"You mean—you're leaving?"
Marfa's eyes widened in obvious surprise as she stared at the young lord before her. He was dressed in plain adventurer's garb, a dull, battered longsword slung casually at his waist. Beside him stood Ofalil, shrouded in a black cloak, her lips pressed in a tight, silent line—only her bright sapphire-blue eyes glinted faintly beneath the hood's shadow.
"That's right."
Black nodded, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword as he looked at his servant.
"I have some urgent business to attend to and will be away for a time. If all goes well, I should be back by the end of the month. While I'm gone, you are to carry on as usual—no need to worry yourselves over me. As for the town… I don't anticipate any matters requiring my personal attention for the time being."
On Black's orders, the old mayor had already begun repairs on the road. Until the work was completed, the town's connections to the outside world were effectively cut off—but for a village that had always lived in relative isolation, this caused little real inconvenience.
"I've left some coin with you. Use it as you see fit. And if you have the time, replace all those tattered tablecloths and bed linens, would you?"
"Understood, my lord."
Marfa took the money pouch Black offered with a cautious hand, then bowed deeply in respect.
"I shall relay your instructions to the others."
"T-then what about me, my lord?"
Standing beside Marfa, Irene reached out tremblingly, her voice barely a whisper.
"What am I to do? Should I come with you…?"
Black did not answer. Instead, he glanced at Ofalil. Catching his eye, the girl stepped forward to stand beside Irene, her gaze steady and unwavering.
"You need not come with us. As a handmaiden, you are still sorely lacking."
Ofalil's clear, crisp voice cut through the air, and little Irene's breath hitched in her throat, her face going pale with nerves.
"Your etiquette is far from perfect, your tea-making skills are mediocre at best, and your posture fails to meet the strict standards expected of a lady's maid. Furthermore—we did not grant you leave to speak, yet you took the liberty of addressing your master unbidden. Frankly speaking, Irene… you are not a qualified servant."
"I-I'll work harder, Lady Ofalil!"
Tears welled in the girl's eyes as she clutched her skirt tightly, staring up at Ofalil with a mixture of fear and desperation.
"I promise I'll improve! If I've made any mistakes, I'll correct them! Please—don't send me away! I need this job so badly… I'll work *so* hard!"
"Hard work means nothing without proper guidance."
Ofalil's words crushed the hope from Irene's eyes, leaving them dim and dejected—but her next sentence reignited a spark of flame in the girl's chest.
"Therefore, I think you shall have ample time to learn while we are away. Lady Marfa—would you be so kind as to teach her what it truly means to be a handmaiden?"
"It would be my pleasure, Lady Ofalil."
A flicker of surprise crossed Marfa's calm features at Ofalil's request. She studied the younger woman closely for a moment, then smiled warmly in agreement, placing a reassuring hand on Irene's shoulder.
"I give you my word—by the time you two return, she will be a fully qualified handmaiden."
The heavy castle gates creaked shut behind them. Black tore his gaze away from the fortress, now partially hidden by the shade of the trees, and turned to the girl at his side.
"I must say—I didn't take you for such a strict taskmaster. I swear, that poor little thing looked half a heartbeat away from bursting into tears."
"Strictness now ensures ease later, Mr. Black."
Ofalil pushed back her black hood, letting the brilliant morning sunlight wash over her face as she gazed out at the forest ahead, her eyes half-closed in contentment.
"If we do not set high standards for her now, she will surely face harsh criticism and even harsher consequences in the future."
"Is that so?"
Black raised an eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. He had always assumed Ofalil's obsession with proper etiquette stemmed from her upbringing as a royal princess—but from the sound of it, there was far more to it than mere noble pride. Ofalil, however, offered no further explanation on the matter, and Black did not press her. He had noticed that ever since her revival, the princess had been oddly reticent about her past, never volunteering so much as a single detail about her former life. Considering the fact that she had been murdered, it was only natural, Black supposed, that she would want to avoid dwelling on such painful memories.
Instead of descending the mountain toward the town, Black led Ofalil into the dense forest at the castle's rear.
There were no paths here.
Tangled undergrowth, snaking vines, and gnarled branches that twisted and turned without rhyme or reason, coupled with moss-covered boulders and fallen tree trunks, made the terrain nearly impassable for any ordinary person. Especially at this time of year—not only did one have to contend with the slippery, muddy ground, but also the lazy predators that lurked in the underbrush, stirred from their slumber by the changing weather.
Ofalil's progress was clumsy at best—hardly surprising for a young woman who had likely never set foot off a manicured garden path or a smooth palace corridor in her entire life. She had naively assumed that a mountain trail would be little more than a slightly steeper version of the well-paved roads she was accustomed to… but that innocent delusion had been ruthlessly shattered the moment she stepped onto the slick mud and loose gravel.
Black, by contrast, moved through the forest with the effortless grace of a man out for a leisurely stroll. The crisscrossing branches seemed to part for him, as if bending to his will, allowing him to glide forward unimpeded. To Ofalil's eyes, it was almost magical—but in truth, he was merely more agile than most, his movements honed by years of navigating rough terrain. No supernatural tricks, no hidden magic—just skill.
*Could he possibly be part-elf?*
Ofalil sighed in frustration, yanking her cloak free from a particularly stubborn thorn bush. She had foolishly dismissed Black's offer to let her prepare for the journey, thinking a simple hike through the woods would be no great challenge. Now she was paying the price for her overconfidence, stumbling and tripping over every root and rock in her path.
"Ah!"
Ofalil let out a startled shriek as her foot landed on something soft and squishy beneath the leaf litter. She stumbled backward, her arms flailing wildly as she lost her balance—only to feel a strong, steady hand wrap around her waist, steadying her before she could fall.
"Careful, Lady Ofalil."
Black's hand pressed gently against her back, helping her regain her footing. His eyes flicked down to the ground at her feet—where the rotting corpse of a rabbit, long dead, lay exposed. Ofalil's clumsy step had dislodged it from its leafy grave, revealing its bloated, maggot-ridden body, its innards spilling out onto the mud, dark, foul-smelling blood seeping from its broken carcass. Without a second thought, Black stepped in front of her, shielding her from the gruesome sight. It was no scene for a young lady to witness—and if Ofalil fainted dead away from the shock, he would be the one stuck carrying her the rest of the way. A prospect he was keen to avoid.
"By the Holy Light… what did I step on?"
Ofalil's face drained of all color as she stared at the ground in horror, her eyes darting about wildly before she quickly looked away, her lips pressed tightly together. It was clear the princess had sense enough to know some things were better left unseen. At that moment, she looked less like a formidable royal and more like a frightened little squirrel, ready to dart up the nearest tree at the first sign of danger.
*Really, Princess?* Black fought back a smile as he watched her panic-stricken expression. *Have you completely forgotten that you are, first and foremost, a ghost? And not just any ghost—a powerful, dangerous spirit at that?*
Instead of teasing her, however, Black simply held out his right hand to her.
"Take my hand, Lady Ofalil. We're pressed for time… and besides—do be careful. The mountain path is far more treacherous than it looks."
"..."
Ofalil stared at him in surprise, her eyes widening slightly. She hesitated for a moment, then nodded silently, lowering her gaze as she slipped her smaller hand into his larger, calloused palm.
"My sincere apologies, my lord… for being such a burden."
With that, their progress through the forest quickened considerably. Holding Ofalil's hand did nothing to slow Black down—though in truth, he had never been moving particularly fast; it was simply his fluid, unhurried gait that made it seem so. Determined to redeem herself after her earlier clumsiness, Ofalil bit down on her lower lip and kept pace with him, her free hand clutching tightly at her cloak to keep it from catching on the branches as they wove their way through the dense undergrowth.
Suddenly, the trees thinned out, and the forest gave way to a wide, open clearing.
A towering cliff face loomed before them, its shadow stretching long and dark across the ground. And standing silently within that shadow, ten fully armored warriors waited. As Black and Ofalil emerged from the trees, the figures turned as one—their black helmets glinting in the sunlight, and from within the dark visors, a single, glowing red light flickered to life.