Charlotte, suddenly weary, sat herself down in the middle of the dirt road. She wasn’t physically tired in the least, but she still felt the need to take a moment to herself. It was a sort of melancholy, or maybe a realization.

You see, there is a certain problem that only the truly gifted ever really have the misfortune to experience. They hit a plateau in their growth when there is nobody left with enough skill to challenge them. Just as a student will stop learning when the teacher has nothing left to impart, a warrior will no longer improve when strong opponents cease to present themselves. This was now the case for Charlotte, even in spite of the layers of handicaps she had placed on herself over the preceding months.

First, she had restrained herself from using her best form of magic. With the blue flames no longer an option, she had struggled for a time to learn a new method of fighting. When that was no longer enough, she had cut herself off from using any conscious magic at all in her fights. That had proven to be a less challenging restriction than she had thought, however, and she had very quickly wound up back where she had started. The last step was in removing her weapons from the equation, which she had done over a month ago. She had been in several brawls since then, but she hadn’t even sustained so much as a scratch in any of them.

These damn soldiers, she mused, pushing energy from herself to move the bodies into a pile. The corpses of the caravan guards floated lazily from where they lay strewn about the road, congregating twenty or so feet in front of her. None of them were visibly injured aside from the occasionally twisted limb or neck. A surprisingly small amount of blood resulted, only a faint trickle from a few noses and mouths. There were maybe thirty bodies this time. The carts they had been guarding, now abandoned behind her, were undamaged. She had cut the horses free already, so now the carts sat inert as they awaited her fire.

When the bodies finished moving, Charlotte stood and dusted herself off before lighting a small azure flame in her palm and tossing it wordlessly onto the mound. She fed it enough power to make sure the bodies would catch, then turned and did the same to the carts without even bothering to search them.

She knew what was in those carts. This was the tax collector’s caravan after all, that was why she had targeted it. Still, she didn’t bother rummaging through it all and lining her pockets. She had no need for that, and taking any of the money would ruin the careful image she had crafted. Instead, she fed the flames of the cart continuously with an absurd amount of energy until the wood was nothing but ash and the coins had become a lump of slag metal in the center of the road. 

After all this was done, she walked herself over into the treeline and hid as she waited for someone to find her work. She carefully maintained the flames with her own energy as a stand-in for fuel. Someone should be along soon, she reasoned. This was a busy road. She could leave as soon as there were witnesses that could spread the word about her signature blue flames being present at the scene.

To the citizens, this attack would seem like she was sending a message. She was, in a way, but that wasn’t the main reason she was doing this. The urban legend surrounding her actions was more a convenient mask for what she was really doing: training. She had goals of her own, and she couldn’t accomplish them if she rested on her laurels and contented herself with knowing that no human was her equal. 

Charlotte, born of magic, had a distinct advantage over these cattle. For one, she could call on magic as easily as she would flex a muscle or draw a deep breath. Even when she had cut off her conscious use of magic to try challenging herself, she couldn’t actually stem the flow entirely. For one of her kind, magic naturally flowed in their bodies and strengthened them without ever requiring the effort of seeking it out and shaping the magic. If she was cut, it would heal. If she ran, she could match a horse. If she died–well, she couldn’t. At least not of natural causes. 

It wasn’t long before she heard shouts from the road. She poked her head out from where she had hidden, verifying that the burning wreckage had been found, then cut off the flow of magic to the flames and turned to leave. The fire, now free of her influence, shifted first into a natural orange-yellow hue, then petered out. There was nothing left for it to burn, after all. 

I guess it’s time to move on, she mused. Her fingers danced as she called out her ten metal spikes–her weapons of choice, normally left attached to the bracers she wore–and began idly manipulating them independently of one another. They floated through the air, each spike drifting only an inch or so from her fingertips as if it were a mere extension of her nails. This was one of the many ways she trained herself, practicing her control and focus as she continued considering her situation.

The rocks are next, then the school, then… I should probably figure out what comes after that. 

She continued walking, nonchalant despite the fact that the subject matter of her thoughts would send ripples throughout not only the country, but history. What she was planning had never been done before. That was largely because precious few people actually knew enough to consider the idea. Still, she knew she could do it. It probably wouldn’t even be that challenging. 

But the reward upon success was truly something. While carrying out the tasks would be akin to performing household chores for someone like her, the payoff would be akin to… Akin to what, exactly? She struggled to even come up with an appropriate simile. If the act itself was like a child's chores, then the reward would be like that child’s allowance being replaced with… A national budget, maybe? 

She eventually exited the forest, and night fell, but she didn’t slow her pace. She continued west, walking through the night, never once losing focus as she practiced her control over magic. By the time the sun rose, great walls of white stone could be seen in the distance. The royal capital of the Andrade kingdom, backed against the sea and glistening with warm morning light, was truly something to behold. 

Even from this distance, Charlotte could see the three rings of the city as she crested a small hill. Each ring had its own perimeter wall that demarcated the lines between them, a sort of aesthetic addition to the zoning laws in place. At the center of the city, a palace rose high above the surrounding buildings as if to remind each resident of whom they served. It was a beautiful building in itself, visible from anywhere within the capital, a true testament to the splendor of this nation.

But Charlotte couldn’t help but frown when she saw it. It was a huge building, after all. She would have her work cut out for her trying to find a few rocks in that behemoth of a palace. Even worse, she didn’t doubt for a moment that they would be hidden quite well. Even if he could feel them, actually getting her hands on them might be hard without leaving behind some kind of wreckage.

I could always just lean into my image, she thought. Make a show of things, say it’s for the greater good, things like that.

Dangerous thoughts swirled in her mind as a plan began clicking together. She might very well end up making a mess of this, but if that’s what it took to get what she needed then she was more than okay with leaving behind a bit of trouble. This place, this kingdom, meant nothing to her after all. What she had to do to reach her desired ends was of little consequence. If a few bodies were required, she would happily offer them to her cause.

I’ll find them, she resolved. Just you wait, Grandmother. 

Charlotte stepped down from the small hill and continued her path to the city gates and the palace beyond.