Histori let out a muffled groan, her head throbbing as if an orc had taken a spiked club to it and bashed her a dozen times.
Her entire skull buzzed with a dull, ringing ache.
She furrowed her brows, prying her eyelids open with effort.
Above her was the familiar, battered ceiling, riddled with worm-eaten holes.
Cold air seeped through them, sending a chill down her spine.
Her brain creaked to life like a rusted gear, slowly starting to turn.
The moment she realized what had happened, Histori gasped sharply, snapping upright on the hard wooden bed.
“Hiss—ow, ow, ow!”
The sudden movement yanked on every nerve in her body.
Clutching her forehead, she tried to recall what had just occurred.
Her last memory was of Amir raising that bottle of cheap ale, smiling at her and saying, “Cheers.”
And what had she done in response…?
She remembered getting caught up in the moment.
The atmosphere was so rare, and Amir looked surprisingly pitiful, so she’d inexplicably taken that wooden cup and chugged a big gulp with grand bravado.
…Then, after that, there was nothing.
As that liquid, a strange mix of earthy dirtiness and harsh alcohol, slid down her throat, her esophagus felt like it had swallowed a ball of magma.
After that, her world went completely dark.
“…Ah, n-no way!?”
Snapping back to reality, Histori broke out in a cold sweat.
She instinctively looked down and patted herself all over.
Her clothes were intact.
Her skin was fine.
Even that gray-white cloak was still wrapped tightly around her.
“Phew, thank goodness. Looks like nothing happened.”
Histori let out a long sigh of relief, patting her chest.
But her relief lasted barely two seconds before another, more terrifying thought struck her.
…Wait, they say drunken words are sober thoughts. People lose control of their instincts when drunk…
While I was unconscious, or before I passed out drunk, did I say something I shouldn’t have to Amir?
Like, that the Sacred Artifact collection plan wasn’t actually for going home, but to revive the Demon King or something…
With that thought, Histori looked around the room, filled with unease.
The cramped, tiny attic was empty.
There was no sign of Amir anywhere.
The bottle of cheap ale on the wooden floor was nearly empty, with only two wooden cups left haphazardly on the windowsill.
So, where had Amir gone?
Histori swallowed, tiptoed off the bed, and crept over to the drafty louvered window.
She pressed her ear against the worn frame, trying to listen to what was happening downstairs.
It seemed to be late at night now, probably around two or three in the morning, the time when people were in their deepest sleep.
The usually bustling Royal Capital of the Unified Kingdom had quieted down.
Even the tavern downstairs, always packed with a motley crew of all sorts, had fallen nearly silent.
The entire street was eerily quiet.
Histori strained her ears for a long while, only catching the faint cries of a few stray cats in heat from a distant corner, and a couple of drunks passed out in the mud at the tavern entrance, mumbling incoherent curses and sleep-talk.
“Squeak——”
Just as Histori was about to give up and lie back down to sleep, the cobweb-covered skylight above her head was suddenly pushed open from outside.
Histori flinched all over, then spun around.
There was Amir, in her signature black night outfit, like a weightless stray cat, silently slipping in through the skylight.
A gust of cold wind followed her in.
She landed with one foot on the wooden table inside, her other long leg still hooked over the windowsill.
Her black hair fluttered slightly in the night breeze.
Her deep, dark eyes stared quietly at the suspicious-acting Histori, who was still crouched by the window in the dim light.
“Oh? You’re awake already?”
Amir’s voice was cool, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, as if she had long grown used to Histori’s behavior.
“Ugh, L-Lady Aimier…”
Histori quickly straightened up like a schoolkid caught red-handed by their homeroom teacher, awkwardly rubbing her hands on her cloak, forcing a sheepish smile.
“I just woke up and saw you weren’t here, so I thought I’d listen in to see if there was any movement from the Holy Church downstairs.”
After offering that grandiose excuse, she cautiously probed—
“Um, speaking of which, I didn’t cause you any trouble while I was drunk, did I?”
“No.”
Amir hopped down from the table, casually dusting off her night clothes.
“After you took that one sip, you passed out hugging the table leg. I carried you to bed.”
“…”
Histori’s cheeks flushed red, but she still breathed a sigh of relief.
Embarrassing as it was, at least the most lethal secret hadn’t slipped out.
It could have been worse.
“Also, Histori, there’s a place I was planning to go to alone tonight.”
Amir walked over to the corner, adjusted her clothes, then turned to look Histori in the eyes.
“But since you’re awake and look fine, want to come along?”
‘Come along?’
In the dead of night, where was Amir planning to take her?
Histori raised an eyebrow, sizing up Amir’s current attire.
A full black stealth outfit, a wide cloak.
It didn’t look at all like she was inviting her out for a late-night snack at the night market.
‘Was she, fresh back in the country, planning to get back into practice, take a few assassination jobs from the Black Market?’ ‘Or had she figured out a way to sneak into the Holy Church and steal that Sacred Artifact, and was heading straight to the Holy Church’s headquarters now?’
“Of course, if your head still hurts, you can rest a bit more.”
At that, Histori quickly shook her head, springing up from the window.
“No, no, my head doesn’t hurt at all now! Let’s go! Wherever you’re going, I’ll follow!”
Then, ten minutes later.
Two black figures ghosted through the silent rooftops and dark alleys of the Royal Capital of the Unified Kingdom.
Contrary to her expectations, Amir didn’t lead her toward the brightly lit, heavily guarded Holy Church cathedral, nor toward the assassin guild hidden in the sewers.
Instead, Amir led Histori straight into the bustling, noble district at the heart of the Royal Capital.
There was no sour stench of the slums here.
The air was filled with the scent of high-grade spices and the fresh fragrance of trimmed garden plants.
The streets were wide and even.
Magic streetlights burned bright every few dozen meters.
The patrols weren’t the city watch anymore, but fully armed private family guards.
Everything looked orderly.
Histori watched in fascination, experiencing the privilege of the Unified Kingdom for the first time.
They traveled in silence until Amir finally stopped outside a grand, absurdly sprawling manor.
The next second, she took Histori by the shoulder, and together they leaped onto the branch of a massive sycamore tree on the manor’s outskirts.
In the faint moonlight, Histori peered through the dense layers of leaves, following Amir’s gaze to study the building before them.
This was no ordinary rich merchant’s estate.
The surrounding black iron fence was tall and sharp, carved with intricate family crests of intertwining roses and swords.
The Gothic rooftops seemed sharp enough to pierce the night sky.
There was even a small private lake inside the manor.
Through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows, she could faintly glimpse the opulent, gilded interior and the patrolling servants.
Luxurious, imposing, exuding an untouchable air of old noble authority.
Hidden behind the leaves, Histori turned to Amir, her eyes full of confusion.
“Lady Aimier, this is…?”
She couldn’t figure out why this former assassin, who always looked down on the rich and powerful and preferred a drafty attic over a fancy inn, would come to a noble’s mansion in the dead of night.
Amir didn’t answer right away.
She rested one hand on the tree trunk beside her, her deep black eyes staring quietly from the gap in her hood at the black iron gate carved with the family crest.
A night breeze swept by, lifting a few strands of hair from Amir’s temple, allowing Histori to catch a fleeting, complicated expression at the corner of her eyes.
“This is the ancestral estate of Marquis Netherley.”
Amir’s voice was low, like wind blowing out of a frozen abyss, devoid of any warmth.
She slowly pulled back her hood, calmly gazing at the manor, which still had a few lights on even at this late hour.
“In a way, this is where I used to call home.”