Running across the busy streets, ten men with decidedly sharp blades in a rage-blinding pursuit, was definitely not Hans' first choice of an ideal leisurely evening. Not his second, or third, for that matter. In fact, the only thing he might despise more would be having to spend time with the tramp back in the Tomb, but that was a rather low standard. To add salt to the wound, all of this could have been avoided if his so-called 'bodyguard' actually did the job he was called in to do for once.

He had just finished checking both of them at the inn and, after dropping his lodgings in his room, had come back to the main area and ordered himself a drink. The piss water they peddled as beer around these parts might leave his mouth with the most pleasant aftertaste of dirt and used socks, but it was the only thing that could even come close to starving off his caffeine withdrawal symptoms. So there he was, sitting in a relatively closed-off corner of the tavern, looking over his manuscripts and occasionally taking unenthusiastic sips out of his slightly stained mug, when those rambunct idiots had decided to walk in.

Looking at their flushed faces and slightly sluggish movements, it didn't take a genius to tell that the armored men had already begun their festivities while still on the job. Everybody inside gave them a wide berth; while they might not have the best impressions about the drunkards who were supposedly sent here to protect them, nobody wanted to stir up any trouble with people bearing the royal capital's coat of arms. Unfortunately, that meant that when nobody jumped ahead to welcome them at their table, the group of meatheads simply decided to occupy the table with the most empty seats, the table currently assaulted by the Danish author as he continuously banged his head against its frail wood.

Hans was at the time too absorbed in his current manuscript to notice the armored men sitting down, and they barely registered in his radar when the same nitwits started making fun of him. Something about "a blue midget trying to drink his own weight" followed by a bout of annoyingly loud laughter. He only raised his eyes from his papers when one of them started using his head as a handstool, and even then he was only paying them half a mind at most. He remembered his mouth moving automatically, with barely any input on his part. Andersen couldn't recall exactly what it was that he said to them, only that by the time he finished everybody in the tavern was looking wide-eyed at him and his table colleagues' faces were quickly turning a concerning shade of purple. That's when he decided to run.

Back to the present, Hans hastily ducked under an incoming carriage that rolled in his way, before clumsily getting back to his feet, all the while cursing the diminutiveness of his stature. Even as a Caster, his physical prowess should have allowed him to easily outrun any normal human. However, the length of his feet and the fact that the men chasing him were considerably stronger than the average human back in his world, meant that there were plenty of occasions where he managed to avoid capture only by the skin of his feet.

After taking a sharp turn to the right and along a narrow alleyway, Andersen found himself in one of the still relatively crowded areas of town. In other words, the best situation to throw off his pursuers, as the soliders clad in heavy plating should have a harder time making their way through the mass of people than he. Of course, as soon as the passerby realized who the knights were, they scampered away to make way, but in that brief period of confusion, Hans managed to worm his way towards one of the depositing areas of to the sides and hid between a bundle of large sacks. The blue-haired author then spent the next couple of minutes holed up between a sack of potatoes and some celery, only sparing the occasional glance towards the soliders hunting him. Finally, when it seemed like they were about to give up and return to their business, Hans allowed himself to relax, a relieved sigh escaping his lips-

"Hey! What do you think you're doing skimping along my merchandise, boy?!" only for the voice of the vendor nearby to compromise his position. Hans didn't need to look to see if the man's outburst had been noticed, the clanging of steel boots against the dirt was proof enough. He quickly brought his hand to the ground, tree roots sneakily sprouting from the cracks in the floor near him. Master had ordered them to act as inconspicuously as possible, but Hans believed he was already past that point. Plus, something as subtle as this shouldn't be a problem. The tree roots encroached on the layered tower of supplies in front of him, making small cuts into the fabric as it went. So when the knights began closing in on him, they suddenly became the victims of an impromptu avalanche of whatever the owner had stuffed in those bags. Which, as their luck came to be, turned out to be fresh, ripened tomatoes.

The next thirty or so minutes were spent in a similar fashion as before. The only difference was that now instead of a couple of pissed-off imbeciles in armor, he was being chased by a couple of really pissed-off imbeciles in newly repainted red-splattered armor. Which in Hans's opinion was an improvement to the boring grey and brown from before, but then again, he was a writer, not a fashion designer. At last, after he could swear he had gone across every street and alley in the damn town at least twice, Hans found himself faced with a dead end.

"End of the road, shorstack. Nowhere left for you to scurry away like the rat you are. Now we're gonna have some words with you and your friends over here!" one of the morons, the one with short, spiky hair and a bulging nose, snickered. Hans on the other hand was preoccupied by something else.

"Wait, what? When did you two get here?" he asked as he became aware of the two men behind them, his good-for-nothing associate and some scruffy-looking homeless man who was looking as if he was about to hurl where he stood.

"About four streets ago. Not by volition, I might add. It's more accurate to say we got caught up in this makeshift stampede of yours," replied Kojirou, only the tiniest of what could be described as a mix of annoyance and amusement dripping off his usual detached atmosphere.

"I shouldn't... I shouldn't have moved so much-gods the world keeps spinning." the stranger groaned as he brought his hands to his temples. Hans eyed him for a couple of moments, his perpetual scowl seeming to deepen just a tiny bit, before turning his attention towards the group of bumbling fools that was currently threatening them.

"Not that I have any particular interest in your job security in your nearby future, but don't you think your superiors might think you have better things to do than chase around an innocent civilian like a pack of rabid dogs?"

Almost as if on cue, a hearty laughter echoed between the five stooges, laughter echoed in all of the evening's accumulated frustrations. Hans could almost see the tension leaving their posture, like a tired man about to indulge himself with a warm, scrumptious dinner after a long day of work.

"No idea, maybe we should ask him," one of the men replied, turning towards the long-nose in the front, his posture a mockery of a soldier's salute. "Sir! We are currently engaged in apprehending a good-for-nothing bumpkin who thinks he can blatantly insult the Crown right to our faces and can get away with it. What should we do?"

"Well, men, I say we ought to make an example out of him. We can't be seen condoning such treacherous actions in front of the common folk, can we?" the leader snarled, before breaking down into another howl of laughter.

"I think you might have to get your ear checked, the wax that must be gathered in there could make up enough candles to light up the whole capital. The ones I've been insulting were you, not the crown." Hans pointed out.

"A word of wisdom for the clueless imp over here," the man said as he stepped forward menacingly, free hand pointing to the emblem on his chest. "See that? As long as we wear the Crown's sigil, we are representatives of the Kingdom itself. Badmouthing us is the same as badmouthing the King. Get it, pipsqueak?"

"Oh, believe me, I have plenty of criticisms for the Kingdom too. Mainly, how on earth did anyone think it was a good idea to leave a town's security up to someone who looks like he needs help tying his shoes in the morning?" Andersen declared while shaking his head, completely indifferent to the sound of clinging teeth that greeted him. "Seriously, I pity the poor peasants when I think of how their hard-earned tax money helps put food on the table for a bunch of throttle-bottoms."

"Why, you-!" Unable to bear the humiliation any longer, one of the shmucks launched for him, only to be stopped by the Kojirou's hand as it grabbed onto the man's wrist, his grip refusing to budge for even a millimeter.

"Now, I can tell things have gotten a bit heated over here, what would you say we remain civilized and discuss things over a delectable cup of tea? I've recently come across a store that I'm sure you will all find most enjoyable." Seeing as his offer was made with the sharp glint of five unsheathed blades, the eastern swordsman leisurely brought his hand closer to his own hip. "Then again, if what you desire is simply to blow off some steam, I have no problems with such an arrangement either."

"Hypocrite," Hans grumbled from behind, having no doubt as to which option the faux-Saber had been hoping for. Kojirou, for his part, simply hummed non-committedly.

"Wait, hold on a moment!" the extra by their side exclaimed, seeing as a couple of the swords had been aimed towards him as well. "I'm not with these guys, I don't want any trouble here!"

As the drunk's pleading fell on dead ears, Kojirou finally let go of the man's arm and stepped back expectantly, but that particular meathead didn't make any move to engage. From the marks on his skin where his partner's fingers had dug in, Hans reckoned he'd be more hesitant to engage than his fellow peers. That didn't mean he wouldn't join in afterward, just that he wasn't the one to make the first move.

Seeing the tension in the air rise to the point when one could practically taste the violence that stirs around, tucking and pulling to be let loose, Hans began looking around for a suitable place to hide a couple of bodies. His Magecraft wouldn't be of much use when it came to disposing of evidence, not to say of the obvious soon-to-be witness that stood around like a deer in the headlights. A very pungent deer. Andersen didn't take him to be the type that could be bribed with money to look the other way, and while trying to denounce him as just some random drunk spouting nonsense, that wouldn't really be the textbook definition of tying up loose ends. He idly wondered if the cat woman would be willing to let them borrow one of her children for a bit.

Meanwhile, the five guards decided they'd had enough of the improvised staring contest and bounced into action. Their leader jumped in first, his large broadsword already in motion, only to be lazily sidestepped by Nazarick's resident gatekeeper, who hadn't even bothered to draw that oversized katana of his yet. The brute's eyes widened as his weapon cleaved through the air, impaling the nearby wall of the building. Props to his experience, he didn't waste much time before resuming his attack. With a mighty heave, he tugged on his weapon and prepared for a devastating swing-

-only for the sword to get stuck. What followed was the unofficial trio standing around awkwardly as the man tried, and failed, to pull out the sword. Even his lackeys came to help pull it together, but the sword may as well have been Caliburn for how it stubbornly refused to leave its stone enclosure. And the man was no King Arthur.

"Alright, this has gone past being funny and jumped right into sad territory. Let's just leave for now." Hans told the other two. Sasaki didn't react much, but to someone more used to his facial expressions, he might as well have had a kicked-puppy look on his face at that moment.

"Don't you dare take a step, you damned bastards! I'm gonna tear you to pieces and feed it to my son's dog!" While the broad man's words were certainly threatening on their own, pairing them with the sweat-ridden face, heated from exhaustion, and the additional four people hugging him and pulling, they themselves in no better shape, it took away from the illusion quite a bit.

"Halt! Just what is going on here?" Everybody turned towards the owner of the new voice, a young man who stood at the end of the alleyway. From the short-cut golden hair and blue eyes, the conventionally attractive, if plain face, and the literal white shining armor that attired him, the boy looked so much like the generic good-two-shoes knight that it almost physically hurt Hans to look at him. Not even the mashed potato-loving sun Saber managed to pull off the stereotypical look that way. He looked like he jumped straight out of one of those horrid Disney movies that the author half-remembered being shown. He didn't remember much of them, just that he had ripped apart one of the cassettes after being shown an adaptation of one of his works.

"And just who are you supposed to be? I don't remember being told of any new faces around here-..." One of the extras said, only to trail off and suddenly pale as another person, a young girl this time, wandered in after the boy.

"Climb, don't wander off like that. Who knows what you might run into if you rush off into a situation like that? I don't want to see you in any danger" said girl pouted in a concerned tone. For some reason the, sweetness in her voice made Hans's hair on his back rise up.

"Apologies, Princess! Worrying you is the last thing I want to do, but I can't just sit by if there's a chance there's people in danger." the boy, named Climb apparently, humbly answered. Hans might have rolled his eyes at him spouting such cliche dialogue, but his attention was on the newest arrival at the moment.

'A princess, huh? Just our luck to run into someone important like that. This is definitely above my pay grade.' Taking in a closer look, from the quality of the dress to the practiced speech and mannerisms, Hans could definitely tell the young woman was definitely nobility. But that was not what caught his attention, however. It was a strange feeling of weariness, the signs that his gut had pocked up something concerning before his mind could catch up. Looking upon what seemed like just a well-mannered pleasant young lady filled him with an unsettling amount of dread and, oddly enough, familiarity. Though he couldn't put his finger as to why that was.

Then he met her eyes. The hauling abyss that shamelessly hid behind the bright light in her twin orbs, like an angler fish reeling in his prey. A false light in an ocean of endless darkness. And at the bottom of that ocean, there was nothing but an unquenching impulsion, a depravation of oneself that craves to fill its space with nothing but selfish desir-

"No." Hans couldn't tell when his hands had found the creases of his forehead, only that they were furiously managing it, desperate to stave off the headache of unimaginable proportions that was no doubt on his way. "No, no, no, no-no-no-NO-NO!" he continued to matter like a soothing mantra, a spell that allowed him to reject the reality the world presented to him. He was vaguely aware of the curious looks he was receiving from the other two, but frankly, he didn't find it in himself to care.

"Oh Climb, you know I can't stay mad at you when you say that. But please, do try to be more careful in the future, alright?"

"P-princess Renner! What a surprise! We were not told to expect you, you see-"

"W-what brings you around here?"

Like the annoying buzzing of a fly, the conversation carried on in the background with no regard for the author's ensuing breakdown. Andersen could feel his mouth dry, the absence of the wonderful substance named alcohol irritating his palate. He found himself looking back fondly towards his half-drunk bear back at the tavern. Oh, how he hoped it was still there, dutifully waiting for his return. Until then, however...

"HOW IN THE WORLD ARE THERE TWO OF THEM NOW?!"

AN:

I noticed I like ending chapters with a character shouting his frustrations out loud. I don't know why, for some reason, it just speaks to me. It also makes for a pretty good cliffhanger for non-action chapters. Unless you count Hans's tomato assault a fight.