Devil and Candlemaker

"Everyone knows about heroes, adventurers, nobles; people that matter. No one remembers the name of those shunned, or their descendants. Especially when their crimes were severe enough to sell them to Melromarc's enemies. Don't worry, though. Master has only one directive for me: serve the Shield Hero, kill any that wish him harm." F/F romance, slavery, dark themes.

All warnings placed in chapter 1 are in place for the duration of the story. I won't bog this down by placing anything more than chapter-specific warnings here.

Second Arc—Everything is a game, you need only decipher the rules

Chapter Twenty-One—The path I choose

8-8

"You can refuse." Lyraynna eases me into my bed, to rest. We've only just returned from La Matrish, though it's unsurprising she would wish to settle this straight away.

"Yes. I can." Little point in arguing. I can walk away, fade into obscurity. Let these warring gods have their way.

Balcony door stands ajar, allowing late afternoon's warm breeze in. Sheer curtains flutter and dance, their usual white bathed in soft red and pink light. A peaceful day in Castle Town comes to an end.

"And if I do?"

Lyraynna sighs, unable to argue against that. Fact is, if I do nothing, the goddess of destruction has her way, we all die. I do this? Just me and my children die in this world, and we're reunited in another.

Me: "We need to talk. Privately. Face-to-face."

Naofumi: "Dealing with a zombie dragon here. Wait your turn!"

8-8

Stellar and Crayn take a seat on my bed, neither looking too pleased. I don't blame them.

"So we're going to be another world's Cardinal Heroes." Crayn's simple summary has Stellar hugging herself as she fights back the tears. I beckon, she's in my arms but a moment later, crying freely.

I hold her, scratch her green fuzz with one hand to set her at ease. My free hand beckons to Crayn, though he only looks away.

"This is the deal I make. You need not agree."

"No!" Stellar pulls back, crying all the more. "No, mama. I'm coming with you. You promised!"

"I did. But I also promised to tell you the whole of it, even if it hurts. Coming with me is a choice. One you must make for yourself." I tilt my head this way and that. "Save for Luna. She's but a babe—far too young to make such a decision."

Though Stella's tension eases, her tears do not.

"It's unfair of me to ask you to choose. I know that. However, the whole if it is this. I've made a covenant with the god of light. I may choose not to adhere and stay here. But. That carries the risk of the god of destruction bringing about the end of this world, thereby claiming your lives just the same. I believe this is our best shot at being together and saving lives."

Silences reigns. A tense, uncomfortable silence that wraps fear around my throat and chest as if barbed vines. Stellar only clutches me all the tighter—she doesn't seem to care for the details, as long as mine are the arms wrapped around her.

"The only lives you care about are ours?" Crayn asks. He seems…careful. Too careful just now. How best to interpret his stance?

I shake my head, no. "Yours, yes. My party's, yes. My House's, yes. I'll even agree that I don't mind Naofumi and his brats. Maybe Vidra and Braze's people. Beyond that? No. One world is no different from any other."

"Well." Crayn sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's not perfect, but that's something I can wrap my head around."

Breathing comes easier. "You'll come with me?"

"Stellar and I get equal say in things?" Crayn's negotiations trade my concerns for a smile.

"You may argue your case in all things, yes. The soundest and most logical argumentation determines our course. Is that fair?"

"Not really." Crayn sighs. "I mean, there's no way either of us can hold a candle to you, is there?"

My head tilts this way and that. "Fair point. What if we take our time here for me to teach you?"

Stellar pulls back, smiling through the tears. "And to fight? And I want to learn to make medicines."

"That and more."

8-8

I walk along with Luna napping in a special pouch I had made to keep her nestled in my arms as we train. My gaze constantly shifts from Crayn to Stellar as they walk ahead of me, their arms held out for balance as we traipse along on a sturdy branch some ten metres up.

Nervous as they are, they show no fear; neither of the height, nor of falling. Though they do not move silently, their rookie attempts show they notice the need for it—that's a start.

Crayn leaps from the branch, soaring through the air with all the grace of a fledgling bird before wrapping his arms to the next branch. Jumping distance could use work—lower body training is the first thing we'll work on when we get to the manor. Like a graceless tree-borne monkey, Crayn lumbers up the branch and struggles to find his balance once again.

Stellar doesn't seem nearly as confident, looking dubious at both the distance and the fall she risks. I walk up behind her, wrap an arm around her waist and offer, "Together?"

"Unn." Stellar nods, gratitude in her eyes. "On three?"

We count down together, and we jump—hers would have landed her perhaps halfway. I carry her along all the same, landing us soundlessly on the next branch with Crayn, just as his arms flap out for balance once again.

Stellar's grip on my armour is a bit much just now, though I cannot fault her need for comfort. We stand here for a long moment, allowing her to make peace at her pace. Only once ready does her grip ease. Crayn doesn't seem to mind, but isn't confident enough to travel on his own either, so he walks a few paces to and fro to keep near.

My Crayn, my baby, he keeps his feet angled so the curve of his riding boot sole catches the branch for maximum grip. Stellar isn't nearly as attuned to this. To be fair, Crayn is marked as Scout, while she's clearly meant to be a Domestic.

"Mind the angle of your boots." My words tick Stellar's eyebrow higher, until she spies mine and Crayn's feet. She shifts her stance to match, bolstering her grip.

8-8

Tome opens, paged to the first empty slot nearly halfway through. Quill dips into inkwell and scratches parchment. The library is filled just now. Each of my party gorges on the skill recipes I've written for them. Stellar and Crayn, too, have their noses buries in tomes to absorb all they can whilst it is readily available. In this world, I can offer it all. In the next, we're apt to start with nothing—best to absorb it all now.

The door opens. Naofumi and party enter at last. Without being asked, Bry vacates the chair opposite me and invites them to join us.

"You rest up." Naofumi looks around at the tension just below the surface in all my people. "I'll check on you in a bit." His girls are covered in bandages stinking of holy water. Blood curse, being my guess. Damnable dragons despise giving up.

I keep scripting the most recent recipe—only a few hundred spells, skills, fighting stances, and training regimens remain. This should get done sometime this lifetime.

"You're about to tell me something bad. Aren't you." Naofumi has a talent for understatement.

Beneath the recipe, I add a note referring to a specific page in the training regimen section on how to maximize Dancing Crane training, and another in the tactics section on ways I tend to use it. Satisfied, I set my quill down and turn my full attention to Naofumi.

"I've accepted a great honour." Innocent though my words are, Lyraynna and Zaan snort. "To be another world's Cardinal Hero."

Bry stands, leaving her grimoire wide open as she storms out of the library. Tayrend's frown speaks every bit as loud, though it's Grin's reaction that stings—the painfully neutral expression with which he stares dead ahead, his nose pointing at the tome even as his eyes are out of focus. They…do not take this well.

"This is not to be made public. I tell you only because you are the sole person of this world I will be able to contact."

Naofumi's mouth opens. Perhaps more accurate to say his jaw drops and is reeled in quickly. Either way, no words come, not even as he looks around, takes in my people's clear distress.

Sigh. "I may need to confirm things regarding the Waves. And we both know I'll not entrust as much to the other Heroes."

Silence, suddenly louder than every explosion ever detonated going off simultaneously, weighs on me. My quill, once again in hand, dips it in inkwell, and continues crafting the next recipe.

"I leave in the morning."

8-8

I move, silent as death and twice as swift. The cathedral is utterly without a sound just now, even as I rig another bag of explosives, their wicks wound together and a lead hanging out.

While there is a slight chance they'll check under the altar, it's a calculated risk. The Pope always hosts the service, and given it's First Princess Malty's birthday celebration with her in attendance, per protocol, tomorrow will be no exception. A whole flock of birds with one metaphorical stone.

Satisfied it's lodged, I untie the lead and measure it by thumb's breadths. Service starts at eight. The pope works his sheep into a frenzy by eight-forty-five. So he'll invite First Princess to the fore, to bless her on her special day, for third chime—to signal her blessing starts the business day. Nine hours, twenty-two minutes. I slice the lead and pocket the rest, pouring the last of my SP into Dragon's Rage: Delayed Vengence.

I mutter the words, pouring all my MP into Abyssal Assassination. The lead should burn slow and steady and now, thanks to the spell, soundless and odourless as well. There will be no warning until it's too late. God of Light, whether this succeeds is now entirely on you.

8-8

"You're not coming."

Lyraynna slides her staff into her filolial's sheath, gripping her reins tight.

"I mean it."

Grin, all smiles, loads bombs and throwing darts.

"Don't make me order you, because I will."

Tayrend sharpens his daggers. Not just the new twinned dagger set, either. No, a level one pair, with the Twin Dragon Claws and the expensive one I got him in La Matrish sheathed and ready for combat. He just sits there, in his saddle, steadily running the sharpening rod up the edge of the flimsy weapon with not a care in the world.

"Have you all gone deaf?"

Bry claps her grimoire closed and works the buckle, clearly getting ready to ride.

"And Hope! You know you're not allowed on a filolial!"

Archer helps his wife get comfortable, rubbing her slightly distended gut before he runs over to mount his just the same.

Barked laughter snaps my nose toward Ginad and his hounds as the man himself mounts. His filolial kwees, almost laughing at my attempts.

Sigh.

"Are we ready?" Deela comes out riding a filtelt filolial of her own, with a readied wagon trailing behind her—including five armoured workfowls and a slew of sealed barrels in its cargo.

As if scripted, the lot of them—my party and Deela—set themselves to item and assign their gear, mounts, and inventory as mine; a laundry list of updates floods my vision to inform me, from amours to weapons to bombs to throwing darts to prepared arrows. Many are the high-levelled gear they no doubt carry, but the vast majority are for level one adventurers.

Sigh. I check my bomb pouch, making sure my final bow is prepped.

Crayn and Stellar are far too busy chuckling at my predicament to be much help either, both sitting quite comfortably in wagon's driver seat—he holds the reins, no doubt to show this was his doing.

The first chime. Time's up.

Sigh. The die is cast. I check my party composition, finding only Crayn, Stellar, Luna, and myself—all others are technically just in my inventory, including Chandelier, Tallow, and Wick.

Second chime.

Sigh. I activate Quick Travel, and select Three Mountains, Siltvelt.

An explosion rocks the world; even the manor's windows shudder. I confirm my destination.

8-8

Scene snaps to Three Mountains Manor. It's quite fitting that Master's ancestral home be the place I come to—my birthplace, my resting place.

I look up at the sun just as church bells chime once, twice…a third time. With no way to confirm only the intended audience was present, all I can do is trust.

Her Highness: "What have you done?!"

Me: "Hmm?"

Fans in hand, I aim for the nearest soldier, and snipe him between the eyes with a Tortoise Shell Cracker. A scream ripples through the marketplace, a contagion that infects everyone just now.

"CANDLEMAKER!" I snipe the lieutenant foolish enough to sound to alarm instead of trying to take me out, splattering his brains in his men's eyes.

Her Highness: "MY DAUGHTER'S IN THERE!"

Confirmation acquired.

Me: "Melty-Blue is currently meeting with Naofumi in my library. She is perfectly safe and none have orders to keep you from her or her from you."

My people are careful to snipe only the soldiers, leaving the panicked masses to flee.

Her Highness: "GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE NOW!"

The first round of proper soldiers—wartime soldiers—pile into the busy marketplace, blocking off all exits. They'll no doubt already have my Quick Travel jammed.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, SLAVE! How dare you attack your master!" The king himself. Predictable. He needs to be here to attempt to rein me in, no doubt still believing his grip on my psyche is absolute.

Right hand reaches into my bomb pouch, grabs the final wick. I kiss my baby, my Luna, one final time—just in case.

Me: "It was a pleasure knowing you, Queen Mirellia Q Melromarc."

Dragon's Rage: All-consuming Wrath.

I snap.

8-8

End Chapter Twenty-One

8-8

A/N: Let me start by saying that I do not condone actions taken. Not violence, not suicide, and not suicide bombing. I was sitting on this for the last few days, wondering if I should change it, but frankly, this is the most logical path Sorrow would take, and any other portayal would betray her character.

So.

Don't mistake this for picking on religion, for picking on a specific religion, or correlate this with any real-world event. This is for entertainment only, not to encourage anyone to choose this route. But really, if you need me to tell you this, you shouldn't be reading my work. Seriously. I pull no punches; never have, never will.

End of mini-rant.