Me: "You know, with all the trauma Anya went through in her early childhood, she should be nowhere as happy and cheerful as she is."
A certain beta of mine: "She was experimented on. Presumably the drugs gave her a permanent high."
I'm dying *sob*
As always, thank you to Shishou for editing this chapter and listening to me rant about random headcanons!
"Can you at least pretend to be scared?"
At the center of the Garden's headquarters, protected behind high walls and a labyrinth of false ends and twisting passageways, is located a fastidiously curated garden. Full of exotic and domestic plants alike, it is colorful and bursting with life, though not without a cloak of danger draped over it. Many of said plants, attractive as they may be, contain enough lethal poison to down an army of men.
It is here that the Shopkeeper nurtures. The cultivator of both this garden and the Garden itself.
It is here that the Shopkeeper reigns. The one who commands arguably the world's most dangerous assassination organization.
And it is here that the Shopkeeper stares incredulously at one Anya Forger.
Anya giggles. "Why would I?"
"We kidnapped you," the Shopkeeper says slowly, as if he was doubting Anya's intelligence. "We are the nightmares of the underworld. Elite assassins that entire countries would hesitate to take on. And you are our captive."
Anya shrugs. They are sitting around a round table underneath a small pavilion facing each other. A cup of steaming tea is set before the Shopkeeper, while a cup of watermelon juice is set before Anya. She isn't restrained in any way; the Shopkeeper isn't going to lower himself by needing to physically bind a child.
"So?" she says nonchalantly.
Though the Shopkeeper's mask obscures his face, his eyes flicker slightly. "So you should be terrified, my dear."
"Nope!" she replies easily. "Mom and Dad are gonna beat you up when they get here."
The Shopkeeper blinks. He leans forward. "You realize that your father, esteemed as he may be, cannot hope to stand up against the Garden's combat prowess. And as for your mother..." His dark eyes seem to be completely devoid of light, two empty voids staring through the eyeholes of the mask. "I taught her everything that she knows. If they try to fight, they will lose. That is an undeniable fact."
Anya meets his gaze without any fear and flashes him a cheerful smile. "I get to see real-life Bondsman in action again! Becky's gonna be so jealous when I tell her about this."
"... did you even hear a single word I just said?"
Anya ignores him, instead humming a cheerful tune while swinging her legs in an utterly carefree manner. As if to add insult to injury, she lifts her cup of juice and starts chugging it down with downright comical glug glug noises.
The Shopkeeper twitches. His sharp eyes are able to see with perfect clarity that she's not projecting false bravado or anything of the sort. She genuinely is not worried at all about her current situation.
Did she suffer trauma to her brain at some point? Is that it? If he remembers correctly, the bombings during the last war affected a small number of infants' brain developments. She must be one of them. It's the only plausible explanation.
"Ah, that hit the spot," Anya lets out a sigh of satisfaction as she finishes her cup of juice. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before shoving the cup into his face. "Another."
The Shopkeeper looks at her reprovingly. "Did your parents not raise you with any manners at all?"
Anya straightens, puffing her chest out. "They did! Dad told me to always display the 'utmost politeness'" – she says those two words as if she's repeating something she's heard a thousand times before – "to important people."
"Then why are you behaving so rudely?"
Anya stares at him as if he was stupid. "Because you're not one of the important people. Duh."
Then she sticks her tongue out at him.
Without another word, the Shopkeeper rises from his seat and turns around, brusquely walking away.
He is the leader of the Garden. One of the most powerful men in Ostania. The cultivator of assassins.
He is not going to let a pink-haired child get to him.
As he steps through the Garden, he comes across the dog tied to one of the non-poisonous trees. The Garden operatives he sent to acquire Anya came back with her dog as well, saying that it wouldn't stop barking so they knocked it out and took it along with them.
The dog growls at him, its hackles raised. The Shopkeeper stares coolly down at it.
"Silence."
The dog instantly goes silent, its entire body quivering in fear. The Shopkeeper didn't radiate any killing intent or murderous aura. He didn't need to. Just his mere presence alone is enough to render the mutt into absolute submission.
The Shopkeeper nods in satisfaction. That's more like it.
He then looks to the side. A few seconds later, a Garden guard emerges from the foliage.
"Shopkeeper," the guard says, a hint of urgency leaking through his otherwise placid voice. "Twilight and the Thorn Princess have begun their attack. The Poison Paladin and the Grandmaster have gone in to reinforce the Manager."
The Shopkeeper nods, having expected it. "Just as planned. Have everyone else remain at their posts and let those three take care of it."
No point in needlessly throwing away lives, after all. There is also a chance that Twilight may be banking on him sending in the guards to create an opening in the Garden's defenses for him to exploit. He won't put it past the legendary spy.
"What about yourself, sir?"
The Shopkeeper hums. "The Manager, the Poison Paladin, and the Grandmaster should be more than enough to take those two down. In the event that they fall, however..." His eyes gleam. "Then I shall step in. However, I highly doubt I'll be needed today."
The dog suddenly barks at them, seemingly gaining a spark of courage, its head snapping this way and that as it tries to pull its head loose from the collar leashing him to the tree.
The guard glances down at the dog, reaching for his handgun. "Should I shoot it-?"
"NO!" The Shopkeeper yelps, alarm flashing in his eyes. "Do not touch the dog! Are you insane? Have you learned nothing about what happened to the Rooshans overseas when they killed the dog of their top agent, Jaune Wek?! Kidnapping a child is one thing, but you do not shoot an operative's dog!"
"Right, my apologies."
The Shopkeeper shakes his head, making a mental note to have the guard take remedial lessons in the future.
"Just go," he says dismissively, already turning away. "Notify me when the battle is over."
"Okay," the guard says. A pause. "It's over."
The Shopkeeper blinks. "What do you mean?"
A ghostly shiver trails down his spine. His instincts scream out at him.
The Shopkeeper throws himself to the side and narrowly avoids the kick that scythes over his head, whistling through the air. He spins around to see the Thorn Princess leaping toward him, her crimson eyes cutting straight into his soul.
"Yor," he says blankly, not understanding what is happening. Isn't she supposed to be fighting the other Garden top operatives right now? How is she here?
Questions filter through his head as he swiftly dodges her strikes, evading backwards. What happened to the Manager and the Grandmaster and the Poison Paladin? There is no way Twilight is holding them off all at once–
A memory suddenly jumps to the forefront of his mind. A file he read quite recently.
Agent Twilight of Westalis.
Why is he remembering this?
Master of disguise and deception.
Oh. Right.
A loud crack.
He halts.
He looks down.
Red blossoms across his overalls.
A moment later, the pain follows.
The Shopkeeper grunts and falls to one knee, hand rushing to clasp the gunshot wound in his stomach. He turns his head to see the guard holding up his pistol, the barrel still smoking slightly.
No.
Not a guard.
Before the Shopkeeper's wide disbelieving eyes, the guard rips the latex off his face to reveal the deadly calm expression of one Agent Twilight.
"You..." The Shopkeeper whispers in shock.
"Me," Twilight agrees, his voice cold and hard.
That's about the time when Yor reaches him. And then his world explodes in pain.
「」
Approximately ten minutes prior.
"Yor. Plan B."
Those three words are a delight to Yor's ears.
Truth be told, she was never fond of Loid's plan. It required too much assuming, too much calculating, too much... thinking.
She much prefers fighting instead.
As the blindfold flutters down from her head, she takes a single moment to analyze her surroundings. They're in the dining hall. The Manager in front. Two guards behind them scrambling to bring up their rifles and fire. Not good. They'll have to go down first.
Yor blurs. One moment, she's in the standing position, still slightly hunched over from where she was pretending to be drugged. The next, she throws herself backward into a back handspring, pushing off the ground and launching herself high into the air, the wind whipping through her hair.
Before either of the guards have time to even blink, she's already behind them, landing impossibly lightly on the tips of her toes as if she were a ballerina. Then she pirouettes, except it's possibly the most violent pirouette in ballet history, her right leg lashing out in a vicious kick as she twirls around.
The unfortunate guard on her right goes down immediately. The other guard manages to duck his head out of the way before quickly swinging his gun over and pressing the trigger.
A hail of bullets sprays outward as the guard utters a prayer under his breath. Neither have any effect. Yor weaves out of the way and lunges in, elbowing the gun to the side. A look of resignation flashes across the guard's face before it's replaced by Yor's fist, cartilage snapping and bones creaking as the guard rockets back, collapsing to the ground in a heap. He doesn't get back up.
In the span of four seconds, both of them are taken down. Still alive, unfortunately. Ordinarily, Yor would finish the kill by tossing a spike or two into their skulls, but she was forced to leave all her weapons behind. For now, she has more pressing matters to attend to.
She whirls back around to see Loid and the Manager already engaged in a ferocious hand-to-hand battle. Loid's gun lays on the ground nearby; the Manager must've instantly disarmed him as his first move. Luckily, the Manager was also unarmed. Steeling herself, she rushes in and joins the fray.
"Ganging up on an old man is rather reprehensible, wouldn't you agree?" the Manager asks mildly in between attacks. Yor wants to scoff. Despite his white hair and wrinkled face, the Manager isn't even breathing hard as he fends both of them off.
"I'd say kidnapping a child is even more reprehensible," Loid growls.
The Manager inclines his head. "A fair point – Oh my." He barely manages to block Yor's kick, and even then he's sent skidding back, the rubber soles of his shoes leaving black trails on the marble floor. "You've grown stronger since the mission on the cruise," he says, a faint glimmer of pride appearing in his eyes. "A commendable improvement, Thorn Princess. I don't think I'll be able to last against you alone, much less the both of you."
He pushes his glasses up. They reflect just enough light from the crystal chandelier hanging overhead to hide his eyes from view.
"Thankfully, we already expected this."
The grand doors behind him slam open with a resounding crash and the Poison Paladin and Grandmaster step into the room. The air seems to grow heavier under the weight of their respective auras.
Yor narrows her eyes and Loid tenses up.
"Didn't think you'd ever betray the Garden like this, Thorn Princess," the Poison Paladin says, his voice sounding muffled behind the black plague doctor's mask that covers his face. Beneath his black robes is a lithe and agile body. "I must say, I'm disappointed."
The Grandmaster remains silent. His hands rest on the pommel of the great longsword stabbed into the floor before him, his gaze severe and unforgiving. He stands tall, a pair of iron shoulder plates enveloped over a grey leather tunic.
"But at the same time, I confess I'm also a little excited," the Poison Paladin continues, his tone becoming manic. He chuckles, high-pitched and uneven. "I've always wanted to know who'll win in a fight, you or me. Time to find out!"
The Grandmaster raises his sword high into the air before leveling it at her in a regal manner, the unspoken message loud and clear.
The Manager sighs. "You two and your dramatics…"
The Poison Paladin cackles. "Oh shut up already, old man."
In the blink of an eye, a knife is flying through the air at Yor. She didn't even see the Poison Paladin draw the blade.
Yor looks at the rapidly approaching knife dispassionately, tilting her head to let it sail by harmlessly –
CRUNCH.
The Poison Paladin chokes on air as Yor whips her head around and bites down on the knife, shattering the steel like it was glass.
Yor spits out the steel before asking contemptuously, "Is that the best you can do?"
In response, the Poison Paladin begins laughing. "Are you stupid? All my knives are coated in a contact poison so potent, if it even touches your body, you're dead. You just killed yourself, Thorn Princess."
Indeed, this is what makes the Poison Paladin so terrifying. He is not very strong in the conventional sense, but if he so wishes, he can easily bring an entire nation down to its knees with his wide variety of poisons. An undetectable poison leaked into a water supply here, a neurotoxic gas released into an urban center there, and it's enough to make even the most seasoned army shudder in fear.
Yor merely raises an eyebrow. "I did?"
"Of course..." The Poison Paladin trails off awkwardly. "Okay, the poison should be taking effect by now..."
Yor explodes forward, the marble floor cracking under the sheer force, shooting through the air at the Poison Paladin –
The Grandmaster intercepts her, an immovable wall blocking her way. He slams his longsword down, a meter of tempered steel sanctified with the blood of countless men that mercilessly cuts down everything in its path. Nothing before in history has survived its descent.
It's a good thing, then, that Yor is no longer in the way.
The Grandmaster's expression doesn't change as Yor threads her way past his sword with advanced footwork. He immediately plants his heel on the ground and reverses his strike with an impossible speed. Yor dodges his sword again effortlessly, then the next swing, then the next.
However, just as he can't land a hit on her, neither can she close the distance between them, the massive longsword forming an impassable gap. His bladework is flawless, his defense supreme, and if Yor gets hit even once, she won't be getting back up again.
The Grandmaster has reached the pinnacle of swordsmanship, and even as Yor evades his attack, she can't help but admire his unparalleled mastery. He makes the swordsman back on the cruise ship look like a complete amateur.
If it was just the Grandmaster, the fight would be a draw, but behind the Grandmaster, the Poison Paladin is flinging knives at her with reckless abandon, keeping her on the backfoot. With the Grandmaster dominating the melee and the Poison Paladin supporting from range, Yor is doomed to fall sooner or later.
"Yor, switch!"
Yor leaps back without hesitation even as her brows furrow in confusion. Loid is running straight at the Grandmaster, completely unarmed, his hands clenched into fists. He can't possibly be thinking of attacking the Grandmaster like that, right?!
The Poison Paladin collapses into a fit of laughter at the display, not even bothering to attack Loid, while the Grandmaster watches him approach impassively, as though he is a noble watching a mere peasant. And in a way, he's right. The Grandmaster is a descendant of the Ostanian royal bloodline, while Loid is as commoner as they come.
Loid barely manages to sidestep the first blow, his teeth gritted in exertion and hair fluttering down to the ground as he receives an impromptu trim, before stepping in and –
Yor blinks.
Wait.
Did...
Did Loid just throw sand into the Grandmaster's eyes? Where did he even get the sand from?!
The Grandmaster makes the first sound since he entered the room, grunting in irritation as he automatically raises his hand to rub at his eyes.
And this is when Loid strikes for real. In a flash, he reaches behind his back and pulls out his pistol. Before the Grandmaster can react, Loid fires.
The Manager was quicker. Before Loid even began moving, he was already in action, his wizened hand blurring into the Poison Paladin's robes to retrieve a knife and throwing it at Loid's gun right before Loid pulled the trigger.
Loid curses as his shot goes wide. The Grandmaster, having already recovered, wastes no time in bringing his longsword down in a punishing blow, far faster than his immense size should've allowed. Loid's face pales as he realizes his mistake.
He'd gotten too close, and now he can't dodge in time.
This will be his end.
Yor objects.
Loid's eyes widen as he's yanked backward by a tremendous force, flying through the air in the most unpleasant delivery method he's ever been subjected to, even worse than the one time he had to escape from a drug cartel masquerading as a circus troupe by firing himself out of a cannon.
Yor stands there, her murderous crimson eyes gleaming with an unholy light, a suddenly suffocating pressure exploding out from her.
She's done. She's just... done. Loid nearly dying – again – is the last straw that sent her over the edge. The past day has been an unbelievable pain, and at this point, her rage has transcended into an absolute state of raw intent to just get this over with.
An incredible amount of things happen in the next five seconds.
One second. She vanishes in a burst of speed, jumping into the air and landing feet-first on the ceiling. The chandelier shakes as she launches herself down at the Grandmaster, twisting her body mid-air to avoid his answering strike.
Two seconds. She crashes into him like a meteorite, her muscles burning as she pushes herself to her limits, unleashing a flurry of attacks that shreds leather and crushes steel. He tries to counter, but she's inside his range of power and there isn't much he can do.
Three seconds. The Grandmaster falls. Before his heavy body even hits the ground, Yor is hurtling toward the Poison Paladin. She tanks the knives head-on, uncaring of her torn flesh or the poison entering her bloodstream. A single blow is all she needs to knock the Poison Paladin out, his weak constitution the cause of his downfall.
Four seconds. She pivots on her heel and turns to the Manager. To his credit, he lashes out instantly with a palm strike that hisses through the air like a snake, fast by anyone's standards.
To Yor, though?
It is.
So.
Damn.
Slow.
Five seconds. The Manager is sent flying back with one solid punch to the solar plexus, slamming into the wall behind him and cracking the plaster. He slides down to the ground, unmoving.
Yor breathes in.
Holds.
Breathes out.
"Yor," Loid says, stepping up next to her. He examines the carnage with a thoughtful expression. "What the fuck."
"The Shopkeeper is next," Yor says, her mind already moving onto her next objective.
"Right. Let's go."
They make to leave before Loid pauses, looking back at one of the unconscious guards contemplatively. More specifically, the guard's uniform.
"Actually... Give me one moment. I have an idea."
After several months and multiple chapters of buildup, we finally reach the fight against the Garden. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Had to use some OCs because, well, there just aren't enough canon Garden characters haha. I had a blast writing the chapter, especially the first part. Decided to use a slightly different style and format with the Shopkeeper scene, and I think I like how it turned out
also i'm not saying i forgot about bond back in chapter 6 but i may or may not have forgotten about him my bad lmao
Thanks for reading!