Elsewhere, far from the forest’s wild hush...

  Heavy wooden clack of sandals echoed through a corridor of smooth stone and papered walls. Lanterns flickered gently along the hallway.

  Captain Iron, now dressed in a dark, formal kimono, came to a stop before an unmarked door.

  He bowed slightly, then knocked—once, twice.

  "May I enter, Master?" he asked.

  From within, a raspy voice answered, "You may."

  The door slid open.

  Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single candle. At its center sat Prudehomme, bald with a mustache so long it nearly brushed the floor, folded in seiza behind a simple wooden chessboard.

  The air was still. Peaceful.

  "You have done phenomenal work, as always, Captain," the old man said, not looking up from the board.

  Iron stepped in and knelt silently across from him. He said nothing.

  The old man finally glanced up, his sharp eyes glinting beneath the soft candlelight.

  “But…” he said, voice light, “I sense something troubles you.”

  Iron hesitated. The candle’s flame danced between them.

  “…It is nothing,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

  The old man said nothing more. He reached forward, resetting the pieces on the board with slow precision.

  “How about a match?” he offered, “Like old times.”

  Iron gave a quiet nod.

  The game began in silence. Each move measured, careful. Iron played conservatively, guarding his flanks, reinforcing his center.

  The old man chuckled softly as he sacrificed a knight to push forward.

  “Still playing defensive, I see.”

  Iron didn’t look up.

  “Yes, my duty is to protect the king. I won't take unnecessary risks that can jeopardize that.”

  The candle flickered.

  “A solid principle, that’s why you are the one who will take over,” the old man nodded, taking another of Iron’s pawns.

  “But sometimes…” he slid a bishop forward.

  “…the best defense is offense,” the old man chuckled

  Iron frowned slightly as he lost a rook.

  The old master leaned forward, eyes sharp despite his years.

  “But the most important question of offence…” he said as he lifted his queen and captured Iron’s knight with quiet finality,

  “… Is the opponent you’re after... worth chasing?”

  Iron sat still, the question hanging in the air like incense smoke.

  The old man studied Iron for a moment longer, then leaned back, hands folded over his lap.

  "Remember..." he said, his voice lowering like a secret,

  "Any wall can get cracks. Just make sure it doesn’t crumble."

  The candle’s flame flickered again—dancing shadows across Iron’s unmoving face.

  For a moment, neither of them played. The board waited in silence.

  Then, Iron slowly moved a pawn forward.

  ***

  Birds chirped softly outside the windows. A breeze blew through the shutters, stirring dust motes and the faint scent of bread from the bakery down the road.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Knock. Knock.

  Lin opened the door with a smile.

  Two figures stood in the doorway.

  One small. One towering.

  They wore the sigil of the Heavenly Knights.

  Both wearing blue feathers drifted gently in the breeze between them.

  Lin blinked. “C-Can I help you?”

  ***

  Matsu and Knife, both finally calmed down, were on their way back to the house after being sent out on water duty. They grumbled as they hauled heavy buckets from the nearby lake.

  “Try not to splash it all over your face, sweaty psycho,” Matsu muttered, heaving his pail onto a crate.

  “Don’t trip over your wooden leg, farm boy,” Knife shot back. He had a firm grip on the leg of a dead deer, which he was sucking on.

  They were about to resume glaring when—

  A scream.

  “LIN!”

  Both froze.

  Hans’s voice followed, broken and desperate.

  They didn’t hesitate.

  Buckets clattered to the ground as both men burst into a sprint, kicking open the back door.

  Hans lay collapsed near the hallway, hand outstretched toward the front door. Tears streamed down his face.

  “The knights…” he gasped.

  “…they took her.”

  The words hit the room like a blade to the chest.

  Matsu and Knife’s expressions twisted with shock.

  ***

  Matsu collapsed to his knees, panting, soaked in sweat. He had run across the entire district.

  “I couldn’t find her…” he said breathlessly, his voice cracking with frustration.

  Knife stood silently in the doorway, arms crossed, leaning against the frame like a shadow. His expression was unreadable.

  Hans stormed into the room and slammed a rolled-up map of District 1 onto the table, spreading it out with trembling hands. He scanned it desperately, his fingers darting between outposts and known roads.

  “There are knight bases all around here. Why would they take her?”

  Knife finally spoke, voice low and steady.

  “They’re probably headed toward the border.”

  Hans looked up sharply. “The border? Why? She’s just a little girl!”

  Knife didn’t flinch. “We had an incident near the border. They probably think she’s connected to me.”

  Hans’s face twisted. His hand shot out and grabbed Knife by the collar, pulling him close.

  “What kind of incident!? What the hell did you drag my daughter into!?”

  Knife didn’t respond. He just stared coldly back.

  Meanwhile, Matsu was quietly packing his things.

  Hans turned to him. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going after her.”

  Hans stepped forward. “You don’t even know where they are!”

  Matsu slung his bag over his shoulder, his hand tightening around the shovel.

  “There’s no time to wait.”

  He looked Hans dead in the eyes.

  “Knowing those knights... they’re probably already doing something awful to her.”

  Hans dropped to his knees, slamming a fist against the floor.

  “Damn it!” he cried, voice raw with helpless rage. “Damn it all…”

  He lowered his head, whispering.

  “Please... I know we haven’t known each other long. But she’s all I have. Please... save my daughter.”

  Matsu turned back, shovel slung across his back. His eyes burned with purpose.

  “Of course I will.”

  He started walking.

  “She’s my friend.”

  He stepped out the door.

  A pause.

  He turned his head slightly.

  “You coming?”

  Matsu stood in the doorway, shovel slung over his shoulder, eyes fixed on Knife.

  For a moment, silence hung between them, thick with tension.

  “As if, I’m going to the illegal smuglers” knife responded coldly as he grabbed his bag, walking towards the door.

  Then, with a quiet snort, he brushed Matsu’s shoulder lightly as he walked past, heading in the opposite direction.

  "Aren’t you her friend?" Matsu called after him, voice steady.

  Knife didn’t stop. “I don’t have friends,” he said coldly.

  Matsu’s eyes shadowed. He waited a beat.

  Then—

  “Wait!” he yelled.

  Knife halted.

  But he didn’t turn around.

  Matsu took a step forward.

  “You still need my bounty, right? You won't get another chance if you walk away”

  Knife stood still. Silent.

  Matsu’s grip on his shovel tightened.

  Knife finally spoke, voice low and dismissive.

  “I’ll find another way to earn money. I don’t need the bounty of a crippled farmer.”

  Then he started walking again.

  Matsu stood alone at the crossroads, the wind brushing past him.

  He lowered his head… but only for a moment.

  Then he turned and walked.

  Toward the border.