“You’re recovering smoothly.” 

A man in a modest tawny suit had a stethoscope to the lungs of Swordsmaster Orson, listening to him take breaths and counting the beats of his heart. His clean shaven face held many a crease from all the frowning he did, such as now, in concentration. 

“Continue taking your medicine at the scheduled times, and go on short walks at least four times a day with assistance.”

The king had sent this doctor over, after the royal physician had been refused by Orson himself. 

This old man is so stubborn. 

The doctor then took out a small hammer and tapped at Orson’s muscles, watching and feeling through the instrument for any atrophy or irregularities while the patient squeezed a rubber ball. A sensor tracked his grip strength, providing both exercise and data during recovery. 

“Thank you, Doctor Samuel.” Leila, seated next to her husband, offered. 

“It’s my pleasure. Consider it a favor repaid, for watching out for my son on the battlefield. I’ll be back in two days to check his progress.” With that, Samuel put on his hat, tipped it to all in the room, picked up his bag, and left. 

As silence descended upon the room, a great sigh of relief halved the tension of the last few days. 

“How do you feel, Papa?” Asura asked, approaching the bedside. 

“Almost fit as a fiddle!” Orson said cheerily, swinging his arm around. Asura did not miss the slight tremble, nor the cane leaning against the side table. 

A familiar fury rose inside Asura like a pot of water boiling up to the rim. 

You will pay for this, Duke Pontius.

As her dark thoughts clouded her face, Nan came in, carrying a tray of porridge and Orson’s medicine. She set the tray on the bedside table, opened the curtains and windows with a swish. She deftly helped Orson to sit up in bed, one hand on his lower back, the other on his forearm. Placing the tray in front of him, she took the lid off, the comforting scent of the dish filling the room. 

“Now don’t you dare let little miss Asura see you skipping meals.” A disapproving facial expression traveled across Nan’s face as she looked Orson in the eyes and handed him a spoon.

Asura’s heart quivered namelessly at the sight of her Papa’s trembling hand traveling from the bowl to his mouth. The poison that that had affected Orson was one of the strongest paralyzing poisons, and were restricted only for pharmaceutical use as a Class K drug, meant to put prisoners and the terminally ill into eternal slumber. 

Medications in this world were placed in Classes, with A through H being the safest for the general public, to M being the most cruel drugs used in criminal interrogations. Asura knew that Duke Pontius had connections that would allow him to get any kind of Class, which made her impatience more intense. 

I need to grow up, and quickly. 

She resolved herself again chanting it like a mantra. She watched Nan help wipe the porridge from Orson’s mouth as if he was a babe. Orson’s face burned in shame, his face pinched with anger at his situation. 

Because Asura had killed both of the assassins, and they did not hold any personal affects with any insignia, the person who hired them could not be truly identified. However, there was still speculation on who it was, given that the only interaction that played out negatively was Orson’s dealings with the Duke.

That, and the cuffs that he seemed to recognize.

After Orson had finished his porridge and bitter medication, Nan cleared up the tray in front of him and left the room only to come back with a full set of clothes. 

“What’s that?” Orson’s face drained of color, already suspecting the answer. 

“The doctor said to take a walk, right?” Nan smiled encouragingly, but when Orson’s face didn’t improve, Nan scolded him. 

“Is this how you teach your daughter? To lay in bed helpless like an old man? Show her resilience! Show her courage! Teach your daughter how to overcome the odds!” Nan flung his clothes, enunciating her words piece by piece on the bed while Leila giggled. 

Orson gave in, reaching for the closest piece, a cream colored tunic. When he struggled, Asura walked up to the bed and pulled it slightly further out of reach. 

“Show me resilience!” She chanted, and Nan patted Asura on the shoulder proudly. 

Orson sighed, looking to Leila for help, but she was unaware Asura had pulled the tunic away and was just smiling at her outburst. 

“Goddess save me.” He muttered, and reached for the tunic once more. 

Outside, the bustle of the crowds were thicker than the previous days of the week long festival, but the sun shone down warmly upon them all. 

With Leila on one side, holding onto Orson’s bicep, Nan on the other to create space, and Asura leading the way, they walked down the street at his pace. Nan had put Asura’s hair in two braided buns on her head, accentuated with dark purple ribbons matching her eyes. With a glare unbefitting her adorable appearance, Asura cleared the way before them. 

Since Orson couldn’t walk very far, even with his cane, the destination set for the first walk of the day was to the fountain in the middle of the market square where a small procession would be taking place later that afternoon. Performers and musicians would walk down a path from the north, encircling the fountain and releasing fireworks at the end. 

The path leading up to the fountain was riddled with artists offering portraits, face paintings and jewelry, celebrating and promoting their trade. Others had traditional paintings, magical artifacts, and weaponry, as smithing was also seen as a form of art. The smell of paints, the acrid odor of hot metal, and the tang of something sharp hit Asura’s nose as she scanned the crowd before her. 

While she was too small to protect anyone physically, she could still deter pickpockets with her gaze alone, as well as shield them if something went awry. With Orson still recovering, Asura felt responsible for protecting them all, especially after they escaped death. 

This time. 

Stopping to turn and check her companions’ pace, she thought to herself how the impatient Duke had treated her father when he was captured in her first life. That time was a bit of a blur for her, as she had lost both her parents at that time. One to be enslaved by the Duke, the other murdered, leaving her along with Nan until she could reunite with her father on the battlefield years later as his apprentice. 

Had she realized sooner that she was used as another anchor to tether her father to the Duke’s service, she would have run away with Nan. 

Her hands tingled with the memory of a sword hilt, and she squeezed them reflexively. How many years had she been on the battlefield? It was hard to keep count. She remembered several winters before that day in the field of daffodils. 

She shook her head, dislodging her meandering thoughts.

Once her father was a few steps away, she turned back around to begin leading again, slowing her pace down once more. 

He must be tired. 

Noticing the sweat beading upon his face, she met Nan’s eyes and began to look for a place to rest. Through the crowd, she could make out what looked to be a wooden bench and began to adjust their trajectory. As the people parted, a wagon came into view. 

Tsk!

She wasn’t tall enough to see the wagon in its entirety, only the boards that would hook up to the horse. Near the wagon was the horse, however, and it snacked on hay, throwing its glossy head up and down nervously. Nearby was a few bales of it, and while the thought of seeing a horse and hay reminded her of memories better left buried, she led her party to rest on the tightly bound straw. 

Asura silently thanked the organized pile, and helped her father sit on the bale. Heaving a sigh, he leaned back against the wooden boards, taking out a handkerchief and wiping his brow. He did not utter a single word of complaint, and instead looked around at all the stalls. 

“Why don’t you ladies look around? Get whatever you want. I’ll rest here for a few minutes.” He pulled out a small pouch, handing it to Nan who handed it to Asura. 

“I’ll be staying with the master. Go ahead with Lady Leila and pick up something together.” 

It dawned on Asura that this day would have never come in her previous life, as her mother had already died by the time this day dawned. Carefully taking her mother’s hand, she guided them through the crowd, being careful not to let her mother run into any strangers. Being only two women, Asura glared at the straying eyes of the men around them, as Leila was beautiful. Feeling slightly possessive of her flower of a mother, she sharply turned into a shop with a door, but ran into a burly man the size of a bear. 

“Oof!” Asura grunted, rubbing her nose.

“Apologies, young miss. I did not see you there.” As the man turned, his face lit up in recognition. 

“Miss Leila?” The man smiled and reached to tap her finger. 

“Missus.” Asura corrected, and swatted the man’s hand away. 

“Chrystoph?” Leila, surprised, broke into a smile. 

Asura felt her good mood slipping away. 

“It’s great to see you, Leila. Is this who I think it is? She looks just like him.” A pleasant smile broke across the man’s face, his full beard curving with the movement. 

Covered in deep brown clothes, they only barely covered his muscles, straining against the bulk of them. His black beard was shapely and his long black hair was tied back with a black ribbon. The only thing on him that looked even a little human were his eyes that sparkled like a lake in midsummer, swimming in blue hues. 

“Yes! This is our daughter, Asura. She also inherited his temperament, as you can see.” She giggles, squeezing Asura’s hand teasingly. 

Chrystoph laughed heartily, extending his hand to Asura in a handshake. 

“Nice to meet you Asura. My name is Chrystoph. I worked with your father for a very long time. He was my rival, you see.”

Asura left his hand hanging, until she spotted an eagle’s crest, on the scabbard of the sword on his waist, indicative of a Swordsmaster. 

Gripping his hand reluctantly, she made no mention of it, and instead warily watched him. 

“Quite observant. And a strong grip, too.” Chrystoph smiled at her warmly. 

“So where is Orson? Surely he did not leave you both unaccompanied.” He looked from her mother to her, an inquisitive look on his face. 

“Oh, Orson is resting, we were just getting some mother daughter time before-”

“Ricky! Stop! That’s not safe!”

A group of boys yelled loudly, above the crowd’s clamor.

Perched on something Asura couldn’t see, one looked to be about twelve, with spiky red hair poking out from under a dusty hat. The target of his yelling was holding a cigarette and a lighter in his hands, bringing it up to light it. While a young man smoking was not unusual, the startled boy was pointing to something behind him. 

The crowd parted just slightly, the image piecing itself together. 

A cart full of fireworks for the procession finale.