People milled about the streets and open commons. Talo was always lively; merchants shouting wares, carriages rumbling along cobbled roads and crowds drifting between shops and stalls. But today was different.

  The Beacon Tournament was underway.

  It wasn’t just a city event—it was a spectacle. A festival of combat known even in the capital. For most, it was the highlight of the year.

  Nearly every citizen and outsider had purchased a ticket. Even those with no love for fighting came to watch. There was something thrilling about it all—the cheers, the skill, the sheer spectacle of children performing magic most adults could only dream of.

  After all, getting into Lightway Academy wasn’t just about prestige. It was proof. Proof that you had the potential to become a War Paragon—one of the elite. One of the few who could hold their heads high, knowing they had earned their place through blood, sweat, and brilliance.

  Naturally, even city officials had cleared their schedules to attend. Who would pass up the chance to watch the best of the younger generation battle it out for a future in glory?

  Pity the fools who couldn’t attend.

  Pity the ones who had been told to sit this one out. Who were forced into duty elsewhere, chasing “more important tasks” when they’d rather be anywhere but here.

  Pity Trevar and Hiltemer.

  Two city guards with the terrible misfortune of being assigned outside the academy grounds.

  Worse still? Their assignment was to keep an eye on one girl—Enya.

  They weren’t even stationed inside the arena. Just close enough to hear the crowd. Close enough to imagine what they were missing.

  Trevar grumbled something under his breath and shifted where he crouched. “Did you hear that explosion just now?” he muttered, eyes locked on the academy rooftops. “Bet you anything it’s the Advanced Division.”

  He looked the part of a field officer—early thirties, sharp green eyes, and a short-trimmed beard that clung to his jaw like he’d shaved just two days ago and gave up since. His black uniform—different from Talo’s typical white—was tailored for stealth rather than ceremony. On days like this, blending into shadow was more important than looking official.

  His messy black hair, however, was especially wild today. His helmet lay forgotten at his side.

  Hiltemer, perched beside him with the calm of someone resigned to boredom, gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”

  He was built differently—slimmer, neater. His brown hair was combed with precision, not a strand out of place. Clean-shaven, polished, and composed. He looked more like a low-ranking noble than a city guard, despite being a commoner.

  But that was the elf in him. Long, pointed ears, high cheekbones, and a body that favored agility and magical training over brute strength.

  Unlike his human partner, Hiltemer was a mage. And mages didn’t care for heavy armor or strict toned physiques. They trained their minds—not their biceps.

  “But there was that boy from the last tournament,” Hiltemer continued idly, “who almost blew up the entire arena. Remember him? He was only ten years old.”

  Both men were still perched on the rooftops, lazily watching the wide streets below. Their attention lingered especially on the academy’s entrances—each doorway was repeatedly checked with practiced boredom.

  “You say that as if the kid didn’t swallow a hundred different alchemical pills to boost his power,” Trevar retorted, tilting his head back slightly to glance at the clouds. “Hell, the brat was probably power-leveled by his family. Little bastard had connections to over half a dozen merchant houses and companies. He got every resource spoon-fed to him on a golden platter.”

  Hiltemer sighed quietly. “Didn’t say he didn’t, did I? My point is simply that the Advanced Division might not be comparable to previous tournaments. Talented kids appear occasionally, even if we dislike how they got there.” He slowly swept his gaze across the academy again, repeating the same motion he’d made countless times since their shift began. “Not that I would know, of course, given that we aren’t allowed to watch it right now.”

  A deep groan escaped Trevar. “That damned Lorrin. I swear, this is payback for me sleeping at my desk that one day. Just one damn day, and the man never lets me forget it.”

  “Oh, please,” Hiltemer said dryly. “My daily records are pristine, my tasks perfectly accounted for, yet here I am—stuck out here with you. The more logical explanation is that the city’s resources are stretched thin.”

  Trevar rolled his eyes dramatically. “Don’t remind me.” He scoffed again, irritation clear. “Most of the force, Isabelle and Tami included—they are all down in Marralow Pass. Isabelle’s been writing me letters. Says things are rough down there. We even lost one of the new recruits. Some bandit got him—some Silver-tier War Paragon from seven years ago, but the records weren’t updated. The guy might’ve reached Gold-tier for all we know. Specialized in… illusions or something. Poor bastard got taken out while going for a piss at night.”

  Hiltemer sighed, shaking his head. “Must you be so vulgar, Trevar?” Though his friend’s coarse language grated on his nerves, Hiltemer had come to accept it as part of Trevar’s charm. Despite their differences—like oil and water—they trusted each other fully when it counted.

  “But you’re right,” Hiltemer continued quietly. “We’re barely getting any new merchants from the south these days. I haven’t even seen Mr. Grentalam in months. Probably too scared to come here—and honestly, I don’t blame him. That monster flood could happen any day now, and it seems like Lorrin and the higher-ups still have no idea exactly where it’ll hit. Bad news for everyone involved, especially with half our forces still tied down south.”

  “Exactly,” Trevar groaned. “We should be doing something useful about it—anything better than what we’re doing now—including watching the damned tournament. But nooooo, we’re stuck babysitting some VIP girl who walks around town with a skeleton. She hasn’t even done anything remotely interesting, and nobody’s approached her once since we started watching.”

  Silence answered him. Normally, Hiltemer would have responded with a smart remark, a gentle jab, or some dry observation about Trevar’s impatience. But he said nothing. Trevar tilted his head, noticing his partner’s expression—intense, alert, suddenly very serious.

  “What’s up?” Trevar asked, sitting up from the lazy position he’d been in all afternoon, his back pressed against the bricks of the apothecary rooftop.

  “I think… I see our VIP,” Hiltemer replied softly.

  That short reply was enough to make Trevar straighten immediately. He leaned forward, following Hiltemer’s line of sight.

  There.

  Emerging from one of the side exits of the academy, they spotted a tall woman, walking with deliberate steps, a small girl held in her arms.

  “Is that…” Trevar began hesitantly.

  “Lady Celeste,” Hiltemer confirmed in a low voice. “And in her arms… is Enya.”

  Trevar’s face twisted into a complicated, uncertain expression before finally settling into mild confusion. He scratched the back of his head. “She probably got hurt in the tournament or something. Either way, it’s not really our problem, right? Our job’s just to keep an eye on her, watch out for troublemakers or kidnappers. If she gets hurt competing, that’s her own business.”

  Hiltemer didn’t answer. Instead, he continued watching as Celeste carried Enya out through the rarely used exit. Her eyes carefully scanned the surroundings. The entrance she’d chosen was empty—most people had gathered near the main gates. The path she was taking would leave them isolated for some time.

  “Something feels off,” Hiltemer finally said, voice edged with unease. “Let’s move.”

  Trevar hesitated, glancing sideways at his elven companion. He wanted to protest, to remind him that stalking the city’s head healer wasn’t exactly their assignment. But after several tedious hours spent sprawled on the harsh rooftop, his muscles ached to be stretched.

  “All right,” he sighed reluctantly, pushing himself up to stand. “Let’s go, then.”

  Both guards rose silently. With practiced ease, they began gracefully hopping from one rooftop to another, quickly and quietly cutting across the city toward the alley where their VIP had vanished.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The shadowed alleys were quiet and serene; only the gentle drip of water from a hidden pipe disturbed the silence.

  Lady Celeste moved through the old alley with slow, methodical steps, the unconscious child held securely in her arms. She made no sound as she moved—each footfall placed carefully, each movement deliberate, almost ghost-like.

  After years in the city, Celeste knew Talo intimately. She understood every street, every hidden passage, every forgotten corner. Each route she chose was selected from practiced knowledge, ensuring minimal chance of encountering others—even on a day as bustling as this one.

  In her arms, Enya Empyria slept deeply, her breathing soft, rhythmic, peaceful. Whatever dreams the child was having, she wouldn’t awaken for several more hours, subdued by Celeste’s carefully executed skill. It was a spell perfected over years, one she often used on the injured and restless to ease their suffering. Yet, Enya was no patient—not in the ordinary sense, at least. Nor was this the first time Celeste had quietly used her talents this way.

  The girl’s serene expression stirred a quiet, carefully restrained contempt in Celeste. Beneath the healer’s composed mask lingered anger, resentment, and disgust.

  Truthfully, she hadn’t wanted matters to escalate this far. Yet no one would heed her warnings—not even the Sanctity had shown sufficient concern about such a vile menace appearing openly in Talo. Her options had narrowed dramatically, leaving her forced to intervene personally. Celeste’s specialty was healing, after all, not combat or subterfuge. She possessed no subtle skills for permanently silencing threats beyond medical malpractice—and though tempting, that carried far too much risk.

  A necromancer child dying suspiciously in her care would raise countless questions. The best healer in the city failing to save a single, troublesome girl, one whose very nature stood in direct opposition to the Sanctity’s values? Celeste was neither foolish nor na?ve enough to risk such ruin to her hard-earned reputation.

  Her destination was now only a few blocks away: the Sanctity of Order’s church, nestled deep within a quieter, older district of the city. Beneath the polished white walls lay a secure underground chamber designed precisely for sensitive situations like this one. Once there, Enya would remain restrained, chained, and kept under careful observation until the Sanctity’s envoy arrived to settle the matter.

  Celeste would no longer have to shoulder this burden herself. Whether it was to kill, or to put under observation in the Sanctity's hold, she did not need to decide. It would probably be for the best if she was simply restrained and put under watch by the Order, because even though she is a child now, she has not fully assimilated with her class yet. Death was unnecessary for the time being.

  The envoy will handle this.

  And no one, not a single soul, would suspect her involvement.

  There was, however, one problem remaining.

  Risha. That brown-haired child. She was the only one who knew part of the situation so far. Although Celeste had threatened her—made her tremble, shake, and visibly fear—there was no guarantee what the girl would actually do. Children were unpredictable variables, dangerous precisely because they couldn’t be reliably controlled.

  Yet Celeste knew she could handle even that. In just a few hours, once her imposed restriction on healing duties ended, she’d quietly summon the girl under the pretense of a routine checkup. Then, a subtle poison could be administered. A swift, silent killer, and easily explained as a tragic error by subordinates. Officially, Celeste hadn’t been allowed to oversee either girl’s treatment. Blame would fall neatly on those who had already cared for Risha, leaving her own hands spotless.

  In the end, those who defended evil were just as wicked.

  The price of one, for the price of many.

  Celeste continued forward, turning another corner, passing an empty street, and entering yet another quiet alley. She paused briefly, calmly glancing over her shoulder.

  Empty. Quiet. Nothing stirring in the slightest.

  Satisfied, she pressed onward, footsteps steady, breathing calm and even. The distant echoes of tournament spectators—the cheers, the spectacular explosions—had faded entirely, underscoring just how isolated this district was during festivities.

  Another narrow corner. Another empty alleyway. The church was close now, its familiar spire faintly visible above nearby rooftops. With every step closer, her confidence in the plan grew stronger.

  Then came the unmistakable thump of boots landing heavily on the cobblestones behind her.

  Celeste halted immediately, irritation tightening her expression despite the carefully maintained mask she always wore. After taking a short breath to steady herself, she turned smoothly, her gaze sharp, controlled, and authoritative as she faced those who had been stalking her.

  City guards. She recognized their dark uniforms immediately—black, not the typical ceremonial white. One was even completely veiled beneath a cloak. Someone had clearly assigned them to watch her movements; someone with enough influence to issue secret orders. Perhaps Lorrin. Possibly Lord Clament himself.

  But why?

  Certainly, it was well known that Celeste held open contempt for the evil and repulsive—for everything a necromancer stood for. Yet why would anyone assign guards specifically to monitor her now? Her eyes briefly flicked downward to the sleeping girl in her arms.

  Enya’s clothing was elegant, the fabric feeling almost otherworldly as it brushed softly against Celeste’s fingers. Undoubtedly noble. Yet even noble children rarely received personal security details in Talo, let alone permission to wander freely without locks.

  Something wasn’t adding up.

  Why had she been specifically relieved of her healing duties today? Why had the head healer herself been restricted from overseeing treatments?

  A fresh unease prickled at Celeste’s carefully guarded composure. Why was this girl important enough to warrant such unusual protection? Or… perhaps it wasn’t the girl, but instead, the target was her? Were the officials trying to keep tabs on her?

  “Lady Celeste,” one of the guards began carefully, breaking the uneasy silence. “Would you mind explaining exactly what you’re doing out here?”

  Celeste held their gazes calmly, her expression cool and composed despite the sudden interruption. For a moment, she simply stared back, analyzing them. Her fingers adjusted slightly around the sleeping girl, control still in her arms.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” she replied smoothly, voice even, yet carrying a faint edge of irritation. “My duties involve caring for patients. Clearly, I’m fulfilling them.”

  The guards exchanged a brief glance, uncertain. After a short pause, the guard with pointed ears stepped forward cautiously. “We mean no offense, Lady Celeste, but this hardly seems like standard procedure. Why carry a noble child through such isolated alleys during an event?”

  Celeste’s gaze sharpened, briefly piercing through their hesitation. Her voice, when she spoke again, was quietly commanding, gentle yet firmly putting them in their place. “I wasn’t aware that my medical methods required approval from the city watch.” She tilted her head slightly, raising one delicate eyebrow. “But perhaps you can first tell me who you are—and why city guards are following me around in secret?”

  The guards shifted uneasily, hesitating for a moment longer. Finally, the first guard cleared his throat, meeting Celeste’s gaze. “We were ordered to watch over the girl you’re carrying, Lady Celeste. Our instructions were quite clear.”

  A subtle twitch flickered from Celeste’s eyes.

  Assigned to watch over the little girl? Why exactly was this child deemed important enough to warrant direct protection by the city? Noble children had died from injuries before, and no blame ever fell upon the city lord or academy headmaster. More importantly—why hadn’t she heard anything about it? Empyria was not a noble name she’d heard before; certainly not one she recognized from any known lineage.

  Despite the confusion, outwardly, Celeste gave nothing away. Her expression quickly resumed its usual calm, intimidating authority.

  The two guards in front noticed her momentary pause and pressed further. The other one stood more reserved, looming in the back. “Lady Celeste, with all due respect, can you please tell us exactly why you’re taking her away?”

  “My healing methods are complicated, far beyond your ability to comprehend. Such complexity should hardly surprise you, considering my reputation as the best healer in Talo.” She paused, holding their gaze, allowing her authority and status to sink in. “I am currently moving the child to a safer, more private location where I can administer specialized treatment. A child of her… importance deserves nothing less.”

  Again, the two guards hesitated visibly, glancing uncertainly among themselves, seemingly caught between their orders and Celeste’s commanding presence.

  Celeste pressed further, her voice lowering into a quieter, sharper tone. “If you genuinely care for this child’s wellbeing, you’ll stop wasting my time. Or perhaps you’d rather explain to Lord Clament why you decided to obstruct the Head Healer of Talo while treating a patient of critical importance?”

  She allowed the words to settle heavily in the silence, her eyes cold, confident, daring them to continue questioning her authority. The guards hesitated, visibly unsure, exchanging wary glances as they weighed the implications of pushing the issue further.

  It appeared her bluff had succeeded. They lacked enough information to challenge her claims and seemed unwilling to risk the consequences of interfering. This momentary hesitation worked in her favor—but Celeste knew it had already complicated matters beyond recovery.

  These three guards now had clear knowledge of her whereabouts and her interaction with the necromancer. She couldn’t safely take Enya to the Sanctity’s church to be restrained as planned. Too many eyes were on her now; suspicion had been cast. She would need to adapt quickly, briefly visiting the church before swiftly returning the child.

  Another opportunity would eventually present itself. She would wait, plan, and isolate the girl again at a better moment. This, at a minimum, resolved the brown-haired child’s suspicion of her as well. There was nothing to be suspicious of, if she brought the noble girl back at perfect health.

  With a subtle lift of her chin, Celeste delivered her final dismissal. “If that is all from you three, then kindly remove yourselves. This girl will be returned fully recovered within the hour.”

  Trevar exchanged a brief, puzzled look with Hiltemer. His brow furrowed, confusion evident in his voice. “Three?”

  Hiltemer echoed the uncertainty, shifting slightly. “Lady Celeste, there are only two of us here. What do you mean by ‘three guards’?”

  Celeste raised one eyebrow slowly, her expression sharpening once more with a hint of impatience. Although momentary confusion showed on her normally calm face, her voice remained steady. “Are you telling me the one behind you isn’t also part of your city watch?”

  Both guards stiffened immediately, turning sharply in unison. Standing silently in the shadows, barely outlined by the dim lighting, was a third figure. They were draped head-to-toe in a dark cloak. For a heartbeat, the mysterious figure remained motionless, observing them quietly.

  The narrow alleyway was suddenly filled with a threatening presence, weighing down the air. Celeste felt a shiver travel down her spine—recognition dawning sharply in her mind as she caught sight of the eyes beneath the hood.

  Slitted, crimson eyes gazed back at them from the darkness, shimmering faintly like polished rubies. From the cloak, a limb slowly appeared; a smooth hand, tipped with sharp, metal-embedded claws—a blend of flesh and machine tracing up the figure’s arm.

  Celeste’s pulse quickened involuntarily, her carefully held composure beginning to fracture beneath the realization of danger now standing before her.

  This was not a guard. It wasn’t even human.