Author's Notes: That was a long break. Sorry I was gone for so long. Life was in full swing and I hardly had time for even myself.

Enough excuses. Here's what you came for. Please enjoy.

Relia had been resting idly against the wooden benches in front of the bar when the foreboding clatter of armor had wrested her attention from the coin she held in her hand. Instinctively, she reached for the bow she had always slung behind her back only for her gloved fingers to grasp empty air. She clicked her tongue at her leader's suggestion prior.

It was out of Inigo's insistence that she not bring her weapon, her most prized possession. He warned that carrying a fearsome weapon in the public's eye may bring unease to the people of Hearth, a town with wounds from the war still running deep and far. She couldn't do any thing else but comply to her leader's orders, even if it meant disobeying the tenant she was brought up with by Lady Luna.

"A lady must never be without her necessities: her wit and her weapon."

A gift from her liege, Relia's bow was crafted from the finest bowyers in Embla with no expense spared. Pieced together with the bones of the ancient behemoths that once walked the lands of Zenith and enchanted wood from the Isle of Evergreen, many compatriots had commented on the enchanting beauty of the fearsome weapon.

Relia almost felt naked without it. The innocuous humming that radiated from the wood of the bow was a familiar comfort that she would rarely go without. It was something she pined dearly now.

As unnerved as she was to be without it however, Relia would have done the same a thousand time over, as her liege had told her, and prided, above all else, one must follow orders, no matter what personal feelings may get in the way.

Relia wondered how different things would have been had Lady Luna lived true to her own words but the crunching of dirt beneath boots and clang of armor was much closer now. Casting aside all her previous thoughts, Relia saw the few people that remained in the streets immediately take shelter in their homes. Judging the clamor of the armor, Relia knew that whatever was marching towards the town square was beyond what she could take on her own.

Looking to her side, and at the wooden beams of the bar's front that climbed at least three stories, Relia quickly scaled the building, her limber arms and legs letting her move around like a cat, and swung herself onto the roof of the bar, behind the railings that dotted the wooden roof.

Quietly, she waited for the armored figures to appear, her hands resting at her back, ready with the ashen dagger that she had pickpocketed from the unsuspecting Marth. She crouched, patient.

Then, from the left of where she had been sitting moments before, emerged a small platoon of armored soldiers, escorting a man in shabby, wool cloak. Relia could tell the man wearing the cloak was thinly-framed due to how much the garb billowed with its wearer's every move. She noted the man's apparent discomfort in wearing such clothing, with the subtle pulls he made at his robes and his constant visual assessment of his appearance, which carried the stark air of disapproval.

It was clear that the man before her was a noble in disguise. No one would dress and behave so boorishly in an attempt to blend in. Still, as shoddy as the cloak was, it hid the identity of its bearer well enough. As she was pondering which nation the cloaked man belonged to, Relia saw the sudden shift in the convoy's gaze. She followed where their eyes led her.

From the opposite end, another man made his way towards the armored convoy, an obvious limp in his step. It wasn't the shamble of a drunkard or the hobble of an elder man. It was the laborious trudge of a wounded man. Not a fresh one, but a wound lasting enough to cripple one for life.

Judging how gingerly the man stepped upon his bad leg, it was obvious that the injury involved a broken bone that healed improperly in the past. Probably by spear, Relia thought to herself. The slash of a sword toward that part of the leg would have killed a man instead.

Keeping her eyes glued on the two mysterious men that had gathered in the square, Relia bated her breath and observed silently. The figures stood several meters apart, giving off the air that there was some heated history and tension between the two men. The wiry man's guards stood at the ready against the crippled man. Relia saw visible disappointment wash over the thin man's face as the crippled one explained something with an exasperated air. It seems a business transaction had gone awry.

The crippled man began yelling. Relia leaned closer to snag a listen.

"You said five!... contract… demanded five!"

The thin man shook his head and a bony finger, as if he were scolding a misbehaving child. It seemed to have the opposite effect as it only aggravated the man further.

"I kept up… bargain." The crippled man growled aloud, his voice filled to the brim with malice. "I'll even throw in the cleric girl… I've kept my word."

The thin man shook his head. And from far away, Relia could read his lips:

"More."

A chill ran through her spine. The people she saw before her were no ordinary scoundrels. They were the worst of the filth that contaminated the land:

Human traffickers.

She held nothing but contempt for such vile trash. The hand that held the dagger only gripped it tighter. It was as if Relia was trying to break it by her hand alone with the anger that coursed through her veins.

"That life is behind me now." She muttered to herself, trying to calm herself down. "… it's all behind me…" Dark emotions and memories ran rampant in her mind like relentless waves upon a shore. Biting the inside of her mouth, she kept those repressed thoughts in check. She turned back to the transaction.

The two men seemed to have reached a mutually satisfied conclusion now, their deal at an end. The crippled man now held a pouch that undoubtedly contained payment for his crimes. The thin man muttered some words that Relia could not hear. Whatever those words were, the crippled man did not respond back with his own. All he did was glare back at his "benefactor".

The guards must have not liked his behavior as they immediately drew their spears and pointed them towards him. The thin man gestured for the armored soldiers to withdraw their weapons to which all begrudgingly complied.

Except for one.

One guard kept his lance pointed at the crippled trafficker, refusing to back down. The thin man's enraged yelling did nothing to dissuade the man.

Then, like a whip, the armored soldier shot forward, thrusting his weapon in tandem. The crippled man would have nowhere to run.

He didn't need to.

The soldier was undoubtedly a well-trained and skilled spearman, adept in the arts of combat whilst be heavily armored. The way he utilized his weapon of choice and moved about was testament to his caliber.

Which was all the more shocking that he lay on the ground, unmoving, his proud weapon cast aside like a literal stick in the mud.

Relia almost couldn't believe her eyes. It had all happened in a fraction of a second.

The lancer had thrust his weapon towards the trafficker's injured leg, as if to force the offender to live through his punishment prior. With a damaged leg as his, there would be no way to evade such an attack unscathed…

Unless he was never that injured to begin with.

The man quickly raised his leg to completely dodge the spear thrust. And before the armored guard had an opportunity to realized what had happened, the "injured" man brought his foot down on the flat side of the spear, tearing it from the guard's hands.

But before the spear hit the ground and carried its momentum with it, the man shot his free, and uninjured, foot forward, kicking it back up to guard. The spear's pole shot past the guard's arms and hit him square in the only unguarded part of his face.

His chin.

And as the guard was disoriented, the man quickly gripped the lance and, like a whirlwind, swung it full-forced at the guard's head.

There was deafening thud and a sickening crack as the heavily armored soldier fell over like a statue.

The trafficker threw the spear to the ground before continuing to walk away. The guards looked helplessly at the unmoving body of their comrade before turning to look at their leader who gave no further instructions. With a snap of his finger, the thin man and his group began departing, leaving behind the body of the fallen soldier.

Soon, all was quiet.

Relia bit her lip. She had to find Azul, no, Inigo, fast. She had to tell him that the town was currently in danger. There was absolutely no time to waste. She had to get to—

"Going somewhere?"

Relia turned as fast as she could, the knife in her hand already beginning it trajectory to the menacing voice behind her.

She couldn't figure out what happened next.

She saw the charcoal-colored knife coming loose from her hands and numbness spreading down her forearm. And before she had a chance to see that a wall of an arm had parried her attack, her face was met with what felt like a battering ram. Her vision flashed bright. The pain hadn't even registered yet.

Lady Luna would have killed her if she had seen the pitiful display she had just shown.

She could hear her liege's piercing shrill and barrage of insults beyond the ringing in her ears... It was almost... nostalgic.

As her legs crumpled from below, and her vision faded, she could barely make out the flowing hair of her adversary in the torchlit sky.

It was sea-green.

End of Chapter