“[Coppelia Kick]!”

Pwooomph!

A cloud of wooden debris blasted inwards, propelled less by Coppelia’s sweeping leg and more by my huff of indignation.

The destruction should have been far worse.

Not only because my huffs contained the power to send servants from my bedroom door to any part of the continent where the exact shade of burgundy grapes I wished to toss away could be found. But because the dust, wooden chips and a metal bolt which had failed the Coppelia test was the greatest decoration this chamber now had to offer.

I stepped inside, all the while regretting each inch Starlight Grace illuminated.

A truly barren wasteland met me. Even the clearing outside was less empty than this. At least that boasted a handful of daisies in the grass. 

But this?

Why, there wasn’t even a single full length portrait of the owner to be constantly vandalised! 

I shouldn’t be surprised, of course. It didn’t matter whether it was nobility pinching at crowns or suspicious robed men summoning fiends from the abyss. Any who procured their lairs from a brochure possessed the same void of standards.

A significant problem.

I’d already consigned myself to mocking whatever featureless abode the baroness was hiding in. And yet with a single glance, it was clear I was going to have to consider even more.

Ugh. The pains I had to endure. To steal what insults I had was an inconvenience beyond whatever foul scheme I’d fallen upon–and I intended for every morsel of my time to be repaid in full.

Fortunately, the robed man was already well on his way to contrition.

For one thing, he was already grovelling upon the hard ground. 

Hands shielding his beard, he coughed to the dust billowing into his stock dark tower. A last, valiant attempt by the remains of his door to shield my eyes.

Sadly, I knew that even if all the dust and grime which clung to the ceilings of my inns were concentrated into this chamber, it still wouldn’t be enough to hide a sight almost as poor as this man’s lack of decorum.

A bloodied circle alight with foul magic. 

Even with the candles now freshly extinguished, the shape glowed amidst the scattered dust.

Within it, a bound and gagged figure fought against her restraints. Tears streamed down a puffy face, matching the width of her desperate eyes.

“Mmmhghh … mgghghmm … mmmgghhh …!”

A truly horrific sight.

A peasant.

And one without a speck of soil on her puffy face. Simply awful. Productivity was measured in specks of dirt, and yet this woman had clearly been imprisoned long enough that her tears had wiped it all away. 

Somewhere, a field of wheat was now acting as the training ground for the next colony of caterpillars. And where would they go once they were done devouring my unworked fields? 

Yes, my defenceless orchard!

“You.” I stepped before the writhing figure on the ground, Starlight Grace piercing through the dust. “Explain in five words or fewer what the meaning of this is. Why is a peasant being prevented from undertaking her lawful work? Have you any idea how hard it is to motivate them to work under normal circumstances? Your interference is neither appreciated, nor required.”

Eyes flashed with indignation. And then colour. A speckle of shimmering violet as the robed man rose to his feet.

“How … How dare you! Do you–”

I held up my finger.

“I said five words or fewer. Start again.”

“I’ll do no such thing!”

Hmm.

A highly unorthodox explanation, even if it was under the word limit. But I suppose that anyone who put so little thought into their abode that they purchased from a brochure could hardly be expected to form coherent answers also.

“Very well. You may offer a longer explanation. What low-brow scheme have I wandered upon now?”

“You may give an explanation! This … This is my tower! Do you just blithely destroy people’s doors and waltz into homes anywhere you please?!”

I blinked.

“... Yes?”

The man’s mouth fell open.

His shock was hardly warranted. Nor was his obvious indignation. I went where I wanted and did what I wished. Anyone could do that. As long as they were me. 

After a moment, he gritted his teeth, dust still billowing around his form.

“Do you have any notion of who I am?”

“Yes. A generic robed man.”

“A generic robed man?!” He raised his arms in exasperation. “I am the Great Wizard Dorlund! And you’ve just broken into my sanctum!”

My hand almost failed to reach my smiling lips fast enough, such was the speed at which the first of my melodic laughter rang out.

“Ohhohohohohohhohohohohohoho … Great Wizard, you say! And what magic do you specialise in? Poverty? Why, you possess the most inexpensive dark tower available, and yet you clearly have no funds left for either tailored robes or the most meagre of chaise sofas!”

Outrage came at me. First as a red flush barely hinted at beneath the man’s beard. And then secondly as an orb of crackling light forming between both palms. 

His nostrils flared as he stepped forward.

“The upstairs is fully furnished! This is where I do my work!”

“Work?” I pointed at the gagged peasant, her tears lost amidst the snot. “This is the opposite of work. You are preventing this farmer from toiling over a field while only wishing she was stolen away for some dark ritual. Who is going to tend to the fields after she’s sacrificed? You?”

For a moment, the orb of power surged in his palms.

And then, they fizzled out, smoke joining the billowing dust as he instead pointed at the sacrifice within the sacrificial circle surrounded by instruments of sacrificial ritual torture.

“I am not planning on sacrificing this woman!”

“No? Then what else would this be? A blood mage hoping to sap away a life’s essence? A necromancer seeking to create a new skeletal familiar? I certainly hope you’ve taken longer on deciding how you intend to deprive my kingdom of working labour than you have on which dark tower you’ve chosen.”

Exasperation and grief painted every morsel of his face that I could see. 

Including his moustache, which twitched noticeably.

… Very well. I’ll acknowledge that was somewhat impressive.

Once more, he pointed to the gagged and bound woman, her tears no less pronounced despite the man’s words. And no wonder. To be the subject of torment by someone who didn’t even have the self care to dust himself off was humiliation beyond what any caged peasant was permitted.

“This, I assure you, is all a misunderstanding.”

“Clearly it is, if you believe I’m blind to the bloodied circle, the ritualistic candles, the murder instruments and the black robes.”

“And the beard,” added Coppelia, poking my arm.

“And the beard,” I agreed.

“What has my beard got to do with my trustworthiness?!”

The man gesticulated with general anguish. 

All I saw was the way the ends of his twirly moustache flailed and bounced. Clearly suspect. As was the way he tightly closed his eyes as he sought to calm himself.

A moment later, he expelled a smattering of dust with a smart cough.

“Ahem … out of respect for the fact you appear not to be here to burgle me, I shall offer an explanation before I throw you outside and conjure a door of my own. This woman is not steeped in terror because of me. But something else entirely. A condition as virulent as it is fascinating. And I am endeavouring to study it.”

He paused.

“And curing it.”

“Mmmrghhh … hic … mmmrrhhgh … Mmmrrmggh!!”

Nearby, the peasant hiccuped between her tears, her eyes wide with desperation. I assessed her for a moment.

And then–

I gasped.

“Are you … Are you telling me being a peasant is now contagious?”

“What? No. It’s not a disease. At least I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?!”

I took a step away, aghast that my every action up until this point was in danger of becoming undone. To my horror, the robed man didn’t seek to reassure me again.

“There’s much I don’t know about her affliction. I found her wandering near my tower, as lost to terrors then as she is now. I believe her to be a local resident. Naturally, I offloaded her to the sisters. But when I was informed they hadn’t an inkling of what maligned her, my interest was piqued enough that I opted to offer my magic where healing had failed. A stroke of fortune for this woman, to now be treated by the Great Wizard Dorlund.”

He pursed his lips.

“Not generic robed man.”

I gave the generic robed man the raised brow he deserved. 

The sword I chose not to lower promptly pointed towards the only furnishing he possessed. A table filled with instruments only fit for use in a stone quarry.

“Excuse me, but these are tools not even used by the most sadistic of sisters. Now, I understand that committing ethically dubious research with no oversight in some dark tower is likely what you’ve always dreamed of. But this is simply far too tacky.”

A nose wrinkled with indignation.

“I assure you that everything’s above board. I document all of my actions extensively. I intend to perform a full metaphysical examination. All that you see here is merely to assist me in the temporary extraction of her soul.”

My mouth widened, certain I’d misheard.

“You wish to remove her soul?”

“Indeed. As the process is neither a pleasant nor a quiet experience, it’s necessary to keep her bound for her safety. At least until consciousness has left her entirely. Nothing here is particularly unordinary.”

There was much I could say regarding this.

I chose to point at those beside me instead.

Renise was covering her mouth in abject horror. Coppelia was nodding along with academic interest. Both were expressions which should concern him.

He paused at the sight.

“I understand how nefarious the wording is. But this is necessary. It is no ordinary magic which assails her. It is an affliction resistant to even the remedies of the Holy Church.”

“So you intend to … what, exactly? Chop up this peasant’s soul?”

“Well, I wouldn’t use such crude words. There exists a measure of risk, yes, but I am the greatest mitigation there is. If an archer fails to land a shot, this is not the fault of the arrow, but merely the skill of its user. And I, as the Great Wizard Dorlund, happen to be the finest marksman in the arcane.”

I didn’t bother hiding my groan. On the contrary, I couldn’t sound my grief clearly enough.

Why, the absolute amateurs who made up the ranks of mages!

If they couldn’t burn it with fire, they had to whack it with mallets and knives! Why not offer this task to a butcher? They at least were more experienced in the nitty gritty of barbarism!

Honestly! Did this man not have any notion of how fragile the souls of my peasants were? They existed in a state of perfect harmony! Too broken to resist their calling, but whole enough to function to a minimal standard! 

This man … playing with bits and pieces wasn’t going to help! 

No, I refused to consider it. Those with minimal souls performed minimal work. How would my carpe farcie aux nouilles et à l'orange taste if I knew there was no sweat, no exertion, and no ill will flavouring each savoury bite?

Why, I might as well stick to rosemary as my only seasoning!

And thus–I strode towards the peasant in the cage, a healing smile reaching before me like a ray of joy. Yes, even if it did look remarkably like my shadow.

The generic robed man blinked.

“Excuse me … but what are you doing?”

“Saving us all from the sight of your shoddy work. You may put aside your hatchet and your chisel. The amputation isn’t necessary. Rejoice, for a healer blessed by the heavens is upon you.”

The robed man threw up his arms.

“I don’t even know who you are!”

“Who I am is a guiding light whose healing has brought back every lost lamb back to the flock … and so I shall use my extensive medical knowledge to show you how this is done.”

Indeed!

From drooling maids to drooling mermaids, I currently boasted a successful healing percentage to match every other endeavour I’d undertaken! If I had a problem which couldn’t be fixed with my boot, then it could be fixed with my healing touch!

… Or in this farmer’s case, a light flick to the forehead!

“Listen, random girl in my tower. I don’t know who you are, but the idea you could cure a complex and unknown magical ailment beyond the capabilities of sisters is highly improbable.”

“Ohohoho … then isn’t it just as well that my healing touch is far superior to anything those vultures can accomplish? Now please have an appropriate gasp at the ready. To miss your cue is a worse thing than anything your sawblade could have achieved.”

I waited for the complaints I’d be ignoring. 

Strangely, the indignation I expected was replaced by something else … because for the first time, the generic robed man now studied me beyond my general beauty.

He blinked at the sword in my hand. 

Despite it being as resplendent as any star above, he narrowed his eyes as though only seeing it for the first time. He did the same towards the rest of me, his gaze as focused as any court dignitary counting the number of crushed garnets making up the sequin lining of my dress.

I flicked my hair, well-accustomed to such examinations–as well as passing them with distinction.

Offering an image of my angelic smile, I leaned towards the farmer struggling in her cage.

“Mmmmmmmmmrrghhh!!!”

Fresh tears suddenly began streaking down her cheeks as she peeled away from me.

Troubling. A clear sign that whatever afflicted her was becoming worse by the moment. I peered closer, utilising all the medical knowledge instilled in me as I closely studied the peasant.

My prognosis–still a peasant.

Terrible.

While I could bring drooling maids and mermaids back from the brink, this was an altogether different challenge. My healing touch could work miracles, but it couldn’t turn aside status. That was a weight which only a significant donation to the Royal Treasury could cure.

Still, I reached out to offer a healing fingertip–forehead flick edition.

I couldn’t cure her of her most crushing debilitation. But I could at least do away with whatever unexplained curse was inhibiting her. 

Compared to poverty, a physical ailment was nothing.

Especially if it was one which wouldn’t even require my healing touch to cure.

As I leaned over her, a curious thing caught my eye.

“... My, isn’t this unusual?”

The smallest thing, almost indiscernible to most.

But to a princess, it was as stark as a crease on a velvet pillow.

Because my shadow, heavier than anything cast by even the monarchs of other nations … failed to loom over the peasant’s. 

Hers was darker still. A shade of blackness matched only by the hearts of my tutors.

I turned around at once.

“Ohohohohoho … you may rejoice, generic robed man. For in me, you have a wellspring of learning to best any other mage in shop purchased robes.”

“My robes fit and are comfortable! … And there is no possible manner you’ve discerned what is wrong with this subject only through a brief visual observation. I have spent weeks observing her.”

“And that is the problem. The source of her ailment isn’t upon her.”

“What? Then where is it?”

I pointed with my finger.

“Her shadow.”

“Her shadow?” The robed man’s eyes widened as he swept around to the woman’s back. He promptly sent a frown towards me. “This cannot be right. I sense no magic there.”

I smiled. And there was my cue.

“Is that so? Well then … allow me to make it clear enough that even your eyes can see.”

With a sweep of my hand, I raised Starlight Grace over the woman’s shadow.

It failed to disperse. As clear as a spider caught beneath the sun, it squirmed instead, pulsing and frightened. A monster in the dark, caught beneath my gaze. And still it remained stubbornly attached to the peasant. 

For now.

Without hesitation, I reached forward … and expertly prodded the shadow with my sword. 

“Poke.”

To my chagrin, it didn’t combust into a thousand fragments.

Instead … it moved.

Parting like a flowing stream around a stone, its reaction was immediate. Instinctive. Just like any other shadow retreating from the light.

A moment later–

It began to expand.

Suddenly stretching from the woman’s back, it formed an elongated puddle upon the floor. One which promptly began to rise, building upon itself like the clay bust of my grandmother which somehow continued to grow despite nobody in their right mind adding to it.

The shadow snapped from the peasant to strings of melting darkness, slithering away to emerge as its own entity. 

A shapeless, towering thing which twisted and morphed, radiating an aura of malice and death.

“Nnnngh ……”

A puffy cheeked woman peered behind herself at what previously inhabited her shadow. 

Tears no longer fell from her eyes. 

Instead, a cold, lonely acceptance rested upon her face as she stared upon this avatar of evil. All will to live was as absent from her expression as it was from her pitiful whimper.

Hmmmmmm.

I gave it a moment’s thought.

And then–I turned to all those present and smiled.

“I fixed her.”