The Princess’s Bodyguard Can’t Say No

They approached the door. The guards crossed their spears.

"No entry," said the one on the left. "Private auction. Invitation only."

Asthia didn't slow. Her voice dropped, cool and precise. "Tell your handler someone's here to buy silence, not cause trouble."

The guard hesitated, eyes flicking over her. Reth kept his head low, posture loose, cloak covering the sword at his hip.

"Name?" asked the other.

Asthia offered a tight, humorless smile. "No name. Just say the buyer brings red coin. He'll know what that means."

A pause. Then one guard slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. The other stood still, eyes sharp and watchful.

Reth leaned in. "Red coin?"

"Old court slang," she murmured. "Means blood money. A bribe with weight."

"You think it's enough?"

"If they want to keep breathing, yes."

A minute later, the door opened. The first guard returned—more alert now, but silent. He stepped aside.

Asthia walked through like she belonged. Reth followed, alert but calm.

Inside, the mood shifted.

The walls turned to vaulted stone, lit by dull firelight. Pillars lined the room, carved with worn sigils. Mismatched chairs faced a low platform. Velvet curtains sagged over shattered windows. Wax pooled beneath dusty sconces.

The auction was already underway.

At the front, a hunched man in gray robes rasped like dead leaves. "Lot Seventeen. Unmarked vial. Said to be Weeping Tincture. No guarantees. Starting bid: forty crowns."

Gloved hands lifted. Nobles, smugglers, and masked strangers with jewelry far too fine for Eelry. The type who didn't leave footprints.

Asthia didn't sit. She circled the edge of the room, eyes scanning faces, until she found two empty chairs near the back. Reth sat beside her.

The vial sold for seventy crowns.

Then the next lot. And the next.

Rust-eaten armor. Fake relics. Letters from ghosts. Empty promises wrapped in old parchment.

Asthia said nothing. Reth watched the bidders—their eyes, their tells, their hands.

Lot Twenty-Two: a bent sword called "Voidforged."

Lot Twenty-Three: a scroll "from the Virex vaults." Obviously fake.

Lot Twenty-Four: a bottle of gray ash labeled "Dust of the Godspires." Pathetic.

By Lot Thirty, Asthia stood.

"Nothing here," she muttered. "Just scraps for the desperate."

Reth didn't argue. The figure on the balcony was gone. No one stopped them as they left.

They stepped into the cold light of Eelry. The street had quieted. Smoke clung to the air like a warning.

They walked in silence.

Reth was the first to speak. "Waste of time."

Asthia said nothing. She stared at the smog-covered rooftops of Eelry. The street was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt wrong.

Reth's [Threat Perception Lv. 1.2] gave a soft warning in his mind. Hostile Intent: Rising.He let his hand drift toward the sword under his cloak.

"Keep moving," Asthia said quietly. She didn't look at him, but her body shifted—her shoulders straightened, and her hand rested near the dagger at her waist.

They turned down a narrow alley. The walls were damp and dirty. Fog gathered around their feet like smoke.

Then came footsteps. Slow. Careful. Too many.

Hostile Intent: Confirmed.

Reth slowed down. "Asthia," he whispered, "We're not alone."

She nodded slightly, her red eyes watching the shadows. "Stay close. No hero stuff unless I say."

An attacker rushed out—a flash of black cloth and steel.

Reth's [Enhanced Reflexes] kicked in. He moved fast, pushing Asthia behind him and drawing his sword in one smooth motion.

His blade blocked a dagger aimed for her throat, the impact shaking his arm.

Three more figures stepped out of the fog. All wore cloaks and masks. Their blades shone faint green—poison.

Threat Level: High. Combatants: 4.

"Reth," Asthia said, her voice cold and calm. "Handle them."

It wasn't a direct order, but the Obedience System reacted anyway.

His body moved, guided by [Basic Sword Technique Lv. 1.4].

He parried the closest attacker's strike, twisted his blade, and stabbed through their shoulder, pinning them to the wall. They screamed into their mask.

Asthia acted too. Her hand sliced the air, and a wave of heat burst out. A whip of Blood red fire snapped forward, hitting a second attacker in the chest.

His cloak caught fire. He dropped, burning.

The third assassin charged Reth with twin daggers.

Reth ducked and slashed low. Blood sprayed. The attacker fell, holding his leg.The last one hesitated—then turned and ran.

"Let him go," Asthia said. Her voice didn't waver. She stepped over the burning body, her robe untouched by the flames. "We need one alive."

Reth pulled his sword free from the pinned man, who groaned and dropped to the ground.Reth knelt and tore off the mask.

A young man. Scarred jaw. Wide, scared eyes.

"Who sent you?" Reth asked, holding the blade to his throat.

The man spat but couldn't hide the fear in his voice.

"You're dead anyway, thrall. The bounty's too high."

Asthia crouched beside Reth. Her presence was calm. Her fingers sparked with fire. "Talk. Or I'll burn the answers out of you."

The man looked away. "House… Virex," he said hoarsely. "They want both of you. Especially you, Princess."

Asthia's face didn't change.

She stood and dusted off her robe. "Search him."

Reth checked the man's belt and found a leather pouch. Inside was a folded note, sealed with a wax mark: a three-headed serpent.

Not Virex's sigil.

The note was full of strange symbols and numbers.

Item Acquired: Coded Message. Analysis Required.

"Enough," Asthia said. She flicked her wrist. A thin line of fire wrapped around the assassin's wrists, tying him up.

"He'll talk more at Graykeep." She looked at Reth. 

[EXP Gained: +15 – Combat Survival]

[Skill Upgrade: Basic Sword Technique Lv. 1.6]

[Loyalty Sync: +2% – Protecting Asthia Without Command]

Reth checked the pouch again. Just the coded note, some copper coins, and—

A sharp *click*—but not from the pouch.

His eyes snapped to the prisoner, just in time to see the man bite down on something hidden in his cheek.

His body spasmed, foam bubbling from his mouth. Veins blackened. He thrashed once, then went still.

Dead.

"Shit," Reth muttered, jerking back.

Asthia's eyes narrowed. "Suicide pill. Cult-grade. Must've been embedded."

She stood over the body, unmoved. "He was more afraid of them than of dying."

Reth looked at the stiffening corpse. "Virex?"

She shook her head. "No. That sigil on the letter... Virex doesn't use serpents. This is something else."

Reth rose, still watching the body. "So what now?"

"We don't go back to Fortress yet," she said. "Not until I know how deep this goes."

She took a few steps ahead, then paused. Her voice softened. "You handled yourself well."

Reth blinked. Praise wasn't her style.

Then, as if the moment embarrassed her, she added, "But next time, don't let them die so quickly. I needed answers."

He gave a faint smile. "I'll tell them to hold still next time."

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of her mouth—almost a smile.

Later.

They found shelter in a run-down wayhouse on the edge of Eelry. Nothing fancy—just walls, warmth, and a lock that clicked shut behind them.

Asthia sat by the window, staring out into the fog. Her cloak was singed at the edge, her fingers still flecked with dried blood.

Reth rummaged through a crate. He didn't say anything—just pulled out a wrapped package from earlier. He hadn't meant to keep it, but now…

He offered it to her. A simple sweet. Honey-glazed, half-smashed, still intact.

"You should eat," he said. "It's… not much, but it's not poisoned."

Asthia glanced at it, then at him.

She took it without a word.

She ate slowly, without her usual elegance. Just a tired woman chewing in silence.

"I didn't expect you to bring something like this," she said, voice quieter than usual.

"You burn men alive. I stab people. Thought something sweet might balance the scales."

Another long pause.

"You really think like that?" she asked, half-curious, half-incredulous.

"I think you've had worse nights. This one's just… one more."

Asthia stared at him. Her eyes weren't sharp this time. Just… tired.

And something softer, buried deep, flickered there.

"…Thank you," she said.

He looked at her. "You already said that earlier."

"I'm saying it again. Don't get used to it."

She turned back to the window.

But she didn't stop eating.