One Blue, One Orange

The barracks room's tall window let in gentle morning light. Maren sat up in the heap of plush blankets Zebril had given her and yawned, her hair messy and all.

The room was quiet. The green book from Demidicus’s library lay closed on the desk, Anna’s notebook resting neatly beside it. Maren looked over at the bed.

Anna was already in the bed beside her, fast asleep.

“Mnnaa!! Anna so cute!” Maren moves over to cuddle Anna.

Meanwhile, the upper levels of the Royal Mines were deathly quiet.

Olomyar and Baltram stood in a side cavern, their faces a mask of grim anticipation. This was supposed to be their victory.

But, “What is this?” It was a slaughterhouse.

The underground floor was littered with the dozen elite knights they had personally selected for the ambush. Their armor was unharmed, but each was dead with a single, clean piercing wound straight through the heart. Not even the time to draw their swords had passed.

“Unresponsive,” Baltram growled, kicking one of the corpses in disgust. “What happened here?”

Olomyar remained silent. His expression was one of anger and disbelief as he looked at the wall. An advanced, Tier 7 spatial hex, a Mage trap that would confine anyone entering the cavern in an endless, looping pocket realm and cause a localized reality collapse, something he had personally spent hours crafting is purified...

“What…”

The intricate, dark purple runes he had inscribed on the wall were still there. But they were no longer glowing with malevolent energy. Instead, they pulsed with a soft, gentle, golden light.

“This… this is impossible,” Olomyar hissed, his voice trembling with fury. “The complexity of this counter-spell… the purity of the holy energy required… No one in the barracks has this level of skill.”

Baltram's frustration boiled over. “So the vampire has a powerful friend! We should have just killed her in the barracks when we had the chance! Now she knows we're after her!”

“Do not be a fool, Baltram!” Olomyar snarled, whirling on his subordinate. “Anna couldn't unravel a simple knot spell, let alone this.” His eyes narrowed, his paranoid mind connecting the dots.

The holy light at the barracks, the rumors of a “Saint.” It was all connected.

“This is the work of a true holy magic user,” he declared, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “A real Saint may be protecting her. And they just turned my perfect trap into a joke.”

“A real Saint,” Olomyar whispered, more to himself than to his subordinate. “Working with a vampire. It makes no sense.”

“A purr, low and amused, echoed from the shadows of a nearby tunnel. “You two look like you’re having a very bad day.”

Both knights spun around, their hands racing to their swords. Out of the darkness, a silhouette appeared. Behind her, a tall, athletic catgirl swished idly with her brilliant orange tail. Her eyes glittered with a predatory joy, one blue, one orange.

Baltram and Olomyar froze. The overwhelming, oppressive weight of her mana, not her looks, was what immobilized them. Their own Tier 7 powers felt like a kid's joke because of their vast, deep, and potent presence.

 "Who are you?! Did you do this?!" Baltram snapped.

The girl just smiled, "Me? Of course not... My work is more... tidy." 

Olomyar looked at Baltram and nodded, putting their weapon down.

Despite his haughtiness, Olomyar was a practical person. In front of him, he saw the answer to his vampire dilemma. His voice was a tight, controlled rasp as he suppressed his dread. "Can you help us?"

The catgirl’s smile widened. “For what, exactly?”

“Kill the vampire,” Olomyar stated, his voice cold. “The one they call Anna.”

“Ah, the new girl,” the assassin mused, “She’s become quite the popular topic of conversation, hasn’t she?” She looked them up and down, her gaze lingering on their fine, noble-crested armor.

“My rates for dealing with… high-profile political targets… are considerable. It requires discretion. Finesse.”

“Name your price,” Baltram snarled, impatient.

“My price,” the catgirl said, her smile turning sharp and business-like, “is the entire, untaxed profit from your next Ahlfderite shipment to Trievon.”

Olomyar and Baltram stared, their faces paling. She didn't just know they were corrupt; she knew the name of their foreign partners and the exact nature of their smuggling operation. This wasn't just a hired killer. This was a player who already knew the entire game.

“How did you—?” Olomyar began.

“I’m an assassin, Sir Vice-Captain. Information is the most valuable part of my business,” she purred. “So, do we have a deal? You get your vampire problem solved, and I get a modest finder’s fee for the information I won’t be selling to the Queen about your little side business.”

Trapped, outmaneuvered, and utterly desperate, Olomyar had no choice. He gave a single, sharp nod.

“Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.”