“Why aren’t you making a move? Are you afraid to fight?”
“Be… because she’s a maid from the palace…”
“I told you, someone will back you up! Worthless!”
“Wait a moment! If you strike from there—”
After that, Phil’s memory became unclear.
Only scattered fragments of memories remained, broken apart by the flood of events that followed, scattered into every corner, making it impossible to form a complete narrative.
She only remembered that after bidding farewell to Su Ling at the market, she went alone to another workshop that made pastries. The setting sun bled red across the sky as evening gradually fell. If she took the main road, time might run out, so Phil decided to take a shortcut.
However, the recent encounter with a vagrant still left her wary. When she reached the entrance of that dim alley, Phil hesitated.
The alley was dark, like a shadow concealing a lurking beast, ready to pounce at any moment.
It was at this moment that she saw two knights riding past her. They were fully armored, their expressions stern, which put Phil’s heart somewhat at ease.
Although it wasn’t uncommon for vagrants in the capital not to be in league with each other, knights with Blood Clan bloodlines were much more reliable. At the very least, they wouldn’t brazenly snatch the palace’s coins. After all, Phil was, at least in part, a princess’s retainer, and if anything untoward happened to her, they were obliged to protect her.
So, clutching her basket, Phil carefully followed the two knights into the deep alley.
Halfway through, one of the knights suddenly stopped.
He had messy blonde hair and two prominent fangs jutting from his mouth.
“Little girl, why are you following us?”
Hearing this, Phil hurriedly bowed respectfully.
“Sir Knight, I am a maid from the palace. At present, I am tasked by Her Highness to purchase supplies for a sacrificial rite at the market.”
“A maid? Interesting.” The other knight, a burly man with a big beard, chuckled. His gaze emitted a piercing light that made Phil uneasy.
“Words alone won’t convince us,” the blonde knight said, turning to look down at the little maid in front of him. “You’re not wearing palace maid clothes, and you have no Badge of Identity to prove who you are…”
“Th-this, is this okay?” Phil hurriedly fumbled through her clothes and handed over the item proving her identity.
“This…” The blonde knight took it and examined it closely, then passed it to the bearded knight. The two exchanged a glance.
“It’s real. Looks like she really is a maid.”
“Fine, then we’ll use her.”
Phil instinctively stepped back a pace, looking up nervously at the two men and exhaling in relief.
“Um, may I ask what you two intend to do?”
However, neither knight answered. The bearded one whistled sharply, as if signaling something. From the other end of the alley, a soldier came rushing toward them.
The soldier’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. His whole being seemed possessed by an invisible force, as if his soul had been drained, leaving only an empty shell. The stench of alcohol spread shamelessly around him, mixing with the surrounding air. His cheeks were unnaturally flushed, and a strange smile played on his lips.
“Brother, here’s a chance to redeem yourself,” the bearded knight patted the soldier’s shoulder and nodded toward Phil. “She’s a palace maid. The big shots upstairs said to stir up a little trouble. You know what to do.”
“Mist… ah, I’m the one to act?”
“Of course.”
By the time Phil finally reacted, the chance to escape had already passed. Her tail was tucked tightly beneath her skirt, and she trembled as she backed into the corner.
But how could a weak girl like her stand against three burly men?
Why were they treating her like this?
In her final moments of consciousness, Phil heard a name she was painfully familiar with.
“… This is Her Highness Moria’s order—to render her unconscious first, then silence her. Transport the body far away so no one discovers it.”
“Silence…? Moria’s order?”
“… Yes, that’s right. The Guards Corps scandal, perfect…”
Later, Phil’s body was covered in wounds, barely alive. The two knights tied her up tightly and, laughing, stuffed her into an Earth Dragon Cart before leaving.
She lost consciousness several times, and when she finally opened her swollen eyes and looked at the soldier, the night enveloped him as he raised his long knife. The blade gleamed coldly in the pale moonlight.
“Damn it, why… kill me?” she whispered weakly, her gaze fixed on the soldier.
He said nothing but lowered the blade—not onto her body, but instead cutting the hemp ropes binding her hands.
“You… hurry up and leave.”
She had no idea how long she dragged herself forward. Probably not much farther. She managed to reach a house’s entrance, then could move no more.
Where was she now?
Through the cracked roof tiles, a beam of clear moonlight outlined the interplay of light and shadow before her eyes.
Phil found herself waking in the dimness of a rundown wooden hut, the chill of the night clinging tightly around her, and pain radiating through every inch of her body.
Her nose tingled with the sharp scent of herbs. Looking down, she saw that all her wounds were covered with Herb Ointment as she lay on a simple bed board.
The ceiling was also in tatters. Raindrops relentlessly sought out the cracks, occasionally dripping silently onto the splintered wood beside her, producing faint but clear sounds.
Phil struggled to sit up, her gaze piercing through the shaft of light, looking out the window toward the outside world.
The rain had lessened, but the sky remained heavy with dense, leaden clouds, thick with oppression and gloom.
She reached out to touch the rough wooden board beside her. The unfamiliar texture sent a strange sensation to her fingertips. Phil sighed softly.
That soldier had set her free. Then, some villager must have rescued her, allowing her to keep a breath of life.
With no other choice and her body aching so much she could hardly move, Phil quietly lay back on the bed, watching the droplets fall through the crack.
Just then, faint noises came from outside the door, breaking her thoughts.
Phil immediately became alert, her eyes sharp as a blade, scanning her surroundings. Her heart raced, breath quickened.
Outside, the sounds grew louder, accompanied by light footsteps that finally stopped at the door.
Phil held her breath, emotions swirling inside her: who was outside? Was it the soldier who had spared her? Or were the two knights who had framed her coming back?
She searched around and found a wooden stick leaning by the bed. Though weak, she gripped it tightly, hoping it would bring her some sense of security.
Yet, when the door slowly opened, a beam of light spilled inside, illuminating the entire room—and Phil’s face.
Standing there was an elderly man in tattered clothes. His eyes were slitted in a smile, filled with kindness. In his hands, he held a steaming bowl of porridge.
“Child, how are you feeling now?”
His voice was soft yet powerful, like a warm ray of sunshine in spring, dispelling the shadows in Phil’s heart. She froze, and the wooden stick in her hand slowly relaxed.
“Are you the one who saved me? May I ask your name…” Phil asked weakly.
“It’s me,” the old man said, placing the bowl beside her bed with a gentle smile. “I’m Blitz, the doctor from the nearby village. You should eat this warm porridge now.”
He lifted the bowl and brought it to Phil’s lips.
Phil felt a sting in her nose and was about to cry but nodded.
“It’s simple fare, not like the food in the city. Please don’t mind,” he said.
The bowl steamed gently, the warmth brushing her cheeks. She parted her lips and took a small sip. The porridge’s mild heat slid over her tongue—nothing extravagant, but to her hungry stomach, it was incredibly sweet.
“Thank you…” Phil looked at the white-haired old man.
“No need to thank me,” Blitz said, his eyes full of concern. He took new Herb Ointment from a small pouch and prepared to change her dressing.
“Judging by your wounds, you must be from a big city. To end up wandering here is truly surprising.”
Phil furrowed her brows slightly, a flicker of doubt in her eyes as she glanced around the simple, unfamiliar surroundings. She whispered, “Here? You mean…”
“This place is near the Saint White River basin, inside the Southern Breezewind Valley. It’s hard to imagine how you came all the way here.”
Just as the old man spoke, a sudden commotion erupted outside. The already shaky wooden door was kicked open.
Bang!
The newcomer was a young man wearing simple armor. His tall frame revealed muscle lines beneath the plates, looking strong and capable. His sharp, eagle-like eyes showed maturity beyond his years.
“Father, retreat!” the young man shouted. “We’ve fallen into a trap set by those Blood Clan scoundrels! Their leader split forces, trying to trap us in this valley. Let’s leave—if we stay and defend the village, they’ll only slaughter us all!”
The old man’s expression turned surprised. The wrinkles at his mouth twitched as he clenched his teeth and nodded gravely.
“I understand. We’ll leave immediately.” Setting down the bowl, he gripped the bed’s wooden frame and forced himself to stand.
Turning to the young man, he ordered in a deep voice, “Go gather a few helpers to carry the wounded. I’ll pack up the supplies in my clinic. There’s no time to waste!”
He paused for a moment as if recalling something, then suddenly looked back at Phil, her pale face lying on the bed.
“Call your sister out to help bring this beastkin girl along.”
Phil stared at the two, shocked, mouth opening but no words forming. They were already gone in a flash, rushing out the door, leaving only the rapid sound of footsteps and echoes in the air.
As they left, the distant noise outside intensified abruptly, swelling like a tidal wave, drowning out the quiet inside the small hut.
Shouts, arguments, even the clash of weapons filled the air, making Phil’s heart pound painfully in her throat.