Chapter Text
Morning sun cast long shadows as two riders climbed the hill—one in deep blue, a crown resting lightly on her head; the other in battered orange, shifting restlessly in her saddle.
“That finally Thorel?”
The knight in orange raised a gauntlet-clad hand, pointing toward the city’s spires rising over the distant hilltop.
“Yes, Gigi.” The crowned woman didn’t glance over. Her voice was unreadably even. “You wouldn’t have to ask if you’d actually listened in the meeting.”
“Come on, Kronii.” Gigi laughed. “Like anyone cares as long as I beat up whoever they point at.”
“And where have I pointed at exactly?” Kronii asked, eyes still forward.
Gigi’s grin wavered. “Careful, Kronii. You keep saying things like that—I'll start thinking you're not letting me charge in at all.”
The Queen didn’t answer. Not right away.
Gigi’s eyes narrowed. “...You are deploying me, right?”
“I’m not,” Kronii said flatly. “You’re in the reserve.”
That wiped the smile clean off Gigi’s face.
She stared, as if waiting for the punchline. Like she’d misheard.
“What?”
Gauntlets clenched tight around the reins, metal creaking with the strain.
When no answer came, her expression twisted into frustration.
“You can’t just sideline me,” she muttered, low and dangerous, no humor left in her voice. “I need this. Don’t act like you don’t know that.”
The edge in her tone stirred something old. And unwelcome—in both of them.
Kronii didn’t speak at first. Her gaze stayed forward, but her knuckles tightened slightly on the reins.
“Of course.” She finally turned to Gigi. “And like I said in the meeting—the only real risk today is the reinforcements.”
Gigi waited—for something more. A reason. A promise. Anything.
But Kronii offered nothing else.
“What if our intel’s wrong?”
“Our intelligence is rarely wrong.” Kronii’s tone sharpened. “So wait. I won’t let you starve.”
She turned back, gaze fixed on the hilltop.
Gigi opened her mouth, then shut it again. But her jaw stayed tight.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Just don’t expect me to sit still if I need to break something.”
She dropped back a pace, not bothering to hide her frustration.
Kronii didn’t look back. She was already riding ahead.
~
At the hill’s crest, the Queen stopped—her silhouette stark against the rising sun.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
Then she looked back.
Behind her, the army had arrived.
Thousands of steel-clad figures stretched down the slope, faces hard as iron.
They needed no command. They knew what came next.
Kronii drew her sword.
Raised it high.
And let the tip sink—slow, deliberate—like a verdict passed, and punishment due.
***
The peaceful façade of Thorel shattered.
Faces on the walls turned pale as the hillside erupted into motion—an avalanche of steel crashing toward them.
“How the hell are they already here?!”
“Get the captain! Now!”
“Toll the bell! THE BELL!”
The shouting was drowned beneath the rising clang of iron—deep, rhythmic, relentless.
A heavy bell tolled, echoing through the city as men scrambled into place—half-dressed, half-believing.
But it was too late.
The Queen’s army had come.
***
In the highest tower of the castle, an old man stood at the window, eyes fixed on the chaos unfolding beyond the city walls.
They were holding the enemy back—for now.
But it was only a matter of time.
He turned sharply, snapping at the armored figure behind him.
“They should’ve been here hours ago to prevent this very situation! What did we even pay them for?”
“Do not worry, sir,” the knight replied calmly. “They should arrive any minute now.” He glanced briefly at the noble’s hands before adding, “We’re not fighting the Red King, remember. It’s just his daughter.”
The noble let out a shaky laugh. “Heh… yes… just the daughter.”
He began pacing. “If he were still alive, we wouldn’t have made it this far. That bloody maniac… I’ll have my revenge, I swear it.”
At last, a dust cloud rose on the western horizon—the mercenaries.
A low, mirthless chuckle rumbled in his throat.
The knight gave a curt bow and departed with heavy steps.
***
Kronii stood motionless on the hilltop, her gaze drifting from the battle below to the dust cloud rising in the distance.
“As expected,” she murmured. “The mercenaries.”
She signaled to a general behind her.
He approached swiftly—clad in full plate with a heavy spear resting against his shoulder, his face hidden behind a polished helm.
She nodded to him. “Sir Immergreen. I trust you and your knights can delay them long enough for the city to fall. They’ll retreat once they realize their contractor can’t make further payments.”
He didn’t even look at the approaching foe. “Of course, Your Highness,” he replied, offering a curt nod as he turned his horse.
“Sir Immergreen—one more thing.”
She gestured toward Gigi, who lay in the grass, her restless energy gone, eyes distant.
“I’m sending Murin with you,” the Queen said. “I trust my knight will be... useful.”
Gigi was on her feet before Kronii even finished speaking.
“Finally,” she muttered, grinning as she tightened the straps of her gauntlets. “My fists were starting to itch.”
She turned to Sir Immergreen and gave an exaggerated salute. “The infamous Heavy Knights of Immerheim, huh? Always wanted to see you lot in action. Is it true you’ve never broken formation?”
She glanced at his armor—it almost seemed to hum with something unseen. “And that fancy steel—still won’t say what kind of magic you hammer into those suits, eh?”
Immergreen didn’t respond at once. He studied her in silence, as if weighing whether she was genuinely curious or just running her mouth.
Then he sighed and turned to Kronii. “I’ll take her, if that’s your order. But I must say...”
His helmet tilted toward Gigi. “You’ll be hard-pressed to find two more incompatible ways of fighting.”
Kronii gave a short shake of her head. “I’m not asking you to integrate her—she’ll act independently once contact is made. You’re not responsible for her.”
He gave a final nod and rode off without another word.
Gigi didn’t bother with a mount. She trotted after him on foot, shoulders rolling in quiet preparation.
Kronii didn’t watch them go, gaze returning to the battlefield.
After a moment, she let out a single, nearly inaudible sigh.
~
The wind picked up as Gigi closed the distance to the knights.
Ahead, Sir Immergreen already rode down the line—stoic and precise, just like the formation itself.
The closer she came, the clearer they became—half mounted, half on foot—all clad in that same eerie full-plate, faces hidden behind seamless helmets.
They looked cool, Gigi had to admit. Intimidating. Unshakable.
Their reputation as some of the most fearsome foes on the battlefield had to come from somewhere, after all.
She glanced at her own worn leather gear—barely armored at all. For a moment, she almost felt out of place.
Almost.
Then she remembered: none of them could match her speed. Or her punch.
She’d drop them before they even raised those fancy spears.
And really—what was the point in fighting without the risk of dying?
Sir Immergreen had stopped now.
He was speaking with a mounted knight—low, calm, unreadable from where she stood. Gigi couldn’t make out the words, but she caught the moment he pressed something into the other’s hand. The knight hesitated, then gave a single, precise nod.
A pause. A brief pat to the shoulder.
Then Immergreen turned and rode off.
Affection? Just like that, in front of all the knights? …Huh. Didn’t think he had it in him.
A moment later, his spear rose high.
At once, the formation moved—splitting into wings, marching and riding in perfect synchrony toward the dust cloud.
There it is. Finally. I’ve waited long enough.
Gigi’s boots dug into the earth. She grinned—almost feral.
No orders. No hesitation.
Then she ran.
***
They crashed into the mercenaries like a wall of iron.
The Immerheim foot knights held the center—spear and shield locked tight, giving the enemy no room to slip through.
Mounted flankers swept in from the sides, tearing into disarrayed ranks with brutal precision.
But Gigi had already broken away.
She tore through the far left flank—well beyond the knights’ order and discipline. Her speed defied the weight of her gauntlets. Mercenaries crumpled around her—stunned, bloodied, broken.
She didn’t go unscathed. Blood already soaked into her gear.
Another cut opened across her left arm.
She just grinned wider—and drove her fist into the attacker’s jaw.
“Yes,” she breathed, watching his body fold. “This is it.”
That delicious blur of pain and euphoria.
The edge of not knowing if the next strike would end you.
She laughed—loud, sharp, almost manic.
One man faltered. Fear flickered in his eyes.
Too late.
Her fist slammed into his gut.
“Come on!” she shouted, whirling through blood and smoke. “Is this all you’ve got?”
A spear came for her back.
“Not like this,” she snarled, catching the shaft mid-thrust. “You think I’ll just stand here and let you kill me?”
She yanked.
The man stumbled forward—catching a punch to the face. Sharp. Fast. Final.
“You gotta earn it,” she spat, eyes blazing.
Another mercenary barked a command. The rest began to circle—grim now, measured.
Her smirk only grew.
~
A cluster of mounted Immerheim knights had just regrouped after another flanking strike. No casualties. Formation still tight.
Their leader raised a hand, ready to give the signal to ride again—
“I’m splitting off,” said a voice from the line. Calm. Controlled.
The leader froze.
Then turned his helmet toward the speaker.
He didn’t get a chance to speak.
“You saw the girl too. If she doesn’t take a fatal blow, she’ll still bleed out before this is over. I won’t stand by and watch that happen.”
A pause followed. Heavy. Measured.
Then: “Your father won’t like this, Cecilia. And besides, that ‘girl’ is—”
“I don’t care who she is,” Cecilia snapped. “Did you see her gear? She’s barely armored. We’re knights. We don’t leave people to die.”
“But she’s...” He trailed off, then sighed—resigned. “Fine. Do what you want. But don’t expect us to follow.”
With a sharp gesture, he wheeled his horse and rode off. The rest followed, formation reforming without her.
Cecilia stayed behind.
She watched them go. Then shook her head.
Sometimes she wondered how they could call themselves true knights—and still turn away when it mattered.
But it didn’t matter right now.
She turned her horse and rode—back toward the battle, green eyes scanning the chaos ahead from beneath the visor of her helm.
There. She spotted the knight from earlier. The one in orange.
Cecilia’s eyes locked on the wild figure. She calculated a path.
What is she even doing here?
The thought lingered—unanswered. No time.
She moved.
The girl had drifted close to the battle’s edge. Convenient.
She dismounted at the edge of the fray—but didn’t slow.”
Her spear punched through a mercenary’s gut.
She kept moving.
Blades glanced off her armor or were swatted aside. She didn’t weave or duck.
She advanced like a drawn line—clean, unwavering.
Until she reached the pocket of bodies carved open by the orange knight.
Cecilia stepped in—just as the other girl spun around, eyes blazing, fist arcing straight for her head.
Lightning-fast, Cecilia raised her spear to block.
A sharp clang rang out. Sparks scattered.
Not the greeting she expected.
“Calm down,“ she said softly. “I’m not your enemy.”
Wild pink eyes searched the shadowed slit of her helm—stilling when she didn’t turn.
And for a heartbeat—they held.
Then Cecilia turned, thrusting behind her—impaling a mercenary charging in from behind.
“I’ve got your back,” she said, voice steady. “Try not to get yourself killed.”
The other girl barked a laugh and shoved her aside—then uppercut another foe who’d slipped in from a blind spot, dropping him with one blow.
She grinned at Cecilia—feral, bright, blood-splattered.
“Well then,” she breathed. “Try to keep up, knight of Immerheim.”
Cecilia didn’t answer. She just stared—at the girl’s bloodied gauntlets, at the way she smiled like pain meant nothing.
She turned back toward the enemy lines, grip tightening on her spear.
How can someone be so reckless? She should be down already.
But she won’t die today.
Not with me here.
~
If there was one thing Gigi didn’t expect today, it was backup.
Let alone from an Immerheim knight.
She almost clocked her in the face.
Nice reflexes, though.
But still—an Immerheim? Worried about her?
The thought made her bark out a laugh. Raw. Sudden.
The knight turned slightly at the sound—just enough to check she was fine.
Around them, chaos. But somehow, the two of them moved through it.
Gigi barely had time to register it before the next wave hit.
A mercenary came in from her left. She didn’t flinch. Left him for the other knight.
Sure enough, a spear punched through the man’s side with a wet crunch and slid free before his body even hit the dirt.
Gigi grinned—and slammed a gauntlet into another opponent’s throat on her right.
She didn’t know how they were doing this. How they weren’t tripping over each other. How they never missed a beat.
They just... moved. Like it had always been this way.
Maybe it was that fancy Immerheim training—impossible awareness, drilled adaptability.
Because it sure as hell wasn’t her.
Gigi was awful at fighting with others. Always had been.
They’d tried to pair her up before. It didn’t go well.
She had a tendency to get a little… excited in fights. And unlike this one, most didn’t manage to block her strike.
A flash behind her—reflected light.
She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a mercenary’s axe glance off that fancy plate.
The knight didn’t flinch. Drove her spear clean into the attacker’s ribs.
Gigi stared for half a second.
Gods, I want to punch that armor. Just once. Just to see.
She shook it off. Focus.
Time blurred. The battlefield screamed around them—steel clashing, men shouting, the air thick with blood and dirt.
But at the center of it, they held their ground.
Gigi—relentless. Fists fast and brutal.
Cecilia—precise. Every strike clean, efficient.
Together, they found a rhythm.
Circling, weaving, striking—Like a dance neither of them had learned, yet somehow knew.
And somehow—it worked.
~
At last, the mercenaries received the call to retreat. The city had fallen.
Two lone figures stood among the lifeless bodies, breathing hard.
Gigi’s eyes still blazed.
Not yet.
She hadn’t had enough.
She started forward—but the other knight caught her arm.
“There’s no point chasing them. The battle’s over. No need for more bloodshed.”
Gigi turned sharply. For a moment, she nearly swung. But she stopped herself.
The adrenaline drained slowly from her.
Another fight survived.
Still no one had managed to finish her.
And yet... this time felt different.
She grinned, eyes trailing up and down the other knight’s form. “You’re cruel, pretty lady. The chase is the best part.”
“You haven’t even seen my face,” the knight replied flatly, unfastening her helmet.
White hair spilled free—neck-length, a streak of green falling over one side. Green eyes met hers—steady, sharp, unimpressed.
Gigi blinked—then chuckled, softer this time. “Well. At least I wasn’t lying.”
She was a looker, no question.
“A flirt, huh,” the knight muttered, a faint flush rising.
“No one asked you to take that helmet off,” Gigi teased.
Then her expression turned curious. “You’re an interesting one, aren’t you? I always thought you Immerheims were all codes and rigidity.”
She tapped a finger to her lips. “War etiquette, wasn’t it? And you—” she pointed—“broke formation just to help lil’ old me.”
Her gaze narrowed, assessing. “You a newbie? No... you're way too good for that.”
A pause. Then she shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t need the help. But I won’t lie—fighting beside you was... thrilling. So thanks for that.”
She gave an exaggerated bow, still bleeding, still grinning. Like she’d just won a game no one else knew they were playing.
The knight sighed. “I don’t even know where to start with that.” She looked Gigi up and down once. “Well, let’s start here.”
She gestured toward Gigi’s wounds. “Have you ever considered changing your fighting style? At this rate, you’ll bleed out mid-battle.”
“Bah, if only,” Gigi said, almost disappointed. “Nobody seems able to actually finish the job.”
The knight raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure if she was serious.
“Relax.” Gigi waved her off. “I’m better off than usual—thanks to you.”
Another sigh. The knight rummaged in a pouch. “I don’t know why I even bother. But here.”
She tossed a vial. Gigi caught it easily.
“…Is this—?”
“A healing potion,” the knight said flatly. “I don’t want to hear any complaints. Just drink it.”
Gigi squinted at her. “Regular knights don’t carry this. Let alone hand it out freely. Who are you?”
“Ugh. Blame my father. He made me take one before the battle.”
Father? Is she…
Gigi’s grin slowly returned. “...You still haven’t told me your name.”
A beat.
“You're right,” the knight said. “That would be proper etiquette, I suppose.”
She bowed. “Cecilia Immergreen. Knight of Immerheim.”
So she is.
Gigi’s grinned fully now. “You actually are the leader’s daughter? Oh, that’s too good. This makes you breaking ranks even better.”
She burst into laughter. Cecilia scowled.
“You laugh at the person going out of their way to help you?” Cecilia muttered. “What kind of knight are you?”
She turned and whistled for her horse.
“Wait! I’m sorry!” Gigi waved her arms, still laughing. “It’s just—this is too good. You have to understand! Look, I’m drinking it!”
She downed the potion in one gulp.
Fire spread through her veins—sharp, raw, burning. Her muscles tensed. The bleeding slowed. But her skin felt too tight. Her bones too hot.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “I’m gonna feel that for days.”
Not the good kind of pain. Not the earned kind.
This was artificial. Like her body was being stitched back together faster than it could keep up.
Cecilia watched her, expression softening. “Well. At least you won’t bleed out today.”
Another whistle.
Her horse finally trotted into view.
She was still looking at Gigi—thoughtful now.
“You know, I never—”
Gigi’s eyes lit up. “Even a comm crystal? You’re so spoiled.” She gestured to the blinking. “Come on—take it. I’m sure there’s a worried dad back at camp.”
Cecilia flushed. “Shut up. I was about to answer it.”
She took the gem from her belt and pressed. “Yes, it’s Cecilia… no, I’m fine… yes, I dismounted—” She glanced at Gigi’s widening grin and looked away again. “I’ll be back shortly.”
She nodded at her horse.
“Need a ride?”
“Oh, no worries—I like running.”
“...Suit yourself.” She mounted. “Farewell, then. And stop blocking these strikes with your body, alright?”
She rode off—fast, without waiting for a reply.
Gigi stood still. Smirk fading slowly.
“Farewell, Cecilia…”
Her gaze dropped to the empty vial.
Proper etiquette, my ass. She didn’t even ask for my name.
Gigi pocketed the glass with a sigh.
She wanted to say something, didn’t she…?
Welp. No helping it now.
She turned toward the shattered gates, where the Queen’s banner now flew.
Too late to chase the mercenaries now. And with the potion still raging through her system, she didn’t especially feel like it anyway.
Her skin still itched. Her wounds still ached, like they’d been welded shut with fire.
That’s why people only take those when dying, she thought bitterly.
With a sigh, she started toward the gates.
Maybe the Queen’s still cleaning up.
Let’s see if I can find her.
***
“I must say, I’m quite disappointed you would underestimate me like this, Vairmond.”
Kronii addressed the same old noble who, just hours ago, had stood here smug—watching his mercenaries ride in, full of confidence.
Now he was on the floor. Pinned beneath an armored knight, breath ragged, eyes wide.
The Queen sat behind his desk. Calm. Composed.
“I was born and raised in war,” she said evenly. “Just because I don’t continue my father’s conquests doesn’t mean he didn’t teach me well.”
She rose slowly.
“He waged war to ensure survival. I’ve cleansed the lingering rot—so those who follow can inherit peace.”
Her gaze found his—cold, sharp as drawn steel.
“Not that you’ll live to see it.”
Her blade slipped free with a soft, whispering rasp.
Vairmond’s panic surged. He writhed under the knight’s grip, eyes darting.
“How could you betray me for her?!” he spat. “Did you forget what her father did?!”
The knight above him—once his most trusted man—didn’t answer.
Kronii’s voice was ice. “One cannot betray what they were never loyal to.”
Her sword came down in a clean arc.
And with that, the line of Vairmond ended.
Silence settled—thick and deliberate.
Kronii let it linger.
Then she turned to the knight still holding the corpse.
“Bury him with the others.”
The knight bowed wordlessly and dragged the body out, armor scraping softly against stone.
Alone again, Kronii stepped back behind the desk.
She lowered herself into the chair slowly.
Two fingers pressed to her temple, a long, tired breath slipping through her lips.