(A/N): Hello everyone. I was gone for quite a while. Sorry about that. Here's the next chapter. And I promise the next one isn't going to take as long as this one did.

Please enjoy.

Jeorge felt his jaw nearly hit the floor. "You can't seriously consider going through with her plan, milord."

But the prince would not budge. "We are in dire straits, Jeorge. The people of Hearth need our help more than ever."

"But to hire a mercenary company—"

Alfonse held up his hand, marking an end to the conversation. Jeorge knew better than to argue further once the prince made up his mind on the field. It would take nothing less than King Domeric's words to change it. And the king was long since dead.

"I understand your concern, Jeorge, and I truly do appreciate your counsel." Alfonse explained. "But do we have any other alternatives right now? Can you say with full confidence that we can repel this threat on our own without any casualties?"

Jeorge knew he could not guarantee that. The nearest military settlement had its force relocated towards the vanguard that marched to Tellius. The Order still had no idea that they were even here to begin with. Getting reinforcements from them would be near, if not entirely, impossible. Getting aid from the mercenary Relia, as Alfonse had agreed to, would be their best, and perhaps only, option.

"I am to be king someday." Alfonse said, his gaze weighing heavily upon the town that lay beneath them. "I do not want to be remembered as a king who stood by and did nothing as his people suffered right under his nose. My father wouldn't have wanted that either."

Jeorge nodded, a tinge of reluctance still hanging over him. "As you wish, milord. I am here to serve."

"Thank you, Jeorge," Alfonse smiled, placing his hand on the archer's shoulder. "I know I can be stubborn at times."

Being an advisor to the crown prince was, indeed, an arduous job.

"Just know that if you plan on double-crossing us, I won't hesitate." Jeorge had warned her.

"What, you afraid of some little girl?"

He narrowed his eyes. "I know danger when I see it. And you reek of it."

"Rude. I'll have you know I take baths every day, thank you very much."

He scoffed and went about.

Their earlier dispute still rang in her ears.

What he wouldn't hesitate with, Relia didn't ask, but she wouldn't need to. She could only smile dryly. She didn't doubt that the Order wouldn't take kindly to treason, especially with how delicate things had been for Askr, if her informants had been true. And a lone mercenary like herself in a town prowling with mysterious guards would not help her case. Still, she managed to devise a sound enough plan for Prince Alfonse to hire her.

They would need to get out of Hearth and regroup with the remaining members of the Masquerade. Relia did also ask Alfonse if he could call for reinforcements from the Order but he shook his head. The Order was currently undertaking a campaign on the Tellius front against Embla. She was curious, but didn't pry further. There were more concerning matters to attend to besides the political climate of the two empires.

Relia carefully peeked from the edge of the emptied tent. She couldn't keep watch for long. The clanking of armor was more than enough persuasion. Just as quietly as she entered, Relia tiptoed out of the abandoned stall, avoiding all the foodstuffs and trinkets that lay scattered along the stone tiles.

"How's this end?" Jeorge, the golden-haired archer, asked as Relia returned from her brief scouting mission. "The right side is completely sealed off with guards."

Relia shook her head. "Too much activity. There are more guards on patrol than I expected."

Jeorge clicked his tongue in frustration. "Damn. That's another path blocked."

"It's only going to get worse from here on out," Relia reasoned. "You're going to need someone to watch your back if you want to make it out of this."

Jeorge glared at her, his grip visibly tightening on his bow. "So, what? You want me to arm you so that you can stab me when I have my back turned to you?"

If silence wasn't so golden, Relia would have given the blonde archer a piece of her mind at the questioning of her loyalty and service to a client, who in this case was Prince Alfonse. In her entire career as a mercenary, she had built a life and reputation as a mercenary who kept her word in all of her contracts. She wasn't about to break it in what was probably the second biggest job of her career.

But protesting would only give their position away to the guards, something that would give Jeorge further reason to plant an arrow between her eyes. Although she was no longer bound like she was with the Scourge and could move about freely, she dared not challenge Jeorge and his bow. Jeorge wasn't the only one who could see potential danger in a person; Relia was just as perceptive. And Jeorge wouldn't have the slightest amount of trouble in putting her down if she resisted by any means.

Lady Luna had taught her to pick her battles. This was not one of them.

Swallowing her pride, and admonishment for lacking a weapon, Relia obliged Jeorge's refusal. He still looked at her coldly, his hawk-like eyes on the hunt for any hint of suspicion. While being on the receiving end of such treatment was deplorable, Relia knew she would have acted similarly had their roles been switched.

Trust was earned, not simply given, Relia knew that better than anyone in her trade.

"Still, I am curious as to why you think arming you would be the best course of action." Jeorge said, his hand unmoving from his bow. "What exactly did you see?"

The black-armored guards increased in number as the further they went towards the south of town, she explained, making it harder for the group to be able to get around unnoticed. Jeorge had predicted earlier that the guards had set up their base of operations there, which would explain the increasing frantic activity of the mercenaries.

However, these guards were not of the usual cut of brigands Relia was accustomed to thwarting.

Their rank and formation on the patrols spoke of proper training and discipline, something outlaws tended to lack in droves. Their equipment also wasn't the usual secondhand goods that ponged of theft but showed proper maintenance.

It was an entire private army.

Relia recalled the armored knights that followed the hooded man who dealt with the trafficker from before. These armored guards bore a striking similarity to them.

Fighting them outright would not be an option, even if they did have the Scourge and the Askrian prince with them. They would be able to overpower the guards eventually but the risk of collateral damage was too great. The Heroes may fight to protect the innocent but these guards might not have such honor. And Inigo would give her hell for endangering innocents.

That is, if she survived this.

"Do we have other alternate routes?" Jeorge implored. His tone was calm but Relia could feel the growing anxiety that weighed on them both as the patrols of the guards grew even tighter.

Relia thought quietly for a moment. Inigo had mentioned of an abandoned sewer system that ran beneath Hearth many moons before. She, though, had never found such an entrance in the many times she had visited Hearth, and she certainly did not have the luxury to go looking for one now.

But what other choice do we have right now? Relia thought to herself. Her action, or inaction, could cost people their lives. She just needed to figure out which course of it would cost the least.

"Milord, were you able to find anything?"

Jeorge's sudden greeting pulled Relia from her spiraling thoughts. The prince had returned with Fir from their own scouting mission. Judging by Alfonse's furrowed brows, Relia knew that they too had no such luck in finding the opening they were all so desperately looking for.

"Every exit to our north is teeming with guards." Alfonse muttered. "Seems our enemies have reinforced the weaknesses in their patrols before we were able to exploit them. Has Lord Ephraim returned?"

Jeorge could only shake his head. "Nay, he hasn't. For us, there is no way to fall back nor is there any way to advance. The guards are closing in all the gaps in on us as we speak." He paused. A grim look spread across his face. "It is only a matter of time before they find us here."

"Who are these soldiers, anyway?" Fir asked, her eyes glancing around nervously. "Do you know of any mercenary companies like this, Relia?"

She shook her head. "Not the slightest idea. And I know the ten biggest contractors in the area… None of them operate on a scale like this."

Attention shifted to Prince Alfonse to see if he knew anything about these guards but they were met with another wall of no answers.

Still, it had everyone thinking the same thing: "Just who were these people?"

Relia was sure that they were affiliated with the traffickers she had seen before but sizeable private armies like these aren't an easy secret to keep from the world, much less so if the ones who were utilizing their services were contemptible slavers, who were more often than not completely incompetent.

If that was the case, then the slavers themselves did not hire these men. Relia thought back to the conversation of the slaver and the hooded man.

They were trying to negotiate over a business transaction, she recalled. The hooded man demanded, "Five more…," but of what exactly?

But those thoughts would have to wait. They needed to get out of the alley soon if they did want to catch sight of the patrols. She turned to Alfonse.

"Have you heard of an underground sewer system that runs beneath Hearth, your lordship?" she asked.

The prince, visibly taken aback, gave her a wary look.

"How do you know about that?" His voice was low, cautious, as if he didn't want the very winds to pick up his words and scatter them about. Whatever she had just said, Relia felt that she shouldn't have but she had no other choice.

Feeling that it was best to answer truthfully, Relia answered, "My liege—I mean our commander—told me of its existence, but not much else." She paused briefly, trying to gauge what response the prince would have. His eyes were indeed narrower, wary at the protected knowledge she somehow got to possess but the Askrian prince gave nothing else away.

"I heard that it may lead a way outside," She added, trying to alleviate the prince's concern, "but I still haven't come across such a thing."

Alfonse closed his eyes, exhaling sharply in response.

"You were never supposed to find it." He uttered, after a tense pause. "It is a secret only the royal family and guard know."

That only raised more questions for Relia, but one thing was certain:

Speaking of the underground sewer way was treading on thin ice.

"Still," Alfonse resumed, his tone much lighter, "I do think our lives are of more importance than some royal-blooded secret." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Let's go find ourselves a sewer."

Relia's eyes lit up. They had found the breakthrough they all needed at last. All they would need to do know was—

"Don't move."

Shit.

Everyone froze in place. Relia saw Jeorge cursing under his breath. Too consumed with thought of a way out, they had become careless of the encroaching guards. They were now at the mercy of the helmeted voice that barked from the alleyway behind them, accompanied by the distinct, piercing ring of a sword leaving its scabbard.

"I was wonderin' where the other division had disappeared to but would you look at this," the guard announced, his voice laden with malice. "We've got ourselves quite a catch!"

"That bastard Roland will finally stop complainin', now." The guard's partner announced.

Relia could feel the armor-laden footsteps get closer, and by counting its intervals, she made out two pairs coming towards them. They might be able to overpower two guards but the ensuing commotion would have a whole brigade falling onto them. That would spell disaster.

The steps stopped barely a meter from their huddled backs.

"Nobles an' wenches," the ear-grating voice cackled, "must be me lucky day."

Relia felt the pommel of the guard's sword prod her back.

"Kneel." He ordered. "Hands out on the ground. An' I don' want to hear a peep outta ye." They were in not position to argue otherwise.

Relia's heart raced. She needed to find a way out. It would only be a matter of a few minutes until the guards took them away or brought reinforcements. She cursed that she still did not have a weapon on hand.

Out of the corner of her eye, Relia saw Fir shake uncontrollably, a subdued a whimper leaking from her lips. The guard was running his bare hands through her lavender hair, his knuckles kneading against Fir's exposed neck. Every perverse, vile breath he let out along her back was met with the small tears that began to drip from Fir's eyes, her whimpers ever increasing.

"Don't worry lassie, just gotta make sure the product is nice and… fresh."

The other guard chuckled devilishly. "Go easy this time, will ya? The poor wretch from last time can't walk no more."

"We'll jes haf ta sell that bar wench to a low'r market then. People'll buy. They always do."

Relia nearly got up and rushed the guard but was held down by an iron grip. Alfonse held her arm tighter than any vise could.

"Don't." He managed to mutter.

She was exasperated. "What the hell do you mean?!" She whispered furiously. She then followed the prince's eyes and found her answer.

A slender, yet savage-looking knife hovered mere inches away from Fir's tear-caked face.

Any misstep, and the guards would not hesitate in using it.

"Well," the trafficker holding Fir said, removing his helmet, letting it dangle off his neck. "Aren't you a pretty 'un?" His horribly scarred face drew ever so closer to Fir's own. Bloodshot eyes ran all around her body, like a wild beast examining its prey. "Maybe I should—"

"That's enough."

The two guards turned their eyes away from their catch and looked downward from where the defiant voice was coming from. Relia had noticed that Alfonse was no longer sitting down next to her, but standing up, his swordhand at the ready.

"If you value your lives," Alfonse demanded, "Unhand Fir. Now."

The guards burst into laughter in response. The one who had his sword drawn waved it nonchalantly in front of Alfonse's face.

"I think yer confused with somethin' here, lad," the guard barked, smirking, "Yer in no place to be givin' me orders. Not unless you want yer pretty little friend here to lose her eyes. Ain't that right?" He turned to face his hostage-holding companion, who sneered in agreement.

"Now why don't ye sit down before someone gets hurt?"

Alfonse glared him down, unmoving. "Then your lives are forfeit."

And before the guard could hurl another insult, a clanging thud resonated in the tight hallway. It had come from helmet the guard's companion happened to drop from his neck, its clasp buried by the dirt below, the dome covered in its usual dark spots. Sighing with the relief, the guard reached down and retrieved the helmet to hand back, only then to realize something was horribly amiss.

His partner had left the fastened helmet to dangle from his neck, its underside clasp left intact. And upon looking closer at the splotches that dotted the helmet had started to flow down towards his hands, their color a dark crimson, one he was intimate with.

He turned to his partner, only to see that he was no longer holding their prisoner and standing where he once was. The man was collapsed down on his knees, his arms sprawled wildly at his side, a pool of blood beginning to surround him. His head was gone.

Without another thought, the guard lashed forward with his sword. Although the man's attention was on Prince Alfonse, the sword strike headed towards Relia. Immediately, she felt two hands grab and push her out of the way of the blow. She felt the force of the blow connect, blood splattering against her face but she was unharmed.

Squinting past the blood that got in her eyes, Relia shot her leg forward, catching the unwary foot of the guard, toppling him to the ground. He fell with an undignified crash, several pieces of armor clattering onto the floor, loose and in a heap.

But before she could do anything else, a sea-green blur whisked past her and set atop the fallen man. She had no doubt in her mind who it was. He was caked completely in what could only have been blood. With a spine-shattering stomp, the Scourge pounded his boot on the guard's back.

"Some timing, you have." She spat. Relia had much more to say but preferred letting the Scourge continue with his work.

Fittingly, he said nothing in return, only driving his heel further into the guard.

The guard desperately gasped through his blood-choked cries and clawed at the dirt beneath him, trying with all his might to move. His legs were as still as a statue's.

Relia rose to her knees. She hadn't forgotten that someone pushed her out of harm's way. she still felt the hand of whoever had pushed her. In fact, it was still attached to her.

Her savior's hand dangled from her shoulder, spewing the last remnants of its blood all over her.

Out of shock, she nearly threw the thing to the ground, only to stop when she saw its owner. Across from her, Relia saw a pale Jeorge, gripping his wrist as it was bound with a torn piece of his cloak, dripping with blood.

She rushed to his side. Swatting away his hand, Relia took over the make-shift tourniquet Jeorge was trying to feebly fasten with one hand. She could hear a low moan of pain from him as he winced when she applied heavy pressure on the still bleeding wound.

"Why the hell would you do such a thing?" she finally said, almost as if she were scolding the archer.

Jeorge closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth. "It—shit—has always been my job to protect people… haah… I don't plan on going back on that—"

"Thank you." She stated abruptly, still tending to his wound. "For saving me."

"Don't… think anything of it." He responded. "I wouldn't have gotten this far if I only wanted save my own skin"

"Might want to reconsider your career choices, then." She stressed, "You're going not going to have enough body parts to give up."

Jeorge, despite his pain-ridden face, chuckled to himself. "Must you joke about everything?"

Relia forced a smile. "My commander's habits must be rubbing off on me."

Replacing Jeorge's rag with a cleaner strip of cloth, Relia tightly wound it around his wrist, maintaining pressure, and doing her best to slow the bleeding.

"It isn't much," she announced, tucking the last fold of the tourniquet around his wound. "It's going to keep most of your blood inside of you now but you're going to need actual medical attention as soon as possible."

"I'll… I'll," he grimaced, his face chalked pale, "I'll get over this. Go tend to the others."

She looked at him, unsure.

"Please."

She nodded, getting up quietly. She turned to leave when Jeorge grabbed wrist. Relia could feel how weak the grip was behind his fingers.

"Thank you, Relia." Jeorge managed to say. His eyes no longer bore any semblance of resentment or suspicion towards her. He loosened his grip and let her walk away.

The small smile she wore was anything but forced now.

End.

(A/N): The next chapter will be out within the next two weeks. Stayed tuned.