NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter 9: Stealth Mission after Stealth Mission. I’m f*cking Garbage at Stealth Missions.
She practically flings herself down the stairs. Slowing down once she reaches the bottom. Puts on her calmest façade despite her heart is rampaging in her chest when she walks past the guards. She starts running again the moment she’s inside the main building. The servant she downed is still out cold behind the counter where she left her. She finds the stairs behind the stove divider, hastily skipping her way up to the third floor. She presses herself against the wall, not turning the corner.
There are guards here too, like the soldiers described. Six of them, standing at each door along the corridor. Retrieving her smoke bomb. It’s make or break from here on out. She’ll need to cause a commotion, distract the guards and the Wascald family away. Use the chaos to slip into his bedroom to retrieve the keys. Sneak out and return to the tower before the soldiers on the outside catches wind of what’s going on. The walls are double brick, she won’t be discovered immediately.
It’s a completely insane request. But she can’t fail this. Kanra is at stake here. Chanting a quick prayer. If God is overlooking her. Then give her the plot armor blessings that she needs. She takes a sharp inhale. Readies herself. Her hands are so clammy. Winding up with all her might, she launches the grenade. It plinks deafeningly against the floor. The guards are immediately startled, but before they can find out what’s making the noise. The entire corridor explodes with grey gas. Getting increasingly opaque by the second. She hears coughing within the cloud, then doors being slammed open,
“Intruder! Intruder!” the Wascalds are being alerted, “Protect the Lord! Escort him to safety!”
Now’s her chance. She takes a deep breath. Holds it in and crouches down low, keeping a palm against the wall so she doesn’t lose herself in the smog. It’s stinging her eyes, making them teary. Beneath her, the frantic footsteps are rattling the floor. There are more and more voices around her. Residents of this castle are slowly waking up. A woman whom she guesses is Lady Wascald is screaming,
“What’s going on!”
She needs to hurry up. Picking up the pace. She feels the first door. Crosses it. Practically diving herself for the second. The moment she finds the entrance. She picks herself up.
It’s completely impossible to see in this condition so she’s just feeling the room around, bumping into furniture. Knocking a vase off a vanity table. Bumping into people. That was a guard just now. She felt armor. But she’s already slipped away when he tries to swipe at her. She’s skirting by the wall-papered walls. Why is it so unnecessarily big. It felt like an eternity before she found the edge of the room. Turning a corner. She keeps going forward. Relying on her sense of touch to navigate her. But the smoke is slowly clearing. Now she’s able to see a small radius around her feet. Come on. Come on. Hurry up!
She feels something wooden and round. Bed posts! She immediately darts her hand onto the mattress. Shoving her hands beneath the pillows. Frantically sweeping around. She touches something cold and metallic. Found it! Found it! She found the keys. Now. She must get out!
Turning around. She spots a guard. The guard spots her,
“Who are you? What is a servant doing here?” shit. The smoke is clearing. She’s running out of time. He lunges forward. She jukes him to make a run for it. She can see the door. A round, middle aged mustached man in his night gown is standing by the frame,
“Arrest her! Arrest her! I have never hired a servant with such a nasty scar!” he’s yelling. That’s not good! Her cover is gone. That must be Lord Wascald.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Footsteps are rapidly approaching. Her escape path down the corridor is shut off. More guards are pouring into the room one by one. Swords drawn. Trying to hack at her. She’s haphazardly darting about to dodge their attacks. Pushing down furniture and decorations in her path.
What should she do. What should she do in this situation? Should she just make a mad dash out of the castle? No. They’ll catch up before she can persuade the guards to let her into the tower again. That plan won’t work anymore. Then should she escape to the second floor to mingle with the other servants? No. That isn’t good either. Her scar is too prominent. Wascald’s already seen her face.
Think. Think! Think! Come on. Come on. She can’t fail this now! She already obtained the keys in her hands. What should she do?
Frantically scanning around the room. The door’s now completely blocked off. Six guards in the room attempting to hack at her, smashing the furniture with their weapons. Feathers from the pillows and bed sheets, upheaval like snow, drifting downwards. Wascald’s furiously yelling commands. She can’t dodge much further. Bathory’s stamina is running low. She’s out of breath. That last swing got her on her decolletage. She’s flung backwards against a toppled over table. At this rate, she won’t even get out of the room alive. Should she try to leap out the windows? Three stories up. It’s not that tall of a drop. But she may break Bathory’s shitty twig legs. Or twist her frail little ankles. That’ll be disastrous. It’s too much of a gamble. Then she notices the balcony.
The balcony! She’s got it! She doesn’t need to get out of the room! The balcony overlooks the dungeon tower! She tumbles out of the way of another cleave, picking herself up to zig-zag for it. Flinging the glass door open. But before she can step out of it. She’s pulled back by her injured shoulder. A guard caught her! The sharp pain instantly makes her retch in pain. Don’t give out yet. She stabs her broken knife into his hand to force him relinquish her. Don’t give out! Screaming on the top of her lungs,
“Soril catch!” She flings the keys hard as she can towards the barred windows. Head shot! It flew straight in. But she’s immediately tackled to the ground afterwards. Violently slamming on her chin. Everything fucking hurts. He seized her bad arm behind her back. God dammit. Just when she finally got some use of it back. The lights are being turned on.
Wascald is rapidly rushing towards the balcony, leaning over it to command the soldiers beneath the tower,
“Seize Soril Blaine before he escapes!” sending thundering footsteps stampeding into the castle. Then he turns towards her,
“State your name and who you work for.”
“Why did you betray Astia?”
“Who told you that?” She’s not answering. She’s staring at the top of the tower. Come on. Soril. Come on! Did he hear her? Did he manage to pick the keys up. What if she tossed it too far and it’s out of reach?
“Fine. Take your secrets to your grave.” Wascald barks,
“Kill her!” but before the guard is even able to draw his sword. A sharp whoosh, sounding like whiplash attracts all their attention up. The tower bars are falling to pieces as if it’s cleanly sliced by a buzz saw. Then, an ominous set of fingers, drenched in blood slowly pulls a shadow up. His eyes, catching the moon in piercing light. Throwing something back with a blurry swoosh of his arm. Then he crouches like a jaguar by the tall windows, ready to leap.
The sight of him makes her smile,
“Soril!” so she properly delivered the key after all.
Wascald furiously hollers,
“What are you imbeciles doing! Seize Soril Blaine! Kill the wenc-” but he couldn’t finish the sentence before a severed head collides into him. Unceremoniously knocking him onto the ground akin a wobble doll. Wires snapping all over his body to bind him tight. The head tumbles forward. Neck cleanly sliced. The wound is fresh and grotesque. It’s one of the poker playing guards that was ordered in. His face, twisted in sheer horror, capturing the moment he died. Wascald screams. The soldier seizing her startles. Lifts. Defensively arming his sword with both hands as Soril lands onto the balcony. He’s staggering a little, wiping the blood from his lips, looking like he’s still trying to find his sobriety when he lowly threatens,
“Surrender. I’d rather not take the lives of my own Kingdom’s men.” He’s furious. An icy wrath, spine chilling as a blizzard. But Wascald is relentless,
“Kill them! Kill them!” The soldiers aren’t moving anymore. They’re exchanging glances in silence for a few moments. Then one of them drops on a knee,
“Please pardon my actions, my Lord.” the rest soon followed, echoing after him, “please pardon my actions, my Lord.”
“Traitors! You cowardly traitors! What have I been paying you for!”
Soril turns towards Wascald, unsheathes a dagger from his sleeve. Wascald instantly retracts his words, sitting up to back against the balcony railings,
“I take it back! Don’t kill me.” practically whimpering,
“Please don’t kill me, I was forced to do this!”
“Speak.”
“They have my son. Estalis got my son. He was captured in Feror.” His wife and daughters have arrived at the scene. Standing by the doorway. One of whom, instantly attempts to launch herself forward, screaming,
“Please spare my father! He may be dumb and foolish, but he’s not an evil man.” but she’s held back by a soldier. Soril doesn’t even acknowledge them,
“And you are willing to trade thousands of civilian lives for one. For that alone, I can sentence you to death.”
“Please. They were blackmailing me. I didn’t have a choice.” Wascald is crying at this point, “please.” Soril doesn’t seem moved. He’s swinging the dagger for his throat. At that, she picks herself up from the ground, striding forward to halt his wrist,
“Don’t.”
“Let go, Lumeria. Don’t preach to me about mercy right now.” the venom in his voice bites even her,
“He committed treason against the Crown.” but she’s persistent to persuade,
“Not in front of his family. Violence only begets violence. You breed more hatred and betrayals this way.” She’ll need to brace the cold to melt the ice.
“He had ample opportunities to disclose and rethink his predicament. But he inanely chose to drag his family in.” He must’ve figured it out from what his daughter said few moments prior,
“According to Astian law, his actions warrant the execution of his entire lineage.” Those words immediately silence his daughter that’s been pleading for Wascald’s life. Instead, Wascald’s now trying to defend them, insisting that they know nothing and he’s the one that invigorated everything on his own accord.
She doesn’t know Astia’s justice system well. She can only appeal to his emotions,
“Spare them. On my behalf. I just saved you again. Remunerate me. You have the power to, don’t you? The Crown Prince’s Loyal Dog must be a pretty high position.” From what she’s witnessed over the past two days, she knows for certain he’s the type to pay kindness back, so she’s taunting him intentionally,
“Or is Astia’s rulers completely incapable of showing the tiniest of grace even to their benefactors?” He’s turning to match her gaze,
“How can you defend a man that tried to kill you just few moments ago?”
“But I’m still alive.” she guides his hand away from Wascald’s throat, towards her heart, “see?”
“I cannot keep a traitor alive.”
“If the desire to save one’s son makes one inexcusable as a traitor, then, how can you confidently demand your men to die for the Kingdom? Everyone fights because they want to protect something precious. Don’t punish your own citizens for falling victim to the enemies' cunning. It’ll be exactly what they want.” in the distance, a line of fire dots is gradually illuminating. Lighting up one after another like lanterns atop the cliffs, they have less time than they thought, she needs to wrap this up fast,
“Kanra is going to be under attack soon. The city cannot afford to lose its Lord now. Please reconsider, if not for me, then for Kanra.”
Wascald’s wife and daughters are groveling on the ground, parroting after her,
“Please reconsider, Lord Blaine.” Estalis is already here. From the looks of things, they have hundreds, no, thousands of soldiers this time.
Soril clicks his tongue, retracting his arm to sheath his weapons, he says towards Wascald,
“I’ll deal with you later. If you try and escape, I’ll hunt you and your entire family down." before instructing a guard,
“Keep watch on him.” and another, “you. Go ring the bell to close the city gates.” then the third,
“Take a group of fifty to evacuate the civilians out the back of Kanra.”
“At once, my Lord.”
“Rest of you. Come with me. I need to know how many men and what artilleries we have.” He’s hastily walking away. The Wascalds finally heave a sigh of relief after he exits the room. The youngest daughter briefly tugs on her sleeves as she throttles after him. Whispering to her a quiet thank you. But he only addresses her when they’re traversing down to the corridor,
“Not you, Lumeria. Stay here.” He doesn’t sound overjoyed that he had to relent to her. She puts on an upbeat voice to cheer him up,
“And sit out on a fortress defense with my insanely cracked aim and plot armor blessings? Absolutely not.” and she’s surprised he scoffs at that,
“Then try not to get in the way. I hope talking isn’t the only thing you’re good at.”
“Aye, aye sir!”