I could only remain silent when Captain Jora walked away, and even now, a frown was etched on my features. Am I thinking too much?

  It was natural for a kingdom’s princess not to reveal everything to a hired sword, but the way she said it… it was ominous. I wondered for a moment whether I’d gotten Ragna and myself into deep trouble or not.

  Well, it was pointless to change my mind based on vague words. A job was a job.

  “So, Borric,” I said, patting the side of the large, black-furred beauty in front of me. Its ears twitched, and it neighed, turning its head to eye me with curiosity. “I thought the Azure Armada was based in Seagard? Why’re you tagging along to the capital?”

  Borric shifted uncomfortably, glancing down as he adjusted the saddle on his horse. “Err…” he stammered, his fingers fumbling with the reins before he finally muttered, “I happen to have some business there. There are… items to purchase, important ones.”

  Liar. The way he averted his gaze, scratching his neck awkwardly, was all too obvious. Merchants were usually slippery with words, able to sell sand in the desert, but somehow Borric was more like an open book. I found myself questioning his success. Maybe he was an exception to the rule.

  Before I could press him, a new set of footsteps approached. I looked up to see the Princess walking toward us, her frame draped in a cloak to avoid attention. We were in the main street, and with a dozen Wolfsbane mercenaries surrounding us, she’d chosen to keep her head covered.

  “No need to lie, Borric,” Princess Isolde’s melodic voice interrupted, amusement threading through her tone. She stopped beside the elegant white carriage that was awaiting her and gave me a knowing smile.

  “P-princess?”

  “You’ve done the crown a great service. Why be modest about it?” She raised a delicate eyebrow. “The King wishes to reward you, and that’s why you’re heading to Solstara.”

  Borric’s face flushed, and he gave a sheepish nod. “Yes, Your Highness. You’re right, of course.”

  So it was true then. This little errand was more than it appeared. I remembered Borric’s slip of the tongue when we landed, saying that he’d been carrying something that could “turn the nation upside down.”

  My curiosity flickered, and I found myself wondering just what role this merchant was playing in the grand scheme of Thalassaria. Secrets are weapons sharper than blades; he wielded his poorly.

  The Princess gracefully climbed into the carriage, her cloak trailing behind her, and Sir Allister, her ever-watchful knight, stepped up to close the door. He gave me a look that was all business, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he sized me up. “Where’s the other one?” he asked, his voice brusque.

  “She has a name,” I replied, meeting his gaze. “Ragna is buying supplies for the journey. She’ll be back shortly.” I’d offered to go with her, but she insisted she could handle it alone. Said something about not getting scammed because she’d “handle them like a real barbarian.”

  Allister’s eyes flickered over my gear, from the ax strapped across my back to the single black shoulderplate strapped across my left side. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Just food? You need proper weaponry. Those… barbarian tools won’t stand a chance in a real battle.”

  The shoulderplate’s made of dragonbone, does he know?

  “Oh, they’ll hold just fine.” I flashed a toothy grin, reaching out a hand to tap my ax’s obsidian blade. “This baby took down a dragon.”

  He scoffed, turning away as he muttered under his breath. “Good luck, dragon slayer.”

  Amused, I watched him walk off. He’d think I was joking, but I wasn’t. The ax would hold against monsters, maybe not against fancy enchanted swords from a royal armory, but it got the job done. Still, I had to admit he had a point. I’d stopped by a weapons shop earlier, only to find that decent weapons cost more than a small house. It was on my list, but it’d have to wait until this mission paid out.

  A few minutes later, Ragna returned, arms laden with bags of food and supplies. I gestured to the horses, nodding toward the sturdy brown one beside my black-furred beauty. “That one’s yours. The others are too small for our frames.”

  She stopped, her gaze darting between the two horses. “Can I have the black one?”

  “No way,” I replied with a smirk, ruffling the horse’s mane. It let out a soft neigh, nudging my shoulder. “I called dibs on this one.”

  Ragna scowled but didn’t argue, moving to tie her bags to the brown horse’s saddle. As she adjusted the straps, the Princess poked her head out of the carriage, her gaze lighting up as she looked at me with that mischievous smile. “Come now, why not let her have the black one? Surely you don’t mind.”

  I hesitated, glancing at the horse, who seemed to flick his ears back at me as if sensing the betrayal. I sighed. “Really?”

  She tilted her head, her smile widening. “Consider it a royal request.”

  “....”

  Ragna lit up like someone had handed her a war trophy, and Isolde watched her climb into the saddle with a small, private smile before she turned away.

  What’s up with this girl? And thus began my illustrious career of being diplomatically bullied by royalty. At least in my past life, I only had to worry about being bullied by student loan collectors.

  ****

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Our group was already on the move, leaving the bustling streets of Seagard behind. The cobblestone roads gradually gave way to the softer crunch of soil beneath our horses’ hooves as we headed toward the open plains.

  The sun was climbing higher, casting warm rays over the fields ahead, and I took a deep breath, savoring the open air. I stole a glance at the white carriage as it bounced along the uneven road, wondering what awaited us in Solstara. Princesses backing each other, huh?

  I sighed and watched with a sad gaze as Ragna rode my baby girl, patting its gorgeous black mane and muttering, “Good girl.”

  I shook my head as the brown horse carried me out of the city gates, his ears twitching with what looked like irritation. “Look, buddy, this wasn’t my choice either,” I reached down, flicking his head softly. In response, he turned his head and shot me a glare.

  I blinked.

  …Could he understand me?

  ****

  The sun hung in the low western sky, casting long, uneven shadows when the leader of the Wolfsbane Mercenaries pulled his horse to a halt. “We’ll camp here,” he called out, his voice rough, like gravel. He was a scar-faced man with an attitude to match.

  We’d come to a clearing in the dense forest, the trees parting just enough to let in slivers of golden light. It wasn’t much of a campsite, just an opening surrounded by towering pines and thick, tangled underbrush. Hardly ideal, but I wasn’t about to argue.

  Ragna leaned over, her brow knitting as she looked around. “Why not push on a bit further? Sun’s still up,” she muttered.

  A couple of mercenaries turned to glance at her, frowning. To them, she was stepping out of line, questioning their leader’s judgment. The atmosphere was suddenly tense.

  Before anyone could chime in, I shrugged. “They know the land better than us. Let’s trust ‘em on this.” My words were barely out when a few of the Wolfsbane men snickered, exchanging looks.

  One of them – a bald-headed brute with a grin too smug – snorted as he swung down from his horse. “Ah, Valtherians,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “What a strange bunch. I’d always wanted to meet them. People always say they’re different from us. Now I see it. The men at least got some brains on ‘em. But the women?” His gaze roamed over Ragna, lingering in a way that made my brows knit. “Nothing but muscle and tits, right?”

  The laughter that followed was sharp and mean, echoing around the clearing. Ragna’s jaw clenched, her fingers twitching toward her weapon. I could practically feel the fury rolling off her, and it took everything not to let mine show, too.

  I slid off my horse, bare feet hitting the ground in a solid thud, and started toward the bald man. My expression was flat, but my eyes narrowed. He noticed, his smirk faltering just a bit before he squared his shoulders as if daring me to do something. Around us, a few more mercenaries fell quiet, sensing the shift.

  But before I could do anything, the carriage door creaked open, and Princess Isolde burst out. She moved gracefully, her gaze sweeping over the group before landing on the bald-headed mercenary with a look that could curdle milk.

  “How dare you?” Her voice was cold. Not a shout, but it didn’t need to be. The tone alone was enough to freeze the man in place. “This woman is a princess of her people,” she continued her gaze hard. “You will treat her with the same respect you’d show me. How dare you speak to her that way?”

  The bald man blinked, clearly caught off guard. “But… she’s just a tribe – ”

  He didn’t get to finish. The leader of Wolfsbane, his silver hair swaying in the wind, moved like lightning, striking the bald man across the face. The crack of knuckles meeting bone echoed through the clearing, and the bald man stumbled back, eyes wide. The leader followed up with a sharp knee to the stomach, doubling the man over with a gasp.

  “Were you about to argue with the princess?” he demanded, his tone cold. “We’re here to do a job, not ruin the Wolfsbane name.” He straightened, turning to Princess Isolde with a stiff bow.

  Huh, he’s surprisingly a good man, I thought, feeling my rage dwindle. Good that this got taken care of without any issues.

  “My apologies, Princess,” he said, the words rigid and controlled. Then he glanced at Ragna, his mouth twisting into a mockery of a smile. “And… Princess,” he added, the title lightly laced with sarcasm, just enough to show his lingering disrespect without openly provoking again.

  My mood fell instantly.

  Ragna’s fists were clenched tight, her eyes narrowed, and for a second, I thought she’d throw a punch. So I stepped forward again, “Haah,” letting out a loud sigh, which made their attention shift to me.

  I reached for the ax strapped to my back.

  The sudden movement made a few of the men flinch.

  Without a word, I pulled the ax free and swung it, letting it fly. The silver-haired leader tensed, eyes widening far too late to react, as the weapon whizzed past his ear. It didn’t sever his head in two, no, because I wasn’t aiming at him.

  The ax flew straight, slicing through the air and embedding itself into something lurking in the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. A heavy thud followed, and the form of a tiger – a massive, muscled beast with golden stripes – hit the ground in two bloody halves.

  Silence dropped over the camp, every eye fixed on the carcass. The tiger had been crouched, ready to pounce, and my ax had caught it mid-leap. Its body lay there, motionless, blood pooling around the severed edges.

  “What a beast,” I said, dusting off my hands. I looked back at the Wolfsbane leader, meeting his gaze head-on. “Sadly, it was too slow to see my axe coming.”

  The leader’s mouth opened, then closed, his face pale as he looked between the tiger and me. He swallowed while the faintest hint of sweat fell on his brow. He glared at me and forced a nod. “...Thanks,” he managed, though his voice had lost its edge.

  I considered adding "available for birthday parties and bar mitzvahs" but decided that would totally ruin my cool, cold barbaric vibe.

  Sir Allister cleared his throat, stepping forward. “An impressive throw,” he said, his voice measured. “Though it seems we’ll need to be more vigilant on this route. The streets don’t seem as safe as I remember. Better keep a good watch tonight.”

  His expression tightened as he turned his cold eyes on the Wolfsbane leader. “And I didn’t want to intervene, but since the Princess has spoken… Make sure your men show proper respect, Captain.”

  The Wolfsbane leader nodded, his gaze flickering from Princess Isolde to meet mine. I caught something disturbing in his eyes. A flicker of calculation, which he quickly masked. "Of course," he replied, the words coming too quickly. As he turned to bark orders at his men, his hand briefly touched a purple crystal hidden at his belt.

  They scrambled to obey, casting wary glances at me as they moved. The bald mercenary limped away, still clutching his stomach and throwing a dark look over his shoulder. Princess Isolde returned to her carriage without another word, though just before the door closed, I caught a glint of something on her face. Approval? Maybe amusement. I didn’t get a good look.

  Ragna and I set up camp on the edge of the clearing, away from the main group. I went over to retrieve my ax, yanking it free from the tiger’s carcass and wiping the blade clean on the grass. The system notification I’d been ignoring finally had my attention.

  [You’ve killed a Firemaw Tiger – Level 22!]

  [You’ve received experience points.]

  The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in shades of deep orange and purple as the camp settled in. I frowned deeply. It hadn’t been long, and yet Captain Jora’s warning was already showing its colors.

  Instinct is a philosopher's oldest companion; it's rarely wrong, but seldom pleasant. I was starting to have a bad feeling about this journey.

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