William Joseph Blazkowicz III had turned from a professional manual labourer into a secluded academic whiz within a matter of days. For the moment he and the only heir of the Lucius house held their first ever sleepover, the two had become increasingly busy in the young master's study, and far more scarce.

Lavish meals turned into serving dishes delivered to his room. Tea time had become practically nonexistent.

But the servants did notice a bizarre activity of the young master. That being hauling foreign, heavy machinery from equally unidentified carriages that arrived to deliver them.

No one could make sense of the ritual. No one would dare peek into the study either to attempt to, and the knights who aided in this clandestine operation were tight-lipped. In fact, if the servants guessed right, they looked just as befuddled as they were.

But as the days wore on, they came to the conclusion that the young master was forging a sword. A blade that could in the future become the Blazkowicz pride and glory. A timeless keepsake.

I mean, that must have been the case, putting together the incessant banging, clatter, and screech of machinery that came from the study even at ungodly hours of the night. It kept the maids and butlers awake.

So much so that by the end of the week, the Blazkowicz staff looked awful.

'My goodness!' the Countess cried when she laid eyes on the hunched, pallid figures that came to greet them when they returned. 'What's the matter with you all? Has something happened?'

'Late nights I'm afraid, my lord and lady...,' the head butler said, clearing his throat to get the sleep-deprived drawl out of it. 'For the young master has been terribly busy as of late forging a sword.'

'A sword?'

'Yes, my lord. A masterpiece, worthy of becoming a Blazkowicz heirloom, for as we all know, the young master is gifted in a great deal of things.'

Any slower and the butler might have smacked right into his masters' backs; the man staring in shock and puzzlement as the Count and Countess came to an abrupt halt upon entering the mansion, sharing a look of wonder and... something else he couldn't quite recognise. Something like awareness.

'I-is something the matter, my...'

'Summon the knights! At once!'

'Everyone off duty is hereby ordered to aid my son!'

The gardener wasn't the only one with a weak heart. The head butler was too; his jaw dropping as the Count and Countess barked orders to every servant in sight. He survived this much with the family, though... so how much worse could it get?

Oh, was he and the rest of the staff in for a rude and hellish awakening.

Four months.

It had taken almost half a year for the Slayer to realise his plans for the upgrades to his weapons and suit; the Hellwalker staring at the collection before him with great satisfaction.

Within those months - seeing as it was still in shambles - the Slayer made good use of the backyard trenches for weapons testing. An act the staff of the Blazkowicz Manor didn't question, but no less feared by the outrageous... things the young master later carted to and fro his study.

First was the machinery. Now, it was... even more machinery. Each one looking approximately the weight (and size) of an adult bighorn.

Despite that, the young master carried them as easily as he would his books. Some over his shoulder, some against his side. Some that looked like ridiculously oversized swords and others glowing with a cosmic energy everyone questioned, but spoke nothing of.

And then there was the noise. The din of it, the ear-splitting booms and bangs the servants couldn't bring themselves to see, but which the knights had. And those who did found themselves experiencing existential crises, realising that perhaps they made better deckhands than they would fighters in the future...

As long as the young master was around, that is.

For four months of sporadic military exercises and the couple consecutive heart attacks it caused the gardener, the Slayer found himself once again provided an unwelcome distraction. An unwelcome distraction in the form of a spring ball.

'You're at that age now, William,' the Countess said to him at the front of the manor this evening, as they awaited the carriage. 'You must leave a good impression on the nobility if you've any hopes of finding a suitable partner.'

Little did the Countess know, the only partner her son needed was a gun. And that too he was no longer lacking of.

But like all matters in this world, the Slayer amused them for the sake of keeping the peace for as long as he had to. After all, he still had some unfinished business.

Though he made significant progress on the weapons front, his suit was still a problem. A complex software kind of problem only Vega could attempt to make sense of ever since they discovered the tether device in it was busted. Be it from a system overload or the sand, they would never know. Thus, the Slayer was given no choice but to hand Vega the reins to that operation.

Ah. He was so close, and yet so far away.

The Spring Ball was an annual event renowned for the debuting of young nobility. It wasn't foolish to consider it - in fact - the 'ball of the year' for many. It was bigger than even the emperor's birthday party, and hosted by those wealthy enough, regardless of status.

Perhaps this year's was the young master Blazkowicz's debut as well, Daisy von Wolff hoped, as the princess hadn't just spent a couple minutes on the lookout for him.

... OK, maybe it was an hour.

... Alright, fine! Maybe it was ever since she arrived at the stunning venue, praying for her sanity, because where in history did a princess seek out a mere Count's son this... this desperately?

She must truly have been losing it. Ever since that fated episode in the woods months ago, she could scarcely get it out of her head. Be it the creature that found her, the fact that it burst into flames minutes after it was dragged back to the guest party, or the knight that saved her life.

An impossibly rude knight at that, she thought, as she found herself frustrated by the end of the evening. It was because most of her discreet searching found her more trouble than it was worth.

Daisy knew she was attractive. She was in fact the only one to inherit her father's ashy brown hair. A colour that caught the eyes of many, but steered them away the instant they met her gaze; her irises akin to deep, obsidian wells. Irises from her mother. A supposed spellcaster she had been long estranged from.

A spellcaster she had also inherited her pretty, petite features and unusual figure from. She was taller than most noblewomen. Wiry or shapely, all a matter up for debate.

So it was telling that the silken plum dress and shawl she wore garnered the interest of too many men she asked for help. What else did she expect? That she would actually make progress otherwise?

Spent and frustrated, Daisy retreated to the expansive garden, hoping to be alone with her thoughts for a moment. The princess sighed at the silence that replaced the music and bustle of the party, but it quickly morphed into a groan when she noticed an approaching threesome of suits.

They were faces she recognised, but absolutely didn't have the energy to deal with right now.

'Princess,' one of them greeted as they stopped. 'So you were here.'

'Is that a problem?'

The bite in her voice was apparent. In fact, paired with her delicate looks and figure, it was almost jarring.

'W-well, no...,' the nobleman cleared his throat to cover his surprise; his colleagues whispering between themselves. 'Your Highness left the party rather early. Was it not to your liking?'

Of course he was concerned. After all, he was the Duke hosting this party.

She smiled thinly. 'It was fine. Now, if you would excuse...'

'Ah, allow me to escort you through the palace gardens,' he intercepted her hastily, awkwardly. 'We've an unmatched hedge maze. The most glorious in all of the kingdom, I'd say.'

'Thank you, but I...'

'Allow me to show Your Highness the estate fountains as well, as they're...'

'I would appreciate it if you stopped interrupting me, good sir.'

Daisy said in a clipped voice, stepping away from the men when she realised they were intent on blocking her path. Glaring between them, she said more confidently, 'I've no need for a guide. Now, farewell.'

She had barely turned when the malicious whisper reached her, 'Ungrateful wench.'

Stunned, she turned to look at them and muttered, 'What?'

'Is that a problem?' the Duke parroted. Where he once looked at her politely, his features now twisted with disgust; his peers smiling behind gloved hands. 'Not once in history has a bastard child earned status and respect. I'm afraid you're no exception, Daisy. So hop off your high horse and be grateful you're among our ranks.'

The sound of her name on his tongue enraged her more than his flippant insults.

She hated it. With a burning passion. Even more so because it was given to her with such little thought and care. The emperor naming his illegitimate daughters after common flowers, for they were undeserving of lavish and prosperous names.

For they were to be ruined and trampled on, solely for their half heritage, like flowers. And Daisy despised it.

She felt fire burning up her throat. She felt her skin tear itself asunder and into scales, her lungs expanding to breathe out an inferno like a dragon, but someone else spoke before she could. And it was a voice most unexpected.

'The princess may be no exception, Duke, but perhaps my mother is,' the heir of Lucius said calmly, flatly, appearing suddenly beside the princess.

'As you're so willing to guide Her Highness back to the party, may I ask that you guide me as well? I am certain my mother would be delighted to hear of this incident. She would also be delighted to help bring ruin to your self-claimed beautiful Duchy.'

The men all stared speechless at the Lucius young master, yet the minute they gathered their wits about them in retaliation, found their lips sealing once again in not shock this time, but fear. For behind the princess and nobleman lingered someone else. It was a figure taller than them, larger than them, and with an air that exuded menace and murder.

The men didn't think twice before fleeing. And watching their backs, Daisy felt all signs of her anger vanish like a snuffed flame.

'I...,' she paused; her throat taut with emotion to her chagrin. 'Thank you, but your help wasn't necessary, sir.'

'Oh,' Vega's smile widened a fraction as he met the princess's eyes. 'My apologies. It was not my intention, but the-excuse me-William's, to help.'

'William?'

The name escaped her thoughtlessly, but when Daisy followed the nobleman's gesture to look beside them, her confusion melted in an instant. Instead, it gave way to astonishment. Relief. And a mighty thrill as she stared at the guy she'd been searching for all night.

It was him. Her guy.

She found her guy.