Pain and fear.

  Giselle couldn’t recall feeling anything other than those two things in the last few decades of her life. She was broken and remade by the Prince of Beaumont, who slew his father and now was King in name only. Even he was a slave to another’s power, like she was under his magic.

  He was the one who personally placed the corpses of her mother, her father, her lover and all her siblings on spears. He was the one who gave the Emperor her family’s blood. If they did not submit, then they were made into lessons to be consumed by the snows of the Spirewatcher. The Flametongues don’t submit, and she wouldn’t either. Even if she was the last one standing. It was not until the King looked at her and smiled.

  “This is the one that will be my tool, take her away. Kill the rest.”

  But it wasn’t so easy. She had carved her escape. Half a century later, she finally got caught, but only after she avenged her family and left a trail of those dead creatures behind her. She remembered the faces of those Hunters who did it, and she remembered wanting to return the fear and pain back to them tenfold.

  That was the last drop of happiness she had felt since she was taken by the King. Now, years of slaughtering His Majesty’s enemies and being beaten down had dulled her desire for freedom. She had even forgotten what it was like to feel fear and pain. Now, as the last Flametongue, all she awaited was death by glory.

  The King, having other pets to play with, has left her to her own devices lately, so now she led her own warpath in the Adventurer’s Guild and gained quite a ruthless reputation for herself again. She even regained a little bit of her former self from those decades ago. The one that slew Hunters without a collar.

  However, the reality of her captivity was so easy to fit into if she couldn’t see the prison bars that bound her to him. These days, she wonders if the flaming curse within her bosom wasn’t present within her, if she could settle down in an isolated town or continue to blaze her way to the Seven Princes herself. It seemed that honing her skills through bloodshed and gaining wealth were the only two things she truly loved.

  This mission was a reminder that he still had his grasp on her heart and her soul. The burning grip on her mind never dulled. Yet, as she lay in the mud, she could not help but wonder: So now, what in the bloody blazes was that thing?

  How did she, Giselle Flametongue, get so easily swatted by a frail-looking woman, a lesser human Hunter no less? Her temper flared up in the black darkness, but her eyes remained squeezed shut. She didn’t know if she was alive or dead, but right now, she didn’t give a shite. She raged. She had never known defeat so pure as this. She had never suffered her bones breaking from such tremendous force.

  Think, Giselle, use that dumb thing in your skull and figure out something so you can get back at her!

  AGH! It was no use! She wanted to slam her forehead open to see if there even was a brain inside. She read about brains— She knew people who had them, she spilled plenty of them on the fields of battle, so she assumed one was inside of her head as well. But it was no goddamn use! All she could remember was staring in that witch’s eyes, a beautiful yet unkind face. The visage of uncaring death itself, so utterly indifferent, even as her tiny hands shattered Giselle’s wrists into powder. She didn’t even brag as she effortlessly matched her own speed, honed from centuries of battles.

  It— It infuriated her. She, Giselle Flametongue… Losing? Something else excited her. A beautiful girl, thin and soft, had manage to viciously tear her defenses apart and defeat her with such brute strength!

  Her mind began to twist into strange fantasies. There was a woman underneath those tattered clothes. They had been torn up, like she had been sailing for months in one of the Siren’s Calamitous Rifts. Pale white skin, and soft features that seemed otherworldly.

  Yeah, Giselle thought. I, the Butcher, could work with this woman. That is assuming she leaves my arms alone.

  Stop that, Giselle! You’re pissed off. No, you’re absolutely furious. That lass had probably been shat out of her Bearer’s behind months ago. How did you lose to it? Fresh faced, yet, she was staring down at you all the same. She risked opening an eye.

  That blank face, surrounded by a backdrop of blue skies and trees, was looking down at her as if she was an insect. It was certainly a visage she wouldn’t forget. The magic that she wielded was something she absolutely had to be near at all cost.

  Giselle blinked. She was staring. She could picture the nightmare still standing right there. No, this wasn’t a terrible dream. Dawning horror fell in her entire world. The Hunter who defeated her was indeed watching her. Her lips were moving.

  Giselle half expected the Seven Princes were speaking through her. Or that perhaps, the Hunter was ushering her into a new lifetime of service and fealty. To feel fear and pain once more. She bit her tongue, but she couldn’t tell what the woman was saying. Plus… Menu?

  But it was her dark red eyes that drew her in. At the moment, they seemed… Unfocused. Like she was reading something. Then, that beautiful face remembered she existed— her pale lips moved. It felt like another lifetime had passed when the words finally registered in Giselle’s ears.

  “Giddy up, little birdie. It’s time to wake up, Giselle.”

  -X-

  Strange. The Plus Menu tag above Giselle’s body status said she was [Healthy] for now. Her eyes were staring right at me, and yet, she was not moving or speaking. Did my spell backfire?

  For someone so tough looking before I leveled up, I took her out rather quickly despite panicking like crazy. This Plus Menu was no joke. I frowned, tapped my feet, and crossed my arms. How long does healing take?

  The cold winds brushed across my face, and I could see snow under the shade of the nearby trees. It was quite nice not smelling the musty smell of dust and that strange earthy underground smell the Rift had. Traces of red glowing strands darting across the ground caught my attention. Was that a bug making those streaks of light? Or were my eyes playing tricks on me? A muffled groan escaped beneath me. Oh, the big girl was stirring awake.

  Before I could poke her with my staff, she moved. She gripped the end with a surprising amount of strength. I felt a hint of disdain from having my things touched and my instincts to smack her rose, but for some reason, whether it was the sparkle in her eyes or something else, I didn’t strike her. Instead, a small chuckle came from her.

  “You’re just going to leave a helpless woman like me on the ground?”

  I looked at her and my brain blue screened. Of all the fiery things the woman could have said, that was not a question I expected to hear. She must have seen the disgust forming on my face, because Giselle let out a loud boisterous laugh, making me regret that I healed her. If she wasn’t trying to kill me a few minutes ago, I would’ve avoided her from the start and run away. She reminded me of the early risers that would show up at ungodly hours near the end of my night shifts— way too happy and obnoxiously awake at 5am.

  That laugh was too lovely. And grating. Then, she lifted her helmet’s visor, revealing a beautiful set of lips, and burped, letting out a small wick of flames out of her mouth. I cringed. Nevermind, nothing about this woman was attractive to me anymore. A hand stuck out, but I ignored it.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “What, you’re not even going to help me up? Fine, fine, fine.”

  She awkwardly got up, scooped up a bag I didn’t even notice that she had dropped and snorted as she looked me over. Her demeanor was rigid. She towered over me, as if I didn’t give her a sound beating moments ago. I frowned, putting my hand on my hip and glared back, because I didn’t know what to say.

  “You’re a quiet Hunter, huh?” Giselle scoffed. “If you’re expecting a thanks, then don’t bother asking. You healed me, so you’d better get going, too. Because, uh…”

  She looked slightly sheepish as she gestured to the pile of colorful bodies lying around us. She kind of reminded me of a puppy, in a way, only wrapped in a mountain of iron armour. The contents in her bag in her hand clinked as she moved, followed by the swishing of displaced liquid. So, she likes to carry potions around, huh? After glancing at the glowing wound on her chest, I supposed that made sense. With my magic on, its fiery red glow nearly blinded me. It probably required a constant flow of healing.

  “Why should you go? You seemed like you were having fun,” I looked at her. Giselle looked at me, exasperated.

  “Seven Princes, I get it— you’re tough and all,” she groaned. She glanced over her shoulder at something beyond the shattered remains of the Ravenclast fortifications. “But if your House sends people here and finds us, well, like how we are right now, we’re not going to survive even if you patch me up again. Or if my… He… Gets me again, I’ll really die! Speaking of that, why did you heal me anyways? This is twice, now.”

  He? I thought for a moment, but ultimately shrugged. “Just to see what would happen.”

  The potions in her bag jingled again as she shook her head.

  “To think that I was the only crazy one,” she muttered, but I heard a hint of excitement stirring inside her, like she was smiling in her voice. “You’re crazier than me! I like that! We’d make a great team together. I wouldn’t have to lug these around all the time.”

  She held up the bag. I looked at them blankly and feigned ignorance. “And those are…?”

  “What are you, straight out of the Bearer’s sac? They’re potions, you—” A faint rustling noise interrupted Giselle, making her remember where she was. “We should get out of here while there’s still time!”

  “We?”

  Whoops, I said that aloud. I assumed her weird question was meant to be taken literal, but it was true, wasn’t it? I just got here a few days ago, after all. The woman’s armour clinked as she turned to look at me again. She even lifted her visor like they were sunglasses just enough to get a good glimpse at me. Her eyes practically declared that I was an alien growing three heads in front of her.

  “Fine,” I said. There wasn’t much else I could do.

  “That’s the spirit, little Hunter,” Giselle laughed. The metal on her visor clamped shut with a bang as she moved. “Better to die out there than to let those bastards find you, saviour. But— You, uh… You’re looking quite easy on the eyes right now.”

  She raised a pointed finger at my clothes as she stared at me. More specifically, her eyes were roaming up and down my body. I looked down, then felt my own face heat up a little. She could see a lot. My clothes situation, or lack of them, clearly needed immediate attention. I was mortified. So that’s why I was cold— I was quite exposed! And what did she mean by easy on the eyes? I’m a decent person! I covered myself up, and another bout of Giselle’s booming laughter shook the wilderness.

  I groaned. If anything, we were going to get caught because they heard her first.

  “Here, little Hunter. I can’t let my saviour look so undignified! We’ve just met!”

  Giselle dropped her bag of potions and clearly let her eyes wander over me for a few moments before turning to the ground, where a lot of Ravenclast Hunters were lying around. Then she got to collecting with clumsy care. I watched her bustle about her bloody handiwork, peeling relatively clean articles of clothing off of several of the corpses. If it wasn’t her fault, I’d find it slightly more amusing and endearing. For now, whatever she finds will do, I suppose.

  “This one’s got a cloak, so you can hide the insignias on them,” she muttered.

  She effortlessly lifted a dead girl’s body up, stripping the clothes off her and glanced at me, assessing my size. It fit.

  I wondered if this world had convenience magic in it, like cleaning bloodstains off and other gunk. That would be nice. Still, it was quite oddly endearing watching such a big figure act all caring. Like a big… mother hen, almost. A pile of clothes soon were gathered at my feet, but she was still muttering to herself while I took the time of her distraction to change into them. I caught sight of the red band wrapped around my wrist that survived this whole time, still miraculously intact under my torn sleeve. I decided to keep it on for no reason. Soon, a pile of clothes landed at my feet.

  “Should be enough. But she has storage magic, right. Perhaps more should be good? But this one’s sleeve is cut off, and that still has guts all over its back. Ugh!”

  She didn’t notice me changing, so that was good enough.

  “Alright, Giselle Flamethrower or whatever,” I said, stopping her. I pulled a cloak over myself and got ready to go.

  “It’s Giselle Flametongue, at your service, Mistress, ah, Ravenclast,” Giselle gave a mock bow, dropping another corpse. It splat on the rocky path, painting the stones brown. Mistress? I didn’t dislike the new title. “Best we’d get out of here, eh? Part ways at the foot of the mountain, mayhaps?”

  I followed her gaze down the path, and found that we were indeed on some kind of elevation. The place was too dark before, so I never noticed. I weighed my options for a moment. What was I supposed to do if I didn’t want to heal the Bearer? Leaving was the obvious choice, but this world was way too big for me to face alone. Forget it. With the current mess I was in I figured I’d be worse off if I stayed here. So I nodded.

  “Yeah, okay,” I grumbled, steeling myself.

  “It’s settled then, Hunter,” Giselle turned on her heel and took the lead. “I’ll be sure to bury you properly if you don’t make it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘don’t make it?’” I trailed behind her. Our steps softened as the gravel path turned to dirt as we passed by a broken gate bearing the Ravenclast emblem.

  Giselle’s cheerful tone dropped and she let out a harsh, grating laugh. Ah, that was more pleasant to my ears than the burp. My face remained placid, but one glance to my staff shut the woman up. Her gaze hardened.

  “You really don’t know, do you? Hunters like you are destined to die without their Bearer’s decree. And you—“

  Her blue eyes glinted with magic as she used a Skill on me. I instantly became wary. That light reminded me of the appraisal spell that Risa woman used with that ugly brain to read my power level. At the same time, a notification of my own popped up.

  ———————————————

  — Host has received the effects of Skill: Blood Tracking.

  — The Skill failed as the enemy is lower leveled.

  ———————————————

  Well, okay then. All of that for a convenient screen telling me I’m strong. Nice.

  “You don’t have a single drop of your precious Bearer’s blessed blood inside of you anymore. Guiding you out of here won’t take very long,” Giselle sneered. “You don’t even have a day left in you. Poor little Hunter.”

  Well, if that’s true, I supposed that’s why she’s so confident. I sighed. Could I die even if the Skill failed?

  What bothered me slightly more was the fact that I had been demoted from being her mistress to a little Hunter again. Her disdain for those guys and me by extension had to be because of that old King guy I saw. She probably had some tragic backstory making her bitter against those creatures. But thanks to her, I learned that Skills were usable by everyone in this world, not just Hunters. Interesting.

  I looked at my status again while she rambled on. Was I really an effervescent trinket, destined to die? Or was that my case, being a House Ravenclast experiment, unique in that regard? She was tracking my blood with that Skill somehow. More specifically, for the smell of the Bearer’s blood inside of me. She found none, and that’s what worried me. Do hunters die if there truly was none of that thing’s blood infused in them? I scrolled back a few notifications.

  ———————————————

  — Blood of the Ravenclast Bearer Purity Level: 100%—

  ———————————————

  “I remember now,” I sighed, closing the screen and feeling a phantom taste of bile bubbling up my throat. I shuddered. “That popped up when I survived that gross purple juice. Blegh.”

  “Are you even listening to me?” Giselle sighed, waving her hands over her head. “You could at least be a little upset over the bad news, you know. You’re… You’re not stupid in the head, are you?”

  She bent over to examine my face, while raising a finger to her head. I ignored her, casually tossing my staff into my Item Box. If the so-called Blood of the Ravenclast Bearer was purified by me and my trusty Plus Menu, then this knight couldn’t sniff it out. Therefore, the time limit of me dying without said drops of blood inside of me didn’t apply to me. Well, that was my current theory, and not a hopeful excuse I’ve made up while trying to dispel the notion I was going to die for some reason. There were way too many things to consider, and honestly it would be just nice to sit down and forget about all of it. But we had to go.

  “Look, let me worry about the dying part, okay? Just show me the way off this mountain.”

  Giselle let out a snort and held her hands to her hips like some kind of shrew.

  “Trying to get rid of me, huh? What if I say no?”

  “Well, I can always break your arms again,” I shrugged. “Or would you prefer me using the stick on you instead?”

  Giselle’s bravado shrank instantly, her eyes under her helmet’s visor widening. She raised her hands in surrender. Heh, teasing her was quite amusing!

  “Seven Princes, I yield! I was joking!” She spun on her heels, eager to lead the way. Then she stopped and asked with a furtive tone, like a kid asking for candy. “Can… Can I have my sword back?”

  “No.”

  Starry-Eyed Hero

  by QuiteTheSlacker

  Ten year old Astra has always dreamed of reaching the stars.

  As a humble farm boy living in the countryside, Astra's been surrounded by forests and flowing rivers his entire life. It's a routine full of family fun, community, and good ol' hard work... but sometimes, he'd lay on the grass at night and gaze out toward those bright stars above.

  He'd reach out with his hands, and he felt a yearning to see them: to form a bond crossed in starlight, regardless of the vast space between. Thus was a wish sent to the cosmos. One day, he too would shine just as bright.

  That opportunity would soon come in the form of a galaxy-wide competition for the chance to enter the most prestigious school in the milky way, Excelsior Academy, where noble children from the kingdoms of the Twelve Constellations are raised to become leaders, scholars, and most importantly warriors against meteoric monsters from beyond the void. The encroaching slither of the Constellars.

  Astra doesn't have a special bloodline, belong to a royal house, nor is he the chosen one. But against all these kids with powerful backgrounds and fated destinies, Astra has only one wish.

  To shine bright as a starry-eyed hero.