Chapter 33: Keithwood the Workcamel and the Extra Heavy Straw

Looks like we really cut it close.

Keithwood, who’d arrived with Sion, took in the surroundings. Mia and Bel were standing close together. A pair of horses flanked them in a protective ring. Two wolves—the enemy’s minions, presumably—circled the group, ready to pounce on any opening.

Too close, honestly. Way too close.

He breathed out a sigh of relief, though it was followed by a chill when he considered how they’d averted tragedy—for now, at least—by only the thinnest of whiskers.

Under orders from Sion, he’d been doing his usual rounds of the academy when he discovered the bloody sight of Lynsha near the rear gate. As he ran to her side, preparing to help her to the infirmary, she clutched his arm and forced out just enough breath to mention Bel’s kidnapping at the hands of Citrina and Barbara before passing out.

The urgency of the situation dawning on him, he rushed to inform Sion before running off to procure assistance. However, a search for Mia’s usual acquaintances proved bewilderingly unfruitful; every relevant individual seemed to have vanished. Furthermore, he’d found the ransom letter abandoned on the floor of Mia’s room. Upon returning to Sion, who’d already changed into battle wear with his sword at his hip, they quickly decided to leave the island.

Lynsha’s message had impressed upon them the gravity of the situation. As a result, they acted with less hesitation than everyone else. The fact that even so, they arrived with not a moment to spare was something that would likely haunt Keithwood for days to come.

Princess Mia is priceless. Losing her would be an incalculable loss. Thank the sun we made it in time.

Sion’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Keithwood, I’ll let you handle the wolves. If possible, get rid of them and open up an escape route for us.”

Keithwood grimaced at his master’s command.

“Really, milord? Your demands are always unreasonable, but this one is definitely extra unreasonable,” he grumbled.

They were, after all, a pair of wolves. And very big ones at that. The average person would already be running away in terror, never mind fighting them.

Granted, the two-legged one doesn’t look like a pushover either. Guess I’ll have to pull my weight here. And then some.

And so, the workcamel picked up the extra heavy straw, and proceeded to fling it onto his long-overloaded back.

Keithwood had carefully watched the masked man defend himself against Abel’s crushing blow. He recognized the enormous power behind Abel’s swings. Weathering one head-on was usually a recipe for disaster. If the receiving blade didn’t snap, the receiving arms might. Heck, reacting fast enough to defend oneself was a minor miracle in itself.

Their foe, meanwhile, had done so with nary an effort. Whoever this man was, he was good.

Sion probably also figures that our chances of beating maskface there are slim. Which doesn’t leave me with a whole lot of wiggle room, does it? All right. The wolves it is then. I need to get rid of them fast and secure our escape.

Vicious though they were, wolves were still beasts. Surely they had to be easier to defeat than an armed and highly competent man. So he thought, at least, until the mere motion of drawing his sword prompted one of the wolves to attack.

“Whoa!”

It pounced out of nowhere, jaws opening wide. He dodged hastily, only for the wolf to swerve with him, its gaping jaw following the motion of his body as if it had predicted his reaction.

“What the—”

In the fraction of a second he had to think, he decided that further evasion was impossible. Abandoning all semblance of defense, he leaned into the attack, twisting his sword toward the wolf’s neck to drive it up through its throat.

Sword through the neck. If I kill the thing right when it bites me, I can minimize the damage I take. An arm for a wolf. Worth it.

This grisly bargain, however, did not come to pass. The wolf met his eyes and suddenly stopped in place before backing off.

“Scorching sun, what?” Keithwood exclaimed in shock.

The wolf bounded backward a few more times. A second later, arrows fell on its paw prints. Another arrow, this one with a brightly burning tip, flew toward the other wolf, who didn’t budge. It landed wide of its mark. The wolves showed no fear of fire, dodging only when the arrows’ aim was true.

We have an archer on our side, huh. That helps. But...

Undeterred by the long-range threat, the wolves kept their eyes on Keithwood. Seeing this, he understood what had happened.

Not only did it hop away from the arrows with ease, it sensed I was going to let it bite me to go in for the kill, so it backed off. These aren’t regular wolves. They’re trained for battle.

They stood like warriors in lupine form, and their deft movements suggested a familiarity with the tendencies of swordsmen. He wasn’t, Keithwood realized, fighting a pair of giant wolves. He was up against two trained soldiers who fought with jaws and claws. With the speed and power of wolves, to boot.

Beating them...is going to be backbreaking. Maybe literally. In that case...

Not dropping his guard, he addressed Sion without turning his head.

“Milord, these aren’t regular wolves. Defeating them doesn’t seem a likely outcome. May I change my approach to stall for time instead?”

“...Fair enough. I suppose there’s no need for us to attempt immediate escape if it’s not really feasible. We’ll take this slow then. Drag it out.”

Sion’s response elicited a private grin from Keithwood.

Good thing he caught my drift. Now, let’s see if maskface takes the bait.

He was interrupted by a growl.

“Ah, right. Sorry to keep you two waiting.”

Turning back toward the wolves, he shrugged.

“Still, against these fellows, even stalling for time is plenty risky. Let’s hope I make it out of this with all my limbs intact... I swear, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Bel, who’d been watching these goings-on from the sidelines, squealed in delight.

“Omigosh omigosh! Look, Miss Mia! It’s him! The Libra King! The Libra King is here to save us!”

Her idol, Sion Sol Sunkland, had come to her rescue. It would be unrealistic to expect her not to erupt with excitement.

“Oh, and there’s Grandfather Abel too, of course!” she added, clearly as a courtesy.

Poor Grandfather Abel. The fanatic affection of Maniabel would never truly be his.

In any case, the arrival of reinforcements had greatly improved her spirits.

“Now that help’s here, maybe...”

They could go back to rescue Citrina. That thought was the source of her renewed cheer.

By the way, unlike Mia, while Bel had incurred some degree of muddiness from her tumble off the horse, she remained mostly presentable. The reason was that she’d astutely perceived the wriggling of Kuolan’s nostrils and deftly stepped out of the way. Never let it be said that Bel hadn’t learned from her grandmother. She was adapting the principle of Mia First into Bel First, at least when it came to avoiding horse mucus.

“Yaaaay! Go go Libra King! Come on, Miss Mia, let’s cheer together. Yaaaay! Go go Libra King!”

While a wide-eyed Bel pumped her fists in the air cheerleader-style, a grimy Princess Mia lifted hers to shoulder height and said in a half-hearted tone, “Yaaaay...”

Ugh... Why me...

Though hardly a stranger to Kuolan’s nasal discharge by now, every time he sneezed on Mia, it still ruined her mood.

W-Well, then again, he did do a lot to help me... I guess I can’t complain. Besides, now that I think about it, Abel’s here to save me. I have to cheer him on properly.

She glanced at Bel, who was eagerly pumping her little fists in the air.

I...would have preferred to do so in a more presentable fashion though. Ugh, this was supposed to be the big moment. The pivotal scene where the knight in shining armor comes to rescue the princess. If only it wasn’t ruined by the fact that the princess is soaking wet and covered in slime...

After briefly wallowing in self-pity, she decided to adopt a more positive outlook.

No, I’m going about this all wrong. Regardless of the situation, I’m still the heroine here, so I need to get my act together!

She gave her cheeks a few invigorating smacks and raised her voice.

“Show them what you’ve got! I’m rooting for you! Both of you!”

With the self-styled heroine cheering him on, Abel went on the offensive.

“Take this!”

Again, he used his signature technique, adopting an overhead stance. It was the same motion as before. The masked man all but rolled his eyes at the monotonous approach.

“Fool...”

He huffed in disdain and prepared to take a lateral step to avoid the vertical strike. Indeed, power here meant little when intent had been laid bare. Predictability was the bane of a swordsman, especially against an exceptionally skilled opponent.

Abel, of course, was well aware of this. Still, he committed to the overhead swing. Was it stubbornness? Of course not. His reason was simple; he knew his swings were lethal.

“Fool?” Abel grinned at the word. “We’ll see who’s the fool.”

His foe had deemed him a fool, and in doing so, given him an opening.

The next instant, the masked man’s eyes sprung to twice their size.

“How—”

Abel’s sword became a blur. It fell faster and with far more force than before. The man’s sidestep kept him unharmed, but half his mask fluttered away in the wind.

It was an absurdly powerful swing from Abel, incomparable to his last. A technique of pure offense, it allowed for no recourse, no next step in case the opponent dodged. It left him wide open, completely unable to repel a counterattack from his foe. No sane fighter would commit to such unbridled aggression...without good reason. And Abel had a good reason.

“Leaves you sort of open, doesn’t it, Abel? Not the most practical move, in my humble opinion.”

The fatal opening left by the attack vanished as Sion stepped in to fill it. The masked man, already in motion to strike back, tsked and withdrew.

“No. Not unless you’re here, Sion,” replied Abel, cracking a quick smile. “Which means I’m going in full power, all the way.”

His words could be taken as a sign of faith in his friend. Should he leave himself open, he trusted Sion to step in and cover him. But at the same time, it had a deeper meaning. Should he fall, he also trusted Sion to step in and take his place.

Before, Abel’s death would have inevitably spelled doom for Mia as well. Not anymore. Sion’s arrival meant that Abel could try for more. If the masked man escaped, he could make another attempt on Mia’s life. Better to put an end to the threat here, even if he had to risk overextending himself in the process. After all, even if he died...

“No, you won’t.” Sion cut him off. “If you’re thinking of defeating this man at the cost of your own life, Abel, then you can back the hell off.”

There was no humor in his voice.

“...My, that’s odd,” murmured Mia.

The two princes were fighting in concert. Side by side, they battled with their lives on the line to protect her. That was the kind of thing to be relished. Which she did, entertaining such blithe thoughts as Mmm... It feels pretty good knowing that they’re fighting for me. Abel’s face was a mask of concentration. That alone was a sight to behold. But even Sion was making every effort to keep her safe. She felt every bit the heroine of a romantic drama.

The dreaminess of it all gradually took her mind off the fact that her life was still very much in danger. She started to feel comfortable with the situation. A little too comfortable, in fact.

“Something isn’t right...”

She frowned, trying to put her finger on the strange feeling. It was almost like she was...out of place. As if she didn’t belong. She gazed at the two princes.

“Leaves you sort of open, doesn’t it, Abel? Not the most practical move, in my humble opinion.”

“No. Not unless you’re here, Sion.”

In front of her, a dazzling spectacle of friendship was on display. Two handsome princes fighting side by side, while they shared trust and traded banter. She watched, fascinated by the scene...until a thought occurred to her.

Wait. Wasn’t I supposed to be the heroine here?

They were fighting for her. She was supposed to be center stage. So why did she feel so left out? Until just a moment ago, all signs pointed to the story reaching a climax, with two knights in shining armor riding in to save the princess. Which had happened. Sort of. The knights rode in, but the princess exited stage left! Now all eyes were on the pair’s rousing camaraderie, and no one was paying any attention to her.

Wh-Why do I feel like I’ve been in this situation before? What was it last time? Hmm... Oh, I remember! The sandwiches! It was when we were making the sandwiches!

Memories of her marginalization in the culinary taskforce resurfaced. Hoping to avoid a repeat of that demoralizing experience, she vowed to reclaim her spot as the heroine of the moment. Then, remembering her present appearance, she promptly rescinded her oath and hung her head.

Right... I almost forgot. How can I be the heroine...when I look like this?

She gazed forlornly at all the snot and mud covering her clothes.

“If you’re thinking of defeating this man at the cost of your own life, Abel, then you can back the hell off,” said Sion as he pressed his sword into his foe’s.

Pushing hard, he forced the wolfmaster away from the other prince.

“What do you mean by that?” asked Abel.

He righted his stance, ready to join in the attack at the next opening. Sion, however, gave him no such chance.

“Don’t lose sight of the goal. We’re not here to defeat this man. Our goal is to get back to Saint-Noel with everyone alive.”

“But this man is—”

“Look at her! Do you see the expression on her face?”

It took Abel a moment to parse the meaning before quickly turning toward Mia. Only then did he realize that she’d fallen silent. She’d been cheering for them not long ago. Now, her gaze was downcast, and she looked on the verge of tears.

“Don’t you see her sorrow? Why do you think she feels that way?” exclaimed Sion. “Because you’re disregarding your own life!”

The words pierced Abel’s heart, sharply and more painfully than any sword ever could. Seeking an advantage at the cost of life...was the kind of thing that Mia would never do nor wish for. More than anything else, she hated the squandering of life.

“Think, man! Think about how she hopes to see you fight. Then, if you believe yourself capable of doing so... If you can give her joy instead of sorrow, then, come and fight by my side.”

Sion leapt back from the masked man, as though affording himself a moment’s respite, only to dash right back in. His mercurial style, coupled with his swift motions, were effective in disorienting his opponent. But only for a moment. The masked man reacted in time to the feint and strike, countering with a blow of his own. The screech of grating steel filled the night.

I see. I... I almost broke Mia’s heart...

Abel looked to Mia, who favored him with the faintest of smiles.

I let myself be consumed by anger...and I lost sight of everything else. Good thing Sion was here. I owe him one.

He drew a long breath, let it out slowly, then raised his voice.

“I am Abel Remno, and I fight to protect those I hold dear!”

...It hardly bears mentioning at this point, but Mia had not suddenly become a martial-arts-meister as well. She definitely couldn’t read Abel’s mind through the way he was fighting. Frankly, all his sword swings were just blurs to her eyes and therefore looked the same, no matter the motivation behind them.

Sadly, no one was at leisure to point out this glaring flaw in Sion’s logic. A missed opportunity, truly.

The princes fought as one, their coordination honed through long hours at the training grounds. In practicing together, they’d gotten to know each other’s habits. Working further in their favor was the natural synergy of their sword styles.

Abel’s strikes were bold and single-minded. Their power was immense but they lacked versatility. He made no attempt to adapt to his opponents, opting to smash through whatever tactic they employed through overwhelming force alone. His style was simple. Easily predicted by his foes, yes, but also by his allies.

And his ally was the sword prodigy, Sion Sol Sunkland, known for the staggering versatility of his technical mastery. Adapting his style to complement Abel’s was an effortless task. Abel could crack the opponent’s guard with his crushing strokes, then Sion would capitalize on the opening with his shifting strikes. Their combined assault was immaculate, relentless, and brutally effective.

“Formidable...”

The wolfmaster muttered a grudging acknowledgment. He wasn’t losing the fight, per se. Neither prince was truly his equal in skill, and every two or three exchanges, his blade would draw blood. The wounds he inflicted, however, did not dull the duo’s attacks. They only added crescent mists of crimson to their every move. Should they keep fighting like this, he’d surely kill them both sooner or later. The problem was that it would take time. Ideally, he’d call his wolves back, but the pair’s attention was being forcibly occupied by Sion’s attendant.

“...The tides have turned.”

He glanced up at the night sky and clicked his tongue. Its starry canvas was tinted ever so slightly with morning’s light. Even in the midst of battle, he’d kept his ears open. And he’d heard the brief exchange between Sion and his attendant.

If they’re stalling for time...then backup must be on the way.

It was hard to imagine there wouldn’t be. This was an assassination attempt on the Princess of Tearmoon. They’d surely respond in force. He was skilled, but it would be nothing but folly to challenge a furious retinue of imperial pursuers in direct combat. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time here and risk capture.

“...Time to go.”

He shouted a command at his wolves, prompting Abel to slash at him again. He met the blow with a heavy clang. The prince glared at him through their clashing blades.

“Do you think we’ll just let you leave?”

The wolfmaster snorted.

“I am leaving. You may attempt to stop me, Second Prince of Remno, but know that it will cost you a limb or two.”

He kicked at the boy’s stomach, using the rebounding force to push himself back and create some distance. Swiveling, he leapt fluidly onto a shadowy form—his trusty steed—that had appeared out of the dawning blue.

None attempted pursuit as he rode away.

None pursued...because none could. Abel and Sion watched as the wolfmaster disappeared into the distance. When the man’s form melted into the surrounding shadow, they collapsed onto the ground.

“Scorching sun... He finally left... Ugh, everything hurts.”

Sion let out a long breath. Tension drained out of his body. Its vacancy was promptly filled by a flaring wave of pain. He grimaced.

“What a beast... That man could give Sir Dion a run for his money, don’t you think?” said Abel with a matching wince. “By the way, are reinforcements actually on the way?”

“None at all.”

They traded a knowing look.

“It was a bluff, of course,” said Sion with a shrug. “We didn’t have time. In fact, we need to head back to Saint-Noel soon so I can put together a pursuing party.”

“Are you two okay?!”

Just then, he heard Mia’s voice followed by the sound of her rapidly approaching footsteps. Turning, he found her trailed by Bel—now thankfully unabducted—along with Anne and Tiona on a horse. Behind them, a bow-carrying Liora was running toward them as well.

He gazed at the oncoming girls for a moment. Abel did the same. Eventually, they shared a wry laugh.

“Did the pain get to your head, milord, or is there some humor in this situation that I’m missing?” quipped an equally wound-riddled Keithwood.

Fangs and claws had taken their toll on flesh and fabric alike. He was no less a bloody mess than the two princes.

“I assure you my head is quite fine, Keithwood. And so is your sense of humor. I was just wondering how we fared in the eyes of our good princess with regard to the way in which we resolved this incident. I do believe we’ve earned ourselves at least a passing grade. Right, Abel?”

The two princes shared another laugh. This time it was far removed from the danger and bloodshed of the world.