A Princess in Danger

Our escape from Nazareth was a chaotic, undignified scramble. One minute, I was the intimidating hero holding a cathedral hostage; the next, I was just another hooded figure hustling through a filthy alleyway, trying to appreciate the frantic, bouncing scenery of the fleeing populace. A crisis is terrible for the local economy, but it can be great for people-watching.

My new "unit," however, was killing the mood. Eliza was already analyzing the strategic blunder of Alistair’s escape. Justus was grim and silent, the weight of his public betrayal settling upon him. Edgar just looked like he was about to throw up. Amateurs. They didn't even know how to appreciate a good view.

“There’s a safe house an hour from here,” Marie whispered, her voice tense. “An old coaching inn loyal to my family. We can rest there and plan our next move.”

An hour later, we arrived at “The Weary Traveler,” an inn so discreet it seemed to be actively hiding from the road. It was quiet, clean, and, most importantly, it had a hot spring. Hope, for the first time in hours, began to stir within me.

We gathered in a private room. As the innkeeper’s daughter served us stew, I gave her my most practiced, charmingly lewd smile. “My dear, a terrible crisis has befallen our kingdom. The only thing that could possibly soothe my heroic soul is to know if your establishment’s hot springs are… co-ed. For… national security purposes, of course.”

She giggled and blushed, while Justus let out a long, suffering groan behind me. Eliza simply made a note on her slate, probably under the heading "Confirming All Stereotypes."

“Okina Sukebe, must you?” Justus muttered.

“What?” I said, feigning innocence. “I’m known as the Pervert Hero. It’s my brand. Might as well live up to it.”

Just as I was about to ask the girl for a detailed report on the bathhouse’s security, the attack came. It wasn’t an explosion. It was a faint, sweet-smelling mist seeping into the room from under the door. Paralysis poison. My max-level magic resistance fought it off, but my body still felt like it was encased in lead.

The others weren’t so lucky. Edgar slumped forward into his stew with a wet plop. Justus and Eliza froze like statues. Marie, her eyes flashing with fury, managed to draw a small, silver dagger before she too was immobilized.

The door creaked open. Three figures in dark, featureless armor stepped inside. Their target was obvious. They ignored the rest of us, their movements cold and professional. Two of them flanked Marie’s frozen form, while the leader placed a small, rolled-up piece of parchment on the table.

“The Grand Cleric requires the Princess,” the leader said, his voice a distorted, magical whisper. “She is the key to his next gambit. Tell your hero she will be treated with the respect her station deserves, so long as he complies.”

They lifted Marie, as easily as if she were a mannequin, and carried her out. A moment later, a faint shimmer of teleportation magic, and they were gone.

I was alone, my muscles screaming as I fought against the remnants of the spell. Anger, a feeling I hadn’t truly felt since my last bonus was smaller than expected, began to bubble up. It was a cold, quiet, and intensely personal rage.

They took her.

The thought was a simple, hard fact. They took the one person in this whole stupid world who knew my real name. The one who understood the game. The one who was a manipulative, terrifying, pain-in-the-ass troll… and far and away the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The one person who made this whole miserable, plot-driven nightmare almost interesting.

How dare they? She's my royal pain in the ass to entertain and flirt with. They don't get to just take her.

The spell finally broke. I shot to my feet, my chair clattering to the floor. The others began to stir, groaning.

“What… what happened?” Edgar mumbled, wiping stew from his face.

“The Princess! She’s gone!” Justus roared.

But I was already looking at the small scroll on the table. I unrolled the parchment. The message was written in Alistair’s elegant, spidery script.

If you wish to see the Princess again, bring your heretical power to the forsaken fortress of Benimaru’s Peak by the next full moon. Come alone. Any deviation, and she will be considered a martyr for our holy cause.

A classic villain trap. An invitation to my own execution.

“What does it say, Okina?” Justus asked, his voice tight with urgency.

“It’s an invitation,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. The lazy, lecherous fool was gone. In his place was something else. Something cold.

I crumpled the note in my fist. My aura, which I usually kept suppressed, flared for a single, violent moment, a wave of pure, cold fury that made the half-conscious Edgar flinch.

A trap. Of course, it's a trap. They think they've captured a key political figure to manipulate me. Idiots. They've just stolen my favorite person in this world. And now, I'm going to go over there and break all of theirs.