Return of the Tactician

Sensitivity and durability. Weapons, especially those of the bladed variety, were tools that walked the thin line between the two contradictory characteristics. The sharper a blade was, the more fragile it tended to be; the duller it was, the less effective.

The finest of combat swords were produced and maintained after much trial and error. Attempting to keep a blade sharp yet sturdy was a difficult and often unsuccessful endeavor, and the ideal balance between edge and sturdiness varied from user to user. There were as many varieties of sword-making as there were swordsmen and swords.

“Hey, Shannon!”

Weapons required regular maintenance in order to withstand the abrasive conditions of battle. Such maintenance required a great deal of time, effort, and painstaking attention to detail.

“Shannon! I’m talking to you!”

When performing maintenance on weaponry, one needed care, precision, and absolute concentra—

“Stop ignoring me, jerkface! You’ll pay for this!”

Shannon’s patience was finally exhausted when Pacifica stuffed his long hair into an ugly side ponytail. He tugged his head out of her hold, turned to her, and glared.

“What, your highness?”

The action sent Shannon’s awkward ponytail bobbing. Pacifica laughed and pointed.

“Wow, Shannon!” she exclaimed. “You look so cute like that!”

“I’m sure that’s a lie.”

“Seriously. All you need now is a dress, some fake boobs, and—”

Shannon abruptly pulled the hair-tie off and let his hair fall back into place. “I thought I told you never to bring up the dress thing again.”

“Yeah, right.” Pacifica waved him off with her hand. “And since when do I listen to you?”

Shannon sighed into the autumn breeze. The Big Bear Inn’s backyard had a flowerbed, a small pond, and a charming white table for guests to enjoy outdoor tea. Unfortunately, the makeshift stove Shannon had built ruined the once-elegant garden.

Shannon rested the sword he’d been trying to clean on the grass. “If you like the style so much,” he muttered as he retied his usual low ponytail, “why don’t you wear it yourself?”

“Oh, I’m already cute enough as it is.”

Shannon said nothing, his face blank.

Pacifica, unsurprisingly, took great offense at his reaction.

“Hey!” she snapped. “What the heck was that?! It’s almost like you were disagreeing with the undeniable fact that I’m painfully cute! Would you care to be more direct with your sovereign ruler, Shannon Casull?!”

Shannon really had better things to do that day, so he gave up early.

“No, Princess Pacifica. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever had the fortune to lay my eyes on.”

Pacifica scowled at Shannon’s tone. “Say it like you mean it!”

Shannon ignored her and went back to his father’s sword. “Didn’t you have something to tell me?” he asked.

The indignation fell from Pacifica’s face just as quickly as it had risen up. “Oh. Winia wanted you to go shopping with her—she said she’s got a lot of things to buy.”

Shannon scratched the back of his neck. Porter duty, he thought. Great.

Still, Winia was letting the Casull siblings stay at the Big Bear Inn at-cost. Shannon was in no position to refuse her request.

“Fine.” Shannon bent back over his sword. “Tell her I’ll be a minute—I’m almost done here.”

“Okay. Buy me something pretty while you’re out?”

“I thought we decided you’re pretty enough.” 

“Hey!”

On a small hill that overlooked the town of Taurus, Luke Sturm stood in calm silence. With his powerful build and face of steel, the imposing air he emanated was nearly warm to the touch.

“Colonel Sturm.” A soldier’s voice seemed to rise out of nowhere. “Reporting current conditions, sir.”

Luke Sturm didn’t bother turning. Using illusion magic, his subordinates had bent the surrounding light to conceal themselves. Trying to see anything or anyone was a waste of time.

“Team 2 has detained a caravan of seven traveling merchants; Team 5 has detained one male. Both squads operate under Class 2 detainment. Should we continue the lockdown, sir?”

Luke gave a slight nod. “All teams continue operations.”

“With all due respect, Colonel,” came another voice, this one slightly skeptical. “Are you comfortable leaving everything in the tactician’s hands?”

“Christopher Armalite is from Adamant Arrow. Their combat capabilities are unmatched.”

“But sir—”

Luke waved to silence his subordinate.

“The Arrow takes its reputation very seriously,” Luke continued “They need to chase their loss and eradicate it, even if it does step on our toes.”

The invisible soldier said nothing. Luke let out a breath.

“Let the boy make the first attack. Baroness and her Arrow will owe us for the opportunity; they’ll owe us again if her tactician needs us to finish the job. This isn’t a bad thing.”

“Understood, sir. Blackhawk is standing by.”

Luke let his eyes focus on Taurus once more. He knew that his Blackhawk, more specifically known as the Special Unit of the Royal Military Intelligence Division, would follow his directions despite any dissident. His men were used to taking distasteful orders… and they already knew that “finishing the job” meant wiping Taurus off the map.

Luke Sturm wasn’t a cruel man, he simply left his emotions at the door. It was a necessary compromise for the leader of a unit unseen by the public and responsible for anything from palace-sponsored kidnapping to royalty-decreed assassination. Along with the Royal Special Forces Battalion 4, also known as Crimson Sword, and the Royal Special Forces Battalion 5, also known as Adamant Arrow, they formed the dark side of the Royal Military. The Blackhawk was known as the deadliest of the covert action units.

And yet, for a man used to sealing off his heart on duty, he couldn’t help but feel the barest hint of emotion for the tactician in question.

“I sincerely doubt he’ll win,” Luke said quietly.

“I agree, sir. And even if he does, he’ll suffer for it.” The voice of the subordinate was laced with a hint of nostalgia.

Luke remained stoic; he had work to do, and he needed to be prepared for that.

“An overly fine blade will fail in battle,” he remarked as he stared down at the town below.

Christopher Armalite sat in a bakery, gazing out of the window that overlooked the main shopping street of Taurus. He was a bit uncomfortable with the fact that he was the only customer in the place that day, but he forced himself to relax. There was nothing about him that would draw attention, anyway.

“Here you go.”

Chris looked up. A young woman stood by his table with a tray of bread and tea. She smiled brightly.

“Oh.” He suddenly remembered that he’d ordered something—a type of promotional bread. He pushed back in his chair to make room for the food she was placing before him.

The girl eventually straightened, folding the tray under her arms so she could tuck it against her chest. She smiled at him again… and didn’t move.

Chris raised an eyebrow at her. Do I have something on my face?

“Wow,” she said at last, her black eyes glittering with mischief. “You must really be in love.”

Chris almost fell out of his chair at the sheer idiocy of the statement. But, being the master of self-control that he was, he only displayed his surprise with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

The girl smiled knowingly. “Those longing looks out the window, and all those sighs. It’s a dead giveaway!”

“Um… that doesn’t mean—”

The girl held out a hand. “You don’t have to explain it—love just happens sometimes, y’know? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She leaned forward a bit. “So? Who is she? And why does twilight make you daydream about her?”

Chris wasn’t sure what he could say to get the girl to leave, but a voice from the kitchen saved him the trouble.

“Not again, Michelle!” A middle-aged man poked his head out from the back of the bakery. “Stop bothering the customers and help me get this out of the oven!”

The girl frowned and scurried toward the kitchen, glancing back for one final look at Chris.

“Good luck!” she called before disappearing from sight.

For a moment, Chris sat in a mild daze. The silence surrounding him felt heavy… and it wasn’t that way before the girl showed. He stared down at the bread that had been placed before him.

What’s wrong with me?

He blinked his eyes once in an attempt to clear his head. The girl, unfortunately, had commented on something Chris had hoped to suppress—his unusual emotional confusion. He hadn’t been the same since losing to Shannon Casull.

Chris tore a piece off a piece of his bread and pushed it into his mouth. There must have been some kind of herb in it; it had a fragrant smell to it, and tasted bittersweet.

Love. Well, he probably did look like he was in love. Love and hate had a lot in common—they could both fool one’s heart and severely cloud judgment. And neither feeling left its owner in much control.

Chris had never really felt much of anything for anybody, and he wanted things to stay that way. It was what helped him complete his missions and kept him succeeding when the slightest hesitation could result in his anti-climactic death. So the fact that Chris couldn’t sleep at night because he was obsessing about Shannon Casull, well, it unsettled him to no end.

What’s he doing now? Chris couldn’t help but wonder. He saw Shannon’s face under his eyelids and heard Shannon’s voice in his inner ear. He fantasized about what Shannon was doing, and why, and for how long. He wondered what kept Shannon up at night.

So? Was it hate that he felt, or love?

Chris smiled at the stupidity of the question. He also fantasized about his axe shattering through Shannon’s sword and continuing toward Shannon’s head.

Chris pushed away his tea. He was going to fight Shannon again, and he was going to win.

And I’m going to do it soon, he added to himself as he watched Shannon and a young woman walk across the street.

“Let’s see…” Winia checked the shopping list in her hand. “Two kinds of spices, flour, new plates, lamp oil—that’s everything.” She glanced over at Shannon. “We can go home now.”

Shannon shifted the packages in response. She didn’t think the items weighed too much, but they were still bulky and piled entirely on his left arm. He walked awkwardly by Winia’s side.

Winia frowned at him. “Wouldn’t it be easier if you used both hands?” she asked.

“I like to keep my right free.” He shifted the packages again.

“Why?”

As she spoke, Shannon reached toward Winia with his right hand.

Whap!

A small ball, worn from overuse, slapped into Shannon’s palm. A child spluttering apologies ran up behind it.

“Sorry!” the boy cried, waving his hands frantically. “Did I hit you, lady?”

Winia stared at the boy, her heart thundering from the close call. Shannon dropped the ball and kicked it toward its owner.

The boy ran after it. “Thanks!” he called behind him.

Shannon continued down the street. Winia quickly ran to catch up.

“Um, Shannon?” she asked, her voice a little higher than before. She cleared her throat. “Let me, uh… carry half of those.”

“Don’t bother,” he answered tiredly. “I’ll lose my balance if I try handing anything to you.”

Winia pursed her lips and stayed silent. She tilted her head toward the ground and couldn’t help but smile slightly.

That was when she slammed into his back.

“Mmph!” she snorted, grabbing her nose. She realized he had stopped dead in his tracks.

The look on Shannon’s face made the hairs on the back of Winia’s neck rise.

“Sh-Shannon?” she almost squeaked. She cleared her throat again. “What’s the matter?”

His eyes never lowering, Shannon knelt on the sidewalk and dropped Winia’s packages. His sword made a faint clinking sound as he gripped the hilt at his waist.

Winia’s blood ran cold. Seeing the sword hanging by his side was a powerful reminder of what she’d almost forgotten: who he was, and what he was running from. Winia ferociously looked around.

“Sh-Shannon,” she stuttered, “we should really, uh… go. Pacifica’s probably ready to throw a fit by now, y’know? We’re a lot later than…” Winia trailed off, her heartbeat growing louder in her ears. She didn’t see anything around them. Was something wrong? But she knew the answer—there was trouble nearby, made worse by the fact that it was something she couldn’t see.

All of a sudden, a thousand thoughts crowded her brain. Were they about to be attacked? Would Shannon protect her? For a second, her fear of the imminent danger was overcome by a deeper, more permanent fear: if someone was after Pacifica, she and her family would leave, and Winia would be alone again. It was probably selfish of her to have made them stay in the first place, considering who they were. They lived a life of constant danger, a precarious existence she couldn’t possibly fathom.

Winia’s eyes darted to Shannon’s sword. For a fleeting second, she wondered if he’d ever killed someone with it.

“Hn.”

Shannon’s murmur snapped Winia out of her frantic thoughts. Her nerves on end, she watched as he carefully removed his hand from his sword.

“Maybe not.” He bent to pick up the packages. “Maybe I just… hn. Never mind.”

Winia’s jaw nearly dropped. Huh? she thought. Is that… it?

“What were you saying earlier?” Shannon asked, balancing the goods on his arm. As he picked up the last paper bag, something clattered.

Shannon stopped. Winia, her brain slowly reentering reality, looked at what he had.

Those… those were the plates.

Shannon winced. He crinkled the bag, and it once again emitted the sound of broken porcelain.

“Oops.”

Winia’s heart began to slow. She swallowed as relief flooded through her veins.

“It must have happened when you dropped them,” she sighed as she took the bag from him. “Well, that investment didn’t last long.”

Shannon dropped his head.

“I’m sorry, Winia.”

She waved it off. “Maybe you should just go back to the inn. I’m sure Pacifica’s waiting, and I can go replace these myself.”

She could feel Shannon’s disapproval, but she refused to look up as she balanced the bag back on Shannon’s stack. She needed to leave and clear her head. She was embarrassed and confused.

“I’m not sure that’s a good—”

“Don’t run with the bag,” she interrupted. “You’ll just break the plates that are still in one piece.” Without so much as waiting for a reply, Winia sped off in the opposite direction, her eyes fixed squarely on the sidewalk beneath her feet. She was relieved that Shannon didn’t follow.

Winia swallowed hard and picked up the pace. A few moments of Shannon’s concern and she’d turned into a complete mess. She had become more worried about the Casulls leaving than about how the Casulls might someday get her killed.

Winia squeezed shut her eyes. What is all this? And what’s wrong with me?

The light that seeped in through the window had turned the amber of sunset. Pacifica, slumped at the dining room table beside her sister, made a point of flopping her arms out across the table.

“What’s taking them so long?’’ Pacifica complained. Mechanical clocks were a luxury item the Big Bear Inn couldn’t afford, so she wasn’t sure what time it was. “I want dinner.”

Without looking up, Raquel calmly moved her tea away from Pacifica’s jiggling hands. “I don’t know,” Raquel replied, her voice still just the barest bit hoarse from her cold. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait.”

Pacifica glanced at the book Raquel read. She knew that the Encyclopedia of Magical Spells would only include the magic officially recognized by the Royal Academy of Sorcery, which meant no special magic or military magic, the latter of which was restricted to learn, let alone use.

Then it’s a good thing she’s good enough to combine basic spells, Pacifica thought.

“Jeez,” Pacifica complained, dropping her head on the table. “How much shopping could they possibly be doing?”

“Mm.”

“Do you think something happened?”

“Mm.”

Pacifica glared at her sister. Raquel continued reading her book, oblivious to Pacifica’s gaze.

“Hunh,” Pacifica tried. “Maybe the two of them are too busy kissing in some abandoned alley.”

“Mm.”

“Winia is Shannon’s type, isn’t she?”

“He told me once that he prefers girls with long hair,” Raquel answered without missing a beat. “He was pretty popular with the girls at Sunday school, so I’m sure he’s thought about it. He said he didn’t place particular preference on a body type, but rather liked long hair.”

Pacifica absently fingered her own pinned-back hair, then dropped her hand and snorted. “That’s so like you, Raquel.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have this spaced-out look on your face all the time, but you actually know exactly what’s going on.”

“I’m not spaced-out,” Raquel replied in a spaced-out voice.

“See?”

Raquel finally closed her book and looked up. She smiled very slightly, almost mischievously… and Pacifica shrank back in her chair. She knew that look, and it meant trouble.

“Oh, Pacifica,” Raquel hummed. “You just can’t get enough of Shannon, can you?”

Pacifica’s eyes shot wide open. “What?!” she shrieked.

‘Don’t take my brother away from me’!” Raquel cooed in a baby voice, imitating Pacifica.

Pacifica felt the blood rush to her head. Th-that’s not fair! she protested inwardly. No one’s allowed to bring up embarrassing childhood memories to make a point!

“Do you remember?” Raquel asked. “You were five years old. Shannon was about to go play with a girl from the neighborhood—”

“No!” Pacifica snapped. “I don’t remember at all! I completely forgot!” To emphasize her point, she banged both fists on the table. “And why are you being so cruel?!”

Raquel watched her cup of tea rock precariously. When she looked back up, a slight sulk pulled at the space between her eyebrows.

“You never come to me for attention,” Raquel said sadly.

“I’m not after anyone’s attention!” Pacifica snarled. Crossing her arms, she angrily slouched in her chair.

“…Pacifica.”

Sensing a slight change of tone in Raquel’s voice, Pacifica glanced up.

Raquel, her dark eyes fixed on Pacifica, reached out and gently stroked her hair.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “Shannon’s not going anywhere.”

Pacifica sat in silence, unsure of what to say. Her gaze fell to a corner of the table.

“I know… it’s just…”

“And I won’t leave you, either. Something stronger than blood is tying us to you.” Raquel let one long finger trail down Pacifica’s cheek. “So don’t worry, all right? We’re here because we want to be.”

Pacifica felt her cheeks blush. Keeping her eyes down, she nodded slightly.

Maybe that’s what people call presence, Winia thought, staring at the boy.

“Hello there,” he said.

Despite his cold beauty, Winia tried to remain calm. How old was he? Fifteen? At that age, people were supposed to have a certain degree of innocence… but the boy seemed to have none whatsoever.

“Yes?” Winia asked uncomfortably.

He took another step toward her, closing the gap between them. They were on a sidewalk being passed by hurried townspeople eager to eat their dinners, but Winia still felt alone and cornered as he came near. He was keenly out of place in the bustling Taurus street.

“You know Shannon Casull, right?”

Winia stiffened. Even if her life had nothing to do with Pacifica’s fate, she could still see what was going on. “N-no,” she mumbled, her heart suddenly racing in her chest. “Shannon who?”

He smiled coldly. “I don’t believe you.”

Winia quickly turned to go, but the boy’s hand shot out and gripped her shoulder. He dug his fingers in so hard she was afraid she’d bleed.

“Help!” she cried. “Somebody, help me!”

“Winia?”

Winia thanked whatever greater power was out there. Falk, the town’s strapping young blacksmith, happened to be right down the street. He quickly strode up and stared disapprovingly at Chris.

“What’s the matter?” Falk asked Winia. “Is he bothering you?”

Falk was a full head taller than Winia, and probably twice her girth. He was an impressive presence beside the slim boy who gripped Winia.

Winia nodded quickly, tears in her eyes. Falk glared down at the boy.

“I don’t know who you are, kid, but you’d better let her go.”

The boy smiled. “I’d stay out of this if I were you,” he said before whipping his free hand. His fist met Falk’s body.

“Uhmpf!”

Letting out a surprised grunt, the blacksmith was lifted off the ground, then crashed onto the sidewalk several steps back from where he’d been standing.

Murmuring filled the evening air. A crowd started to form around the boy, and confused townspeople had to peek over each other to catch a look.

“Did you see that?”

“That kid just punched Falk!”

“Is he from around here?”

With a grimace, Falk pushed himself to his feet.

The boy raised an eyebrow. “You’re pretty tough for an amateur,” he said.

Falk spat blood, then smiled without humor. “My boss has been hitting me for years. I guess it was good for something.”

Falk raised both arms in front of his chest in what looked like a self-taught fighting pose.

“I wasn’t kidding,” the boy said, a touch of warning behind his calm voice. “Stay out of this.”

“I don’t like how you talk to adults, kid.”

“And I don’t like how to talk to professionals, amateur.”

Falk lunged at the boy to restrain him, but the boy quickly shifted.

Thud!

Falk choked, his arms shaking. Winia noticed the end of a pole sticking out from the boy’s gray jacket.

The boy jerked his arm. The pole that was digging into Falk’s stomach swung back just as its extensions swung up and clicked into place. Falk fell onto his knees, now within range of a battleaxe as tall as his lithe attacker.

“Sleep tight,” the boy said as he lowered the axe into the back of Falk’s head. Falk crumpled to the sidewalk in a large, silent heap.

Winia screamed. A few members of the crowd did the same, although more of them stepped back in fear.

The boy turned back to Winia, paying no mind to the collective panic. Winia was terrified to find out that not only was the boy not out of breath, but he’d never let go of her shoulder throughout the melee.

“Sorry,” he said with a small, almost apologetic smile. “But it looks like you’ve been assigned to be bait, sister.”

Sensing someone approaching, Shannon looked up. He sent a meaningful glance at Raquel.

“Who is that?” he asked.

Raquel looked up from the apple she peeled. “Hm? Oh.” She closed her eyes, assumedly checking her mental Asgard data screen. “Let me see…”

Shannon picked up his sword. After sensing something during his evening shopping trip, he’d asked Raquel to deploy an Asgard sensor spell. He again realized how lucky he was to have a sister with such an impressive mental capacity.

“Subject isn’t carrying any metal that could be a weapon. At that height, weight, and stride… it’s probably Mister Colt from the Wild Horse Inn.” She opened her eyes again and looked to Shannon. “Hm.”

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. Pacifica abruptly lifted her head from the table on which it rested.

“Is that Winia?” she asked excitedly.

“No.”

Pacifica scowled. “Man,” she growled, resting her head once more. “I’m starving.”

Shannon walked past Pacifica and refrained from making a comment. When he reached for the door, it was suddenly pulled open from outside.

“Shannon!”

The short middle-aged, but presumably healthy, Safir Colt stood on the doorstep out of breath and glistening with sweat.

Shannon tightened his grip on his sheathed sword. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Safir nodded, panting hard. Raquel and Pacifica ran to join their brother at the door.

“W-Winia!” Safir managed. “You have to save… Winia!”

“Winia?!” Pacifica exclaimed. She gripped Raquel’s arm. “What happened to Winia?!”

Safir shook his head and swallowed. “She was kidnapped by some boy no one recognizes!” He looked up at Shannon with panicked eyes. “He knocked out the blacksmith and then ran away with Winia!”

Shannon froze. “Boy?” he repeated.