The ferry glided across cobalt waters, scattering salted droplets that shimmered in the sun. The ferryman, a man with an outrageously waxed mustache and a feathered hat, sang something that hovered between cheerful and painfully off-key, striking his oar against the side in rhythm. Jay did his best not to look uncomfortable.

  “And there she is!” the ferryman proclaimed grandly. “The Beautiful, the Brilliant, the Boisterous… Bretalia!”

  And indeed… it was.

  Bretalia emerged through warm mist and shrieking gulls like a painted dream. Canals coiled between rows of beige stone houses crowned with sunburnt red tiles, flowered balconies, and laundry swaying in the breeze. The streets were living stone promenades, cut by arched bridges and lined with slender columns that upheld lace-trimmed galleries. Barges hurried past, merchants shouting prices as scents claimed the air—salt, hot olive oil, spices, fresh fish, sweet herbs.

  Jay paused on the wooden pier, taking it in with the eyes of someone who had seen far too much—yet could still be surprised. The sea wind stirred his cloak. The girls stopped behind him. Each reacted in her own way.

  “It’s… beautiful,” Nessa whispered, her hood lowered just enough to keep her face concealed. “I’ve… never seen so much life in one place…”

  Layla stretched with an exaggerated yawn.

  “I bet there’s an equipment market here. If I find a reinforced chainmail bikini, no one’s stopping me, meow!”

  “Don’t you think you’re already… showing enough?” Su Mei murmured.

  Layla smirked.

  “Exactly. The trick is simple: the harder the enemy tries not to look, the easier it is for me to strike, meow!”

  Jay exhaled.

  “That makes no sense. Anyway. Let’s rest for today. We’ve time before we must take the road again.”

  “I want temples. And books. And silence. And a map.” Nessa was already half a pace ahead, like a furtive cat in search of wisdom. Her dark mantle seemed to drink the surrounding light, as though she dissolved gently into the city’s corners.

  “I… have things to see as well.” Layla was visibly excited, and no one dared ask what.

  “And you, Su Mei?” Jay asked, noticing she had not moved.

  She smiled. That smile.

  “This humble one shall explore a little too… perhaps lose herself in the city… or perhaps not.” Her almond-shaped eyes gleamed. Sparks lived there.

  Jay swallowed.

  …

  Later that afternoon—

  Jay walked through a narrow alley paved in rose-colored stone, markets open on both sides. Bolts of fabric drifted like serpents overhead. Children ran with paper flags. A musician played something that sounded like a lute arguing with a frying pan.

  He paused before a display of yellow fruit shaped like five-pointed stars and reached out, curious.

  “You truly have a gift for finding the most exotic corners of any place.”

  Jay turned slowly.

  Su Mei.

  She leaned against a stone column, half in shadow, half in light. Her kimono slipped from one shoulder, revealing firm golden skin. Her short hair was artfully disheveled, bangs tilted to obscure one eye. As for her attire—more bands than fabric. Long legs. A curved silhouette. Everything about her felt deliberate. A living portrait of temptation.

  “I thought you were exploring,” Jay said, turning back to the fruit.

  “This humble one was. And found you.”

  She approached as if gliding. Her bare feet made no sound.

  “Did you know this place reminds me of the port where I began my journey?” she continued, circling him slowly. “The scent of salt. The music of coin. The difference is that, there, no one would resist a beautiful woman alone for five minutes. Here… you have not even looked at this one yet.”

  Jay sighed.

  “That’s because I know what you are.” He turned to face her.

  They stood eye to eye. She looked up at him.

  “And what am I?”

  “Dangerous.”

  She smiled, satisfied.

  “A compliment… or a warning?”

  “Both.”

  In a feline impulse, she rose onto her toes, bringing her face close to his.

  The world seemed to pause. Laundry drifted lazily overhead. The musician faltered. Even a fruit tumbled from its basket. Jay remained still.

  “This humble one wonders… could you still pin this one against a wall?”

  Jay did not answer. He only held her gaze.

  Then Su Mei blinked. Slowly.

  “Guard your vows, paladin. This humble one has the unfortunate habit… of making them tremble.”

  She vanished between the dancing sheets of the marketplace.

  Jay stared at the empty space for a moment.

  “I never flee from an enemy…” he murmured, adjusting his cloak. “But that woman… is no ordinary foe. I may need to reinforce the blessing of self-restraint. Sensual monk compatibility mode.”

  He turned back to the stall, only to find the vendor staring at him with a peculiar grin.

  “Taking them, champion?”

  “…Four of those,” Jay replied. “And if you have one, a map as well. I may need to escape… my own party.”

  …

  Bretalia was too beautiful for its own good.

  Dusk poured liquid gold into the canals, reflecting the ornate masts of gondolas and the pennants fluttering atop carved stone posts. The city sang with its fairs, street musicians, and the restless movement of travelers seeking marvels.

  Jay walked along the wet stones of a narrow alley removed from the heart of it all. The houses here bore that charmingly aged air that whispered, someone was wealthy here two centuries ago. The smell of scorched spice, sour ale, and brine lingered in the air.

  And the sound… the sound was trouble.

  “GET YOUR PAW OFF ME, YOU FLEA-RIDDEN CUR!” Layla’s voice exploded, followed by a dull thud and a grunt.

  Jay closed his eyes briefly.

  “Not again…”

  He rounded the corner.

  The dark alley behind a tavern called The White Wolf’s Tankard was crowded. Eight thugs surrounded Layla. All looked like men who considered bathing a seasonal ritual. One of them drew something gleaming—a black collar etched with pulsing violet runes. A slave collar.

  Jay’s brow tightened. His blood heated. A distant memory bit into him.

  But before he could step forward, a slender figure cut through the air like a white streak.

  Su Mei.

  She appeared among the thugs with the grace of a falling leaf—and the fury of a storm.

  The first dropped without understanding what struck him. The second spun through the air from an uppercut to the jaw. The third tried to flee and was yanked down by the leg, face-first into stone with a sharp smack.

  The remaining five hesitated.

  A fatal mistake.

  “Fate is unkind to those of impure intent,” Su Mei murmured, flowing between them like a war dancer.

  A kick to the chin. A knee to the ribs. A slap so swift even physics might have objected. In less than a minute, Layla stood alone in the center of the alley, groaning bodies strewn around her.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Silence.

  “Okaaay…!” Layla raised her arms. “That was cool. But, meow, I had it handled. I was just warming up!”

  “This humble one never doubted you, young feline,” Su Mei replied with a faint arch of her brow. “Yet allowing chaos to bloom without harmony would insult the universe’s flow.”

  “Oh, really?” Layla’s tail lashed. “And does this ‘flow of the universe’ include spending all day rubbing yourself against Jay, huh?!”

  “…Ah.”

  Jay quietly turned his back.

  “Handle this, universe.”

  …

  Higher in Bretalia, where streets became bridges and canals mirrored the sky, the city grew quieter. More contemplative.

  Jay ascended the steps of the Arcane Observatory of the Third Sphere—a geometric structure with slanted columns, golden spirals, and translucent panels suspended like sheets of glass in midair. Soft magical light crackled at the edges. The domed ceiling reflected constellations as though night had blossomed indoors.

  At the center of the hall, among curved shelves and floating lamps, stood Nessa.

  Mantle upon her shoulders. Hood drawn. Posture serene. No wasted word. No unnecessary motion. Only reading.

  Jay’s expression softened. Even with her face hidden and the faint green gleam of her hair concealed, she possessed a quiet magnetism—the sort that did not demand attention because the world simply forgot to look.

  The mantle helped.

  But her silence had always been genuine.

  Then he saw them.

  Three figures entered through a side door like shadows displaced from the world.

  Warlocks.

  They murmured among themselves. One carried something in his pocket—a dry, glassy presence seeped from it. Jay closed his eyes, focusing.

  His blessing stirred.

  His eyes flashed silver for an instant.

  “They carry a recognition relic… Libra. A dried witch’s eye. Like Malvek’s… They’re trying to…”

  Cold realization struck.

  One of them approached Nessa.

  He leaned close, whispering.

  She froze.

  Her hands rose to her mouth. Her eyes widened. Pure terror.

  Jay’s jaw set. His hand closed into a fist. He summoned Visingr. The blade gleamed briefly, bathed in the faith of a thousand prayers once spoken.

  His armor manifested.

  The Ornamental Attire of the Knight shone in silver, gold, and deep azure. A sacred herald in the hush of the library.

  But he did not strike.

  Not yet.

  He followed.

  …

  In a narrow alley two streets from the plaza, the air hung heavy—iron, damp stone, foul magic clinging to the throat.

  The warlocks moved quickly, unrolling a teleportation scroll. Darkened light trembled at its edge.

  Nessa’s pulse thundered.

  “It’s over… They’ll take me.”

  Before she could even attempt a seal, golden brilliance flooded the alley in silent detonation.

  A shadow fell.

  Not the shadow of a man.

  A judgment.

  The first impact came—a body hurled into stone. Then another. A burst of light. A crack through the air.

  When Nessa blinked, the three warlocks lay motionless. Dark magic dissipated from their fingers like cooling smoke.

  The alley smelled of scorched iron and ozone.

  And she saw him.

  The masked paladin bathed in golden radiance. His armor shimmered with lightning. Wings unfurled behind him—not flesh, not steel, but living divine energy, rippling, luminous.

  He breathed calmly.

  She tried to speak.

  “W-what…?”

  The word died.

  He stepped forward and gathered her into his arms—firm, warm, protective. Metal mingled with faint incense and grass.

  The world trembled.

  They rose.

  The wings spread fully, tearing the air with brilliance. Each beat scattered fragments of light like inverted rain. Clouds parted. Wind lashed her face. Bretalia shrank below.

  Her fear dissolved into awe.

  Only the steady rhythm of golden wings remained.

  She watched him.

  Though she could not see his face, she felt safe.

  …

  At the bell tower’s summit, beneath starlight, they sat side by side.

  Her heart still raced.

  “…Th-thank you, mysterious knight,” she said, attempting composure and failing.

  He turned toward her.

  “Are you well?” His voice, muffled by the helm, was unexpectedly gentle.

  “I-I am! Perfectly fine!” Too quick. A cough. Folded arms. Eyes anywhere but him.

  “…You’re flushed,” he observed.

  “It was the spell. Or the heat of battle. Or… some magical side effect!”

  A slight tilt of his head. A smile hidden beneath steel.

  She dared a glance.

  For Malkut… He’s so cool. And mysterious. And strong. And tall?

  He lifted a hand to his helm.

  “It’s me, Nessa.”

  He removed it.

  Blue hair. Kind eyes.

  She blinked.

  “Oh. It’s just you, Jay.” She clicked her tongue lightly. “Nice…”

  Jay frowned.

  “Hey.”

  “What? I thought you were an exiled prince. Or a cursed skeletal warrior from another world. Something like that.”

  He sighed.

  “What did they want?”

  He produced a crumpled leaflet.

  Wanted: Bearer of the Black Light Sword.

  Before he could read further, she snatched it and tore it apart.

  “It was nothing. Trash. Idiots chasing coin. Forget it.”

  He did not press.

  They sat quietly as gondolas drifted below.

  Then—

  Ploc.

  Somewhere below, the dried eye rolled from the tower’s edge… slipped… and fell…

  …into the canal.

  It drifted away beneath Bretalia’s waters.

  And somewhere in the city, something felt the call.

  …

  Night collapsed with poetic melancholy.

  Rain hammered slate roofs, cascaded from balconies, struck silent canals as though the city wept.

  Inside the inn The Golden Ferry, warmth prevailed.

  Layla sharpened her axe atop the upper bunk.

  Su Mei floated in lotus position, a candle balanced upon her finger, humming a tavern song far too suggestive to match the serenity of her posture.

  Jay sat by the window, watching rain as though reading fate in its descent.

  Nessa stood by the door, trembling fingers betraying her calm.

  “The young lady’s forecast proves accurate,” Su Mei observed lightly. “This rain will linger. Therium gifts us time for reflection.”

  “A gift?” Layla scoffed. “I’d prefer grilled lizard tail, meow.”

  “Let us avoid discussions of tails for now,” Jay murmured. “We were fortunate. The sword remains dormant. But…”

  He exhaled.

  “That will not last.”

  Silence.

  “Three warlocks tried to abduct Nessa,” Jay continued. “They carried a warrant from Friedhor. For the Bearer of the Black Light Sword.”

  “Black… light?” Layla blinked. “That’s nonsense, meow.”

  “Welcome to the metaphysics of enchanted blades,” Jay replied faintly. “They are after her.”

  Nessa hugged herself.

  “But my sword is not black. It shines violet. Like lavender at dusk.”

  “Poetic,” Su Mei murmured. “Yet still a mysterious blade of unknown origin. Precisely the sort that attracts calamity.”

  Layla dropped from the bunk.

  “They’ll have to get through me!”

  Su Mei approached Nessa and pinned her gently to the wall.

  “This one senses,” she whispered, close enough for patchouli and breath to mingle, “that your secret may cost lives.”

  Jay rose.

  “Su Mei.”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  “If she is not ready, we do not force her. We know enough. Trouble will come. But she is here...”

  “...with us, meow,” Layla added.

  Su Mei narrowed her eyes… then smiled.

  “Very well. This humble one shall yield to democracy—for now.”

  She stepped aside.

  Nessa drew a steady breath.

  She lowered her hood.

  “I do not wish to hide anymore.”

  Silence.

  “You deserve to know who walks beside you… and what danger you share.”

  The candle flickered. Rain intensified.

  “I am ready to tell you everything.”

  ?