TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 7 (RAW)

Chapter 7 - Inconvenience

“Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.”

- The Buddha.

For the past two nights, Seraphina had wasted precious time—time she could scarcely afford—waiting for her mysterious guests from the Empire. She had thought herself well-prepared, stationing her knights in concealed positions throughout the house.

With the power of her enchanted necklace, she had even managed to tame a large night owl, bribing the creature with food so it would keep watch over the estate. But therein lay the flaw: the owl’s understanding of people, let alone threats, was rudimentary and limited at best. A simple creature could hardly discern what an Imperial agent looked like. And so, despite her efforts, nature had ultimately failed her.

She still had Cornelia, however—her serpent, whose senses were far keener. Unlike the owl, Cornelia could taste the air, detecting foreign scents with ease. Through careful experimentation, Seraphina had even discovered the snake possessed a limited form of thermal vision. Most importantly, Cornelia could distinguish between members of the household and unfamiliar intruders.

Yet, despite her precautions, she had to concede defeat. Without properly explaining her actions to her guards or to Frest, she was beginning to appear irrational—paranoid, even. To save face, she hastily declared the whole ordeal a nighttime drill. In truth, she doubted the Empire’s envoys would come at all. Perhaps the story had already diverged too far from the original game.

Besides, she had more pressing matters. The entrance exam was less than a month away. She was intelligent, of course, but even prodigies needed time to study. It was particularly irritating that her tutor had been delayed, his absence due to a search for a rare flower in the coastal forests near Meridian. He was due to arrive tomorrow, and when he did, Seraphina had every intention of giving him an earful.

Now, she sat alone in her room, Cornelia coiled comfortably across her lap as she attempted to absorb yet another tedious tome on Aranthian history. The text was dry, lifeless. Even with her intense focus, her eyelids grew heavy, her shoulders slumped. She was just about to call for Miriam to bring her some refreshments when Cornelia suddenly hissed.

A warning.

Seraphina stiffened. She cursed herself for letting her guard down. A cloying scent filled the room—sweet, perfumed. She felt it instantly: her great Strength beginning to ebb as tiredness seeped into her limbs. A shadow dropped soundlessly from the ceiling.

Her serpent struck without hesitation, sinking its fangs into the intruder’s leg before slipping swiftly beneath the bed. Seraphina tried to call out, but her voice failed her. The assassins had come well-prepared.

How did they get in? The thought barely registered before more figures slipped through the window, their movements swift and practiced. Her pulse quickened. This was dangerous.

Dangerous… but nonetheless most exciting.

It was with great satisfaction that she saw that the intruder Cornelia had sank her fangs into was choking to death, paralyzed on the floor.

She reached under her dress and activated Dash. A sudden burst of speed propelled her forward as she drew the dagger strapped to her thigh, slashing across the chest of the nearest assailant. Sparks flared as steel met hidden armor, but the force of the blow sent him staggering. She spun, her body moving on instinct, her training—both from this world and the one before—kicking in seamlessly. A snap kick aimed for her head. She ducked.

A net flew toward her; she twisted aside. A weighted rope lashed around her ankle. They were trying to capture her, not kill her, she realized. Before they could tighten their hold, she activated Dash once more, flinging herself backward. The sudden motion yanked her attacker off balance, sending him hurtling toward her—

Right as she crashed into the wall.

Or rather, through it.

The sheer force of her impact shattered the inner wall, a testament to her immense Strength attribute. Dust and splinters rained around her as she landed heavily in the adjacent room. Despite the crash, she took only minor damage—her unnatural resilience, a gift from her extraordinary Constitution.

Seraphina blinked, shaking off the dust and plaster as her vision cleared. She had landed hard, her senses reeling, but as she regained her bearings, she realized she had fallen directly in front of her maid.

Miriam had been ironing clothes. Now, she stood frozen, wide-eyed, her gaze locked onto her mistress. 

But only for a moment. 

She had long known that danger clung to Lady Seraphina and without hesitation, she hurled the red-hot iron at the nearest assailant. It sailed through the air, missing by a hair’s breadth. Already, she was reaching for the cudgel she had recently taken to keeping by her bedside.

A guttural snarl ripped from Miriam’s throat as she planted herself between Seraphina and the intruders. She was outnumbered, but that mattered little. With the fury of a berserker, she threw herself into the fray.

Shouts rang out as the household stirred. The intruders, realizing their element of surprise was gone, drew their blades. If they could not succeed in their initial objective, they would at least ensure their target died.

Seraphina gritted her teeth. Miriam was buying her time—time to recover. She focused inward, summoning up Heal. Golden energy surged through her, knitting wounds and, more importantly, repairing the damage to her throat.

“Get back, Miriam!” Seraphina commanded.

Miriam obeyed instinctively, springing backward on all fours like the Palisa Slug she truly was beneath the guise of a simple maid. Blood dripped from her wounds, but she did not falter. Like her mistress, she possessed a monstrous Constitution.

Now, it was time to confirm once and for all if her magic truly did not suffer from “friendly fire.”

Seraphina exhaled, then unleashed the power of the Covenant through her voice. A wail erupted from her lips, a terrible, echoing force filled with righteous fury. The sound rolled like a tidal wave, shaking the very walls. The nearest intruders dropped instantly, their bodies crumpling, lifeless. Those further away were hurled back, blood streaming from their eyes and ears.

Beside her, Miriam merely clapped her hands over her ears but remained standing, otherwise unharmed. Well, that answered that question once and for all, she concluded. The magic had only touched those Seraphina considered and recognized as her enemies.

The next moment, her guards poured in, weapons drawn, securing her person and subduing any remaining threats. Frest, their captain, arrived last, still in his nightclothes, but with a knife in one hand and a sword in the other. His eyes swept the carnage before locking onto Seraphina.

“You are safe, Lady Seraphina.”

She threw back her head and laughed, haughty and sharp. “Safe? Safe, despite your so-called vigilance! I told you that I knew they would come.”

Frest hesitated. “But you told us—”

“I was testing you, of course.” She flicked a hand, her lips curling. “And you failed.”

Frest knew better than to offer empty denials. No matter how impossible her expectations, her safety was his duty, and in the end, he had failed.

Seraphina surveyed the wreckage around her, a sneer forming on her striking features. The emerald depths of her eyes darkened, turning as cold and unyielding as stone.

“Leave two alive for questioning,” she commanded. “I want them ready for me in less than half an hour. As for the rest, end them and send them to the tannery. Their hides will pay for the repairs.”

Frest saluted, wordless, before he and his Knights moved to carry out her orders. Efficient, merciless. Seraphina wondered if she should have a new handbag made…

She shook her head, fashion could wait for the moment. It seemed she would soon be exploring the practical application of the prisoner’s dilemma.

***

In this brave new world, even the cruelest fables from its lore paled before the precise and remorseless methods of clinical, modern torment. Here, magic and healing potions lent a terrifying convenience to the art of interrogation—an art that Seraphina intended to master and execute with an explorer’s sense of purpose.

It was, after all, new ground for her, just as it was for the two youths before her.

Tonight, her stage was set upon a pair of ancient wooden racks. Strapped down upon these unforgiving structures, two young captives—a boy and a girl, both scarcely past their adolescence—were displayed like marionettes. Their sleek black hair and obsidian eyes, once symbols of youthful promise and predatory grace, now oozed with visible dread as they lay upon the rack’s rough surface. Seraphina had arranged them deliberately so that each could witness the other’s suffering—a cruel twist to intensify their shared despair.

At times like this, she was positively grateful that such inconveniences as human rights had yet to be invented in this place.

With meticulous care, she’d had their false teeth removed from their mouths. These false teeth were laced with a poison potent enough to bring about near-instant death when removed. A waste really on these two, she would find other applications for the rare poison. 

Her smile was gentle, almost affectionate, belying the horror that lay in her eyes as she surveyed her captive audience. “You and your compatriots hail from Tsusdaenglou—the Bloody Red Tower,” she began, her voice smooth and disconcertingly light, as if inviting them to tea rather than condemning them to an evening of exquisite suffering. “Your orders were dispatched by Emperor Hantien Erdian, or more precisely, by Councilor Liu Zongkhan. And there is a rather… delightful addendum: should you fail to capture me, you were to kill me. The second-place prizing being the destabilization of the realm that death would have caused. Those were, even I have to admit, rather ambitious orders.”

She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle. Though gagged, their eyes spoke volumes—wide with unspoken terror, their expressions draining into a numb resignation that was as eloquent as any confession.

“Your task, if you will, was to deliver me, your rather rare and exotic prize, to be precise,” she continued with a delicate laugh that carried the chill of winter’s first frost. “To deliver the ‘golden barbarian princess’ to His Divine Majesty, so that he may choose to take her as a concubine if she is comely—or, if her features are sufficiently pleasing, as his fifth wife.” Her hand fell languidly, as if dismissing an inconsequential trifle. “The others have long since spoken. You remain only because I have a service to request from one of you. Consider it an unfriendly competition, with the prize being the honor of conveying my own message to the Emperor.” 

"Oh yes—you people really do dine on flies, don't you? Do pardon me; but if anyone here could be called barbarians, it would undoubtedly be you. Now, where was I? I must confess, you both are truly the finest of listeners." She sighed with great exaggeration. “Honestly, you both really deserve to be hung drawn, and quartered for breaking into a lady’s room. That really, really was rather rude of you.”

Their silence, defiant yet trembling, was all the response she required.

Casually, almost with a sigh, Seraphina downed a Mana potion, feeling as if every pore of her body opened up to absorb the ambient energy all around her. “It does amuse me,” she mused, “that my mother, the indomitable Duchess Analselena, was already in correspondence with the Empire. Fifth wife? Concubine? The very notion is an affront—a joke, really. But I digress…” A fleeting shadow crossed her eyes as she considered the implications. Her mother’s reach was vast, her influence swift. What bait had she dangled before Erdian? That mystery was as tantalizing as it was dangerous.

And how was all of this supposed to help her, Seraphina, her beloved daughter?

Running a hand through her short blonde hair with a practiced nonchalance, Seraphina resumed her monologue. “My future husband, whoever he may be, will bear my name and not his. The Imperial family claim that they are unequaled beneath the heavens, yet I would beg to differ. And as for that crusty old man—perhaps Prince Huan—but Erdian? I’d sooner feast on your horrid flies.”

A mocking glimmer danced in her eyes as she regarded the captives once more. “And do not even consider biting off your tongues,” she warned, her tone dipping into menace. “We have rather effective methods of ‘healing’ to ensure there is no cheating.” With a graceful flick of her wrist, she removed their gags, exposing their raw, anxious expressions to the cool night air.

“We are of the Bloody Tower; you will never make us talk!” the boy cried out, his voice an intriguing blend of youthful defiance and quivering fear.

“Thank you for that confirmation,” she replied sweetly, her smile both kind and chilling in its detachment. “That earns you a point, if nothing else. I do relish a challenge. Now, where are the clean towels? Miriam, fetch fresh towels and water for our esteemed guests!”

The girl shot him a deadly look and the boy blanched and grew silent.

“If you know everything already… why must you torture us? Let us go and deliver your message, honored one,” the girl asked desperately. 

“Already at the negotiating stage?” Stepping closer, her gaze softened into a serene, yet predatory smile. “Because… there is knowing, and there is knowing. And you know, the stress you lot have caused me for the last few days has been quite objectionable.”

“I wonder,” she murmured, her voice a whisper that promised unspeakable fates, “have either of you ever experienced what it feels like to drown?”

In the oppressive silence that followed, the inevitability of their plight loomed. For Seraphina, it would be a meticulously orchestrated descent into darkness, where every moment was measured and every breath a prelude to a sweet symphony of despair.