Commander Blert Blach was no fool.

Every inch of his body itched to deny it, and in the end, he couldn’t but pretend to have been convinced, but he was no idiot. That woman was too suspicious for his liking. Her words weren’t believable in the slightest.

It hurt his very core, yes, but he had a legal duty to discover the truth.

Was that black knight a traitor? Was she indeed planning to escape? Could he finally fire that foreigner and kill that spoiled-bitch off?

The commander had to find out.

The muddy trail led to a yellowish meadow, where khaki-colored tents stood amid the remnants of extinguished bonfires, their smoke fading into the bluish sky. Distant figures moved about, carrying supplies and taking down tents.

As Blert and his company neared, knights near the bonfire sprang to attention, and servants paused in their tasks to spread the word: "The Commander is back!"

The campsite was a mess, just as Blert had left it. Most tents had collapsed, their fabric dragging on the ground, trampled by hounds, horses, and people. Maids, in disarray and barely in uniform, rushed to gather scattered bottles, clothing, armor, and food before they had to depart.

Half the order of knights was within the forest, still looking for Penelope Ashdown, while the other half who were left to guard the campsite was now running downhill to join the found prisoner, their companions, and most importantly, Blert, their Commander.

"Commander!"

"Commander Blert, sir!"

Blert's little minions approached him and his riders with open arms.

Blert held back a grin to save face. He couldn't show how proud he was of himself. He had a reputation to uphold as the stoic, monster of a leader that he was.

Instead, he held up an arm, signaling the soldiers to halt before they scared the horses.

"Yes, yes, we found her," Blert nodded. "Now calm your ti-"

"Commander, we're absolutely fucked!" Holison — the dumbest knight under his charge — cried out.

This statement was a call back to reality for Blert.

After realizing he was snickering from ear to ear despite his mental effort not to do so, he only now saw that the knights' expressions weren't filled with relief and joy at his sight, but with panic and worry instead.

"What's the matter?" Blert frowned, dismounting his horse and walking up to his armored subordinates.

"Commander Blert, Sir—" Holison was out of breath. His baby mustache dripped with sweat as he spoke. "A man came running into the campsite twenty minutes ago. And he said—He said he was from a Merchant Guild." The lad's eyes were trembling in panic. "And that their PILOT fell unconscious and isn't breathing!"

Blert's glare softened to let the information simmer.

"Did they check his pulse?" The woman spoke out.

"I don't believe so."

"Does he have any record of serious illnesses or—"

"Who gave you permission to speak?" Blert snarled at the woman, making her raise her eyebrows, seemingly taken aback at his and her own words.

Her voice was melodic to most ears, but not to his. He needed her to keep her useless mouth shut so he could figure the situation out.

"Force of habit, I guess..." She muttered out of Blert's hearing range.

"So, Holison, what are we supposed to do, put him out of his misery?" Blert scrunched his nose.

"Yes." Holison swallowed. "I mean, no! They want a medic! They asked for any possible medical assistance, but—"

"Our medic is completely out of commission." Fars, Blert's toothless minion chimed in. "He was crawling on the ground uttering gibberish, the last I saw of him." He said. "Which was an hour ago." 

'That irresponsible little shit.' Blert thought. '... Well, if we can't help, then that's that.'

"Then send Melissa." Fars — that bigmouth — added. "She's a Holy Cleric, her powers should do the trick."

Wasting precious Holy Mana on some stranger when Blert could use it for someone more valuable, like himself or his knights, would be utterly folly.

"Sending Melissa to serve a stranger? HA! What are we, a holy temple?" He glared Fars down.

"Well..." Holison trailed off, catching Blert's attention. "The patient is unfortunately not someone we can ignore, Commander, sir. The man whose life depends on us right now is none other than... He is the oldest son of Duke Kimberlye." Holison cringed.

"AH!" The two riders also cringed.

Blert's eyes were widened. "WHAT—! Never mind what I said, send Melissa, NOW!" He yelled out. "I-I shall accompany her myself—!"

"Oh, we really are screwed..." Truman nodded, his eyes wide, standing next to the two equally stunned riders. "Because Melissa drank yesterday."

"HUH!? What do you mean, she drank?!" Blert's eyes were protruding out of his skull. "Is this true!? HOLISON!" Blert fixed the lad with a deadly glare.

"Yes, Commander Blert, sir!" Holison stiffened. "Melissa Lithers was found unconscious an hour ago. She is awake now and has confessed, under duress, to the grave offense of drinking last night, sir!"

A heavy silence fell over the group. The knights behind Holison exchanged pained looks, the riders near Truman whispered among themselves, and Truman felt lightheaded from the turmoil. Then, a whisper caught Blert's ear, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Now her powers won’t work for weeks..." a woman’s voice murmured.

Blert's gaze shifted to his prisoner, who observed the scene with a calculating expression.

It’s because of her... His head throbbed. I’ll deal with that woman... in due time.

"Holison, escort her to her quarters," he said, gesturing toward Penelope with a flick of his chin.

"Yes, commander, sir!"

Holison grabbed Penelope Ashdown by the arm, but she shook him off with a sneer and started walking on her own, followed by the awkward little knight.

Once the two were out of earshot, Blert began.

"If word gets out about our little celebration yesterday night, consider yourselves dead." He pointed to the group. "I'll even do the honors myself. If the temple finds out about our clergywoman's little..." He leaned in. "Sin." He whispered. "Your heads will, likewise, sit on a spike by the end of the week."

His would, too.

"MOREOVER!" He jumpscared everyone listening. "If our honored Fourth Division of the Penalty Forces fails to rescue its biggest funder, young Duke Robert Kimberlye, then what will become of all of us?!" His eyes wandered from one paling soldier to another.

"The commander is right. Good thing the messenger didn't accept to walk with Holison into the campsite." One of the knights who came with Holison nodded.

"He invited him to come inside?" Fars questioned.

"It is only polite, I suppose." Truman nodded, making the rest of the party unsure whether or not he was being sarcastic.

"Matterless." Blert said, "Holison, bring back the knights wandering in the forest. Educate them on the situation and let them join the ones here to continue preparing for us to leave."

"To leave?" Fars interjected. "But how will we excuse our lack of aid, sir?"

Blert decided he had no other choice but to create an excuse for his medic and cleric's absence, one so urgent that not even a Kimberlye could complain about needing to 'wait' for their turn.

Yes. It was decided.

His hand was already itching for it.

I had no desire to do it, but I might need to.

I have to consider milking this opportunity and save this nobleman's life. He could be useful in helping me get out of this situation!

... Or not?

I don’t know. I’m trying to be smart about this, but wit has never been my forte; a fact that I can never question again after going ahead with that shitty escape plan.

How I regret that now...

I needed to be more careful. I can’t afford to be so reckless ever again…

As I watched the lot engage in a very desperate conversation, I couldn't help but wonder if it would be worth the stakes I’ll be facing once I revealed that this body’s owner, Penelope Ashdown, one of the most useless, dumbest figures in high society, could actually save a dying man using no holy powers or education.

No... The commander would be onto me, the people here would become wary of me, and it would likely cost me my already puny discreetness.

Yet... The idiotic part of me constantly trying to self-sabotage is pushing for me to give it a shot.

I mean, let’s be real, I’m in a melodramatic novel.

I possessed a body that has me looking like I’m some frickin runway model. Would it be unrealistic for me to hope— no, to expect that the man I would save will turn out to be a hot dude with a dark past and daddy issues who’ll fall in love with me at first sight and pretend he actually fell in love with our banter or something as false?

Probably not.

Am I confident in my ability to save AND charm someone to save my life?

Absolutely not.

Yeah, it’s too much of a gamble, even for me...

I'm not even done with my residency yet. Eight years of preparation isn’t enough. What if the nobleman dies in my hands? I would be killed on the spot.

Chills ran down my spine at the thought of it, as I dragged my feet, following behind Holison.

Though slow-witted, this lad with an acne-full face, crooked teeth, and wide shoulders seems to possess some sort of charm to him.

He's the idiot who gave away the Prison Stones being a bluff last night, too.

"This is where I leave you, lady." He said, turning to me once he was in front of the carriage. "Oh!" He exclaimed, looking at a figure behind me. "Miss Alice!"

"Alice?" I threw a glance back, and there she was. My out-of-breath, monotone lady-in-waiting.

Well, actually...

"You." Alice's nostrils were flaring. She stood a few feet away, having just come out of the forest.

"Oh, boys!" Holison called out, having caught sight of several other figures following in Alice's trail, also exiting the forest. It was a bunch of armored men, possibly less breathless than she was. "Have you heard—?" Holison ran up to his older colleagues and disappeared into their crowd.

My gaze fell back on Alice.

She didn't look so monotone, closing in on me with glaring pink eyes, rumpled hairs and untidy clothes. There was a handful of tree leaves stuffed in her hair.

Why was she in the forest?

"Long time no shee." I smiled awkwardly, holding my jaw, a little flustered by her unexpected ability to... uh, human, I guess.

Alice's angry gaze broke away from me and landed on the knights who had left the forest moments after she did. Within half a second, she seemed to have remembered or realized something, because her stare softened and her aggressive steps halted.

She sighed and continued walking towards me in a composed stance.

"Miss Alice, be sure to shackle the criminal and put her in the carriage!" Holison ordered before walking away with his panicking colleagues towards the commander's location.

"So," I turned to the lady-in-waiting. "Given your body language, I understand you were worried about me, Alice?" I threw her a smug look.

She was probably looking for her lady in the forest.

She might be disappointed I'm back. That's probably why she seemed mad at first.

"As a matter of course, I was looking for you out of obligation, Lady Penelope. But, I would not dare contradict your anticipations of my concern towards your well-being."

"So you don't care if I disappear or not," I stated.

"You misunderstand my words a great deal, my lady." She took the leaves out of her hair and fixed it straight.

Yeah, because you wish for me to disappear.

I gave her a knowing look.

After all, Alice's fate was sealed the moment her lady committed this crime. Now, she has to accompany her to jail and tend to her while there, despite having committed no crime. And it is all on account of Penelope Ashdown and some terrible luck that made it so she happened to be her personal lady in waiting.

How cruel is it that this world’s nobles can’t even go to jail alone, they have to drag their servants with them? Like, what punishment is it if they have someone they can order around to carry the burden with them?

Her eyes coldly stared me down, filled with a sense of challenge rather than condescendancy.

"Well, it's good I don't have to worry about you worrying about me, then." I nodded.

I never did. But at least now I never will.

She opened the door for me to get into the carriage, and left to get those cursed heavy metal shackles.

Once inside the carriage, I sat on the hard wooden seat and leaned back against the wall behind me, I pursed my lips and let my eyes wander around the vehicle's insides. Nothing was interesting to look at, the walls were wooden and old, the windows were dirty and their glass was thick, with bars blocking the meadow's view.

But I kept looking around like this vehicle had the most intricate design I had ever seen... Because it felt too awkward to look at her; the woman loudly sobbing, sitting in front of me.

"Oh, Korpa, forgive me!" She cried, sniffling gross snot in and out with each breath.

~

Thirty minutes later, and the elderly woman with dull blonde locks wearing a blue cloak that covered her upper face was still sobbing.

"Shut the fuck up." Was all I wanted to yell.

But...

"Oh Korpa...!" Melissa, the sinful clergywoman cried into her palms.

"Don't kick people who are down." I recalled my mother's words on a scary night. "Most people deserve to fall. Especially if they're above you. But kicking someone who's down isn't suited for the likes of us. We're too familiar with the feeling. It's not right to do it if we're ever in a position to."

My mother's words echoed a little bit on the dark street, carried by the cold breeze that was slowly freezing us both to death. Our noses were red and our limbs were trembling. We were in a corner of the street, out of sight, wrapped in aluminum foil and waiting for the sun to rise.

"Ma, I'm bad at metaphors."

"People who are down means people... Well, people like you and I," She admitted, giving me her best smile, unaware that ten year old Penelope could see the heartbreak and anger behind her eyes.

I nodded, but at the time, I wasn't quite aware of what she had meant.

We had just been kicked out of our home by a group of drug dealers who bought it from my mother's boyfriend at the time. I saw a gun for the first time that day.

Ah... The good old days.

"It was him..." Ma's voice traveled out from pits in my mind I had shut out, painting a new scene from my past. "Your fucking dad..."

As the memories arose, I began to breathe longer in an attempt to redirect my thoughts. But...

"Are you really okay with this?" A blank faced man had asked. I clutched my throat, gasping for air. "Your mom died yesterday."

My mother is dead.

Ma is fucking dead.

HOW CAN I BE OKAY WITH THIS?

My breaths were inefficient, I was suffocating.

My eyes widened at the influx of unwelcome thoughts. Stop. MA IS DEAD.

"Stop..." I held my head.

It's not my fault. It's not your fault. You're okay....

But it wasn't working. Shit. It wasn't fucking working.

I kept my eyes wide, trying my hardest not to blink. Even as tears streamed down my face.

Because I knew. As soon as I did... All I would see was her co—

"My lady?" A voice pierced through the screetching in my head.