Morroc Residence

"Daphne Trenton," Argos read. "Witch." He turned the card over. "Sources confirm that she is currently in Morroc." He looked up at Spider to see him deep in thought. A few moments passed in silence.

"Do you know her?" the red-eyed assassin asked. He looked back at the black and white picture provided of her with the card. She was a long haired woman in her late teens.

"Maybe I do," Spider answered vaguely. Argos didn't press further. "Why did you become an assassin?" Spider asked.

"...revenge." He stuffed the card back into the envelope, apparently not liking the change in topic.

"Ahhh?" the older man remarked. "So you had that kind of reason, huh?"

Argos brows knit together tensely. He clenched his fists.

"So, how about you?" Spider queried. "Do you know Daphne Trenton?"

"All we have to do is kill her, right? Then what's the point in knowing her? There's someone I have to kill, and I need to become an assassin cross to accomplish it. Targets like these are only stepping stones to my goal."

"As an assassin, I guess there isn't much of a point." He sounded a little disappointed. "I'm going out for a drink. It's a little habit I have before each hit."

Argos tossed the envelope onto a wooden desk and begun to follow him.

"Hey hey now," Spider said. "You're under-aged, sport. No drinks for you."

"...and killing people is legal?"

A wry smile grew on the assassin cross's face.

"As long as no one finds out. I'll be back in an hour." He stepped out of the doorway. "Why don't you find something to do until then?" he called back over his shoulder, closing the door.

What a shame, Spider thought.He was just beginning to grow on me. Looks like he won't be getting his revenge after all.

He didn't really think about where he was going. Some time later, he found himself outside of the Muka House.

"Heh. What am I doing here?" he asked out loud, half disbelieving, half scoffing at himself. His legs carried him inside, to the bar section of the restaurant. The bartender, a portly man in his 40's, did a double-take as he saw him.

"Hey you," he said gruffly. "The waitress yesterday picked this up from your table." He held up a house key.

"...A dragonbreath cocktail," Spider muttered, sitting on a barstool. "No chaser." He took his house key from the bartender and dropped several silver coins on the counter. Dragonbreaths were expensive, after all. He looked to the left outside the window as the bartender began working on his drink. From here , he had a fairly good view of the town square. He recalled the assassins guild leader's secret orders that he received the previous night.

The night before, Assassins Guild Central Hall

"Richard will be here in about ten minutes," Hama said, as he buffered the statue of Guile to a black luster. The moon could still be seen through the small circular glass window at the ceiling, casting the room in a subtle glow. "I suggest you talk to the leader before he arrives."

"Sure, sure," Spider said nonchalantly, striding over to the conference room. As he stepped inside, his carefree demeanor vanished, a hardened mask replacing it. The dimly lit room made his face seem darker.

"Ah, Spider, is it?" a deep voice asked. "You're late."

"At your service," the assassin cross said. Any trace of friendliness was gone from his voice, leaving only cold, hard, efficiency.

"This isn't really your hit, per se," the leader explained. "You're going to have a junior partner for this mission, it belongs to him. Your job is something more important."

Spider remained silent in rapt attention. Not my hit? Then why bother sending an assassin cross like me to babysit a newbie?

"When the target dies, there will be a considerable uproar," the leader explained. "And we will need a scapegoat for that situation to ease that political backlash. This is something only your partner can do. It can't be anyone else. And we don't want to waste valuable assassin crosses for this purpose; your type, after all, are hard to come by."

The assassin cross knew where this was going. He didn't like the sound of it at all.

"If your partner fails his mission, finish it for him, then finish him. Arrange the scene by cutting tail."

Standard assassination procedure...Spider thought. Depending on the situation, we can make use of fallen assassins as scapegoats by placing their bodies at the crime scene and making it seem as though they died completing their mission. That way we won't have investigators chasing our tails, hence the name.

"If he does succeed," the leader commanded. "kill him regardless, and arrange the scene by cutting tail."

Muka House

Truth be told, Spider had no intention of killing Daphne Trenton. There would have been too much of an aftereffect if she died. Relations between Morroc and the capital city Prontera had never been exactly friendly; a powder keg sitting next to a furnace. The 'starling's' death would be a spark guaranteed to ignite a war. He had just hoped that Argos would be sensible enough to think things over instead of blindly killing one target after the next. But it looked as though his revenge was more important than a stranger's death that would throw Morroc and Prontera into war, and possibly dragging other cities with it. Although Spider liked his new partner, it was clear to him that Argos had to be killed, and Daphne, protected.

"Your dragonbreath cocktail, sir," the bartender said breathlessly.

"...Thanks." Spider murmured, taking note of the hand with manicured nails that slid him the drink. Wait a minute. Burgundy painted fingernails? His head shot up towards the bartender.

It was the red-haired waitress from the day before. The portly man in his 40's was gone.

"Did you get your key back?" she asked.

"Yeah," Spider said in a low voice. This would have normally been the time where he would make a snappy come-on, but he remained silent. I'm just not in the mood now. The assassin cross took a deep drink of the deep red spicy rum.

She began polishing glasses with a cloth, but didn't really move too far away from him.

"You seem down," she ventured. The waitress seemed to have lost some of her shyness from yesterday.

"Yeah," Spider repeated. The waitress studied his face for a moment.

"What's her name?" she asked.

"...Richard," he replied, not really paying attention.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm pretty disappointed in him," Spider explained. "I thought he would care, but it turns out he's just like the rest of them." He sighed.

"... Uh... I see..." the waitress stammered, fishing for words. "Well... this isn't exactly my area of expertise... but maybe if you explained your... feelings to him more clearly..."

Spider fell silent. He took another swig.

"Whenever I got a new partner," he finally said. "I tried my best not to get attached to them. But Richard... I had hope for him."

"What do you do for a living, by the way?" the waitress asked, deciding that this line of conversation was too depressing for the man.

Spider's face suddenly grew very austere.

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," he deadpanned. Both of them stared at each other wordlessly, then broke out laughing.

Spider looked over to the back wall behind the counter, where several wanted ads were displayed.

"...then my face would be on that wall there," he continued. " 'Man wanted for killing innocent buns.' "

The waitress's face burned.

The assassin cross began studying the wall in interest.

"Say," he began. "Who do you suppose the most dangerous one of those fellows is, anyways?"

"Well that's obviously the one with the highest bounty," she said, her face still a little flushed. "Alexei Volkov, fallen lord knight. Serial killer, wanted for five million zeny."

"That Alexei, huh? I've actually met him in person." A dangerous smile was on Spider's face. "Think a guy like me can handle him?"

"Wh-what do you mean by 'handle' ?" she yelped.

"Isn't it obvious?" He took another swig and returned his attention to the wall.

"How about that mysterious 'Spider' fellow?" he asked. "People don't even know what he looks like; he always has that funny looking mask on his face."

"Yeah," she giggled. "It looks so ridiculous. How scary can a man with a happy face mask be?"

"You don't think it's intimidating at all?" Spider asked with incredulity. "Don't you think it'll look a little scary, with that sinister, all knowing smile? Eyes that follow you everywhere, like they can look into your soul?"

"Now you're just making fun of me," the waitress laughed. "But honestly, his bounty is only half of Alexei Volkov's."

Spider said nothing about this. He looked outside the window into the town square. To his surprise, he saw Argos sitting at a bench, wearing civilian clothing.

"There he is, that Richard," he said in a low voice. The waitress leaned forward to look out the window.

"...He's quite a looker," she said encouragingly. "... and... oh no... he's talking with a woman..."

Spider turned his attention to the cloaked woman that approached him. Where had he seen that cloak before?

Capital City Prontera, Residence

A women in her early twenties with dark red hair in a pigtail sat at a cherry wood desk, scribbling notes on a scroll of parchment. She had on a deep red professor's uniform that matched her hair. Occasionally, she would look up to check the time on the grandfather clock at the corner of the room, the two braided tassels of hair from behind her temples swinging as she looked.

"Three fifteen," she sighed. "He's late."

The rattling sound of someone unlocking the door alerted her to the arrival of the latecomer the professor was referring to. She set down her grand-peco feather quill and stood up from her desk, leaving the study to greet him.

She entered a modest, but comfortable and well-kept living room with wooden floors. Above the brick fireplace hung a large silver shield with the Crusader emblem engraved on it. A handsome mahogany shelf loaded with books and scholars' notes stood against the wall. The door swung open.

"Sorry I'm late Tabby," Grant apologized, stepping into the room. "Something unexpected came up." He mouthed the word Pope. Instantly, Tabby's hazel eyes widened, but she regained her composure just as quickly when she noticed a knight standing behind the paladin.

"Oh hello," she greeted, smiling gregariously. "Who might you be?"

"This is Kristoph Reinbach, a knight. He'll be accompanying me on a mission to Morroc," Grant introduced. He gestured to Tabby. "This is Tabby, my fiancee."

Reinbach bowed stiffly. "At your service," he said.

"He's a little shy for eighteen," Grant joked, slapping Reinbach on the shoulder. "But that's his charming point!"

"Ehhh?" said Tabby, drawing out the syllable. "Such a handsome boy like yourself would get plenty of girls fawning over him if he got out more. Shall I introduce you to one of my female students? I'm sure they'd love to meet you!"

"I respectfully decline," responded the knight.

"Aww..." Tabby sounded disappointed. "But when's this mission to Morroc? It's my first time hearing about it."

"We're leaving tonight," Grant said in an apologetic tone. "Right about six o' clock, give or take an hour."

"Do you think you can stay around long enough for dinner?" Tabby asked. "It's been a while since we've eaten dinner together, much less with a guest."

"I can't guarantee anything, but I hope so."

Tabby gave a resigned smile. "Would you like anything to drink?" she asked Reinbach.

"It's quite alright," the young man said.

"Let me ask him," Grant chuckled. "After training, it's important to re-hydrate the body in order to maintain good health."

"Okay then," Reinbach assented. The professor chuckled and left for the kitchen.

"Have a seat," Grant gestured towards the sofa. He left the living room and followed his fiancee. He wrapped his arms around her from behind as she began preparing drinks.

"Hello, Mr. Paladin," she said affectionately.

"Hello, Mrs. Professor," he replied, playing along.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I suspect the Pope wants the starling dead," Grant muttered in her ear.

Tabby's hand slipped and dropped a mug into the sink. Fortunately, it didn't shatter.

"After I arrive in Morroc, I'll look for her," he continued. "But I'll tell her to run. If I'm lucky, I can find Spider and convince him to watch over the starling for a while."

"It'll be dangerous." she whispered. "Especially in the desert during this time of the season."

"I know."

"If you get caught, the Pope will have your head."

"... I know."

"No matter how long you take," Tabby said, turning to face him. "I'll be waiting." She wrapped her arms around him, head pressed against his chestplate.

"There's the woman I fell in love with," Grant murmured. They stood there like that, cherishing the intimate moment. "How about we eat dinner early?"

Morroc Town Square

Argos took a seat at the bench near the decorative fosse at the center of town. He tugged on the sleeve of the burgundy tunic he was wearing. Lately, he wore his assassin uniform so often that it felt unusual to be wearing civilian clothing. He felt very vulnerable without his katars.

I should have trained more in dagger use, he thought. In the bustling town square, any able-bodied man or woman could be a dangerous enemy. No, even the cripples and the children could be dangerous. His nerves were on high alert. At least if he had concealed daggers, he would be able to protect himself.

"Excuse me?" a young woman's voice called to him. Argos jumped slightly.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" the hooded woman asked. She had one hand extended to reach his shoulder and the other to hold her hood over her head. Despite her stepping into his personal space, Argos didn't feel threatened by her movements. Wait, that's not exactly it... Even though she's covering her face, I don't really feel suspicious of her at all.

"...What is it?" he asked tersely.

"I'm looking for a child," the woman said. "I believe she's about this tall, with auburn hair, maybe about six years old. Her name is Rachel."

Argos shook his head. "I don't know such a person."

"Oh... I see." The woman's voice became very small, yet the assassin could still detect the tremor in it. "I apologize for bothering you." She turned to leave.

A sudden, inexplicable burning curiosity awoke in Argos.

"Who is she to you?" he asked. She paused.

"You were unsure about her age when you said she was about six years old," Argos stated. "You didn't seem very certain about her height either. And you hide your face, but expect to find a girl who can't see you. This girl is probably a complete stranger to you, yet you are still looking for her."

The woman turned around to face him again, but still kept her face hidden.

"... It's true," she said. "Rachel is a complete stranger to me. When I first saw her, I didn't know how to react. I suppose it was because of my sheltered life; when I saw her, I felt a rude awakening." She sniffed, and wiped her face with her free hand. "I did that girl a great injustice," she continued, her voice quivering. "Her mother is probably dead, and she believes that she'll come back to life because of a terrible lie I told her."

Argos looked at her in silence.

"You feel responsible," he stated, rather than asked. She stiffened, but did not deny it.

"I am sorry for wasting your time," she said, her voice thick with a lump in her throat. She turned to leave once more.

"... If her mother is dead, there's a chance she was taken to the local orphanage," Argos offered. "It's not a very good chance, but it's a start."

The woman froze in place.

"... The possibility exists...? Are you sure?" she said, turning to face him again.

"Like I said, it's not a very good chance."

"Even if there's a one-percent chance," she said desperately. "That's good enough for me! Can you take me there?"

Why not, he thought. I've got an hour to kill.

"Follow me." The assassin turned on his heel and began walking east of the town square. The woman rushed to walk alongside him.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm Charlotte, by the way."

"... Richard," Argos replied. He noticed as they walked that she continued to turn her head this way and there in search for the girl she was looking for, but Charlotte once never removed her hood.

They arrived at the orphanage twenty minutes later, located in the slums of Morroc. It was a pitiful looking, dusty brown building, with worn down wooden shutters, and a couple of rats scavenging in the garbage outside.

"You're very naive," Argos deadpanned. "I could have lead you to an alley and killed you for your belongings."

"But you didn't," Charlotte said, staring at the orphanage. "And how can I explain this... when I looked at you, I felt a sense of familiarity, as if I could trust you."

Argos didn't say anything to this.

"And besides," she continued. "I could have had male companions following us, ready to attack you the moment you lead me into an alley, for your possessions."

The assassin stiffened. She was right, he had to admit. He had let his guard down. The two of them entered the orphanage.

They inside of the building was just as pathetic as the outside. It had decaying floorboards with holes and splinters sticking out at odd angles. A slight, nauseating smell of something rotting hung in the hair, and on the far wall was an old bloodstain very close to the ground. There were a few children, filthy and poorly dressed, staring at the two visitors. A sickly looking woman with frayed, wispy hair sitting behind an ancient table that probably served as a reception desk, stood up when they entered. Argos shuddered, and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Is something wrong?" Charlotte asked.

"... I haven't been here in a while."

It took a while for Charlotte to understand what that meant. She let out a small gasp.

"I'm terribly sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

He jerked his head to the woman. "Go talk to her." She nodded.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Charlotte said. "I'm looking for an auburn haired girl named Rachel. She's about six years old. She may have been brought in here yesterday."

The woman didn't say anything but raised a bony hand and pointed to a dark hallway near the back of the room.

"Thank you." Charlotte entered the hallway; Argos following closely behind, looking more and more sick with each step that he took.

The hallway was lined with rooms. They checked each one, typically finding a couple of resigned, depressed children slumped on the floor or half-heartedly playing a few simple games.

Eventually, Charlotte found her alone in a room at the end of the hall. Rachel was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees in the corner of the room she was staying at. She didn't even have much of a reaction when they entered the room.

"Rachel?" she asked, as if hardly daring to hope. The child lifted her head and looked at the woman, with dull, defeated eyes. Her cheeks were streaked; it looked like she had been crying and long run out of tears. "Rachel!? It really is you!"

Charlotte rushed to the girl and knelt by her side.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, eyes tearing up. "I'm sorry that I had to find you here. Don't worry, everything is going to be okay." She hoisted Rachel up into a standing position, surprised at how light and unresisting she was.

"I did what you told me to," Rachel said, voice quivering. "I brought the locket to Momma and I waited."

Charlotte's eyes widened; her mouth hung open a little. She retreated backwards slightly, as though she were afraid of what Rachel might say next.

"I waited," Rachel repeated. "But nothing happened so I opened the locket."

"... Rachel... I'm so sorry..."

"It's my fault isn't it?" Rachel said, her voice rising, panicked. "It's because I opened the locket too late, isn't it? Miss?"

Charlotte was at loss for words.

"M-Momma's not coming back because I couldn't read the s-s-spell!" Rachel sobbed, her face contorting with tears. "And those m-men came and took momma away and I couldn't do a-a-a-anythi – " She got up and buried her face in Charlotte's stomach, wailing, unable to form coherent words anymore.

The young woman became crying in earnest now, tears streaming down her face. She let go of her hood and wrapped her arms around the child.

"Oh Rachel," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she repeated over and over again. Her hood fell off of her head, exposing her face for the first time. The shoulders of her cloak slipped off of her frame slightly, partially revealing a witch uniform underneath

Argos stumbled backwards as though bitten. He stared incredulously at the blonde witch, transfixed. Charlotte didn't notice this. He suddenly realized why he had a persistent nagging feeling at the back of his head that something was wrong.

"It's going to be okay, Rachel," Charlotte managed between sobs, brushing Rachel's hair. "I-I'll take care of you. I'll t-teach you to read, and buy you clothes to wear, and I'll feed you so you won't have t-to be hungry anymore." Rachel continued to cry.

Eventually, Rachel's sobs died down and she hung limply from Charlotte's arms, asleep. Charlotte sniffed and wiped her eyes with the hem of her cloak.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she said to Argos. The assassin was unable to reply. He nodded slowly.

"How would I go about the process of adopting this child?" she asked.

"...Tell the woman at the desk," Argos said. He looked away.

"There's no paperwork I have to sign?"

"Even if a child went missing, no one would bother looking for them," Argos explained. "It's one less mouth they have to feed."

"That's horrible!" she exclaimed, shocked.

"It's the truth," he replied. "No one cares about these children. Their parents are dead, or abandoned them. If they're lucky, they might live to the age of thirteen, and then they can start training for the army. That way, they can get fed."

"Is... is that what you did?"

"...Something like that."

They walked back out of the room, Argos taking the lead, anxious to leave the building.

"I'm going to be taking care of this child," Charlotte said firmly to the frail woman. She only nodded in response, looking slightly relieved.

As they left the orphanage, the young woman turned around and looked back at the sad building. Her mouth was set in a determined line, as if her mind were made up.

"Now that I think about it, I can't leave all those children in there alone," she said. "It bothers me to know about these kinds of orphanages."

"You can't adopt all of those children," Argos stated.

"I know that! ... It's just horrible how those children are surviving there in abject living conditions. Tomorrow, I'm going to start working here, cleaning and cooking, helping wherever I can. More than anything, these children need love."

The assassin fell silent. He turned to leave.

"Richard!" she called. "I haven't thanked you properly yet."

"You're very foolish," Argos said, looking backwards. "People like you won't survi –" He froze as their eyes locked for the first time.

Red eyes met red eyes. Both of them were unable to look away for a full minute.

"... Why," Argos demanded finally, retreating a few steps backwards, "do you have the same eyes as me!? WHY!?"

"I-I don't know!" the young woman stammered. "I've never met anyone else with red eyes before!"

"WHO ARE YOU REALLY?! ANSWER ME!"

The priestess's mouth hung agape, but no sound came out. Argos grit his teeth together, and fled.

Residence in Morroc

Spider staggered back down the alleyway, tipsy from his fifth drink at the Muka House. In his hand, he held a scrap of paper with a house address on it.

"Heh," he muttered. "Didn't even tell her my name. So uncool."

The assassin cross reached into his pocket and pulled out his house key that the waitress returned. He fumbled with the lock, then pushed the door open.

Argos was waiting for him, his arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

"Tell me who Daphne Trenton is," he demanded. "I need to know."

"I thought you didn't care," Spider grunted, his speech slightly slurred.

"DAMMIT! I NEED TO KNOW!" Argos snatched his his icicle katars and dashed forward in an overhead scissoring X motion to attack the assassin cross. Part of him was screaming at him not to attack Spider, knowing that his senior partner could kill him with the blink of an eye. The rest of him was demanding an answer.

Spider leaned backwards out of the range of the X-shaped attack, a hair's breath away from the tip of the blue katars. Just as Argos finished his swing with his arms pointing down, crossed at the elbows, the assassin cross reached out and grabbed his wrists, holding him in place. The teenager struggled to escape out of the lock, but he couldn't break free.

"WHY DOES SHE HAVE THE SAME EYES AS I DO?!" Argos roared.