Marielle Granfell, the heroine who repelled the Dragon of Calamity twice in her short stay at Nagan-Tal, was recalled to a fortress some ways away, in a city called Granica. Though her mother country was accustomed to battling against demons, as soon as the dragon retreated, their assault on Granfell’s border counties had greatly intensified.
Only a Hero could turn the tides, and though she was exhausted from her prior clash with the dragon, the swordswoman bravely embarked on her campaign against evil, again. Soon, her selflessness, power and great list of achievements had taken the country by storm, and her legend grew.
Among the common people, a rumor began to circulate. A rumor that Marielle was the second coming of the country’s founder, the Saint of White, who once drove off the fiends and inhuman beasts that plagued ancient Granfell.
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During her brief break from fighting, Marielle tossed and turned in her bed, tortured by feverish visions.
Maidstaff, alongside the Abbess, Collette, worked day and night to ensure her survival, under the false impression that they’d be rewarded by the crown for their actions. And thanks to their efforts, her condition stabilized. Little by little, the power in her body began to return.
Days before she was slated to recover, a runner from the capital came bearing orders – to abandon Nagan-Tal’s outer waste and retreat to a fortress in its heartland. An army of monsters, ten thousand strong, would arrive before the end of the week. It was a race against time.
“…”
The princess’ breathing lost its stable rhythm, and, with labored movements, she opened her eyes and tried to rise from bed.
“Please stay put, Your Highness.”
“Annie. Is there anyone else in the tent with us?”
“Not at all.”
“…”
“Did you want to say somethi-!!!”
When the lady in waiting looked down at her charge’s face, she saw her shrunken cheeks red and wet with tears. It was an expression so foreign and unlike her, that, for a moment, Annie thought that the princess’ wounds had reopened. But then, a choked whimper slipped from the swordswoman’s lips.
“A-aa-ahhh!”
Even as she cried, she suppressed every little sound, down to her erratic breathing. Annie held the sobbing Marielle’s hand tightly, and said the one thing she thought was appropriate in a hushed tone, so that the maids outside couldn’t hear them.
“Well done. Thank you for coming back.”
“Ugh! You! You should be the princess instead of me!”
“You’re not someone replaceable, your Highness.”
“Y-you know I didn’t mean it like that!”
“I apologize.”
“Ugh…”
Her only ally, and her childhood friend, who abandoned everything to follow her into a land of dead trees and monsters. The princess knew she could afford to show her this display of weakness, but at the same time, felt ashamed to have to lean on someone’s shoulder, after inadvertently leading that same person to ruin.
“Annie… I’ll have to fight it again, won’t I?”
“…”
“But, somehow… I don’t feel so scared anymore.”
“And why is that? If it was me, honestly, I’d just have run away.”
“I don’t know why, but it hasn’t killed me. I get the feeling that its toying with us. If that thing really meant it, it'd have destroyed everything already.”
“Marielle... Even so, it's still killing people. Have you seen what the monsters around it do? Ten of those brave boys from Rollo’s company died in the last attack!”
“You’re right. This is so much like our days back at the castle, its making me sick. First sister did nothing but distract everyone with games and pleasantries, while her goonies went wild behind the scenes…”
“Heee... Please don't compare the first princess to a giant snake, or i'll be in trouble too."
“Oh, by no means. I'd feel sorry for the snake."
"Oh, be quiet! Just lie back down and rest, alright? We’ll have to leave soon.”
“Leave? Where?”
“Granica’s fortress, on the Grand Duke’s orders.”
“Ugh... I hope I’ll never see that kid’s face again!”
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The Grand Duke of Dusk, who ruled over all of Granfell’s Western Provinces, observed the fortress town's market plaza through a stained glass window. Finding nothing better to do with his time, he reminisced on a spy’s recent report. It was indeed upsetting to be called a kid, especially at his sensitive age. Nevertheless, to know that his sister, the second princess, was beaten up and soiled her dress with bucket loads of tears brought a smile to his face. The overflowing sense of superiority invigorated him to the point he deigned to step down from his chair and walk.
“Governor! I’m going to meet knight Marielle at the gates!”
“Your Excellency, perhaps, addressing her Highness as a knight, isn’t…”
“Haaaaaaah???!!!”
“Oh, I was only saying, perhaps it’s too verbose! I’ll prepare the reception right away.”
“Bahahahah! It’s nice to be surrounded by intelligent guys like you, for a change.”
Taking travel time into account, Rollo’s company, and all of Marielle’s aides and attendants, were moments from arriving at Granica’s gates. He couldn’t wait to see how much his sister’s blood power had developed, and make a mockery of her efforts. That is, because the Duke’s own bloomed to immense proportions at the tender age of 6, and only increased since. At only 17, he'd attained a level of mastery that rivaled that of ancient heroes. There was only one roadblock on his way towards being unrivaled in all of Granfell. A certain person who outshined him ever since he was little, but recently, disappeared from the public eye on a suicidal campaign.
“Damn… That pitch-stained lowlife… This time, I’ll really make a fool out of you!”
It wasn’t only arrogance. In truth, he’d only seized the position of Duke thanks to the sheer volume of blood power his body could hold, which he used to unilaterally crush older practitioners who relied on precise control more than raw strength, and to accrue achievement after achievement.
The Duke of Dusk, a willing host for all manner of parasites, allowed criminals, low lives, overly pretentious warrior-aristocrats, and worst of all, courtiers and bureaucrats, to nest in his social circle. His few trusted aides sifted through this filth to retrieve knowledge and resources, disposing of unrecyclable trash and feeding the hungry with empty promises of career advancement and riches.
And, just like that, he transcended the limits of raw strength and became the most well-informed person in the country, spreading the tendrils of his intelligence network ahead of destructive raids, which, he personally commandeered. That was the kind of man the Duke of Dusk was known to be. And, whenever he said something would happen, it would, inevitably, take place.
Like clockwork, the advance force, with Rollo and two closed, armored carriages at the head, arrived at Granica’s military checkpoint. Just in time for him and his retinue to prepare a reception.
For the first time in several years, his gold colored eyes met the black of Marielle Granfell, as she stepped out and faced the gates. And he couldn’t say what disgusted him more. The woman’s mere presence, or the displeased expression on her face.
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At the core of all arts that harnessed blood power was an intangible substance that flowed through the veins of certain aristocratic families. All of them shared common origins, in the marauding tribes that the Saint of White subjugated when he established Granfell’s New Kingdom. And as for the royal family, whose dynasty was an unbroken chain that stretched back hundreds of years, theirs was a little unique.
Unlike the ordinary practitioners, trueborn heirs of the Granfell family had an immense potential for growth. Unfortunately, the nature of royalty was such that they couldn’t marry below the rank of Duke, and so, Granfell and its surrounding countries were ruled by an odd dozen paternal cousins.
Such stagnant blood invited frailty, of both body and mind, and, though still rare in the current age, deformities. Especially at this time of war and suspicion, Granfell’s signature snow white complexion and eyes of gold were the mark of a true-born heir and of purity. So, naturally, when one among them was born different, they were rejected, and seen as a defect. As proof of decline that marred the reputation of their lineage.
“Knight Marielle. Congratulations on driving off the giant lizard.”
The Duke of Dusk, Anthelm Granfell, addressed the princess with a face that projected visceral revulsion. They were sitting on the opposite sides of the dining table, as though to make as much distance as possible. And while the two stared each other down, each like a slipper assessing a cockroach, Granica’s governor broke out in cold sweat and tremors, praying dearly that the superhumans in front of him would end it with words only.
The governor found himself at a standstill. No, between a rock and a hard place. If he addressed Marielle Granfell as “knight”, he would please the Duke, but commit lese majeste. And if he addressed her as “Your Highness” or “Princess”, the young Anthelm would be dissatisfied, and invoke lese majeste. Of course, to be accused of intentionally humiliating a Grand Duke, whose rank was superior to a prince, was a dreadful fate. Moreover, if he said nothing through the entire dinner, being the host, and all, he would lose standing at court and his position as governor would be threatened.
“Mistress Marielle, Lord Anthelm, if it’s not inconvenient, s-shall we discuss the battle plans over tea?”
He found an opening in the devious trap of forced discourtesy and struck. They had just finished eating, though neither could stomach more than a few bites. It was the perfect reason to speak up, and neither could fault him. And, from his experience as Rollo Nagan’s house servant, he knew no aristocrat could fault one for addressing them as “master”. Moreover, "Lord", an infinitely vague term, was occasionally interchangeable with "Duke". It was an ingenious plan. And yet, to the man's utter horror, both royal heirs wore displeased expressions.
“Very well! But before that, why don’t we exercise to aid in digestion?”
“What are you saying, Duke?”
“It’s been a while since we last met, Knight Marielle. I’d be delighted to see the famous Transient Blade in action.”
“Ah, your Excellency, the truth is, she has been injured recently-!”
“No, it’s alright. It’s only right for the older and more experienced to mentor the young.”
The terrified governor watched as they lunged at each other with veiled insults like vipers, and, once again, prayed in his heart. It was a scene he, as a person of lowly origins who had no knowledge of the high nobles' affairs, couldn't help but be overwhelmed by. And in his heart, the governor addressed the great and boundless Heavens with just one request. To not be blown away together with the fortress when they fought.
