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Ophelia didn’t do half measures.

She did full measures. Because contrary to popular belief, she did everything seriously.

Whether that was burgling from the fae, setting off to murder dragons or carefully doing half a lazy stretch each fortnight, Ophelia the Snow Dancer took everything seriously. It’s just that it seemed like she didn’t. Because she was also amazing. And because she’s amazing, she did everything with breathtaking competency.

And that meant her only foe was boredom. 

A relentless enemy, and one which struck harder the more Ophelia fought against the tide. She could now pick locks as easily as she could knit a woollen jumper embroidered with a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. And as soon as the jigsaw puzzles started coming out, that’s when Ophelia realised she was in deep trouble.

That all changed recently.

Because for the first time since … whenever she never actually bothered to count, Ophelia had a goal beyond finding new ways to annoy people who mistakenly thought they were stronger than her.

She needed to reach S-rank.

The pinnacle of martial ability. Only the famous and the infamous had ever achieved the rank. Those who did were more than kingmakers. They were kings themselves. Or empresses. Or grand king emperor duke of fairyland. S-ranks didn’t really play by the rules. They decided them. And that meant fancy titles too.

Ophelia had never cared for any of that. 

She still didn’t. The grand king emperor duke part at least. Mostly since she considered the rank to be aesthetic only. 

Until recently, she’d more or less considered herself S-rank already. 

Even if the finest legends in history were to rise from the grave and challenge her in their heyday, she was pretty certain she could at least murder them at the same time they murdered her.

And then a human girl with a sword sent her face into a pillar. 

That really hurt. 

Physically, not emotionally. 

Because whereas others would find their pride stung beneath a pile of dust and rubble, Ophelia had swiped away the trail of blood and winced at the bump on her head with a smile as bright as the flame of her newly invigorated enthusiasm.

Which was why–

“Hmm hm hmm hm hmm hmmmmm ♫~”

Ophelia found herself whistling while she scaled the imposing walls of the Rensdraldt Fortress.

Deftly clinging onto the smallest protrusions with one hand, she climbed the literal face of Granholtz’s border with little regard to the drop. Mostly because she was more concerned with the guys with crossbows upon the ramparts.

“Hnng … hnngggaaaahhhhhh~” 

And then she heard the yawning, as loud as a rooster’s cry.

The sound of snoring came soon after.

Ophelia rolled her eyes. 

Guards. 

The same wherever she went. 

Ophelia didn’t blame them. Being a guard was one of the worst jobs in the world. After all, it meant dealing with people like her. 

And then there was the fact that of all the postings a guard could receive, they were here. Being stationed on the border with the Kingdom of Tirea had to be either a punishment or a cure for insomnia.

No crossbow bolts, then. Not yet. But even if there were, the only thing which truly threatened her fall were her unwieldy passengers.

Quack, quack. Quack, quack.

Ophelia stopped to re-adjust Duck A sitting on her head. 

Only Duck B had the express passenger treatment under one arm. It wasn’t particularly fair. But then again, Duck A’s indestructibility wasn’t fair, either.

Luckily, her ducks were friendly. And that included towards each other.

As a result, Ophelia climbed using a single arm and a lot of disregard towards health and safety. And that was great. It’d been a while since she’d climbed anywhere like this. That made this good practice. Dragon lairs were famously always in hard to reach places, after all. 

“Hup~”

As silent as a shadow amongst snow, Ophelia lifted herself up the battlements. 

Soon, she was high enough that her palm could slap against the face of a glass panel. A nice glass panel, too. Stained the colour of a rainbow. Just like those found in cozy churches and cathedrals. 

That spoke about the likelihood of conflict more than the yawning guards did. 

Satisfied that no archers were waiting to pelt her backside while she was busy, she carefully nudged the glass window open with her pinky. The moment she did, a plethora of voices competed against the wind for her attention.

“... more swiftly now. But carefully. Don’t touch the lids.”

“This would be easier if they weren’t also filled with wine.”

“This would be easier if you complained less. Now be careful. I’m certain you have other things you’d like as your last sight other than my frown.”

“You underestimate us, Aleesa. Your frown happens to be the reason all of us volunteered to be here.”

A chorus of gentle laughter sounded from within.

Gentle. And considerably unlike the drunken laughter of soldiers. And yet Ophelia knew immediately that these were not voices belonging to any servants. Their voices were far too proud, their tones delicate and measured.

Ophelia was shocked. 

Elves.

She knew what to expect even before she raised her head. Even so, both she and Duck A sitting upon her bed of silver hair blinked in unison.

Elves. And not just a few. But an entire room of elves.

That went beyond highly unusual. It was just bizarre. 

Because of all the places in the world Ophelia would have expected to find a bunch of her kind outside of the forests … well, a somewhat nice room with a red carpet, chandeliers and a walnut desk was definitely one of them. 

But not one which also happened to be inside a border fortress belonging to the Grand Duchy of Granholtz.

There were few reasons for elves to wander from the safety and sanctity of the tribes. Often, they were representatives selling off the stuff the tribe made which wasn’t good enough for themselves. Or they were eccentrics like Ophelia, who found life in a forest both hopelessly boring and unashamedly green. Just green. 

Ophelia liked the colour as much as anyone, but even so, she was constantly amazed at how nobody else went mad just looking at the same colour all day. 

Of course, it wasn’t impossible for so many elves to gather outside of the forests. Their delegations were as large as any. Even as nomads, elves kept up their diplomatic relations. They were very good at it. They needed to in order to make a living residing on the edges of other people’s kingdoms.

This, however, wasn’t a reception.

For one thing, she’d tried the wine branded on those barrels not at all suspiciously being bundled together into the corner of the room. It was terrible.

And for another, none of these elves were dressed like diplomats.

They were garbed almost entirely in blackened armour. A lovely fit for all their golden hair and colourful eyes. A striking contrast. Ophelia didn’t really do fashion, but even she could see they looked sort of cool and imposing.

And why not?

For elven saboteurs, that was always the absolute focus.

Suddenly, the laughter died down as the door to the room parted. Over two dozen glances accompanied by the glint of silvered steel met it. And then a sea of bodies parted to allow a lone figure to hurry forth, almost tripping over his own footsteps as he did so.

“Aleesa … captain, I have a report.”

A woman in the darkest attire yet looked up from a desk which probably didn’t belong to her, piled high with armaments which most definitely didn’t. 

After all, they were weapons and uniforms bearing the colours and livery of both the Kingdom of Tirea and the Grand Duchy of Granholtz.

“Go.”

“The Contzen boy was sighted by–”

“Prince Tristan.”

“Captain?”

“His name is Prince Tristan. Not the Contzen boy. His title should be respected, not least for the stubborn maturity he’s shown. Now proceed.”

“Yes, captain. Prince Tristan has been sighted by Granholtz’s scouts. He’s crossed the river with a strong cadre of knights.”

“Then we move. Begin the preparations.”

“Captain, wait … he’s ridden north of it.”

“North? Not east? Are you certain?”

“As certain as the reports and the chattering of the soldiers. Their words support the claim.”

“... Why? For what reason could he have ridden north of the divide? There should be no indication that the hidden enclosure is there. Not even an errant butterfly would have betrayed its location.”

“I don’t know. But the Contzen … but Prince Tristan is famed for his military prowess. Perhaps we weren’t as diligent as we’d believed.”

“Apparently so. A dangerous opponent. And one I’ll be glad to set the hounds–”

“C-Captain …”

“Yes?”

“I …”

“What is it? Is there more to the report?”

“No … not the report … there’s … captain, I … I don’t think she’s meant to be here.”

A finger pointed towards the only silver haired elf present.

Ophelia briefly paused. 

Having entered via the window, she offered a polite smile of puzzlement, then a nod of acknowledgement … before continuing her totally discreet shuffling towards the door.

“Oh hey, don’t mind me. You guys keep doing whatever shady plotting you’re doing. I’m just passing through. Need to kill a dragon. Fancy meeting all of you here though, huh? Wow, who knew there were so many elves out and about. Good to see more of us getting away from those stuffy forests filled with beetles and earthworms going through our hair every night.”

Gobsmacked faces met Ophelia as she gave a small whistle.

Then, amidst the dropped jaws and widened eyes, the woman at the desk stood straighter, her eyes widening in the way they all did whenever Ophelia’s fame, beauty and general murder ability preceded her.

“You … Snow Dancer?!”

“Nope. Not me. Never heard of her. Who’s that? I bet she’s nice.”

The woman made no reaction other than to stare. 

Ophelia used that moment to steal several more shuffles towards the door.

“No … there can be no denying it. That silver hair. The sapphire sword. You’re Ophelia. The Snow Dancer. What are … Why are you … Why do you have a duck on your head? Under your arm?”

“The question isn’t why I have a duck on my head or under my arm. It’s why shouldn’t I have a duck on my head or under my arm?”

For a single moment, the other woman looked like she wanted to query the deep meaning behind Ophelia’s response.

It passed. Just as it always did. 

Ophelia didn’t understand why. She was more than happy to elaborate.

“Why are you here?” the woman asked instead, looking resolutely away from both her ducks. 

“Like I said, just passing through.” 

“Is … Is that a jest? Did His Majesty send you?”

“His who now?”

“His Majesty. King Eucian.”

“... Who?”

A confused and slightly scandalised blink met Ophelia’s query.

“Eucian of the Stars. Our sire, saviour and justice … the Elven King.”

“Oh, that guy. I forgot about him.” A number of jaws audibly cracked as they widened further. “But yeah, no. He didn’t send me here. I’m just passing through. Seriously, I feel like I said that already. I’m off to kill a dragon.”

“A dragon?”

“A dragon. Big, scary and sits on a lot of treasure. Speaking of treasure, have any of you seen anywhere that looks like a treasury around here? Because as counterintuitive as it is to place valuables in a place made for war, its very design means it also doubles up as a great place to store important belongings. It’s basically a vault that comes with free security. No? Okay, that’s fine. I’ll look for it myself. Anyway, good luck with your scheming! It looks like a lot of fun.”

Ophelia finally made her way to the door. She offered a polite nod of acknowledgement. The universal sign for a prompt exit.

“Snow Dancer, wait.”

Without answering, Ophelia reached for the door handle.

Thwunk.

Immediately, a delicate elven knife embedded itself into the bit where Ophelia’s fingers were about to touch.

“I said wait.”

The other woman’s voice became firm. 

As her brows creased, the rest of the elven gathering finally woke from their stupor, their postures straightening alongside the tell-tale sound of a very elven conversation ahead. 

That either meant a lot of bad poetry or a lot of violence.

And that was fine.

Ophelia was fluent in both. And so were her ducks.