? It’ll take about a day’s worth of walking from here downwards,” replied Bristol, arms crossed, ignoring his drenched attire.

“You do know that the continent is now experiencing an influx of village raids and town assaults, especially on the eastern side, right?”

“I may have heard something like that a week ago. About beings from the underworld attacking the continent?”

“I know who was the one behind all that; the reason why I fell from the cliff was the reason. Aesir Frost; he is the one behind all this,” explained Hrist.

“That sounds a bit doubtful in my view,” the man implied. “Maybe we should take a detour to Astoc Village; I have a comrade who might have some information on this… Aesir guy.”

“Let’s, but first,” the female brunette replied before drawing out her blade. “We better rid of those beasts behind you.”

“What?” Bristol sputtered before spinning around with his broadsword in his right hand.

A hard clang had the man surprised, considering that more wolf beasts had emerged. He thought there was only one, but another five to appear, had he moved on further down, Bristol would very much end up like other warriors and hunters; never to be seen again after entering the forest. With haste, the tall brunette gave a hard boot to the menacing animal, sending it stumbling onto the grass with a hard thud. With that chance, he leaped backwards, at least giving him space to attack freely. Even though Bristol had slain one, seeing it again was still enough to make him awe mildly.

The animals, even though simply mere wolves, they were of several times bigger than usual. With it on all four paws, the wolves were as tall up to Hrist’s bosoms; one could imagine if it were to stand on its hind legs; massive. Its snouts were had saliva drooling down, most obviously that they were famished. The one that Bristol had kicked charged towards him this time round while Hrist launched herself towards another, the one on the extreme left, near the vertical wall; the base of the cliff. Using the broad part of his sword, Bristol swung his broadsword in a horizontal manner, very much like hitting an oncoming item. A loud crack ensued as the beast came into contact with the oncoming blade. A claw scratched the surface of his right spaulder before leaving an audible screech to it. That was enough to make him disoriented for a split moment before retreating again with another kick backwards.

The same wolf lunged for him again. The male brunette, his right arm on the hilt of his weapon, he placed it in front of him while the tip of the blade aimed right for the beast’s skull. As he spaced his footing wider, Bristol then charged towards it head on, leaving him open to any assault by the wolf. The animal’s snout opened, baring its sharp set of fangs, each of it enough to rip meat apart. The tall man sent a thrust whilst charging. The blade literally dug its way through the wolf’s snout, jutting out from the neck soon after. Not giving anymore chances, he swung his broadsword upwards, ripping the animal’s skull into half, exposing much of its brain and blood. Bristol paused at that moment. Even though he had taken the kill on the wolf, his right arm from the elbow downwards had inflicted a long cut on the exposed skin till where the gauntlet was. But even so, he literally ignored it, even though he could feel his own blood running down, beneath the gauntlet as well. Not a word leaving his mouth, he dashed towards another wolf while his right arm ready to initiate a harsh overhead strike.

… … …

Hrist, who had briefly witnessed Bristol’s ability, found herself pre-occupied when the beast she had been dueling with pounced over her. That force alone had the brunette slamming onto the soil hard. Ash grey eyes stared into menacing ones while the beast’s drool found its way onto her left cheek. That managed to cause her to do the downright insane; with her legs curled, she then launched onto the wolf’s belly. The inertia then assisted in the situation, causing the animal to thrust into the air.

That was the time she would be able to strike it without inflicting any injuries. Quickly to her feet, she kicked herself away from where she was, towards the wolf. With the sword in her right hand, with a quick upward slash, the tip of the blade punctured the belly of the beast. However, that was where the flaw of her assault came in. The internals of the animal spurted out from the gaping wound before blood found itself splattering onto her attire. That did not matter for Hrist; her life was more important than modesty in this situation. With her both her feet on the ground, she then paid attention onto the next wolf, before realizing another thud where Bristol was. The brunette knew the tall man had managed another kill, which meant two beasts were left to be killed. Ash grey eyes focused onto her second target. Not a word left Hrist’s mouth- the wolf pounced onto her. The brunette reacted by thrusting with her sword towards the animal. A harsh left paw from the wolf had her off-balance, careening for the grass.

Without hesitation, she got up to her feet as quickly as she had fallen. A burning sensation was felt on her back left shoulder, near the spine. A faint ‘tch’ left her mouth; she realized she had been cut, but how deep it was, Hrist did not know. In fact, at that moment, she did not want to know the seriousness of her wound. All she wanted to do now was kill the heck out of the wolf that had injured her. Her grip on the hilt of her sword tightened- she charged towards the immense wolf, ready to strike a harsh diagonal upward slash. The beast followed suit, its snout drooling much more than usual. Its claws were ready for a quick kill onto Hrist, no longer toying with its prey. The animal took the initiative; with an immense leap, its front claws went in a downward diagonal motion, aiming to rip Hrist’s skull apart. The brunette reacted appropriately; she kicked herself towards the beast even faster. The claws left faint cuts on her cheeks- the lass spun swiftly, intentionally causing her to fall. Knowing that she was right below the wolf’s torso, she raised her blade with a fierce slash.

Its furry grey texture soon ruptured, spilling crimson onto the 24 year old. Still not satisfied by what she was doing, Hrist roused up to her feet and initiated a thrust action to the fatally wounded beast from the rear, severing its tail in the process. The blade then dug itself through its left hind leg before the woman changed direction of her attack. Knowing that she lacked the strength to literally sever the wolf’s parts with a powerful upward slash, Hrist went for a hacking motion. A horrendous crack was heard. The beast soon hit the grass with a hard thud with its said hind leg literally facing on the opposite direction.

The brunette’s breaths were heavy, even though one could say it was a short battle. A blood splattering crush overcame her thoughts. Hrist turned to where Bristol was. His top was very much untouched, though his arms did receive considerable damage. She then took attention to her wounds. All seemed bearable, except for the one on her back. It had turned from a burning sensation, to a stinging numbness. It had her into a kneeling position while her wounded right arm could barely reach out to the affected area. Bristol, after making short work of the last wolf for a few moments, he went for Hrist’s aid, examining the wound on her back.

“Whatever I’m going to do, don’t move,” warned the tall male while impaling his broadsword on the bloodstained soil.

The female never uttered a word. Shutting her eyes, she was ready to feel anything more searing than the one she had on her back. Bristol’s right hand grasped onto what it seemed to be a broken claw. With a quick yank, he threw the claw aside while placing her left hand onto the gaping wound, at least slowing down the bleeding. On the other hand, Hrist had already let out a rather audible yelp before she went silent again. Her eyes had welled up in tears, even though she was not even crying at all.

The lightly muscled male grew frantic as he grasped another form of cloth; it was his last one he had with him. Releasing his left hand, he then added pressure to the wound with the material.

“Body up straight Hrist, slowly,” said Bristol, only stating the much needed words.

The brunette paused for a while. Never had she heard such a way to suppress bleeding. Maybe it was just Bristol’s way of tending wounds; crude but at least effective. She straightened her body, biting her lower lip in the process. By then, swiftly, the taller being began bandaging the said wound, wrapping it around over her left shoulder, and down to her left side of her bosoms.

“You’re such a mess, if I have to admit it,” was Bristol’s comment, a sign that he was done tending Hrist’s wounds. “How did you manage to get so little damage from Aesir, yet heavily on this one?”

“Aesir’s agility exceeds a human’s. He was toying with me; most of his assaults were hard thrusts, literally leading me towards the cliff,” the lass admitted. “I’ve never been that humiliated in my life.”

Not a word left Bristol’s mouth. Instead, he got up to his feet while sheathing his impaled broadsword after pulling it out from the ground. He knew that they had just met; hence he did not want to intrude with Hrist’s modesty.

“Could you lend me a hand? I may need a bit of your help to walk. My legs are little numb, thanks to that wound on my back,” the brunette suggested.

“And I was about to respect your modesty, physically that is,” the male let out a sigh after commenting.

“I’ll endure it for now. No choice in this situation.”

“As you wish.”

Not uttering a word soon after, the two warriors soon trudged their way towards the small village of Astoc, located about ten kilometres from where they were, by a clearing from the mouth of the forest they were in. At least, the village was nearer compared to an immense thirty kilometres to the town of Wincheston. But even so, Hrist’s mind was still set on one thing; most probably revenge.

“Aesir.”

2nd Chapter
Scarla Turgen

Ten kilometres may seem an average distance for the tall man by the name of Bristol to walk continuously, but that was not the case when it came for Hrist’s. It was obvious, with the lass in such a condition; she would need breaks in between them. But the short haired brunette did not oblige to that. Instead, he went ways to even carry the woman in his arms, just to keep his job simple and less tedious for Hrist. However, a question popped up in the female brunette’s mind.

“Say, Bristol; you said that Astoc Village is nearer than Wincheston, right? Then why do the wolf beasts attack the town instead of the village?”

Black eyes glanced at the woman he had been carrying for the past two to three hours before answering, “That, you might as well find out when we get there. Wolf beasts don’t even have the guts to even enter Astoc.”

“Is that so?” replied the lady before saying in a rather doubtful voice. “Seems that you’re trying to impress me.”

“Since when was I trying to impress you, ‘fallen maiden’?” Bristol countered, a bit sarcastic at that moment.

“Very funny, Bris,” she went in her very most relaxed tone, most obviously cynical in her response.

“Guess we’re even again, huh?” he said, letting out a sigh soon after.

“Unless you pester me with more remarks.”

“Enough of that, we’re reaching the village. Damn the humidity is killing me.”

Ash grey eyes viewed what it seemed to be the entrance of the said place. Unusual for such a small community, it was very much well organized. Houses made of cobbled stones were lined up in rows of two, with the centre as a market of sorts. Outlining the village were several vegetable patches, and a small pasture of cows from a distance. However, one building managed to stand out from the rest. Located somehow away from the village itself stood a cottage where its front lawn had several children sitting on the grass as they viewed a person, probably a woman, in grey wielding what it seemed to be a metre long wooden pole. By then, Hrist had a gist of why the wolf beasts were reluctant to raid Astoc.

“Is everyone in the village trained, so they could protect themselves from harm?” asked the woman, who was still in Bristol’s arms.

“That, plus night patrols where each man above twenty years of age would do countless rounding around the village in three pairs till sunrise. That’s the least the people here would do. Other than that, it’ll be Scarla’s matter,” the short haired brunette answered.

“Scarla?” went Hrist before signaling the man to cease carrying her.

“My comrade. We know each other for the past two years or so,” Bristol replied, dusting his top. “You should have taken notice of her when you paid attention to the cottage that stuck out like a sore thumb from the village.”

“The one clad in grey?”

“Grey- not again. I told her not to wear that old garb and yet,” the man sputtered, planting his face onto his right palm. “Her attire should be white.”

“I don’t really want to hear your status with Scarla,” replied the shorter brunette.

“Just comrades, nothing more. Her old garb was an eyesore for me, though-.”

Bristol reacted by drawing out his broadsword, and used the body of the blade as a shield before a metallic clang followed suit. With his free left fist, he punched the body of the blade, near where the tip was. The sudden force had his probable adversary retreating with a leap before a weapon in a form of a halberd came into view. The male brunette let out a whistle, amused that ‘she’ had the cheek to do a sudden attack as a test.

“You could have killed me, Scarla,” he said in a rather bemused tone, sheathing his broadsword.

“At least you’re still very much alert,” was an immediate response before turning to Hrist. “And I see we have a maiden whose wounds need proper tending.”

That was the time ash grey eyes from the brunette caught the image of Scarla. For a woman, Scarla was much taller than Hrist herself; about a difference of eight centimetres. Long blonde that ends at her waist were her hair with an uneven fringe that would randomly cover either of her narrow-looking eyes that were green in colour; her sideburns curled slightly towards her cheeks. Fortunately for Bristol, the said woman had changed her attire to what he had expected. She wore a white long sleeved dress with matching leather gauntlets while tough leather spaulders were of dark green. Brown leather boots were her footwear, and a possibility that she, too, wore cuisses of the same material.

“I may have slipped off my mind for not introducing,” the blonde implied so suddenly, considering that Hrist had not been uttering a word for a while. “I go by the name of Scarla Turgen; a temporary caretaker of the village till they regain their own strength of independence.”

“Hrist Aegis,” the brunette replied before Bristol chipped in, most obviously had been comparing the two ladies in terms of body physique.

“I notice that Hrist is a little petite even though at that height compared to Scarla’s slender, yet toned muscle build.”

Narrow eyes from the blonde stared at the male counterpart, obviously trying to get a message across, “These toned muscles of mine were by mistake, I was aiming for a slender body only.”

“Whatever suits you, woman,” the 28 year old shrugged, pacing his way into the village. “I’ll be at the resident’s tavern if the two of you are looking for me.”

Scarla could only let out a sigh; it would be a waste of energy to reason with that man. She then turned her attention back to Hrist, this time about the wounds.

“Follow me. Those wounds seriously need proper dressing, especially the one at the back.”

… … …

The petite brunette literally stared blankly at the wooden ceiling as she lied on the bed with a blanket over her. The fresh bandaging from Scarla was very much well done, a little too well done unfortunately. The searing pain was back, but at a bearable state. Ash grey eyes glanced at her torn top that was hung by a chair’s backrest while the spaulders rests on the seats itself. It was by then she realized how much stitching was needed to get her top back to its prime condition. But even so, she highly doubted that Scarla had the needed tools and materials to do so. Sitting up on the bed, topless, Hrist paid much attention to the surroundings of the guest room the blonde’s cottage had.

Timber was the walls while lighting came from two lamps that ran on oil that rests on the two end tables, each, even though it was broad daylight outside. A desk, probably made of mahogany had several sheets of paper, a quill pen and inkwell on it, but Hrist knew it was of no purpose for her. The windows were of a simple construction of a wooden frame and glass firmly set in between it. It was hinged in someway, but the impression of it being a locked window was obvious. The oak door opened. The brunette did not flinch; Scarla entered the room with a top in her hands, most probably substituting Hrist’s torn variant.

“You might want to try this one,” said the blonde, handing a deep violet coloured, short sleeved shirt to the brunette. “Hope it fits.”

Hrist was a little hesitant at that moment; it was not the issue that she could not wear it; it fit perfectly when she did so. It was thanking Scarla that was the issue. A tinge of red could be seen across her cheeks. A chuckle was heard from the blonde before her voice came through; but to Hrist, seeing Scarla responding as such felt a little eerie.

“I heard the minor complex of yours from Bristol. You don’t have to thank me; else you’ll probably be blushing as red like beetroot.”

Not a word left the brunette’s mouth. She turned her head away, just hoping for the redness on her face to fade. Scarla grabbed hold on the torn top. Green eyes examined it for a moment before she commented.

“This could be mended. Just hope the tailor in the village can spare sometime on it,” was the blonde’s response before switching topics. “But enough of that; I assume you want to know about Aesir’s probable whereabouts?”

Hearing that name was enough to make Hrist’s head spinning towards Scarla. Ash grey eyes stared into green variants before turning away again.

“I assume you told Bristol a bit more about ‘him’?”

“Yes, that bloke was a bit doubtful about it; managed to clear it up for him. However, in my view, I could only assume that Aesir might be somewhere on the North east, considering that it was the estimated location where it all began three years ago.”

“The Artolia Pleateau, where several wars waged there for three centuries, only to end in stalemate?” Hrist’s interest kicked in.

“Possibly, since it’s hard to pinpoint the exact location. But the main issue is… towns and military states in the east are very much in jeopardy; Aesir’s underlings might have started spreading its dominance,” Scarla’s eyes narrowed, her firm buttocks leaning against the side of the desk while crossing her arms.

An annoying ‘tsk’ left the brunette’s mouth before a thought ran through her mind, “If this keeps going on, Aesir might conquer the continent.”

“But where I fought Aesir earlier on was in this, south-central region before I fell off a cliff,” she voiced out her answer, which somehow managed to get the blonde on alert.

“He might have the intention of spreading towards this direction; Wincheston might be affected first before Astoc. When did you last meet him?” asked Scarla in a rather rushed tone.

“About six hours, after hunting him down for the past 2 days or so.”

“Then we have about five days before he would strike Wincheston. Aesir has the habit of delaying his assaults by a week.”

“You seemed to know more about him,” said Hrist, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you expect from a woman who had just turned thirty?” replied the blonde audibly, showing a sign of authority. “We’ll head out for Wincheston tonight. I’ll have the owner of the tavern to take my place momentarily.”

“Why the owner of the tavern?” the brunette questioned, lying on the bed again, though removing the top first, setting it on the backrest of the said chair.

“Former mercenary of mine. He decided to settle down in this village.”

“Ah, I see.”

… … …

It had been almost six hours Hrist was in slumber before Scarla was on standby with three horses. Bristol, who did not manage to get some shut-eye in any way, arrived soon after he got the message from the blonde herself. However, the petite brunette has yet to be seen. The tall blonde glanced at the halberd her right hand had gripped. The pole itself was made from an evergreen tree while the head had a similar design to a voulge, but with a pike integrated with it. Its blade had intricate curves that were enough to pierce a body with thrusting, yet ripping through its path when pulling it. Her attire had changed slightly, this time with a white belt that wrapped around her midriff firmly. Green eyes then gazed at the moonlight; cloudless, she thought. That might be a good sign that they would have enough lighting to maneuver towards Wincheston without having to worry about straying away from each other.

“Where in the world is Hrist anyway?” Bristol asked, breaking Scarla’s attention to the cold night.

“What do you reckon?” was her quick response before brushing lightly on one of the horses’ crest.

“I assume it’s a ‘no’ then.”

“Glad that you know the answer.”

“Aren’t we getting a bit cocky?” asked the male brunette, crossing his arms, looking at the thirty year old woman.

Their conversation soon cut off when a figure in a form of Hrist Aegis came into view in the same attire, though with a different top. Scarla turned around, clearing her throat to catch their attention before stating her plan.

“We’ll head to Wincheston by horseback. But since Bristol had been complaining about the lack of sleep, we’ll rest up once we reach there. The following day, we will then commence eastwards, most probably towards Evergreen Plains. We might have a chance to spot Aesir’s movements.”

Hrist was a bit hesitant at the moment, but the urge was enough to make her ask the blonde, “Do you have a grudge against Aesir? I feel that you might have.”

Green eyes narrowed, most obviously in her serious self, “There is a limit to asking about a person’s background, Hrist.”

The brunette kept silent soon after, but she knew, judging from the response she received, Scarla had. The trio, soon after on their respective horsebacks, they rode eastwards while the temporary caretaker, the tavern owner, bade farewell to them.

“Fight well, Scarla Turgen,” he said before grabbing his bastard sword that he had impaled onto the ground.

… … …

“I predict movements from the woman you said, Aesir,” went a female voice, turning her attention to the man clad in black.

“Oh?” was his bemused tone. “Where to?”

“Eastwards, beyond Wincheston.”

“Anymore information, Victoria?”

“You know this is the very most I can provide,” eyes consisting of dull crimson sclera, black cornea, and silver pupils turned to look at Aesir.

The said woman, Victoria, was clad in a predominantly black, sleeveless dress that was from her ample busts downwards, exposing much cleavage. Underneath it was a corset of a matching colour to keep her garb intact while a dark grey leather gauntlet was worn with tight cloth that stretched all the way to her elbows. Footwear was of unique stiletto sabatons that had been made just specially for her, and nicely hidden due to the dress that concealed over them. Three brown leather belts hung loosely around her slender midriff with a bullwhip and blunderbuss secured firmly on it. Her hair was of wavy natural sandy blond that was tied into twin-tails with sideburns that ran down to her shoulders.

With her right hand on her hip, and the left snapping her fingers leisurely, she then suggested a plan for their next move, “I think it’s best if we make a move towards Wincheston. I assume it’ll be fun crossing paths with them-.”

“I’ll put the campaign on hold for the time being. I might want to see how Hrist would perform this time round. That mere human,” said Aesir ever so suddenly. “You will head there. Toy with them. Should she get the better of you, retreat immediately.”

“It’s been a while since you last assigned me on such a role. See you again in about a weeks’ time then,” replied the woman before a chuckle left her mouth as she paced her way deeper into the forest, its whereabouts unknown.

3rd Chapter
New Rival

It had taken Hrist and the other two a whole four hours to reach the town of Wincheston. Night time, most probably midnight, had the bustling settlement turn into silent, mere chatters by armed guards that were making their rounds. Not wanting to rouse any residents, nor annoy the guards themselves, they had the horses run freely in the town’s fenced pasture located just outside the west gate. It had been a very chilly journey for the trio, which even had Bristol sneezing ever so often.

“If you get sick in the morning, I’ll wallop you,” warned the tall blonde, aiming her halberd at the said man.

“What? Are you telling me to order my immune system to be on guard and kill a probable flu? What do you think my body is; a war game?” he whined before another sneeze followed suit.

“A concrete yes,” replied Scarla firmly. “Well then, both of you go ahead and rent a room. I’ll come later. You do know that there’s only one inn in the whole of Wincheston. I don’t want to see you two ending up dozing in the chapel instead.”

“Why does it feel that Scarla’s the mother while Bristol and I are the kids in this particular scene?” thought the petite brunette before heading the way to the town.

Green eyes looked on at the duo before disappearing from her sight. By then, she grasped her halberd tighter as she paced her way into the settlement in the same direction, but heading for a different location, most probably the tavern. It was always known for being open throughout the night and its strong ginger ale. Upon arriving at the location, she was greeted by a rather nightly, lonely atmosphere where lights that came from several oil lamps glowed blandly at the corners of the tavern. Of course, that did not affect Scarla that much; she was much more used to dark surroundings than the ones in broad daylight. A man tending to the new casks of ale took attention of the blonde’s presence. Only a wide leer formed on his face, to a point one could say menacing. A pint of ginger ale was poured and served, just where the woman had seated behind the table top.

“Not doing well, Gunnarson?” asked the tall lady, taking a sip at the strong flavoured ale.

The middle aged man, whose arms and hands dominated in scars, shrugged before moving on to wiping clean the pint glasses before striking a response, “Not really. Just that tonight happens to be the end of the week; little to none would come at this point of time. But at least there would be a guard or two who would drop by for a pint of my ginger ale.”

He then brushed his short black hair momentarily before rubbing his stubbles, most probably a thought in his mind, “But it’s unusual for you to drop by at this time. I assume something has come up?”

“And I had hoped your former musketeer instincts was still squeaky clean; Aesir maybe heading to this direction, if you still remember three years ago, old fart,” Scarla responded in her usual, sharp-tongued nature.

Blue eyes from the bartender swiveled, literally looking into green variants. It had been a while since he heard that name. But hearing that that Aesir was heading towards Wincheston…

“Has the eastern territories have been wiped out?” he asked in a serious tone, adjusting his deep brown, long-sleeved shirt while his hands looked as if he imagined holding a musket; a habit of his.

With her left elbow on the table top while resting her head with her left fist under her chin, a sigh left her mouth before responding, “And I thought you had some idea on the situation, since I often know taverns were the best place for rumours.”

“Meh, I wished for that as well, woman,” Gunnarson replied, back to wiping the pint glasses- he paused.

Scarla froze as well; her left hand was still gripping onto the pint glass of ginger ale. Green eyes moved without turning her head. Several shadows could be seen shifting past the windows before a glimmer, most probably a blade of sorts, caught her attention. Her voice in a form of a whisper went into Gunnarson’s ears.

“You know what this means, right?”

“So long my home brewed ginger ale is not affected,” he responded, putting down the last of the pint glasses before groping something under the table top.

Movement could be felt; Scarla’s right hand grasped the pole of her halberd while the middle-aged man produced his trusty musket, right index finger just waiting to squeeze the trigger. The wooden floorboards creaked to an extent; the woman reacted by swinging her weapon horizontally, at a head’s height. The sudden movement by her had Gunnarson ducking for cover at that moment, though just waiting to aim an unfortunate adversary. A hard thud ensued. Blue eyes from Gunnarson peeked at the result. A bandit was seen sprawled on the ground, with his dagger impaled on the floorboards. However, he was not alone.

“Four more,” muttered the lass, gripping her halberd near the end of the pole, just waiting for the right time to initiate a devastating overhead strike.

However, that was not the case. The man that was on the ground reacted, grasping hard on Scarla’s right foot before producing another dagger under a seemingly leather overcoat. The blonde reacted by kicking the daylights out of him; the middle aged bartender responded with an audible gunshot by his musket. At point blank range, the bullet literally drove its way into the man’s skull, producing a spurt of blood from the said wound. That was the time where Scarla paid attention to the remaining four men who had entered the tavern rather mysteriously.

All four of them had similar attire; grey, short-sleeved shirt with sleeveless overcoat, black short trousers and brown leather boots. Covering their facial identities were oversized hoods, even though it was an extremely crude and probably pathetic way. Scarla paused, just waiting for any movements from the foursome. That was the best time for Gunnarson to reload his musket; he would need at least twenty seconds doing so, if he still had the agility.

“What’s your purpose?” the blonde spoke out loud, trying to get information from her own adversaries.

“Very much we want to know, you should already know the reason yourself. You know that we know what you know,” a response in a form of a puzzle shot back.

“Gunnarson, you’re hiding something from me again, right?” Scarla questioned the bartender.

“After my ale, as usual,” he replied quickly. “For the tenth time.”

“Then I have no regret of killing these manure-licking pigs I refer them as thieves.”

Several clangs were heard within the tavern before another bellow from the musket ensued, this time catching attention from two guards. The men in armour rushed to the scene, before the blonde’s voice came through.

“Block the exits; these thieves have no meaning in life. Kill them if you two have the chance!”

… … …

In the inn…

“You’re kidding me, right?” Bristol’s voice was heard when they were escorted to the room provided. “Only a queen sized bed?”

“I do have to apologise that the other rooms accommodating three are all occupied. One of you might have to sleep on the ground, I’m afraid,” the inn keeper replied in his very most regretful manner.

“This will do; Bristol will take the floor,” the petite brunette responded swiftly, leaving the broadsword wielding man in awe; the inn keeper, on the other hand, took his leave.

“I can’t tell whether you’re a sadist, or just plain sarcastic,” black eyes stared at Hrist.

However, she was unfazed by that matter; she was very much interested looking around of the room they were in. Furniture of mahogany dominated the room; from the desks, right to the bed itself. Walls were of natural wooden oak with simple decorations of fresh wildflowers was seen from a wall-based vase. A painting was on display, which very much caught the attention on the duo. Of course, it was not a painting after all; it was the map of the continent.

“Maybe this might be the best time to get the most out of the map,” Bristol insisted before Hrist had her right index finger pointing at the words ‘Evergreen Plains’.

“Somehow, the name of the place feels doubtful. Just beyond it is the militarist town of Vallachia,” said the petite lady, before her ash grey eyes turned to look at her taller comrade.

“And I thought you knew when it is simply obvious; Wincheston and Vallachia were at war a century ago. The Evergreen Plains was the battle site. Both sides suffered heavy losses, and it ceased as soon it started. However, dead bodies were not retrieved back; hence they were left to rot and only mud to swallow them whole. Now though, the place is as green as it had been always called it,” Bristol responded while looking somewhere west of the map. “But it seemed that the west is very much obscured by the Siber Ruins that stretched across the middle of the continent.”

“Siber Ruins?” Hrist asked once again.

“It was said to be the biggest empire of the continent before facing its very own destruction. Till now, no one knows what had actually happened,” the male brunette replied, though putting a deadpan face. “Are you really that deprived of information about the continent?”

“Very much so,” the woman admitted, though already sitting on the queen-sized bed. “I’m turning in for the night. You might as well too, on the floor.”

“Not going to oblige that,” Bristol replied, crossing his arms.

“You trying to take advantage of me, hmm?” Hrist asked while making a rather seductive move by slipping the left sleeve top down her shoulder after removing the spaulders.

“That pose really scares the wits out of me,” he remarked, his face a little blue. “It’s like an underage girl trying hard to be like a woman.”

“Why, thank you for blaming my petite structure, hunk of meat with short, spiky hair from a pineapple,” ash grey eyes narrowed, obviously challenging him.

“Can we not bicker?” Bristol insisted, planting his face onto his right palm at that moment. “Though, where the heck is Scarla?”

… … …

A metal scraping clang followed by a faint yelp was heard within the tavern. The two armoured guards were simply reduced to lumps of corpses in metal after their throats were skewered by dagger stabs. Scarla had leaped backwards after inflicting a cut across her left elbow. It had been an intense twenty minutes of fighting, and there was no end in sight. Every single one that was still standing had been very defensive all this while, instead of going for the offense. Gunnarson was already frantically reloading his musket, this time at intervals of thirty seconds. The blonde let out a faint ‘tch’. Never had she seen such perseverance from these low-lives, even though she had managed to injure one by leaving a deep gash on one of the four, right at the shoulder blade, near the nape. But such a heavy wound did not faze him at all. Instead- the wounded thief charged with a dagger on each hand.

Scarla grasped the far end of the halberd- the middle aged man leaped over the counter before kicking himself towards an overturned table on the left. As quickly as his body could provide, Gunnarson, aimed and fired at another adversary on the far left. A loud bang ensued before smoke emitted from the muzzle of the musket. He wanted to view what he had hit, but time was precious; the bartender then leaned against the said table, reloading his musket once again. That was when blue eyes turned to look at Scarla the moment he heard a deep ‘thunk’.

The blonde had expected much of what her adversary would do; he had swung both daggers at the same time, literally aiming for her hips. But considering the immense length her halberd had, she grasped near the centre of the pole, and spun it, parrying the strike. However, Scarla had to react quickly; with her right hand back on the butt end of the halberd, she pushed it downwards, letting the bladed side of her weapon upwards, grazing her enemy’s unprotected right deltoid. A leer formed on the blonde’s face; since she was standing very close to the counter, with her right leg on the said furniture, she kicked herself towards her adversary, while the halberd found itself lodged in between the thief’s left underarm. Without hesitation, she elbowed him before pushing the back end of her weapon to the right. That caused the thief’s left arm to edge backwards. Scarla then changed direction with another kick, this time behind her adversary.

Not a word left her mouth when she grasped the man’s said arm, and literally yanked it, hard. A hard crack was heard under the skin of the thief before his scream of agony came through. The blonde knew what she had done; dislocating his arm in a very crude manner, or maybe breaking it as well. He sprawled to the ground, right hand clutching tightly on the affected limb. Scarla came into his view, with her halberd held in an overhead manner. She knew it was overkill, but disgust had very much loathed them right to the bone. She swung her weapon overhead, with its bladed part aiming for the thief. A harsh thud ensued. The floorboards rumbled at the effect. The remaining three adversaries who were after Gunnarson’s ginger ale froze at the sight, this knowing the real danger of challenging Scarla. What remained of their former comrade was a corpse with a severed head, right across the cheekbone area. Dead eyes rolled, to the point only the whites could be seen. The immense force had blood splattered up to the blonde’s neck, some even right on her lips. Scarla paused, before pulling her halberd out, crimson flowing downwards to the sturdy pole, right onto her hands she grasped.

“I would have stopped right now, and allow you meaningless animals to escape with your miserable lives,” she muttered audibly while her sharp eyes stared at one of the trio. “But from the looks of it, you probably won’t at all. You pester Gunnarson, you pester me. No one messes with my former comrades.”

However, it seemed to fall on deaf ears on one of them, who had paced his way forward, while removing his oversized hood, “You caught my interest. Never had I seen such a feisty woman like you, even accepting such violence.”

Green eyes took notice of that man’s facial features; grey hair was swept back while hazel was his eyes. But even before she could utter any word, the thief had introduced himself.

“I go by the name of Maverick Nightwing, and you are?”

“Scarla Turgen. I’m sure you know where that name come from,” replied the blonde, now on guard; her battle stance was of wide spaced footing while her hands grasped on the halberd, her left on the middle of the pole while the right on the butt as the bladed part aimed straight for the man’s thighs.

“Ah, that…” he responded without any shock or hesitation.

“Former Vallachia warrior… nicknamed Scarlet Reaper.”

“Gunnarson, you get the other two, I’ll get Maverick. Bayoneting them is much faster in my opinion,” was Scarla’s final communication towards the bartender before charging towards the grey haired individual.

Maverick still remained in that spot, even though he knew the bladed part of the halberd was very much a threat when it came to close combat. He produced two daggers, one on each hand. Scarla, tipped her weapon to the right, before initiating a full horizontal swing to the left. The man clad in grey and black sidestepped with a smooth motion, looking as if he was moseying his way around the assaults. The blonde, with her left foot forward, she braked herself to a full stop before her hands traded grasping the pole at her back. The constant momentum enabled her to continue swinging the halberd, this time lunging her right hand towards where Maverick was. A slit was formed on his left cheek, so much for such a brute attack.

“You may have the strength to crush bones, but lacking the agility makes you inferior, like dog food,” he taunted before going onto the offense; he spun towards Scarla before initiating a spinning downward strike with both daggers.

The blonde grasped the middle section of her halberd, using it to parry the assaults; she froze. The thief, with a wide leer, kicked himself away by booting the woman on the midriff with his two blades doused in crimson. Scarla hit the floorboards with a thud before grasping the deltoid areas of both sides with her two hands. Maverick had managed to strike deep into the muscles. But even so, such an assault would not affect her that much. The blonde should have been used to it. Or maybe those three years of inactive, heavy fighting had her weaker. She swore under her breath- a hard left boot came hitting her torso before the same limb stepped on her busts.

“What do we have here? The ‘Scarlet Reaper’ has turned into ‘Animal Fodder’?” he taunted once again, one of the daggers literally brushing on the blonde’s neck. “It’ll be much of a waste to just kill you so uneventfully, hmm?”

Instinct kicked in for the thief as he leaped backwards- an audible gunshot ensued, literally missing him by mere millimetres. Gunnarson had made short work of the other two by very crude means with only using the socket bayonet. Gunnarson remained in that posture, though he knew he would need to reload again in order to shoot Maverick. He edged forward, only a shrug from the remaining thief was seen.

“Like a dog in a pack, how miserable can you get?” he remarked before sprinting his way towards a window for his escape. “Well, I’ll you two as of now. It’s going to be even more interesting if you buck up from now on, Scarlet Reaper. Pity those leather spaulders looked as if it was made for fashion.”

The bartender charged towards him, only to see the thief flee with a leap, and into the darkness of the night. He slammed the window frame; had he not missed the target, Gunnarson could have killed him on the spot. Blue eyes soon turned to look at his former ally, Scarla, who had made her way up to her feet, slowly moving her hands away from the two wounds.

“It’s three years too long since I last inflicted such wounds,” she remarked, before grasping her halberd on the floorboards. “What are we to do about these dead bodies?”

“I’ll alert the guards on patrol. You want your wounds dressed?” the middle aged man asked, showing concern.

“You’re turning soft as well, Gunnarson; you never asked me such questions back then. But I think I’ll pass. It should not affect me that much.”

“Still trying to hold that iron-fisted authority of yours, eh?” the bartender commented.

The blonde replied with a shrug soon after before heading out, “Well, I’ll be heading for the inn for now.”

“Hold on,” Gunnarson responded quickly before rummaging under the counter; he produced another set of leather spaulders, but of tougher quality. “Use mine. I have no use for them anymore. So long I have my musket, it’ll do.”

Tossing them into Scarla’s direction, she grasped it without fail before leaving the tavern with a faint smile. It was good to have former, loyal comrades around, but only to a certain extent. The blonde would have a sense of loneliness every now and then; she missed the times where she would venture around the continent, go into a brawl with them whatever big or small the issues were, and even share the same bath, even though she was very much the only woman in the group.

“I wonder if this time round, I’ll be able to feel this experience again,” she thought, the pole of the halberd resting on her right shoulder. “Hrist, Bristol.”

… … …

It had taken the blonde a while to arrive at the inn. However, there was something queer when she stood before the door to the said room where both Hrist and Bristol were. She hesitated for a moment before entering. That was when she realized…

“Lousy sleepers,” she muttered, planting her face onto her left hand.

Bristol was literally sprawled on the ground his hands seemed to be groping the legs of an end table while a small pool of drool was seen right beside his face. His right leg was over Hrist’s exposed midriff, oblivious to the fact that the petite woman was literally topless. She too was sprawled on the ground, but with a bed sheet covering only her arms while her bosoms were literally exposed. Her top was spotted an arm’s length away that looked as if it was thrown. By then, Scarla began to notice their sleeping habits, especially Hrist’s.

“I already know Bristol’s sleeping issues from the back of my mind, but never Hrist’s. Does she have to remove her top to sleep, or was it spontaneously?” she thought before leaving them be. “At least I get the bed.”

Only a sigh was heard from the blonde soon after before silence ensued.

“Scarla’s a bloody idiot with a tight, cute arse,” sputtered Bristol in his sleep.

“I’ll kill you in the morning, hedgehog hair,” Scarla responded.

4th Chapter
Woman In A Corset

It had only been at least five hours of sleep for the trio, four for Scarla, but at least it was deemed enough for them to get themselves going again. Fortunately for Bristol, he had not received a cold, which meant no threats from the blonde, or so he thought. The trio had set out down the busy paths of Wincheston with Bristol having a sore right cheek. He was just rousing from his sleep when Scarla hurled a hard left fist into his face, sending him very much onto the floorboards, where a sleepy Hrist lay. Of course, soon after that, a series of bickering ensued, with the petite brunette literally left out of it, who was still topless, but a little embarrassed by Bristol’s presence.

Silence prevailed in between the trio, as if there were voids separating them. No matter, the bustling atmosphere of the town did manage to get them back together when Hrist was approached by a hatter. The brunette was immediately amused when she was the only one being recommended to wear something to cover her head.

“Well, there is something missing with that attire of yours. It just feels like you wore your clothing completely, only to forget to wear your top,” Scarla teased about the fact at Hrist’s sleeping habit.

The petite brunette never uttered a word and set on purchasing a purple beret to match her attire. But no matter it did manage fit her looks, considering the colour of her clothing. Once again, it did make Scarla chuckle, but unfortunately, it had Bristol and Hrist retreating. It was way too eerie for a commanding woman to respond as such; all too similar like a Grim Reaper giggling in delight like an innocent girl. But no matter, they pressed on down the path, while the female brunette took notice of the environment, and atmosphere.

Wincheston was very much a vibrant town. Buildings were of white stone that were outlined with sturdy wooden pillars. Along the path, greenery of wild flowers and trees grew on land that was not occupied, very much providing fresh air to the town. A junction ahead showed a row of traders bargaining with their clients on raw materials, woodwork, and even well-made weaponry. Bustling was one word Hrist could find for Wincheston, but for a good cause. The town thrived on trade, hence they were economically sound. Armed guards busily did their rounds in town, making sure that there was no trouble. However, a crowd did gather at a specific place; the tavern. Several men in metal carried dead bodies out of the place while a middle aged man, most possibly the bartender was being questioned about the situation. A long gash was seen on his right arm apart from the several scars he had. Though Hrist had no idea who he was, Scarla did as a thought ran into her mind.

“Cutting yourself again, Gunnarson? So long it keeps you out of trouble… and your ginger ale.”

That immediately had the blonde recall Maverick; that mere thief who was able to escape and injure her deltoids at the same time. Scarla had very much underestimated his abilities. But that was not the issue. She had a gut feeling that she might encounter him again somewhere else in the future. She hated when her targets fled the scene; she preferred to fight to the very end, even if it costs her life. That was why she befriended Bristol two years ago; he was the only man back then to literally hit her in a fight without hesitation and did so until one of them was defeated. Scarla preferred men who do not fear beating her up; it shows how brave one was, and Bristol was one of them. Most men the blonde had ever faced were the types who would hesitate to land a punch into any part of her. But Maverick, even though he had fled, it felt that he did not show any sign of hesitation as well-.

A sudden gust of wind blew against the trio, and many other people who were walking through the same path as they were. There was another feature about Wincheston; it very much experienced gale and windy weather compared to other towns. But that had Hrist worried, especially about her newly purchased beret. People with headwear around were already grasping hard, trying not to lose them by the strong winds. The brunette was not spared either. Her right hand had been on her beret all the time till they reached the west exit of the town to retrieve their horses. The blustery weather died down soon after, allowing her to get herself on the animal without any problems- another gust ensued. Without the reaction needed to counter it, she soon found her beret blown off her head, very much hitting Bristol’s face, who had just gotten onto his horseback.

“You blew me beret off me head, freaking wind!” sputtered the petite brunette before a thud in a form of Bristol stumbling to the ground ensued.

“And your beret assaulted me off my horse,” he remarked, his head on the ground first with the headwear literally covering the right side of his face.

“There’s one word you forgot to mention,” the blonde piped in.

“What?” the man replied, still in the same position, his feet twitching in mid-air.

“Ow,”

“Thank you for wasting five seconds of my life, Scarla,”

“Don’t mention it,” the tall woman responded before snapping her fingers, catching attention of Hrist. “You know where to go, right? Head eastwards, right into Evergreen Plains. We’ll head to a little known village there. That place is always plagued with a lot of problems, so don’t be surprised if they happen to attacked by Aesir as well.”

“Right,” the brunette responded without much enthusiasm before Bristol finally got himself back onto the horse. “Let’s get moving, and fast.”

… … …

The outskirts of the village near Evergreen Plains

Footwear in a form of stiletto sabatons came into view before a crack from a bullwhip caught the attention of hostile villagers who were already grasping tools like sickles and axes. Crimson eyes glared at her targets with fascination, knowing that the village she was going to terrorise would be very much end up inhabited by the time she satisfies her need. After all, there was one reason why she was a sadist; enjoying people squealing in pain like pigs. But even though with such a mindset, there was another reason.

“Hrist…” Victoria muttered under her breath. “I wonder how strong you are.”

The villagers lunged forward with a careless, full force assault before a voice came out from one of them, “You’re not going to attack this village, ever, animal!”

The blonde could only respond with a shrug before evading the assault with a quick sidestep. Her right hand that held the bullwhip; she swung it, as the tip hit one of the four peasants. It very much left a cut on his back, even though he had wore a stained grey cotton shirt. Without any remorse, Victoria dashed towards the same man, before leaping. The sabatons she wore hit the peasant’s face head on; its metal heel literally stabbing through his eye. A downward force soon had the said peasant slamming onto the grass with a horrendous crack, with the said footwear still in its place. A wide leer formed on Victoria’s mouth soon after both her feet were on the ground; her attention soon turned to the other three.

“Animal? I don’t think so. How about calling me… an inhuman warrior?” she hissed before producing a blunderbuss from her belts.

No words soon left her mouth before the pulled the trigger of the weapon. A loud below ensued, its bullet soon met its victim when it drove deep into another peasant’s forehead. The said man remained still, before his body collapsed to the ground lifelessly, his head hitting the grass first. A whistle of amusement was heard from the busty woman. It had been a while since she had seen such deaths right before her eyes. It thrilled her; as if she had an orgasm. She loved seeing people laying slump on the ground with their very own pool of blood. Exciting, stimulating, those words could explain Victoria’s feelings now. Knowing that she needed to reload her blunderbuss again, she glared at the remaining two before voicing out her response.

“We’ll be playing ‘hide and seek’. You guys run off and hide while I reload my blunderbuss. Once I finish reloading, I’ll hunt the two of you, and every villager in that pathetic place. Run along!”

Without a hint of hesitation, the two peasants scrambled back to their settlement alerting the rest. Amusingly it had caused quite a ruckus, to the point when some fled the village entirely. Foolish, thought Victoria before setting on reloading her weapon. However, doing so, she hummed out a song, just to amuse herself before resuming her killing spree.

In the darkness, they will gather
Conjuring the one
Burning candles, incantations
Human sacrifice
Getting drunk from blood, not wine
Pointy daggers shine
Out of fire, smoke and brimstone
The dreaded one will rise

Victoria then stood up; a sign that she was ready to ‘seek’… and kill. Crimson eyes rolled, after noticing movements that came from a mere dwelling. Her sabatons moved, as she paced her way to the said structure. Her blunderbuss was back on the belts while her right hand still held the bullwhip. To her, it was enough; enough to see her victims wailing, screaming, and even scrambling away from her sight. Standing before her was the structure’s door. Her left hand stretched out to grasp the handle. She paused. Victoria then paced back. There was no need for her to simply open the door so courteously.

“Say your last prayers, my little pigs,” she muttered before kicking the door down, entering the dwelling.

Several cracks from the bullwhip echoed within the structure before a horrendous crash ensued, most probably pottery of sorts had hit the floorboards. A bloodcurdling scream overwhelmed every other sound before a giggle from Victoria was heard soon after. Crimson fluid could be seen streaming out from the broken down door before dripping ever so slowly onto the bare, dry soil.

… … …

It had taken the trio only an hour to reach Evergreen Plains itself. Scarla was very much eager to locate the little known village while Bristol and Hrist were very much paying attention to the vast greenery the plains had. Wild flowers scattered throughout the area, as if untouched by countless years. A gentle breeze brushed their faces, as if welcomed them with its fresh, crisp air. The petite lass, who had been holding onto her beret, wore it soon after the breeze died down. Of course, she had not have time to respond in awe with the scenery; she had to track down Aesir quickly. She could not bear picturing out how the continent would look like if the uprising were to succeed.

The blonde snapped her fingers, catching Hrist’s attention. Without a word, wither left index finger, she aimed towards a faint cloud of smoke that rose from somewhat a settlement that was obscured by some trees.

“Isn’t that the settlement, as you have said?” the brunette asked.

“Seems like it. And I don’t like the looks of it as well,” Scarla replied calmly, though inside, she felt a little uneasy. “We better make a rush for it-.”

A faint scream was heard from the said village soon after the blonde finished her sentence. By then, the trio knew that the place was in trouble. With their horseback, they rode as fast as they could towards the said village, just hoping that they would be in time to rescue the villagers.

However, as much as they had hoped, the settlement had been…

“What in the name of all holy… has happened here?” sputtered Bristol, most obviously shocked just at they arrived at the scene.

The nucleated settlement had several buildings very much engulfed in flames while bodies lay strewn on the ground with cuts and marks seen on them. Even children were not spared; they were seen piled up next to a burning storehouse, just waiting to be consumed by the fire as well. A man in tattered clothing scrambled towards the trio before stumbling to the ground just a distance between them. Tears ran down his face freely before begging the trio for help.

“There’s a mad woman killing everyone! Just stop her, kill her! She’s a maniac-.”

His words were cut off when a loud boom from a firearm ensued. The peasant lay slump on the bare ground as a pool of crimson formed under his body. Green eyes caught the attention of a woman in a black corset and garb with stiletto sabatons as footwear. Faint smoke emitted from the muzzle of the blunderbuss before the said woman shook it slightly to stop it. Blood red eyes shot back at Scarla before uttering.

“Sorry that this place is now… uninhabited. Even if there were survivors who fled the village, I’m sure they wouldn’t have the heart to come back,” the busty lady said before a hiss left her mouth, still very much thrilled by what she had done. “But it’s unusual for a woman like you to even tag along with Hrist Aegis, who assaulted my close comrade; Aesir.”

That had the brunette pace her way forward, slightly ahead of the halberd wielding blonde before shooting back, “As very much I want to know what Aesir desires with the continent, I assume you won’t heed to my demands, not even a hint.”

“Naïve, naïve!” chuckled the lady in corset, aiming her coiled bullwhip at the petite woman. “I would actually, so it would unnerve your focus of assault. But in this case… I’ll only give you a one-word clue; Lancerrot. And yes, before we start anything else, I go by the name of Victoria Rozette.”

That clue only had Hrist even more confused to what Aesir was planning, but she did not have the time to think about it when the said woman with the bullwhip charged towards her head-on at unimaginable speed. The brunette reacted by drawing her blade and used the body of her weapon to block any assault. But that did not come into as planned when the busty lass swung her bullwhip, its tip hitting Hrist’s forehead with deadly accuracy. A hard thrust was felt for the petite woman as she found herself retreating with a small leap backwards. She paused at that moment; a stream of blood ran down her face, her right eye fairly blocked by it. Another whip assault, this time at her legs, had Hrist hitting the bare ground after a hard hit numbed her calves. Ash grey eyes narrowed, considering the blood that was interfering with her vision. Victoria came into her view, as if taunting the brunette to strike. Still on the ground, she swung her blade in an overhead arc. The busty woman sidestepped at the strike, but found herself amused when Hrist lunged towards her with the blade ready for a probable upward diagonal slash. Victoria grinned at the expected outcome; she leaped backwards instead- crimson eyes widened.

“What?” she sputtered, evading the unexpected attack with a rather late sidestep.

Hrist had not gone for the slash. Instead, she hurled the blade towards the wavy haired blonde, allowing the sword to leave a cut on Victoria’s left midriff. She was obviously weaponless from that point onwards, making her vulnerable to any assault.

“How dare you lay a hit on me! No one gets away with that!” hissed the crimson eyed woman, swinging her bullwhip once again at Hrist.

The brunette raised her arms, just hoping to inflict less damage. It never came. Instead, a body in a form of Bristol shadowed over her, using his own body as a form of protection. That had Victoria not amused by that stint made by the man clad in maroon. Recoiling her bullwhip, she charged towards the man who held the broadsword, initiating her usual heel kick into the face.

“Hrist, move back,” said Bristol in a serious tone before paying attention to Victoria’s move.

The brunette never uttered a word soon after; instead of heeding the man’s commands, she dashed for her blade that was found lying on the ground some distance behind the woman in a corset. Bristol had not had the time to pay attention to Hrist’s foolish actions, leaving Scarla to deal with it- a hard clang ensued when the metallic heel from Victoria’s stiletto sabatons came in contact with the body of the broadsword. With his free left fist, instead of punching the body of his blade, he went on grasping the woman’s right calve, and swung her overhead, very much aiming to let her feel the taste of the hard soil. However, Victoria’s agility had her swinging the bullwhip, wrapping it around the broadsword, and Bristol’s neck. That, together, caused a result of the red-eyed woman and the man hitting the ground back first. However, Victoria had very much inflicted more damage than the male counterpart, considering the inertia Bristol had done. The blade produced a cut on his left cheek, but it did not matter at this situation.

The bullwhip retracted after the busty woman retreated with a quick leap after the fall. Bristol rose up to his feet, using the blade a support- a hard right fist came hitting into his face when Victoria charged towards him again. The force had his head almost turning towards the back, but it did not make him stumble. The man countered by swinging his head back at the wavy haired blonde. A faint crack could be heard when the male brunette’s skull came into contact with Victoria’s. The woman tottered at the effect, most obviously stunned by the assault. That had him the chance to strike without any problems; he swung his blade horizontally with the body of the broadsword aiming for her midriff. A powerful thrust came hitting on the front side of Victoria, literally had her wiped off her feet before hitting the hard soil once again.

By then, anger had flared within the busty lady; back up to her feet, even though inflicted such damage, she swung the bullwhip again, literally wanting to kill that man who had successfully beaten her up good- her weapon found itself stuck against something. Her head spun, a woman with a halberd had grasped it, even though it had ripped the skin of her right arm.

“Don’t you dare interfere!” hissed Victoria, responding with a hard yank from the tangled bullwhip.

The sudden force did displace Scarla’s position, but it was not enough to make her stumble at any point, considering her low centre of gravity battle stance. That had the woman in the corset no choice but to abandon her weapon at the point, leaving only her unloaded blunderbuss as an alternative. Using the body of the firearm, she swung it towards Bristol. He parried the assault with a quick swing of the broadsword- Victoria dashed past him instead. The assault was a decoy. Black eyes spun to where she was heading; the two horses.

“Damn it!” he swore, giving chase, only to fail, considering the woman’s unimaginable agility, though did not notice a missing stallion.

On Scarla’s horseback, Victoria fled from the village, while cursing at them, “Damn you all!”

Little had she known that Hrist had given chase in her horseback, who only came into view after she exited the settlement. The petite brunette, without using her blade, hurled a quick punch towards Victoria the moment she got close to her. The busty lass responded with a horizontal swing from the firearm, literally hitting Hrist’s left spaulder. That did not faze the brunette at all. Utilising her sword with the scabbard on, she sent a hard thrust towards the blonde, right at the abdomen before a quick leftward swing straight for Victoria’s neck. But misjudging the second assault, Hrist could only hit her right at the blonde’s cleavage, which was still enough to have her struggling for balance on the horseback.

“You’re not getting away!” the petite woman hollered before sending a quick left boot right at Victoria.

It did change the horse’s direction to head somewhere on the Evergreen Plains, but the busty woman was still able to recover from such assaults. However, what Hrist had not notice was that the blonde had been reloading her blunderbuss all the while, just so she could give a parting gift to that insolent under-developed woman. Hrist went on with another thrusting attack with the scabbard- the muzzle of the blunderbuss aimed right at her face all too sudden.

“Hope you enjoy this gift from me!” hissed Victoria, pulling the trigger a soon she finished her sentence.

A loud bellow from the blunderbuss ensued. Hrist found herself stumbling back first to the soft soil of the plains soon after while the horse she was on initially only slowed down several distance away. Blood could be felt flowing out from the wound on her left temple; she was lucky enough to respond quickly to that fatal attack. But even so, it did manage to have her visions very much blurred soon after; Victoria on horseback no longer spotted. She could not tell why. Her head felt light soon after she was on the ground. Her ears picked up sounds of footsteps; Scarla and Bristol before pitch black darkness was all she could see. Though, a word lingered in her mind, very much the key to what Aesir and Victoria were aiming for.

…Lancerrot…

Looks good, I've only skim read it, but I will read in more detail later, thanks for posting :)

5th Chapter
Where’s My Master?

Heavy breaths were heard from a mere hunter as he scrambled down the rocky, broken path of a once powerful empire. The pole axe he once held was now reduced to a mere broken stick, leaving him very much open to any assault thrown at. He had the intention of crossing through the Siber Ruins in order to head for Wincheston, where he would be at a reunion with his relatives. However, he had not heeded the warnings given about the dangers of the said place by the old folks from a town he departed from; hence he was now on the run-.

A loud bellow from a musket echoed behind him before a sudden spark with a high pitch screech rang through his ears when the bullet hit a broken stone pillar next to him. That had him shaken, diverting his direction to the right, where a dilapidated church stood. He knew that entering such a place would be luring the one after him for a quick kill. In fact, he had yet to know why the killer was after him. However, a female voice echoed through the dark, damp atmosphere, somehow providing a probable clue.

“Why are you running away? Defeat me.”

That voice sounded desperate, as if dying to get crushed by another person’s hands. However, it had the hunter blindly disoriented, sending him barreling into the said building without any thought or reason. He lost his grip of his broken weapon, now frantically trying to find a spot to hide from the unknown, armed woman. His beady eyes caught sight of a large fissure hidden behind a sturdy stone pillar. With his agility, he lunged towards it, not even a care if he had suffered a cut or two if he had hit something hard or abrasive in that crevice. His forehead broke out in cold sweat as it streamed down his face. The only thing that was audible from then on was his breathing. His eyes stared at the opening, just hoping he would not be spotted. An obvious shadow, not his, appeared within his view from a distance, though slightly obscured from the stone pillar. Darkness provided little help for the hunter to get a better look at the woman; the only thing he could make out was a headwear or sorts, probably a beret-.

He retreated slightly deeper into the fissure. He swore the killer had turned around, looking to his direction. He held his breath as long as he could, though he had to take another deep breath after a while. Footsteps from a pair of boots grew louder each step. The hunter’s eyes widened at that moment as his fears grew. However, all too sudden, there was only silence, as if time had paused. He wanted to know whether the woman that was after him had stopped, and moved somewhere else. He wanted to know is the coast was already clear, maybe just enough for him to make the escape. But fear had bogged him down; there would be a percentage that the hunter might have gone into hiding, waiting for him to leave the crevice-.

“Man in the fissure, lies another,” her voice rang into his ears.

The hunter felt uneasy soon after. His eyes turned behind; all along he had felt something stiff, cold, and dry. A stick or wood would not have such a texture; he would have felt splinters or wood chipping out. It went into his view. The hunter let out an audible gasped the moment he had the full view of what was behind him. A human skeleton was seen literally hung and stuck by the tighter crevice from within; most probably had died in there.

His legs reacted; with a kick from his left foot, he found himself careening to the cold, damp stone ground. A cool muzzle was felt on his right cheek, alerting the hunter soon after. His eyes turned towards where the killer was. There, right in front of him, stood a woman with long jet black hair that covered her face literally, ending around her hips. Her blood red clad overcoat had hidden her figure, but the hunter could make out the shape; slender, though at a height at 1.60 metres. A red beret was seen worn over her scalp, most probably just to complete her attire. But that was not the problem for the hunter at the moment. He wanted to get away as far as possible, but it seemed that the lady was faster in agility. A cold left palm touched the sweat drenched surface of the hunter, as if trying to enjoy what she was about to do next.

“Why did you not defeat me?”

That voice lingered in his mind for the longest time. But that was the only moment he remembered before a loud bellow from the musket overcame it. The noise reverberated through the ruins before cold silence took over. A gentle breeze brushed against the woman’s hair. Sharp crimson eyes were revealed as the right side of her face was uncovered. Not satisfied that she had yet to find a master of her own, she turned around, and left the derelict church, not uttering a word.

Taras Vassily was her name, hailing from a village of Grandusk, located between Astoc Village and Siber Ruins, now uninhabited. It was obvious; she was the cause of the village’s downfall. She had been following the rule she had since the day she was issued the order, which went…

Should you see fit that you have found a master, fight against your master. Should they defeat you, say your loyalties to your master and serve till death. Should they die, leave them be, and move on.

It was crude, but to her, it was logical. Her master should be stronger than what she possessed in terms of fighting skills. But for the past one year, it had been for naught. Every single person she came across would scamper away like animals in fear, which literally had her hunting for them, simply because they fled. And everyone in Grandusk did so, meeting their death soon after.

With a height of 1.60metres, Taras possessed a slender body with perky bosoms. Her clothing consisted of a black sleeveless dress with ripped ends from her knees downwards, and metal gauntlets with tight fitting leather that covers her wrists right up to her elbows. Black were her leather boots while blood red was her overcoat that was slightly starched on the bottom portion. A red beret was what she wore, just simply to complete the image, though there was the lack of undergarments, in which she loathed wearing most. She would cringe wearing such atrocity. Panties? To Taras, it felt like a chastity belt. A supporting top? It only made her feel as being wrapped around with tough, raspy rope.

The sky boomed with such ferocity soon after she ceased thinking about another potential master that died in her hands. Crimson eyes gazed at the dark clouds, knowing what was going to occur. Not even caring of parting her long fringe to the side, she paced her way quickly to a sturdy, abandoned dwelling made of stone. It was the only building in the ruins that was still usable, though lacking the fireplace to brighten the place, or even provide warmth. She had to do a makeshift variant by ripping apart a portion of the floorboards and dug a hole, just deep enough to place firewood on it and start a fire without wrecking the dwelling. Chucking her musket and Katzbalger onto a dusty wooden desk, she sat on the cold floorboards while leaning against the stone wall. Her right arm rummaged under her overcoat, producing her only means of entertainment; a book titled ‘Dante’s Inferno’. However, she did not start reading it the moment she flipped through the pages. Crimson eyes turned towards one of the broken windows, where finally, rain had started pouring.

“Master, when are you arriving?” she muttered. “I want to serve you.”

… … …

Hrist had not known how long she had been unconscious. But by the time she woken up, the trio was very much back in Wincheston, though having rather grim expressions on their faces. It was not the fact that Victoria managed to escape; it was the brunette’s reckless nature that very much offended the duo.

“Do you know how much of a danger you’re putting yourself into? You could have gotten yourself killed, heck, maybe even all three of us,” Scarla scowled, very much fitting her nature. “What the in the name of God did you possess to do such atrocity?”

“And what’s with you, literally hurling your sword towards Victoria, knowing that you’ll be vulnerable soon after?” Bristol entered the fray. “Those metal heels that ample breasted woman had could even pierce a human skull.”

The petite lass did not utter a word soon after. She was very much occupied by the only clue they had been given, in which she uttered it out without realizing.

“Lancerrot…”

Scarla and Bristol paused at that response. It seemed that Hrist was very much concerned about Lancerrot, which obviously had the blonde chipping in about what it was. The male brunette on the other hand, got to his feet before leaving the inn to get some supplies for another probable journey. Grey eyes gazed blankly on the bed, as if she was in a dazed state. A heavy sigh left the blonde’s mouth before explaining to Hrist.

“I assume you know little of the continent. Lancerrot is the hostile militarist state on the north-eastern peninsula beyond Artolia Plateau. It has been known for being ‘Hell’s Den’. The only gripe I can think of; Lancerrot was supposed to have fallen, very much like Siber Ruins now. Did Aesir and Victoria revive that state?”

The small-sized woman remained silent for another few moments before she came up with an assumption, “Aesir can’t have done that feat all by himself, even with Victoria supporting him. I feel that there’s more to that. How big was Lancerrot initially?”

Scarla was taken aback by Hrist’s response, but there was logic to it; she took no time to reply, “The whole said peninsula. That’s an estimated 5 times bigger than Wincheston if compared via a map. But then again, the map might also be wrong as well if you consider accuracy.”

“That’s ultimately impossible for Aesir to get Lancerrot running single handedly. But, how bad is that place’s situation?” asked Hrist, getting off the bed, her hands gripping for her spaulders.

“Lancerrot is hard to reach, especially when one has to go through the plateau itself. The only place where it could mirror Lancerrot is the Siber Ruins. But of course, there are many rumours about it these days. Of which one was that a killer resides in the area, murdering anyone who enters it. But to me, I believe it’s the ‘cossack’ from the ill-fated Grandusk Village, just north of Astoc,” Scarla responded. “But of course, rumours are just rumours. We need to head there ourselves to find out the truth.”

“Then the Siber Ruins we will head towards next,” said the petite woman before Bristol barged in, somehow disagreeing to the idea.

“Do the two of you numbskulls have ever thought about the danger of that killer in the Siber Ruins? If you think you’re an onion, then you’ll have the guts to go there, and get murdered instantly,” he remarked, crossing his arms after placing the supplies on the room’s desk.

The tall lass spun, firing a glare towards him before challenging with a question, “How would you know that the person is a killer? What I said was just probably a rumour; you made yourself sound so sure that it was.”

“Unless you have someone who survived from the murderer herself,” another voice interrupted in the conversation.

Bristol and Scarla turned to look who it was. There, just leaning against the wall right next to their room was a man standing at a height of 1.7metres. His hair was of shoulder length brown while eyes were of hazel. His attire consisted of grey long–sleeved shirt with a brown leather jerkin. White leather gauntlets were what he wore to protect his hands while black trousers and brown bucket-top boots completed his image. Weapons in a form of two baselards were spotted hooked to a belt that wrapped around his waist, which had the blonde asking.

“Are you a twin-blade thief, or just a fast fighter?”

“Rather rude to call me a thief, but I will answer your question; I excel with my agility. That was the reason why I was able to escape from that red-clad woman in the ruins, barely that is,” he responded, pacing his way towards the two while Hrist stood next to the bed, all ready to move out.

“And what proof do you have that you are a genuine case?” Bristol asked, very skeptical at the moment. “And should you have introduced your name, considering your presence in the conversation, or you wish to remain anonymous?”

The twin-blade man did not utter a word for a moment before lifting up his jerkin and shirt to unveil a scar that ran across his midriff, very much close to the vital organs.

“Does that convince you? And yes, I go by the name of Ruse Admiral; I do have an ally, but she resides in the town of Saxon for the time being,” Ruse replied with a hint of pride in his voice before putting down his clothes.

‘Saxon, the port town located in the North.’ thought Scarla.

“But skipping all that, I advise not to head to the ruins, unless all of you have the ability to defeat her,” the shorter man implied, knowing what he was talking about.

“We’ll still head there; somehow, I insist,” Hrist replied with determination in her voice. “I need to picture out how much of a wreck the place is to mirror Lancerrot.”

“Guess no one can change her mind,” sputtered Bristol, starting to notice the petite brunette’s nature. “Stubborn little woman.”

“Then we’ll head out on short notice. We wouldn’t want to waste more time while Aesir gets ready for a raid somewhere, or even Victoria,” Scarla announced, grasping her halberd.

… … …

Taras had lost track of time; not knowing how long she had been dozing when she was reading the novel. Crimson eyes gazed at the shattered window, only a full moon greeted her with such dominance. However, there was something else that caught her attention. It felt as if it managed to get her excited again; this thrilling temptation.

“Master, are you coming? Master, will you subdue me? Master, can I serve you? Master, please tame me!”

With exhilaration, she paced her way out of the dwelling, with the musket in her hands, just waiting for the time to start another duel with her potential ‘master’. A wide leer formed on her face as she slipped through the shadows, her eyes literally in search for anyone within the ruins. Taras paused at that moment. Sounds of horses galloping were heard from the distance. A group, she thought. However, instead of simply jumping in the way of the group, she remained in the shadows; hence she could pick out who would be the best candidate to be her ‘master’. It has been one year too long for Taras to remain ‘wild’. As her eyes sharpened, she utilized her musket from a distance as the group came into view. A faint chuckle left her mouth before she squeezed the trigger of the firearm.

6th Chapter
Master Of Insanity

It had been almost half a day’s worth of traveling towards the ruins on horseback for the foursome, and it seemed that Hrist was getting a little drained by the journey. But even so, that was not the main issue right now. Two pairs of eyes from Scarla and Bristol were very much staring at Ruse, who was following them towards the Siber Ruins as well. They did not invite him into the journey, hence the uncertainty.

“At least you could tell us your purpose for tagging along,” the 28 year old asked, his right hand rubbing the hilt of his broadsword intentionally.

“It’s more towards revenge. Reasons to it, I cannot tell; confidential,” the lightly built man replied in a lax manner before turning serious about it. “But I suggest that I would check the area first before allowing the three of you to enter. That woman is everywhere, anywhere. She uses the wrecked structures to her advantage.”

“What? You think all three of us are deprived of fighting skills?” the blonde countered, very much holding her pride as a warrior.

“No, I did not mean that,” Ruse immediately answered before stating his reasons. “I have a row to settle against that red-clad woman. She gave me this scar; I gave her nothing in return.”

The twin-blade fighter kept silent soon after, knowing that going on further would only bring nothing but more problems. Siber Ruins was already within sight, but Ruse was already feeling a little uneasy about their position. There one too many rubbles and shadows that that woman might have used to conceal herself, especially when it was already nighttime. The ruins now looked like a taboo location; one would suffer when entering. Still on horseback, Ruse grabbed hold of his two baselards, expecting a sudden assault the moment the location was in full view after the minor hill incline. Hazel eyes gazed at the ruins furtively, spotting for anything out of the picture. None, he thought; but the sense of being watched was there. He took the lead while hitting Hrist’s back on purpose to shake her up from that drowsy state.

“Be on guard; we’re being watched by ‘her’. Best to hold on to your weapons right now; her shooting skills with her musket are hard to deal with,” he warned, very much alerting the rest.

He spun around. He swore he had seen something moving in the shadows. A very faint chuckle echoed, ringing through his ears. Ruse wanted to notify the other three, but an ear piercing bellow overwhelmed his plan. A yelp was heard from the petite Hrist before a faint trail of crimson flowed out from a fresh wound on her left arm, just below the elbow. Hazel eyes spun before leaping away from his horseback.

“Everybody, get down! We can’t allow our horses to get shot as well,” Ruse commanded, assumed his role in this occasion; Scarla had to follow along for this time round. “Get as far away from each other as possible. This will distract her attention even more.”

Just after the shoulder length haired man said so, the other three began to scatter in the ruins, seeking protection from the shadows and rubbles. That had complicated the situation; the other three were now putting themselves in danger. He had to get to that red-clad woman fast. With his two baselards, one in each hand, he dashed towards a pillar with his back against it. Edging slightly, he stared at the badly lit atmosphere of the ruins. Shades of black, brown and blue dominated the scene before a faint crimson- Ruse retreated. Another bellow of a gunshot splintered off the side of the said cover he was hiding.

“That’s her all right,” he thought.

“Master, you came back! I knew you would come for me. Remember me back then? You knew my name, right?”

A female, yet unstable voice rang into his ears. The twin-blade fighter swore under his breath; never had he known that that crazy woman had a smooth, yet eerie tone. And much to his dismay, Ruse found it attractive. Faint movement caught his attention- he rushed towards a boulder just a short distance away. Another gunshot ensued, barely missing his right ankle just after he kicked himself towards the said rubble.

“Damn it, too close,” thought Ruse. “But I should be taking the risk; I can’t have the others end up in the fight.”

He took a deep breath before taking a peek at the edge- he kicked his way from his hiding spot before a loud metallic clang in a form of a katzbalger hit the surface of the boulder. It was unbelievable; Ruse had been only in that spot for only less than ten seconds and that mad woman had found him without problems. Ruse tried to make out her facial features, but unfortunately, he could only see knee length hair covering her face while her right hand held the close combat weapon. A faint chilly breeze brushed the lass’ long black hair, revealing what it seemed to be sharp, blood red eyes, and a leer.

“Did you forget my name, master? I go by ‘Taras Vassily’.”

Ruse immediately raised both his baselards the moment the red clad lady finished her sentence. An audible screech ensued, caused by the katzbalger and the baselards grinding each other. Hazel eyes strained to predict Taras’s next move; it was hard doing so at such an environment where the lady knew the place by the back of her hand. Ruse broke that intense moment by sending a hard right boot to the lass before he swung his right arm, aiming right for the woman’s left shoulder. But as predicted, Taras kicked herself away from the assault before her leather boots hit the broken cobbled stone flooring with an audible thud, helping Ruse to locate her position. Hazel eyes spun to see where she might have had been displaced. There, just where the previous pillar was, Taras simply stood there, waiting for him to come out.

The twin-blade fighter paused at that moment, thinking that it might be a trap, since she has both close-combat and ranged weapons. But even so, to prevent the others from barging in, he launched himself towards her without another thought with his baselards ready for a quick strike to her midriff. However, Ruse had not foreseen the possibility of both getting shot and stabbed at the same time when Taras had her left hand holding the musket, while the right, her katzbalger. Dread soon engraved in his mind, but shook the thought off seconds later. The fit man leaped with the help of stacked stone debris that was in his way before hurling his left arm, releasing the baselard at the same time. The said close combat weapon then became a projectile, very much a threat to the lady in red, causing her to evade it with her blade before a thrust from Ruse knocked her feet off the ground. An audible thud ensued before eerie silence took over; a pause in the battle. Taras’s musket was thrown an arm’s length away while her blade was restrained by the said man’s left hand.

Ruse knew he was above her, and the power struggle to restrain the lass was overwhelming. For a woman of her size and body structure, Taras could be said as powerful, even explosive. Hazel eyes stared at her face, trying to make eye contact. But even that was hard, the said woman let out a hiss through her clenched teeth, very much like a cat would do; wild, one could say. However, Ruse kept on staring, knowing that time would help in capturing Taras’s attention- a hard boot came ramming into his midriff very much sending a sore pain through his torso. He resisted, biting his lip in the process. Another boot ensued, literally had him of balance, collapsing to the ground back first. He wheezed upon impact, knowing that the woman would only come straight on for a quick work of him. Kicking himself up to his feet as quickly as possible, the swift fighter dashed towards Taras once again, this time with only one baselard; the other was found impaled on the soft soil next to the stoned flooring. A wide leer formed on her face before she swung her right arm that held the katzbalger towards him without hesitation, expecting a quick stab to the head.

It never came. Instead, Ruse had ducked, and head butted through her midriff, giving him a chance to strike. He raised his baselard with his left hand, aiming to leave a long cut through the lady’s right arm. A hard clang above him was heard; Taras responded just in time to block the strike, but being lightweight, she found herself lifted off her feet once again before a hard thud his her back at high velocity; the pillar. A yelp left her mouth, knowing that such an impact could have broken her back if done properly. Ruse, though a little stunned by that attack and the impact, he leaped backwards by instinct, expecting a quick counterattack by that woman. It did not arrive. Instead, she slumped to the ground; in a sitting position while her back leaning against the structure. The twin-blade fighter remained on guard, thinking that it might have been a coy for him to loosen up. His eyes then spotted a familiar shape just right beside her-.

“Her musket!” he sputtered before scrambling towards cover, the nearest he could spot; a stoned low wall.

A wide leer form on her face once again before aiming right for Ruse, squeezing the trigger at the same moment. A loud bellow took place before an audible gasp was heard. Taras’s chuckling reverberated throughout that particular section of the ruins before she muttered.

“Aww, my master’s leaking blood with the hole I made on his right shoulder.”

A deep ‘thunk’ caught her attention the moment she had the intention to ‘toy’ the man she had shot. Red eyes stared at what it seemed to be the derelict church, spotting movements, even though only mere moonlight was the only illumination at this hour. A leer formed on her face, knowing that there were others who had foolishly sought cover at such a place she knew so well.

… … …

Even though the trio had scattered into the Siber Ruins, it was uncanny for them to find the same hiding spot; the derelict church located near to where Taras and Ruse had been dueling. The last echo from the gunshot had Scarla concerned for the twin-blade fighter, even though she had met him for only a few hours. Green eyes gazed at the entrance while both her hands grasped onto the pole of the halberd.

“Bristol, quickly tend Hrist’s wound. Hope the musket ball that woman used isn’t of lead variant. Prey hard that it is of stone,” the tall blonde reminded the man, who was very much busy examining the wound.

“Why is that so?” he asked briskly.

“You don’t want to know, really,” Scarla responded immediately. “Just get to it, and remove the musket ball, will you?”

“A little shallow, thank god for that, Hrist,” the short haired brunette implied before producing what it seemed to be a short knife with a rounded tip. “Try to resist it; it’s going to be painful.”

The petite woman could only nod frailly as she looked away, not wanting to see what was occurring. Applying little pressure to the wound, Bristol inserted the tip of the blade, just enough to squeeze the musket ball to surface, slowly. Hrist winced at the searing pain that ripped through her left arm. Carefully, the man extracted the said projectile, balancing it on the body of the blade.

“Scarla, how do I know if it’s stone or lead?” he asked as quietly as possible.

“Drop it. If the musket ball deforms, it’s lead. If it chips or results of something else, it’s stone,” the blonde answered before sputtering. “Shush, something’s not right.”

Bristol and Hrist paused, but they were determined to know about the musket ball’s material used. Slipping the blood coated projectile off the blade, it hit the cold stone flooring with a quick thud, before bouncing off to another direction, and chipped.

“It’s stone all right,” said the male brunette before the woman in purple let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“I don’t really want to know what might be of me if it were of lead,” she replied, before Scarla chipped in at the final moment.

“Coma, if severe.”

That had Hrist sputtering with an audible ‘what?’ before she went off balance by the bench, literally hitting the ground with a reverberated ‘thunk’, back first. All three of them, especially Scarla, muttered expletives under their breaths, knowing that the mad woman would have heard it, and possibly, already know where they were. Bristol, together with Hrist, backed off, hiding deeper into the church while the tall blonde remained where she was; behind the support pillar to the right of the entrance. Footsteps were heard; foreign. Slickly into her battle stance without a sound, green eyes stared at the possible front assault; she expected that red-clad woman to appear with a quick side-step while aiming her musket at Scarla- the stained glass window behind her shattered, literally had the blonde swearing.

“I go by ‘Taras Vassily’. Will you be able to tame me?” uttered the woman in red.

“Behind me?” she thought before her arms reacted by guiding the pole of the halberd in front of her as a form of defense. “She knew where I was all along!”

A deep thud occurred when the blade of the katzbalger hit the strong wood at such high velocity. A faint form of vibration caused by the impact had Scarla struggling to cope with the sensation before she moved her arms, causing the bladed part of the halberd to aim right for Taras’s skull. A quick sidestep was what the woman in red did before the said weapon hit the cold, hard flooring with a splintering ‘clank’. Green eyes widened; she was open for any assault. As fast as she could, she pulled her halberd upwards, hoping to block any strikes that could have hit her- she froze. A faint breeze brushed against her, before a warm, yet painful sensation ripped through her left arm, near the triceps.

She spun around, seeing Taras holding her blade, blood dripping from its pointed tip. Scarla knew, she had been wounded, but she did not have the heart to see it. The crimson clad woman charged towards her again, this time for a quick stab through the blonde’s torso. Scarla remained still, not moving a muscle. The brunette leaped at the final moment, changing her target for the neck; the tall blonde responded accordingly. Using the body of the bladed halberd, she swung it in a horizontal direction with much force, timing her assault. Taras was caught off-guard; the said part of the weapon hit her trunk, literally changing direction to where she was heading. A bone crushing thud ensued the moment the brunette’s body came hitting the support pillar, right shoulder first. The impact on both sides had very much bruised both Taras’s shoulders, causing her to hit the ground without breaking her fall.

Scarla breaths were heavy; it had been a while she faced someone of similar or higher caliber than she was. But even so, she had the gist of Taras’s qualities that could match hers; high resistance and uncanny agility. The blonde backed off, knowing that it was best doing so instead of approaching that crazed woman. Instinct kicked in, with her left hand grasping the middle section of the halberd, she spun it. A metallic clang reverberated throughout the church, signaling Scarla that the woman in red just had fired from her musket.

“You’re not going to shoot me again!” the blonde warned, charging towards Taras, who had just managed to stand up with her unloaded firearm in her left hand.

However, green eyes were not looking at the musket; it was the katzbalger that she was fixed on. Knowing that a particular section of the voulge of the halberd had a depression where one could trap a limb, Scarla’s idea was to restrict Taras’s right arm, though doing so could be said as impossible. The blonde’s right hand grasped the butt of the weapon while the left on the middle section, tilting it slightly upwards. The red-clad woman foreseen the probable assault, and initiated a quick sidestep to the left, knowing best that she could kick herself away from the church in defense. Scarla’s right hand was released while the left moved in such a way hence the halberd would spin, creating momentum. Her eyes narrowed; using the inertia created by her weapon, she transferred it to her right hand at the butt before giving it a final, hard swing. Using the body of the katzbalger, Taras held it in front of her, thinking that she could parry it.

An ear piercing clang ensued, with the bladed part of the halberd hitting the body of the katzbalger at high velocity. A smile formed on Scarla’s face, knowing that it was futile to block it; it would be anytime before the woman in red would lose grip of the blade. Taras bit her lip while crimson eyes narrowed, trying to resist the impact- her left hand that held the bladed part slipped, leaving a cut on her palm in the process before the right lost grip on it. Her close combat weapon hit the cold ground with a crushing crack, a possibility that the blade was broken. Time paused at that moment, with Taras clenching her left hand while the right a little bruised. Aiming the halberd straight for the brunette, Scarla revealed a leer in return, knowing that she had ‘defeated’ the mad woman.

However, that did not prevent another person in a form of Ruse come leaping from behind, swiftly sending a quick overhead kick straight for Taras’s head. The twin-blade fighter was obviously riled by what she had done, and went ways to get her back. The thrust from her head sent the female brunette careening for the ground at such velocity, literally stunning her out, though crimson eyes were still seen from Ruse’s view.

“That’s what you get for giving me this scar, and the wound on my back!” he scowled, not noticing Scarla’s presence in front of him.

The blonde let out a sigh before smacking the back of the man’s scalp with her left palm, “You might have gone a little too far there.”

“At least give me a chance to lay a concrete hit on that Taras, she’s a maniac!” Ruse exclaimed, though trying to clam himself down.

“You tamed me…”

Both Scarla and Ruse froze at that moment. They swore Taras had muttered out something before she stood up again, her left, bloodied hand grasping the chipped katzbalger, now half of its original length while the right still holding an unloaded musket. Blood red eyes glared at the duo, very much puzzled them as well.

“You tamed me, you defeated me.”

The tall blonde had returned to her battle stance, the twin blade fighter as well. Taras might be plotting another ploy, one of her ways when she fights. The woman in red lunged forward, her left hand raising the broken blade. Scarla swung her weapon in an upward fashion before initiating a downward force; a sure kill strike. The female brunette kicked herself away from the attack, letting go of her weapons before pouncing over Ruse. The twin blade fighter was dumbfounded by what he was experiencing, especially when his lips came into contact with Taras’s. The woman’s surprisingly raspy tongue lashed Ruse’s before she pulled away, revealing her smooth complexion of her face.

“As a Cossack from the town of Grandusk, I shall serve you with my life, body, blood, and soul. My master, you have tamed me.”

Scarla’s mouth hung wide open when she saw what had occurred. It was too weird for an adversary to suddenly become an ally, after being defeated. But it was only then when she heard the word ‘Grandusk’, it all made sense. She heard about that village that ended in a massacre- wait, she thought. Taras might have been the one responsible for the village’s fall. After all, it is said that only one left the place alive; a woman clad in red overcoat. Bristol and Hrist appeared some moments later after hearing Ruse’s voice, somehow in a panicked manner.

The duo sputtered at the scene regarding Taras hugging Ruse while rubbing her cheeks against his leather jerkin. It was unusual for them as well. But at least for now, they knew that the red eyed woman would no longer be a threat to them.

“Let me go! Quit hugging me like that!” the twin blade fighter insisted.

“Master!” she squealed, very much like a kid, ignoring his pleas.

“If Hrist were at that spot, I could have said ‘child pornography’ instantly,” Bristol implied before receiving a glare from the petite lass herself.

“If you were at that spot, I would be seeing you at the receiving end,” ash grey eyes stared back.

“This group is getting weirder every single time,” Scarla sputtered, planting her face into her right hand. “Why me?”

… … …

Port Town of Saxon

“So, this is the town of Saxon, eh?” said a familiar person; Victoria. “Funny enough, I don’t have the urge to kill anyone at the moment; am I very much attracted to this… Hrist?”

As the woman in corset entered the tavern she could find, she was greeted by men who were talking away, exchanging stories about their experiences in their sailing adventures, or even simple fishing. Quietly sitting on a stool by the table top, the bartender served a pint of porter, together with a slice of bread and butter. That very much had Victoria puzzled; bread and butter?

“It’s the norm here, look around,” the bartender replied almost immediately to the woman’s confused face.

Her eyes spun, glancing at every customer who had ordered the same drink; each of them had bread and butter right next to their pints of porter. Guess it was the norm in Saxon. But before she could take a sip from her pint, a woman caught her eye, very much the same way she found Hrist interesting.

At a height of a probable 1.68metres, her clothing was of light grey leather jerkin with a long sleeved white cotton shirt underneath, and black breeches with brown boothoses that covered below the knee downwards, and brown boots for her footwear. A wide black wide brimmed hat was what she wore as head wear before removing it reveal her, straight, long silver hair that ends at mid-back with sideburns that ends at her chin-level. Blue were her eyes, and Victoria swore they were gazing towards her direction.

“Ah, good evening, my lady,” she went, very much in a manly manner.

The woman in the corset remained silent, though she did respond with a faint, “Good evening to you as well.”

As the silver haired blonde took a seat right next to the busty woman, she, too was served with a pint of porter and a piece of bread and butter. But even so, her blue eyes were still stealing glances at Victoria.

“You don’t seemed to be around here,” she sparked off a conversation.

A shrug was what the twin-tailed woman did before replying, “That makes you the same as me as well; your attire doesn’t fit with the rest. But that aside, you seemed to be concealing your weapon very well, hmm?”

“Eagle eyes you have, my lady. It’s a rifled musket with a bayonet,” she replied before taking a sip of the porter.

“Victoria Rozette,” the busty woman introduced, very much the only thing she would unveil.

“Felix van Dingenus; runaway musketeer from Vallachia. A male musketeer.”

“Vall-what?”

7th Chapter
Tension in The Tavern

Scarla, Hrist, and Bristol had intended to head back to Wincheston after the ordeal in Siber Ruins, and picturing how Lancerrot looked like. And as what to the petite purple clad woman had assumed, only a word could explain the situation there as well; devastated. It was puzzling overall.

How would it be possible if Aesir were to revive such a war-torn, destroyed state, especially when separated from other settlements by the dreaded Artolia Plateau?

How did Victoria, especially, manage to cross through that region without getting killed?

Those questions ran through Hrist’s mind. Very much, she felt she was being toyed at, mentally as well. She swore under her breath, before an acute pain surged through her left arm, even though the wound had been very much bandaged.

Green eyes turned to look at Ruse, who had somehow managed to get the queer woman by the name of Taras calm, and very much to the point serious and loyal. The twin blade fighter gave a suggestion; continue on towards Saxon. Scarla’s eyes narrowed at the idea; she had the intention to return back to Wincheston to update the Siber Ruins’s status to Gunnarson, hence the retired musketeer could spread the news. It was obvious; the tavern would always be the best place to spread rumours about anything.

“Looks like our plans clashed at this moment of time. But I still insist on returning back to Wincheston,” the tall blonde implied, before turning her attention to Bristol and Hrist. “Well, what are your suggestions? Taras is very much out, considering that she goes wherever Ruse goes.”

“I’m a little skeptical here, but I prefer to play safe for now, considering that I know little about Saxon; I’ll head back to Wincheston. I might need to stock up on bandages. Seems that Hrist’s been the ‘punching bag’ of the group for quite a while now; I keep wondering why,” the tall male brunette crossed his arms, stating his decision. “How about you, Hrist?”

The petite woman with the purple beret paused for a moment to ponder about her decision before giving a response in a rather quick manner, “Saxon. I rather prevent Victoria and Aesir from doing something than just being sitting ducks in one corner. Shouldn’t the two of you be doing the same, Bristol, Scarla?”

“Being complicated as it is, it’s entirely impossible for us to continue on unless we settle our concerns first. After all, I have to deal with Astoc Village, Bristol has to settle with his absence, requiring a replacement to deal with expected wolf beast attacks in that region in the near future,” Scarla explained. “Me and Bristol will return to Wincheston and settle our side before regrouping, assuming if you’re still in Saxon. But here’s my advice, Hrist; even if you can prevent something, there’s no ‘bad or good’. This black and white view is often blurred; hence you might want to put yourself in a middleman’s perspective. Even Victoria might be doubting Aesir at her end as well.”

“Feels like it came on short notice,” Ruse implied, rubbing his chin at the same time. “But I guess it’s acceptable. Come on, Hrist, Taras, let’s head for the port town. Been a while since I last came back.”

Silence separated the group as Hrist, Taras, and Ruse made their way towards the said town while Bristol and Scarla remained. Green eyes stole a glance at her comrade, before nudging his left shoulder.

“Seems that you were interested in joining them after all; your eyes can’t lie,” the blonde implied, obviously hitting the nail.

The male brunette could only let off a shrug, trying to avoid the matter, “What can I do? I am your close comrade for the past two years.”

“Oh, really?” Scarla responded before standing in front of Bristol, leaning towards him at the same time. “Or is it that that ‘platonic love’ you assumed had kicked in?”

The broadsword wielding man simply revealed a faint smile before ruffling the blonde’s scalp intentionally, though the lady did lean against him for a short moment, “Bingo. But nevertheless, we best get moving as well, especially on the status of Astoc Village. Don’t you think it’s time they can be independent from now on?”

Slinging the halberd to her back, she paced her way to her stallion before providing a response, “Astoc Village is already an independent village. It’s just that I’m bored after years of inactivity. You know my term; once a warrior, always a warrior. My fighting-bred blood during my time in Vallachia is still burning with passion.”

“No wonder you’re still the same stubborn woman since I first lay that punch on your face back then,” Bristol stated, bring up the past. “Guess you can’t be the domesticated type.”

“And likewise for you; always going through forests, hunting down the wolf beasts that threaten both Astoc Village and Wincheston. Not the homely man,” green eyes narrowed, as if aiming an arrow at him.

“Looks like we’re even,” the brunette concluded after getting on his horse. “Let’s go!”

As their stallions galloped down the plains towards the bustling town, the Siber Ruins still remained, this time with the absence of its deathly air where it once dominated by Taras. With that, it would mean that the said place now becomes accessible for traders and drifters to travel between the east and west without the need of a ferry to transport them.
… … …

In Saxon…

“I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself, but did you just say ‘male musketeer’?” crimson eyes narrowed; now glaring at Felix.

“Yes; is there a problem?” the man responded before tying his hair to a simple ponytail for the time being. “You seemed to be offended.”

“No,” Victoria replied soon after, her right hand grasping the pint. “Was just a little… amused. You could have been mistaken for being a woman more than once, I assume?”

“Countless, if I can comment on that,” Felix corrected before taking a bit out of the bread.

In the midst of bustling conversations in the background, the twin-tailed woman and the musketeer remained silent, as if severing theirs almost immediately. Crimson eyes stole a look at Felix, still puzzled on how a man could look exactly like a woman, with the omission of bosoms, and down there, in an obvious sense.