Chapter 1. The Man With a Temper

His Young Majesty's favorite hideout was a well-lit corner in the north wing of the castle. It was a solarium, a haven for his collection of exotic plants that had come from the different parts of the world. Well-trimmed Geffenian grass (Bermuda Grass to our world) carpeted the entire place. Strange anthuriums in their native pots lined the stony pathway around the small garden, while an array of striking orchids hovered above and around him, displaying a spectrum of colors in the flowers they grew. Pots of bonsai – trees cultured to grow to a size ten times smaller than their original form – were placed above rocks that were piled to artistic precision.

The Prince stood facing his favorite among his collection – a strange and yet unnamed bonsai plant that had come from the Amatsu region. The plant looked very much of a combination of Oriental pine and cherry, with small needle-like leaves and small pink blossoms.

The Young One was dressed in emerald green Elven silk robes patterned with Oriental vine design, which complimented his bright green eyes. A green silk ribbon tied his long brown hair, which shone in the bright beams of morning sunshine. His broad back was turned towards the entrance to his solarium, which suddenly opened to spill out a fully armored knight.

"Your Highness," the knight breathlessly said. "I've found him."

"Found who?" The Prince said casually without turning. "And Kerrick, please do remove your helmet."

"My apologies, your highness," the knight bowed low before he removed his headgear, revealing crew-cut strawberry blonde hair and flushed sweat-covered face. "I had just ran from the –"

"Oh please do cease your explanation," the Prince chuckled. "Now, pray tell me… what – or who – was it that you found?"

"The perfect agent for you, Edward," the knight had regained his breath this time. His face remained passive, but deep inside young Kerrick of the Onnwall clan sighed. Why did he have to go through such unnecessary things? He thought. Why bother when there are more than enough of his friends from the Royal Cavalry who were ready to risk their lives for him?

Kerrick knew that the Prince, despite being only twenty years old, was already as competitive a ruler as his own father, King Tristam the VI… and even more. Kerrick and the Prince had been bosom buddies since nursery days, yet up until now the young knight could not understand why his friend still preferred "outside" help when it comes to secret missions.

It was not that the Prince was secretive to him. In fact, Kerrick knew his Royal friend's deepest secrets: Edward had a weakness for the commoners, and once in a while he would clandestinely lift a hand to preserve the common folks' causes – some of them even against his father's whims.

Once Edward even tried to write to his people to stop the execution of an Alchemist, who was too underage to be given such a sentence, but nobody in court – not even his father - took heed of his voice.

The Prince hated the courtesans. Of all the people in the world he hated the loudmouthed ones the most, especially the advisers of his father. His father had been wise in his early years, but as time passed he relied more and more of his "wise men", a habit that both Edward and Kerrick found to be dangerous for the kingdom as more and more trivial laws and rules that favored only the upper social classes were implemented each day.

A few months ago, for example, the King, under the influence of his advisers and the entire court, made a decree on lessening the frequency of surveys and checks on the small economy villages in the far corners of Midgard, in order to "lessen the travel expenses and reassign such funds to other more important government engagements."

The move had made Edward suspicious, which was then the reason why he decided to act on his own.

"And who is this agent you have chosen for me, my friend?" The Prince still remained his back turned towards the knight.

"Your majesty," Sir Kerrick replied. "It's the Faceless Poisoner."

Silence hung between the two. The knight's eyes remained alert as he tried to gauge his Highness' body reaction, but deep inside confidence gradually grew. Finally, he thought. After months of searching for names that would satisfy the Prince at last I have hit on gold.

"Ah," Edward gradually turned, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips as he faced the knight. "Ysarin Icedance. That old fart is the one you're talking about, am I correct?"

"Yes, Sir," Kerrick silently chuckled at his friend's choice of words. The Prince, despite his comely and Royal appearance, definitely knew how to speak the commoner's tongue and even beat him at it.

"Hmm," the Prince scratched his chin and furrowed his brows in utter concentration. "To tell you the truth… I've talked to Ysarin already."

"And?" An inner pang of disappointment tried to grab the retainer's attention, but he withheld it. The prince hasn't made any rejection or approval about my choice after all, he thought.

"He refused."

"What?" Sir Kerrick's jaw dropped open. "But I had just talked to him in the Royal Cavalry headquarters! How did he –"

"Beat you to it?" The Prince came towards him and patted his back. "My friend, the guy's an assassin cross, what do you expect? Besides, since he's a poisoner and was trained for discreet missions he would be no use as a spy under the cover of exposure to the public. Both of us thought so."

"But he told me he'd do it," Sir Kerrick was dumbfounded. How on earth could such a distinguished assassin refuse such an assignment, especially with such an offer that was big enough to buy a tavern in Prontera, or a harem in Morroc?

"Did he really?"

"I mean," the redheaded knight scratched his head. "He told me he'd think about it."

"And he just did." The Prince laughed. "But he also told me of a name that we both agreed would be best for the mission."

Dread came over the young retainer. In the farthest corners of his mind a name wanted to get out, but he would not allow it. Kerrick looked outside the glass panels of the greenhouse, far into the forest outside, where he saw a few pink globs called porings and a white rabbit locally called as lunatic hop by.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" Edward winked at his friend as he tilted to one side to smell one of his potted blue roses. The prince had a penchant for collecting different colors of such a flower, including an unusual black rose that was native to Niffelheim.

"Whom did you two agree on?" Kerrick held his breath for an answer. I hope it isn't him, he thought.

"Tache Solaire."

"Wha – no way!" A cry of exasperation escaped from the knight's lips. "Why him? That guy is a hotheaded idiot who –"

"Now, now," the Prince patted his friend's back once again. "We can't let emotions ruin our judgment, dude. The guy's good, you know. You know that because you've run into him, right?"

Sir Kerrick remained silent. There's just no way I'm going to vouch for that temperamental yellow-eyed freak. NO WAY.

"P-please, I beg you, a-anything but my d-daughter!"

A quivering voice of a man rang above the quiet afternoon of Fox Alley, a section in the residential district of Southeastern Prontera. The muffled voices of men talking were occasionally accompanied by sobs of a young girl, followed either by the sounds of body blows, or a plea of mercy.

An old man, dressed in dull brown and gray clothes and still wearing an apron, crumpled low on the cobbled walk, his face obscured by the shadows of the buildings surrounding him. The ground he was on was quite moist despite the fair weather for the past few days, as tiny drops of blood splattered not only on his clothes, but also on the concrete floor.

Six men towered above the aged merchant, their eyes full of disdain. They were dressed in colored robes and wore heavy jewelry, yet spoke a language far less refined than the ones used in the King's court.

"Stupid fool," the one in front of the merchant, a tall, black-haired and clean-shaven man who wore a set of skull-designed jewelry and was dressed more lavishly than the rest, hissed before him. "If you had paid your dues sooner we'd have left you alone with your daughter."

"But I…" the old man could only mutter in reply.

"Buts! Ifs!" The man in front of the merchant bellowed, his arms swinging wildly as he expressed his annoyance over the cowering old man. "Excuses are entertained only by fools like those in the Northwest District, but not by us! You knew that in the first place so you should have paid us right on!"

"Yeah!" The other hooligans piped in response to their chief.

"You see," the gangleader spoke once more. "Since you haven't paid your dues for the past few weeks, we're going to have to make your daughter pay for them… until you've given us your dues."

"Papa," the girl, a dark-haired girl no older than fifteen years, sobbed. She wanted to get close to her father, to protect him from getting more blows, but the men who held her – twins whose grizzled faces showed nothing but lurid desire, held her even tighter.

"I had to pay the government taxes first. I –"

"Shut the hell up!" The head loan shark raged and began beating the merchant once more. His men, encouraged by their leader's action, followed suit.

"Please stop!" The lass cried, but only harsh laughter and the sound of leather, metal and wood against flesh could be heard as the hoodlums ganged up on the poor creature with their canes, iron knuckles, boots, and bats.

"Stop it! Let me go!" The merchant's daughter cried out once more. "Papa!"

The twin rascals, meanwhile, began to touch the girl and even tried to get a lick from her - much to her terror, disgust, and anguish at the thought of her helplessness.

"Oi! What do you think are you guys doing, you're disturbing a growing boy in his nap time?" A voice broke out from one of the upper windows in the surrounding buildings. The gang, nevertheless, took no heed, and continued to beat the downtrodden merchant.

Thwap!

One of the twin rogues, whose short dark hair was tied into different tiny ponytails and was at the moment trying to get a lick at the struggling girl's neck, raised his right hand over his head. His face changed from lust to crimson fury as he felt warm, sticky liquid dribble on his palm.

"Who the hell did that?" He shouted and looked around, calling attention to his comrades, who stopped beating the merchant at the sound of his voice.

"You guys sure know how to pick up a fight."

The hooligans looked up to find a young man, who looked to be about seventeen, sitting on the windowsill with one leg propped up. He had blonde hair, cut short enough to look like the spikes of a caramel (a kind of porcupine) standing in defensive position.

The boy would have looked ordinary enough, especially since he was only wearing gray Amatsu-cut pajamas (which looks very much similar to the Japanese male kimono) that was in fashion those days, except that his eyes had an unusual shade of amber, which seemed to glow in the shadows created by the buildings blocking the afternoon sun's rays.

"Go back to sleep kid," the gang leader called out, a look of irritation scrawled all over his clean-shaven face. "Mind your own business, or –"

"But boss!" The wounded twin's brother protested. "Look at what he did to my brother. Don't I get to have a piece of him?"

"You want a piece of me, old man?"

The boy was toying with a piece of rock as he gave the hoodlums a challenging, if not scornful look. Then, with unusual agility, he jumped down from the window and landed on the stony earth, on bare feet (much to the surprise of the people who had watched him, including the girl and her father).

"Ooh, that must have hurt," the unhurt twin, who had then turned the girl over to his brother, smirked as he gradually approached the boy, cracking sounds coming from his knuckles.

"Hurt?" One of the young man's eyebrows shot up. He still toyed with his piece of rock, his golden eyes trained on the man approaching him. "Nothing would hurt more than your head if you come any closer, old man."

"Stop calling my brother old man!" The other twin shouted in anger, his hand still fixed to his head while the other held the girl's arm even tighter, making the lass whimper in pain. "Come on brother, show him what we Carson twins are made of!" He shouted to his twin, his eyes now filled with nothing but murderous hate.

"Ben! Gen! Stop it immediately!" The leader of the pack commanded the two, who silently complied, their eyes still full of anger at the contemptuous treatment the boy had given them. "Now you boy," the gang leader turned his attention to the lad. "You have been forewarned. Leave me and my men to conduct business here, or –"

"No, you people leave this neighborhood!" The boy yelled, his brown eyebrows more creased than ever. "We don't need bigmouths like you running around this district. Now get out of here before I stick bricks into your mouths!"

"Who the hell do you think you are," one of the gang members, a man dressed in dark blue kimono who had been beating the old merchant with a bat, came towards the kid. The hoodlum drew out a wicked-looking hunting knife and rushed towards the boy. "I'll make you take back your words, you brat!"

"Bring it on, old fart," the boy made a single step back as he poised for a defensive stance, his hands clasped together. "Let's see how far your mouth can go."

The final statement drove it home. All the other gang members instantly forgot about the old merchant, who scrambled himself out of the way and into his daughter's arms.

Overhead, people begun to notice the commotion in the alley. Both children and adults peered through their windows just to get a glimpse of the scene below.

"Long live the Street Guardians!" Came the gang's war cry.

"Feh," the blonde kid gave a smirk as he watched each gang member lounged at him. "Pompous fools."

The young man suddenly bent down, his palms spread on the earth. Air from the soil instantly gushed out, their rapid bursts spitting chunks of rock and brick that flew into the air and dropped over the attacking hoodlums. Piles of earth formed into spikes that ripped the men's clothes and shot through their bodies.

"Urk-" a gang member found himself bored through the stomach with a huge earthen spike.

"Aaargh!" Another member cried out in pain as small bits of rock and debris stuck on his body like pins on a cushion.

A sudden wave of coldness shot through the gang leader's body as he saw his members skewered one by one. Before he could turn to run, however, he felt a sickening snap on his spine as fingers ran rapidly along his back.

"This is to make sure that airheads like you won't make any noise ever again," the group leader heard the boy's voice in front of him. He looked up to see a vision of fierce amber eyes that grew blurrier by the second.

"Such… demon eyes…" That said, the man collapsed on the ground, his life swept out of him.

The young man stood over the dead chief, fury from his eyes still far from gone. He turned his attention towards the merchant and his daughter, and then to the spectators above him.

A mother was covering her children's eyes, while others looked at him, terror plastered on their faces. One middle-aged man, however, braved himself up and gave him a nod.

"Thank you," he said. "Those people like to do their business in this district, so it's been some time since we've had a peaceful afternoon."

The blonde kid, however did not reply, and returned his attention to the father and daughter merchants, who still stood by one side. Their fearful eyes had already changed to that of gratitude.

The girl shyly took a step forward and curtsied. "T-thank you," she said. "I wouldn't know what would have happened to me and my father if not for you."

"Sheesh, lady," the young man turned his back towards her as he surveyed the corpses before him. "For a girl who nearly got her flesh sold to the underworld you still have the grace to curtsy and remain composed. Besides, I did not do it to save you. I did it because they caused a lot of racket down here and I couldn't sleep." And it's definitely not good to forcefully wake a sleeping guy, he thought. Especially somebody who hasn't slept for days.

"Better get out of here if I were you," the boy said as he started to walk away. "The soldiers will be coming soon and will grill you about this matter until you lose your sanity."

"But – "

"Tache Solaire!" A crisp voice that rivaled the frozen snow of Lutie suddenly rang up the air. "You're under arrest. Surrender yourself, or else."

- End of Chapter 1 -