"The Evil Eye Tribe? I certainly hold nothing against them. What happened in Faradar was an act of Imperial justice, and nothing more."

(by Emperor Drizen Vollachia, ~350 After Calamity)


Chapter 6: Of Madmen and Monsters

It was a brand new day in High Count Peixit's land, and Criff wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this place as he could.

The events of the previous night were fresh in his mind, made even fresher by the sharp stab of pain he felt in his left arm. He recalled the helpful servant who gave him a leather strap and taught him to make a sling. He also recalled crossing paths with Palladio Manesque, who just pointed at his arm and burst out laughing. Thankfully, that was the last memorable event that night.

So now, it was time for a memorable day.

Biting his lip to stifle a cry, Criff slid off his bed, using his good arm to ensure he did not flop onto the hard floor like a fish out of water. Once that was done, he stretched as best he could and made his way to the closet, which was only a step away. This whole room was awfully small, but it was nothing unusual for a First-Class Soldier like him. He had spent weeks sharing a tent with his comrades in the past. At least this room had a bed.

Still, he was faced with a new challenge: putting on proper attire. As much as it pained him to do so, he would have to ditch the ruined Godwin uniform for today. This occasion called for more…informal clothing. With that in mind, he skimmed through the various clothes the staff had left in his closet the day prior, while he was at dinner. Count Gaoran had clearly not put much effort into this wardrobe, because Criff only had three sets of clothes to work with, of which one was his uniform.

With a sigh, he picked the less-fancy set, which consisted of a blue tunic, white pants, and boots. Far more modest than he expected from one of Vollachia's five High Counts, but it worked. If he got lucky, it would work much better than he expected.

It was a struggle to put on the clothes while keeping his broken arm in the sling. That took him far longer than it should have. Good thing none of his superiors were around to see him flail around like an imbecile, though he almost wished that was the case.

The thought struck him like a dart: if everything had gone as it should have, he would be waking up in the ruins of the Abellux manor by now, preparing to march toward Glarasia, where the Manesque domain lay. After that, it would have been a straight line to Lupugana, and a life of luxury and glory for him.

Instead, here he was, jumping around like a one-legged toad while wrestling with a borrowed tunic, all because a maid broke his arm. Worse, he was leeching off one of the Empire's most influential men while having to endure taunts from Palladio Manesque, the weakest of all Imperial heirs.

By Od, he must be the laughingstock of the Empire. Years from now, someone in this manor was going to write a book about him, and generations would laugh at his misery.

And yet…what were the chances any of them made it out of this? Criff planned on surviving, even if everyone around him had to burn for it, but even that was a far cry. Gaoran, Ceyda, Palladio, even Subaru…if Vincent Abellux won, they would all be names on gravestones, some of them not even that.

He would fight tooth and nail to avoid that future for himself, even if it meant being the only one left to leave flowers on those graves.

Now, though, he had to start. Surviving was a long-term goal, and he needed to begin with small steps. First off, he was going to get as far away from that dragon maid as he possibly could. Then, he was going to run as far away from Vincent Abellux as he possibly could. It was a great plan. The best, even.

By Od, he was going to die. Chisha Gold and his cronies were going to hunt him for sport.

Not today, though. If he was going to meet his end, he would do so after running as far away from it as he possibly could. Chisha and his Abellux lackeys were going to have to turn over every single rock in Vollachia to find him.

But first, he needed to get something from Gaoran's study. It would be a solution to a major problem he faced now. He had tried lockpicking his way into the old bastard's office and wound up with a broken arm, so he would have to try out another tactic.

And for that, he needed to take a trip down to Faradar, home of the Evil Eye Tribe, and the last place in the world he would ever want to visit.


Many would argue that lugging a giant cannon around was a very inefficient way to spend the day, but Vigo vehemently disagreed.

By all accounts, he was an eccentric, but he preferred to think of himself as a progressive thinker. Vollachia bred conflict, conflict bred necessity, necessity bred innovation. This land of war would never survive if its warriors did not have weapons, after all, and while the Governor of Glarasia was in charge of manufacturing said weapons, Vigo took it upon himself to design new ways of dishing out as much destruction as possible upon any unsuspecting fool that opposed him.

He did have a flair for grandeur, though. There was beauty in destruction, so there had to be beauty in its delivery, too.

On this early morning, the troops of House Qisuni were setting up Vigo's favorite weapon for a test. It was a horrid chunk of black and gray metal, bigger than a carriage, with wheels almost as tall as the High Count himself that supported a square base from which protruded the weapon's body, an oversized piece of metal that resembled a wolf's head with its lower jaw missing. Hidden under the upper jaw was a thick cylinder, the main firing mechanism.

For lack of a better name, these machines were simply called "mana cannons," though the former Emperor Drizen had coined the name "wolfheads." Far from creative, but very fitting nonetheless, especially since he had been the one behind the giant wolf aesthetic.

Here, in an open field far from the Qisuni manor, he could observe the wolfhead's might without inhibitions, a chance often denied to him save for extreme circumstances. It took him about two hours, along with help from a carriage and about thirty of his soldiers, but he managed to get the cannon back to its usual testing ground, and he was eager to see it perform.

In the horizon, he could see the mountain range against which his manor was constructed. Faradar — once part of his domain — lay a few hours away, toward the southeast. Guaral was in the opposite direction, and much closer. One day, Vigo hoped to test the wolfheads against Guaral's defensive walls. Not today, though. Someday.

Today, he got to see his favorite weapon's new modifications. They were supposed to have been ready months ago, but with Drizen's passing and the Selection Ceremony, things got too heated to continue production. Vigo had to continue development in secret with a fraction of the staff, but at last, it was finished.

His soldiers stopped the carriage a few meters away from him, and the wolfhead whirred to a stop behind it. The poor ground dragon hauling the cannon collapsed in exhaustion the moment the carriage was detached, making high-pitched whines. The three carriage drivers poked it with their scabbards, but the animal remained on the ground.

Vigo raised a hand, calling the drivers' attention to him. "Leave it alone. It'll drag the wolfhead back, whether it wants to or not."

"Tsk, Diana ground dragons are not easily ordered around," a woman replied. She stood to Vigo's left, wearing a plain burgundy robe and veil that covered her entire body. Only her eyes were visible, but they conveyed her boredom and irritation well enough. "You would do well to recall such a thing, Count. No one bests a Diana ground dragon in a battle of pride, not even you."

Vigo gave her a sidelong glance. He had never met this woman before, but she was part of the Veil, an organization dating back centuries. They had been created by the King of Thorns, or so the rumor went, and were the Vollachian government's magic-research branch. Those in the Veil who could wield magic were granted the training to become sorcerers in service to the Emperor. Those who could not — a vast majority, identified by their uncovered faces— were scholars and all sorts of similar things.

As it was, the Veil was responsible for the creation of the wolfheads, along with their subsequent improvements.

"Do not belittle me in such a way, sorceress," Vigo hissed, turning his gaze back upon the cannon. "Compare me to an animal once more and you'll wish you'd been taught healing magic."

"I rescind my previous statement: clearly, this poor creature is no match for your pride, Lord Count."

Vigo chuckled, though he was beginning to get irritated. "I hear you Veiled like to study everything. How would you like to study Ginunhive? From within, of course."

Nonchalantly, she replied, "An empty threat, from a man who cannot carry it out."

As Vigo was about to respond, one of his soldiers called out, "Lord Count! Preparations are complete! We may fire at your command!"

The troops immediately walked away from the cannon, save for one in heavier armor than the rest. He approached the back of the cannon, turned to Vigo, and bowed.

In turn, Vigo raised his arm. The cannoneer turned back to the wolfhead, examined it for a few moments, and then approached a few strange contraptions resting on a rectangular panel-like structure twice as big as the man's hand. He examined a few cranks and levers before placing his hands on the edges of the panel.

"Shift right, thirty-seven degrees!" Vigo commanded. The cannoneer obeyed and turned a crank to the right. As he did so, the wolfhead turned slowly as its rectangular base remained still. Halfway through the process, Vigo once again called out, "Shift left, sixty-three degrees!" At his command, the cannoneer did as instructed and began pointing the weapon left.

"Why waste time with such useless tests?" the Veiled mage complained. "Fire the thing. I need to record its potential."

Vigo did not spare the woman a glance as he bellowed, "Wolfhead, fire!"

Before the command was even finished, the cannoneer pulled a lever upward, and a deep, earth-shaking rumble came from the wolfhead itself as a blinding ring of light formed at the cannon's opening.

"Have you tested this before?" the High Count inquired scornfully, yet with slight nervousness, as the light ring grew. "It looks…awfully impractical…and a little unsafe, does it not?"

"No," was the sorceress's reply.

Vigo would have asked what exactly she was responding to, but before he could speak, everything went silent.

And then, like a cracking whip, came the world-rending blast.


For Subaru, Faradar was an entirely new world.

Every building was old and wooden, save for a few that had not been weathered away by time. The winding and narrow streets just slightly fit three people standing shoulder-to-shoulder, and they were made even narrower by several stalls that littered every road.

And the stalls! Fruits that looked both familiar — Subaru thought he had spied an apple on one of the stalls — and a few that looked completely alien, books with yellowed pages and some that had never even been cracked open once, rows of weapons lined up alongside columns of clothes, and much, much more.

The traders themselves were the strangest bunch Subaru had ever seen. Only one of them had been human, while the rest almost entirely looked like oversized animals. One seller was a short and white-haired boy with cat-like ears and a tail. He was so short, in fact, that he stood atop a pile of boxes to reach the top of the stall. Subaru wanted to approach him, but Criff pulled him away, muttering, "Kararagians…"

Yet, of all the clearly-inhuman people wandering the streets, it was the most human-like that Criff openly avoided, urging Subaru to do the same. His reluctance was strange, to say the least, but Subaru chalked it up to him being cranky from not getting too much sleep. No one could have slept well with a cast like Criff's on their arm.

When Subaru had asked him about that, the Vollachian had just mumbled something about falling down some stairs at night. Subaru had not bothered to point out that their rooms were on the ground floor.

At the moment, he could not care less about his ill-tempered companion. He was getting to see another world! Sure, he planned to return home, to his world, but that would take a bit of time, so why not explore this world in the meantime? In the worst case scenario, it would give him a few scraps of knowledge that might be useful someday.

Navigating Faradar was a real challenge, since from within, it was a maze. The inhabitants sauntered down its roads with ease, but by the second corner he had turned, Subaru was lost. If he did not have Criff beside him, he would have never found a way out of this village.

And speaking of Criff, something bothered Subaru. "Why did we come here?"

"Again?" the man groaned. "You won't give up asking, won't you?"

"Then tell me!"

"We're going to buy something. That's all."

The prospect of buying something possibly magical, given this world's nature, did excite Subaru, but he wished he knew what exactly had brought them to this town…far from the High Count's agents.

He was smart enough to grasp the obvious cause: something had occurred between Gaoran and Criff, which the latter did not wish to disclose. Further details eluded him at the moment.

Beside Subaru, Criff froze. The young boy looked up at him and found him staring at an old poster, which had been defaced with unreadable runes. The words on the poster were also impossible to understand — curse the writing barrier! — but Subaru could make out the amethyst emblem at its center: a triangle, made up of a sword, a scepter, and a wand.

As if reciting from memory, Criff whispered the words, "Austerity and prosperity."

"Wha?" Subaru inquired, still looking at the poster, which had been stuck to a wooden wall with a sword's blade.

Criff frowned. "I forgot. House Qisuni used to rule this place, until Emperor Drizen kicked them out and gave the land to Peixit."

"House…who?"

"They shouldn't bother us," he explained, though his voice wavered. "We're…uninvolved."

Subaru did not share his companion's…"confidence." From the little he had seen of Vollachia, this House Qisuni was unlikely to be made up of pacifists.

Just as Subaru was about to call Criff out on his misplaced optimism, a mocking voice spoke up behind them. "A~h, off to sightsee, cupbearer?"

With a groan, Subaru turned to find the towering Palladio behind him, smirking as always. That ridiculous turquoise scarf wrapped around his neck contrasted heavily with the informal getup he had put on today. Unfortunately, his strange Japanese coat was nowhere to be seen.

"What do you want?" Criff asked, not even bothering to hide his disdain. "And where's your maid?"

"Oh, her?" Palladio scoffed. "Lutka is everywhere. Keep an eye out, or two…or three." Clapping his hands, he continued, "I am in a rather good mood today. Do you know why, cupbearer?"

"Not interested."

"Because I heard a certain someone pick a fight with Peixit's head maid…and lose." The Imperial heir cackled with glee. "And now, you're running away. Am I right or am I right? Don't answer that. I know which you'll pick."

Before the curly-haired man could stop laughing, Criff grabbed Subaru by the shoulder and began walking away, only stopping when a still-chuckling Palladio called out, "I wouldn't do that, if I were you!"

Both of them stopped, and the Imperial heir said, "That's better. We have things to discuss, cupbearer. Let the boy go off for a while. He is…" Palladio trailed off, before hissing the word, "...uninvolved."

For an instant, Criff gripped Subaru's shoulder with all the strength he could muster, making the boy yelp in pain. "He's going nowhere," was the soldier's reply.

"Hm," Palladio intoned, pretending to think. "I see, I see. Consider this, however: I was making a demand. An order, if you will. Surely, a soldier must be familiar with such a term." He dropped his voice as he added, "Though, given what happened to dear Lamia…I'm not sure she taught you to follow orders properly."

After what seemed like a full minute of silence, Criff let go of Subaru's shoulder, telling him, "Go…do whatever. I'll come get you when we're done."

"Wrong!" Palladio interjected. "I will go get you. We have things to discuss as well…child." He clapped again. "Now go on. Get lost."

Subaru spared a glance at Criff, who was looking completely panicked, but the older man made no comment as he gently pushed Subaru away and turned, walking toward the cruel son of the former Emperor.


By now, Gaoran was getting used to seeing the most unexpected people imaginable show up at his doorstep.

When the Abellux spies had come to his manor, he had been surprised. When Palladio Manesque had appeared, Gaoran had fought hard to hide his confusion.

Yet, now, as a lone carriage bearing the Qisuni sigil came to a stop outside his home, Gaoran merely sighed, anticipating the worst.

Gaoran never looked forward to his comrade's surprise visits. In the decade since he had known Vigo, Gaoran had found him to be an extremely difficult man to predict. Of course, he had expected as much: when Drizen gifted him Faradar as his fief, Gaoran immediately realized that the Qisuni patriarch was going to be displeased at losing his territory.

Faradar had little worth. It was just a farming village in the middle of nowhere, and if it had not been for the mythical Evil Eyes, the town would never have amounted to anything. Still, it had been under Qisuni rule for generations. For the Emperor to just rip that away from them and hand it to a former General who only wanted to retire was more than disgraceful; it was insulting.

In the eleven years since then, Vigo had made it his life's mission to oppose Gaoran's every move. Almost as if he was facing a mirror, the High Count Qisuni — the "Lord Justiciar," as Drizen had called him — locked Gaoran into a stalemate, forcing both of them into an awkward and tenuous peace that endured today.

That was not to say they had not tried to kill each other several times, but at this point, such assassination attempts were more of a pastime than a threat.

From his study's window, the High Count Peixit gazed at the entrance to his home, where his guards had surrounded the unexpected visitor. He watched as the carriage's door opened, and as the visitor stepped out, Gaoran's eyes widened in mild curiosity.

It was a wiry young man, clad in his father's regal amethyst coat, which bore the Qisunis' triangular emblem on its chest. His dark-gray hair, combed back to give him a formal look, told Gaoran everything the High Count needed to know.

The guards below pointed their weapons at the young man, who detached a sword scabbard from his hip and handed it to his carriage's driver. The Chief Armsman, Gaoran's head of security, looked up at the High Count's window, awaiting orders.

Gaoran beckoned for them to let the young man enter.

As soon as the emissary was escorted into the building, Gaoran sat down on his chair, suddenly feeling weary. His sixty-odd years hit him all at once, and he allowed himself a slight rest, at least until he was forced to confront Vigo's right-hand man.

When he had first come to this manor, eleven years ago, Gaoran had expected to find peace, as unlikely as it seemed. The worst he had expected to face was a food shortage or a plague. Those two he knew how to deal with.

Politics were another matter entirely.

For eleven long years, his attention had been turned away from his quiet little residence, and he had been unwittingly thrust into the world of Vollachian politics, where all eyes laid on him. Throughout the years, he had made a few friends. It was thanks to his rank that he had come to meet young Serena Dracroy, who ruled over the beautiful city of Mezoreia, and stern Gustav Morello, who — in eleven years — had probably only spoken a dozen words to him.

He had also run afoul of several others. Vigo was his most persistent adversary, but he was far from the only one. Another High Count, Glamdart Holstoy, did not bother to hide his disdain toward Gaoran, and the Lord of the Cumulus returned the favor. Those two had their hooks in every facet of Vollachian society, and Gaoran ran into obstacles everywhere he turned thanks to their petty meddling.

All Gaoran wanted was some peace and quiet, to live in tranquility away from the perpetual warfare of the Empire. All he asked for was a chance to right a past wrong.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Finally, someone knocked on the door, and Gaoran snapped his fingers loudly as he concentrated on the coming conversation. Vigo's emissary stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and bowed.

"Pietr," Gaoran spoke, his voice much louder than he had anticipated. After clearing his throat, he continued, "Come to share good news? Is your father no longer with us, at last?"

An uncomfortable smile grew on Pietr's still-young face. Despite being Vigo's son and heir apparent, he did not venture into Faradar often, and in Gaoran's view proved to be exponentially more tolerable than his father. "My father is in perfect health, Lord Count. He wishes to surpass that one man…what was his name? Dunkelkenn?"

Gaoran nodded, chuckling softly. "Is it not always the worst of them that live to be so old?" Scratching his beard, he asked, "And what brings you here?"

"I wish to express my condolences." Pietr cleared his throat. "I have been informed of Lady Lamia's death. I believe she would have appreciated your loyalty."

"Nonsense. Lady Godwin yet lives, yes? She will return, sooner or later, and our war will continue." Raising an eyebrow, the High Count pointed out, "And, in this war, we are on opposing sides, young Pietr."

"I wish it weren't so," the young man sighed. "My father holds no enmity towards you, sire, but he has a reputation to uphold. Surely, if you would devote your loyalty to Lord Abellux…"

"Then what? Lord Abellux is known for lining a road with the corpses of his enemies, yet he will show mercy to my retainers? To me?"

"Lord Abellux…can be rather unforgiving. Even then, he understands the value of certain individuals." A pause. "Did you know, Lord Count, that he now employs Berstetz Fondalfon?"

A chill raced up Gaoran's spine at the mention of Lamia's strategist. That old man unnerved Gaoran. Ever since their first meeting, the Lord of the Cumulus had recognized that there was something dangerous about Berstetz. Now he realized what it was. "That…clarifies things. So, that soft-spoken bastard showed his true colors? As expected."

Pietr grimaced. "Ehrm, Lord Count, this change of faction is not an act of betrayal. With Lady Lamia's demise, Lord Fondalfon was captured and given a choice. I believe he has chosen correctly…but will you?"

The question caught him off-guard. "I see," he uttered after a second of hesitation. "Your father failed to convince me, so he sent you in his stead."

"No one sent me. I came of my own volition. Please reconsider your loyalty, sire. Both my father and I wish to resolve this with minimal bloodshed."

"House Qisuni does not shy away from killing. Your father taught me that."

For a few moments, Pietr remained silent. "I have a proposal, Lord Count. My father would have worded it differently, but the crux of the matter is…that we require your aid."

Gaoran did not say anything. This surprise paled in comparison to the unexpected developments that had transpired in his land over the past three days.

"Palladio Manesque," Pietr continued. "We require his location. You can find him, I am sure. If you and your Sky Riders bring Manesque to us…House Qisuni will argue for clemency on your behalf."

Clemency. If the word was foreign to him, then it was completely outside of Vigo's imagination. "Yet, it will not be the end of our conflict."

Pietr frowned. "It could be. You must realize, sire, that you now fight for a dead cause. Lord Abellux could grant you all you wish for, though it's not as if there are any alternatives." The High Count's son gave a weak shrug. "Would you truly give your life for Manesque? Benedict? Only Lord Abellux deserves such sacrifice."

"I am not going to sacrifice myself for any of them," Gaoran retorted. "Now, if that is all you wished to say—"

"That is all," Pietr interrupted. "If you'll excuse me, I cannot stay much longer. There are tasks awaiting me back home." He said nothing for a few seconds, then, quietly, added, "Consider our…my offer, sire. I would not wish death upon you."

With those words, the Qisuni heir left Gaoran's study.


Once his ears stopped ringing, Vigo shot the Veiled mage the nastiest glare he could muster…though he did not put much hatred into it.

The cannon worked.

Sure, it had left him half-deaf for the better part of an hour, and probably gave everyone present permanent hearing damage, but it worked nonetheless. The patch of land that they had designated as a target was now a scorched crater a couple of meters deep.

Wearing a gleeful smile, the High Count turned to the mage beside him and laughed. "This is it! We did it!"

"I did it," the mage corrected, brushing herself off. "Unsurprising, really. Success was guaranteed the moment the Veil stepped in."

Vigo shook his head, still grinning from ear to ear. "None of you 'stepped in.' I paid you to help, and that's what you did. Were it up to the lot of you, this thing would be in some laboratory somewhere, being studied endlessly." He spread his arms, triumph on his face. "But thanks to Qisuni — thanks to me! — it will be where it belongs: on the battlefield!"

For once, the Veiled sorceress sounded confused, maybe even alarmed. "Is that truly wise? Such a weapon must be studied, replicated, preserved for the coming generations. The cannon comes with me, to Lupugana, where it can be further improved upon."

"I think not, witchling." Waving his hand, the skull-faced nobleman commanded his soldiers to prepare the cannon for another test. "Don't look so sad. What did you think would happen? You come here, give me the greatest weapon ever invented, and then want to take it away? That won't do."

Although the mage's face was entirely covered, her eyes conveyed her surprise far better than words ever could. She made a few sounds, trying to say something of substance, then shook her head and proclaimed, "So be it. The Veil will entrust you with such a responsibility…and we will inform the Imperial Hand of this development."

The slightest hint of pure terror struck Vigo like lightning, and he could already picture the scarlet-cloaked Spymasters accusing him of treason. As best he could, he hid his fear with pride as he chuckled, "Tell them all you want. I would pay to see how they respond to you wasting their time."

"You are wading into dangerous territory, Count," the sorceress warned. "This weaponry is not yet fully understood, and it will take years — decades, maybe — to begin producing it in earnest." She narrowed her eyes. "The Veil and the Imperial Hand cannot, in good conscience, grant such power to one single man. Only the Emperor may—"

"Do you see an Emperor, witch?" When she did not respond, Vigo added, "I thought as much. In the Emperor's absence, I will take care of these cannons. It is my right." The mage tried to speak, but he cut her off by saying, "I would advise you not to interfere."

Under normal circumstances, Vigo would have gone to any length to ensure his control over the wolfheads. These were not normal circumstances, however. Subtler tactics were required.

Pretending to be nonchalant about the situation, the High Count spoke, "Of course, I would have no issue with the Veiled examining the cannons, so long as they remained under my supervision. If it would please you and your comrades, you may conduct as many tests as you desire…with my oversight, of course."

The mage pondered on the offer for a moment, as if she really had a choice. "The Veil accepts. A team will be provided to you. This goes without saying, but if any unfortunate fate was to befall them…"

Vigo nodded absently, no longer paying any heed to the witch's threat. The cannons took priority, now.

With them, he could finally bring order to the land of wolves.


Palladio was not from Faradar.

Like many of the Imperial heirs, he had been born in Lupugana. Unlike most of them, however, he had spent many of his early years there, wandering the gargantuan maze-like city under the invisible watch of the Imperial Hand.

Nonetheless, his mother was from Faradar, like a vast majority of the Evil Eye Tribe. Long ago, they had ruled over this stretch of land, leading serene and almost-monastic lives away from the Empire's hectic society. Amidst the war-ravaged land of Vollachia, only the Evil Eyes lived in peace.

That changed more than forty years ago, when one of them got involved with an enemy of the Emperor. That woman, who so foolishly stood beside a man so vile his name was struck from all records, was the catalyst of the Tribe's doom.

And thus, the quaint village that had survived the First Emperor's brutal regime, the Crown Princess's all-consuming rebellion, the King of Thorns's depraved witchcraft, Murkia Vollachia's disastrous experiments, and so much more, had been swept away by the tide that was Drizen Vollachia's vengeance.

"Drizen of the Broken Sword," they had called him, mocking the unusually lenient Emperor for his abundant mercy, his unheard-of benevolence. For a decade, by then, Drizen had done little to show off his power, as most of his predecessors had done. When the Demi-Human War ravaged Lugnica, exposed its weakness, he did not act, and such complacency led to the moniker, among others.

Palladio had not been born yet when the Imperial Hand, with its legions of masked fanatics, along with countless hated shinobis and as many First-Class Generals as the Emperor could call upon, had gathered on the outskirts of the village.

Palladio had not been born yet when the thousands of killers descended upon the Tribe's ancestral home, tearing homes and bodies apart, desecrating the hallowed ground with its worshippers' remains.

Palladio had not been born yet when the Emperor himself, with his head held high, with his most cruel smirk on display, had inspected the still-burning ruins mere hours after the massacre, finishing off the survivors personally.

From that bloody day onward, Drizen wore a new nickname like a badge of honor, for they began to call him the "Scarlet Painter," and not for his unabashed love of art.

It was an insult of the highest degree — an ironic twist of fate woven by the Observers — that this butcher was Palladio's own father. It appalled him that, for more than a decade of his life, he had shared a home with the man who had driven his kind to the precipice of extinction.

Yet, Palladio was glad that, just a few months ago, when the summons from his father reached him in his home, he had responded and attended, for the Evil Eye had been present to witness Drizen, the destroyer, burn to death at last.

Now, with that barbarous man out of the picture, Palladio could begin his real work. He would need the throne for it, but once it was in his possession, he could right his father's wrongs and bring glory to the downtrodden Evil Eye Tribe, whose scattered members had no home to reside in.

Everything had been assured, and Lamia had set herself up to bear the burden as he reaped the rewards, but now she had gone and gotten herself killed…by that odious Prisca, of all people!

Nonetheless, it was too late to back out now. The plan was in motion, and not even its architect could stop it now. Vincent, Prisca, and all the rest who had so foolishly taken up arms would be swept away by the tide that was Palladio's righteous determination. He would savor his victory over Prisca and her pitiful "army" the most, perhaps he would even boast for a while before lopping off her head.

And if it all crashed down on him, buried him beneath his own pride…he would bury them all as well. "Those who rely on swords fall to swords," as the saying went.

To that end, he was in Faradar, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. A human lorded over this place now, but Palladio would resolve that soon enough. He had more pressing matters to resolve, like cleaning up Lamia's mess. Damn that woman, with her poisonous words…

And to accomplish that…

"Our paths converge, cupbearer."

In front of the Imperial heir stood Criff, scowling. The soldier's expression was further darkened by the lack of light in the alleyway where they stood. Palladio could almost feel bad for the other man's situation. Perhaps he would, if this conversation turned out as it had to.

"We have wildly differing goals," Criff responded. His mouth curled upwards in a derisive snarl. "You would fall on a sword if your pride demanded it."

Palladio scoffed. "Is pride not our most important possession? What are we without it?"

"Happy."

"Pfft. Were you Lamia's jester too?" Laughing, he continued, "But we're deviating. Our fates align, and whatever fate befalls me will come after you as well." He snapped his fingers. "Fate itself demands it."

Rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand, Criff sighed and spoke, "How convenient. I suppose fate itself demands I help you in some way? Does it demand my life in exchange for yours?"

"Nothing so brash, I assure you. Fate is often indirect, so we must be its opposite to foil it. Walk to the throne by my side, and we can avenge Lamia together."

"Revenge? That's your trail to walk. I'm not going to get myself killed for a chance at revenge, of all things."

Clicking his tongue, Palladio countered, "If only Father could hear you, what with your pacifism. Let Abellux walk over you just once and he will do so again, and again, and as many times as he wishes." With a smile, he asked, "You would live your entire life under your enemy's boot?"

For the first time that Palladio had seen, Criff's expression darkened. "My revenge," he answered, "would be to live on. It's precisely what Abellux would not want."

Palladio remained silent for a moment, scratching the side of his mouth as he pondered on what to say. "Is it even revenge if your enemy never even finds out? What would you even gain from a life in obscurity?"

"I gain nothing," Criff admitted, crossing his arms and glaring at him. "I also lose nothing. I get to keep my life. That alone is reason enough to tread such a path."

Subtly, the Evil Eye caressed his amulet pendant, considering his options. As it stood, Criff was his most direct connection to Gaoran Peixit, who — in turn — could serve as a rallying force for Lamia's disorganized troops. Once Lutka was finished with her mission, the other heirs would be at Palladio's beck-and-call, and their forces could combine with those of Houses Godwin and Manesque. Such an army would surely cut through any opposition.

Vincent and Prisca, damn them, had secured two rather strong bodyguards, so Palladio would have to rely on a much riskier plan. The more soldiers he could gather before the time came, the better.

But there was one crucial part missing from his plan, one element upon which the entire operation hinged.

Noting his silence, Criff began to move away, back into the street. Without looking at him, Palladio called out, "And that kid of yours? Will he be a coward, too?"

The blonde man stopped for a mere heartbeat, and with clear hesitation spoke, "His future is of no concern to me."

Palladio allowed himself to copy his father's smirk as Criff left.

That statement was the most obvious lie he had ever heard.


Amidst the bustling streets of Faradar, Subaru sat against a wall, thinking to himself.

He had found his way to the town square. In front of him was a large building, most likely the town hall. At the heart of the square stood a dull gray statue, out of place with the wooden architecture, depicting a sword over a vacant throne. A plaque lay at the statue's base, but Subaru could not understand its inscription.

A group of children, almost all of them about Subaru's age, played around the statue, swinging branches and thin sticks of wood at each other like swords. An older boy, in his mid-teens, stood a few steps away, watching with a serious expression.

Subaru himself did not show much expression as he watched the others play, despite the deep melancholy such an image brought him, stirring painful memories of days he remembered vividly back home. He had been gone for less than a week, but already he longed to return to Japan as if he had been gone for decades. Every day he spent in this hellish place was another day his parents spent looking for him, worried out of their minds.

He had to go back soon. He wanted to go back. In another life, he might even have been excited to find himself in such a fantastical world, but he had no desire to spend a second more than necessary here. This was a world of madmen and monsters, not of heroes and legends. Besides…

He had never asked to come here.

Thankfully, he had a lead to getting back, though it was a flimsy lead at best. Palladio's coat had Japanese writing on it, and it had come from the former Emperor, who everyone said was now dead. If Subaru could find someone related to the Emperor, he could start his investigation in earnest.

Palladio himself would be of little help, seeing how he was constantly fluctuating between being overly-pompous or downright-threatening. Criff was hiding things from him and doing his own thing. That only left Gaoran Peixit, who Subaru had not yet interacted with in any meaningful capacity.

Still, the man was a mystery. Subaru knew a slight bit about the Vollachian Empire thanks to Criff, and he knew the High Count was a great leader who had earned his title through military service, but aside from that he knew nothing else. Gaoran himself was also fairly distant, preferring to steer clear of his guests.

Subaru had not even started his investigation and he was already running into trouble.

Without warning, a thin branch landed on the floor at Subaru's feet. He looked up to see a boy his age smiling down at him, holding a branch on his right hand. The boy tapped his branch against his messy mint-green hair and — with a mischievous sparkle in his yellow eyes — asked, "Well? Aren't you going to join in?"

For a few moments, Subaru looked between the boy and the branch with doubt, before shaking his head and saying, "No thanks."

"You don't really look like you're doing anything else," the boy countered with a shrug. "Unless you wanna go back to moping all by yourself."

Subaru was going to respond when his gaze wandered to the sour-faced teen across the town square, who had been watching the children play. Now, the teen was staring at Subaru directly, with a stone-faced expression, as if trying to make him explode with his mind.

"Don't worry about him," the boy said, looking at the teen out of the corner of his eye. "He was born a grump." He chuckled. "Just because he's a bit older, he feels like he has to keep an eye on all of us."

The teen, who was way out of earshot, frowned, somehow hearing what was being said about him. As if trying to look innocuous, he scratched his pale blond hair with a bandaged hand and looked down at the ground.

Sighing, the messy-haired boy spoke, "I can tell you're not from here, and something's bothering you." Tapping his branch to his cheek, the boy proclaimed, "You look like an orphan."

The comment caught Subaru off-guard, and he looked at the boy in shock, who — in turn — waved his free hand and corrected himself. "That came out wrong, didn't it? Sorry. What I meant was, I've seen a few people with the same look before, you know? I guess it's not uncommon in this country."

That final part caught his attention. "Where are you from?"

The boy squatted in front of him and ran a hand through his hair. "Kararagi." He was quick to add, "It's really not as great as it sounds, trust me. If you don't have a coin to your name, then you don't exist there."

Subaru had heard little of Kararagi. His knowledge of the country was limited, and he only knew its name and the fact that it was to the west. "What's it like?"

"Like I said, so long as you have money you should be fine. You can buy anything you want there, but everyone's really shallow and all." The boy grinned, hastily adding, "I don't like insulting people, but some of them are shallow." He snapped his fingers. "Gotta give them credit for a lot of stuff, though. I heard some Vollachian here liked kinomos so much he wasted his entire salary on them!"

Immediately, Subaru made a point to memorize that little tidbit. He remembered the blue-haired swordsman kid who had dragged him into the army camp and had, conveniently, worn a kimono-like attire. Maybe he had some information Subaru could use, as well.

The boy's voice shook Subaru out of his thoughts. "You? Are you Vollachian?"

"Not…really?" Subaru replied, earning a curious look from the boy. "It's a bit…complicated."

"Yeah, I get it," the boy proclaimed, poking Subaru's shoulder with his branch. "Lots of that these days." He paused. "Anyway, you don't seem very busy, so what about a little mock battle with the others? Everyone's all riled up from what happened at Gairahal…wherever that is."

Subaru thought about it, then grabbed the branch in front of him and stood up. The boy smiled approvingly, but Subaru caught that teen with the bandaged hands glaring at him from across the square.

"Don't worry about him," the boy jumped in. "He just looks menacing. I'd know."

Subaru thought about asking him to elaborate but, instead, merely inquired, "What's your name?"

Still grinning, the boy rested his branch against his shoulder and replied, "I'm Tiga."


AN: Hello chat.

I've been gone for a while, so I have some updates to give. I've been a bit busy and didn't have many chances to write, but everything is better than ever. As to my other two main stories, I will get to updating them soon enough, so don't lose hope please! Stars and Wolves is just my easiest story to write so I tend to come back to it whenever I get a chance.

Aside from that, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Tiga (my beloved) is going to play a major role in future events.