The hot forests were an absolute pain to trek through. Elise thanked nature and fate. At least it was a forest, and not a jungle. In front of her, Charles hacked through the trees that intruded on their path. His greatsword slashed through branches, causing a shower of leaves each time he swung. With a kick, he shoved felled trees in his way to the side. The duke was the spearhead of the whole expedition, no doubts about that.

“You doing alright, dear?” Marianne asked.

“Yes dear. I’m fine, conserve your mana. We’ll need magic support when we fight the dragon.”

Marianne chuckled. She stretched her arms, and cracked her knuckles. Surprisingly, her endurance was on par with the soldiers and even the Rayleighs.

“Elise? How about you?”

“Hm, alright. I’m ready to swap in if dad’s tired.”

She walked along the dirt road. Paved by those who travelled before, Elise thanked them in her heart. Although, it was only large enough for average sized wagons and carriages to travel. One on each side, heading in opposite directions. It served somewhat well for the expedition’s purposes. A dirt path was better than nothing.

“I wonder if Estelle is lonely,” she mumbled to herself.

Her sister, Estelle Rayleigh, stayed back in the mansion. Someone needed to stay there. Under most circumstances, it was their father. Whilst the sisters were studying in the academy, and their older brother was abroad, and the little brother was too young. But this time, the imperial family had requested their family to subdue the dragon. Someone had to stay, and it just so happened to be Estelle. In truth, she was probably the one most suited for running the place. A scholar at heart, she could deal with paperwork easier than Charles could ever wish to.

“I’m sure she’s fine. Your sister is strong, after all,” Marianne said.

Even so, Elise couldn’t help but worry about her older sister. And undoubtedly, Estelle should be worried about them as well. Elise sighed, and continued her trek. When fighting a dragon, such a mindset couldn’t be infecting her. The dragon wouldn’t care about how much its opponents cared about her family or friends. Just focus on what was in front of her. And currently, that was the vast forest.

After several more hours of marching, the expedition force stopped for a break. Warriors rested beneath the shade of the trees. Some went to a nearby river to bath and freshen up. But everyone ate their rations. Marching took energy. Energy meant food. They shared their mealtime together, though some keen warriors went back to the river and hunted for fishes, after the bathing was concluded of course.

Oil dripped down her chin as she bit into her meal. It wasn’t particularly sweet, or spicy, or sour. More specifically, it was plain, and salty. Especially salty, for some reason. She washed it down with plain water. The others could have the alcohol, or the foreign flavoured water.

“Pahh, this is good,” Charles said.

He wiped his chin of the purple droplets. The empty mug was stained with that strange, foreign liquid. It smelt of grapes, and looked like grapes. So even her father fell victim to it. What a shame.

“This ‘Amelia’ guild seems highly profitable. Want to finance them?” Marianne asked in between gulps of her own.

Despite the rising popularity of that drink, Elise refrained from consuming it under any circumstances. It was the talk of town. Even the servants began talking about the new fad. Apparently, a girl was making waves with her inventions. First it was a new type of pen, and now a drink? In the first place, she should have chosen an industry to specialise in. Unless she was blessed by the god of trade and merchants, she had no chance to make it big. A master in one thing, on a level playing field, was better off than someone who was only good in more. Elise understood that. She would take her mastery of aura and swordsmanship to the next level.

“You want some, Elise?” Marianne asked.

“No need.”

They scoop it out from barrels. What a waste of space. An entire wagon, used to transport alcohol and Amelia’s drink. It could have been used for transporting spare sets of equipment, but no. Elise looked at the open barrels and shook her head. It was not for her.

Their meal time passed quickly. A sleeping dragon meant a tight schedule. And a tight schedule meant that only about an hour was allocated for a break. The soldiers wolfed down the remaining bits of food left in that wrapping, and piled all the waste into one large central area. In an opening within the forest that a soldier found, there was a trash heap. Brown paper used to wrap food portions still had traces of oil, but so be it. All of it would end up as ash. The great trash pile ended up nearly about as high as her, though it was far less dense.

“Move aside please,” Marianne said.

Soldiers parted and watched from the side. They stayed a good few metres away from her and the trash pile. Meanwhile, Elise’s mother extended her out, nearly touching the heap. And without even an incantation, a flame burst forth from her outstretched palm. The waste had the right combination. Paper was flammable. And the way it was put together ensured air circulation. What Marianne provided was simply the ignition. Though, given that it was summer, a forest fire could have just sprung up out of nowhere as well. Regardless, the waste was reduced to ashes within minutes.

Elise had obviously heard stories about her mother’s skills. A mage of great capabilities, though she didn’t care enough to pursue the study of magic. It was only when she witnessed a fireball, even without an incantation then did she realise it. If this was Marianne’s abilities, without further training, how powerful could she have been had she just gone further? It all made sense, but maybe it just hadn’t registered that someone that powerful was her mother. Afterall, Charles never seemed too much like a man that would take on someone inferior to him in most ways as a wife. And besides, they were adventurers themselves and journeyed the world. Of course there had to be quite a high skill floor. If this were the type of people that were going to fight the dragon, then they should have no trouble at all.

***

Pain. He didn’t want to think about it. But pain, as most things in his life, was inevitable. How cruel was fate? Was this what Bahamut had planned for him?

“Wake up, my rose.”

Creepiness dripped from his voice. It was someone insane on the other end. For how long has he been trapped? The only people he could ever talk to were the boy called Three, and his captor. Of course, the sole exception was the princess. She kept in contact with him, through the ‘Messenger of the Mystics’ and kept talking to him telepathically. That was the sole solace he had. She reassured him that help was on the way, and he tried his best to give information.

“I said wake up.”

Francis hid his face and face. He curled up in a ball, careful to not touch the wounds. If anything was a consolation, at least he still had his limbs intact.

“Don’t try to fool me.”

The old, wrinkly hands wrapped around his wrist. Rafelgo grabbed him and pulled him up. At least he wasn’t in the uncomfortable position of being chained to the ceiling all the time.

“Fuck you,” Francis spat.

“You’re still defiant as ever.”

“Yeah, you can’t do shit to me. If you do anything, you won’t get any profit. And this will turn out to be a failure.”

“Hm. And how do you know that?”

“Because you’re old, and your brain is riddled with holes. What, has time been rough on you? Those weak, fragile bones that could break if you trip and fall.”

“And you’re reduced to insulting me.”

“Yeah, because when I see your ugly face that’s all I can think about. Were you cursed by the gods to remain a virgin or something? Or did you get your ugliness from your parents? I pity your family. To have a failure like you to share their blood.”

“I am not a failure. If anything, you will be.”

“Oh look at me! Am I a failure for getting captured? Or are you the one who failed in life? Having to resort to kidnapping vulnerable people to experiment on?”

“I’ve had enough.”

“And your shrivelled balls aren’t worth anything. Have you even interacted with another person without being creepy? Do the guys and girls you approach call for the guards as soon as they see you?”

“I’ve tolerated worse from my teacher.”

“Yeah? And if your teacher was here, they would have succeeded days ago. You, are a failure of the largest kind. Have you thought about changing your name?”

“Oh?”

“To Rafelgo the Failure. You will be remembered in history as a friendless virgin, who went bald at the age of 10. Your teacher abandoned you, your parents hated you and tried to kill you by leaving you in the stables, only for a horse to take a big, fat shit on your face. But too bad that didn’t fertilise your head, and you still ended up bald.”

His cheek stung. Again, and again. It seemed that when pressed, Rafelgo the Failure resorted to physical violence. How many? Francis lost track. It was always like this. His resistance, and insults. What else could he do? There were no windows to break through and jump out of. The door was always locked, and the walls were made of cold cut stone. There was no way to escape, as far as he could see. He had been trying of course. Francis didn’t just sit around.

“Is that all?”

The mad mage shackled his captive to a chair. Old, and rickety, just like the captor himself. Whilst he had his hands on those slender wrists, Francis took the opportunity to spit on Rafelgo’s feet.

“I look forward to the day you lose your will to fight. A broken one like you will be most interesting to see.”

With a click, the handcuffs were locked in place. Rafelgo didn’t laugh. That was a first for him. And that meant that either he was close to giving up, or succeeding. Francis’ ankles were bound to the legs of the chair, and his wrists were done in a similar fashion. It reminded him somewhat of an interrogation scene in a movie he watched long ago. As long as the waterboarding didn’t commence, then at least it wasn’t a carbon copy.

The same table was wheeled in. Three pushed it into the room, with metal that shook as he moved. Francis did not like the sound of that. The boy looked down, his eyes speaking to the ground. Rafelgo picked up a tool. It shone like silver, reflecting what little light there was in the room. The candles with no fuel only gave off so much light.

“Well what’s on the menu for today? More trash?”

“I would start being more polite, if I were you. Or you might end up losing your fingernails.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m being serious, Rayleigh.”

Rafelgo ran his finger along the edge of the silvery knife. Large beads of red formed, as his skin tore. It was only a small wound, though.

“Oh wow, so scary.”

“I see. So you don’t plan on cooperating.”

“Never.”

“You’ll regret that. Last resort would be taking your fingers.”

“Yeah right.”

Rafelgo ignored his words. That sharp blade glided along Francis’ arm. Instantly, he felt the pain arise. He yelled out in pain, and thrashed as much as the cuffs would allow.

“Fuck you!”

“You caused this, Rayleigh. And that pitiful knight of yours as well. Rafelgo the Failure? Shouldn’t you direct that to your guard?”

“You don’t have the right to talk about her that way!”

“And what right do you have to insult me?”

“I’ll kill you, and more.”

“Good luck with that, Rayleigh.”

Francis clenched his fists. His red blood flowed out and Rafelgo stepped back. Behind him, by the table, Three trembled.

“D-don’t do it, m-master.”

Finally, Rafelgo let a laugh slip out. His chuckling echoed throughout the walled room. He adjusted the knife within his hands, and made a long cut on Francis’ face. He squirmed, but tried his best to stay still. If he struggled, there was no telling where that might end up. His eye might end up having a hole in it, for one.

“What’re you doing!”

“Stop moving. Your blood can be a precious catalyst sure, but what I’m interested in are your mana circuits.”

“And why’s that?”

“It's more similar to a dragon than a human’s. You might be able to use magic that humans can’t.”

“So? You want to use the dragon’s magic?”

“Not use it, exactly. I want to document and know everything about it, and to grab it by its neck and control it.”

The mage rubbed his chin. It was then that something shifted. Francis wasn’t quite sure what, but something changed. There was a gust of wind.

A gust of wind? When surrounded by walls? That was impossible. Something must have gone wrong. But did Rafelgo the Failure not sense it?

“Failure! Do you not feel that?”

“Hm. Don’t try any of your tricks, Rayleigh.”

“I’m being serious!”

“As am I.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” a person clicked their tongue, “You should have listened to him, old man.”

“Yeah! You should have listened to me.”

“And who might you be?”

Rafelgo whipped around to meet the new voice. Obscured within the shadows of the hallway, even Francis couldn’t catch a glimpse of her. Though, Rafelgo stayed still even after making eye contact with the visitor.

“I have reason to believe that a servant told yours that he is mine.”

“Three, who is this?”

“Ma-master... I-I don’t know.”

“Aww. You hurt his face. My mistress won’t be happy about that.”

She left the safety of the shadows. Short, silvery hair. In a black robe, she hid her body. Had it not been for her voice, Francis could’ve mistaken her for a young man.

The woman took out a tissue, and patted the blood away. She clicked her tongue and turned back to Rafelgo. She was short, so she had to tilt her head up to glare at the mage’s face.

“I’m taking him.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Do you really think you can oppose my mistress right now?”

“Tsk. I can’t allow that to happen.”

“Yes, you can. And my mistress has given me permission to use force, if needed.”

“I am as strong as her. You can’t beat me.”

It ended surprisingly quickly. Despite what Rafelgo said, he was beaten. Although, from what Francis saw, it really wasn’t a fair fight. Before the mage could react, the woman just stabbed him in the stomach. Combined with that, she took Francis away, escaping through the door.

It was the first, real daylight that he saw in a while. It was either early morning, or late evening, judging from the luminosity he saw. His eyes hurt, and he squinted to keep them open. She grabbed him by his hands, after smashing the chair apart. How strong was she? But, strangely, she left the cuffs intact, and destroyed the weak, old wood with ease.

Parked outside the window was a carriage of sorts. With no horses leading it, nor anyone in control, really. She shoved him inside, and shut the door after entering it herself. And it started accelerating. Everything seemed off. There were no horses. And how was it floating in the sky? Actually, was it going higher? Either way, Francis didn’t think to question it. The torture was over.

“Haa. You alright?” she asked, as she adjusted her position in her seat.

“Who are you?”

“Straight to the point. My mistress likes that. You are Francis Rayleigh, right? Everything else in between your main name, and surname is irrelevant.”

“Yes, I am. And you?”

“I do not have a name. My mistress calls me Grey.”

“Alright Grey. Now uh, could you release me from my handcuffs please?”

“That will have to wait until we return to the mansion.”

“Um, okay? Thanks for saving me.”

“‘Saving you’ might not be the most correct way of phrasing it, mister.”

“So you’re kidnapping me?”

“Essentially, yes. You will be treated as nobility, however. Please, do not worry about being mistreated. My mistress will ensure that.”

“Right, right. If I had a gold coin for every single time I was kidnapped, I would have two, you know.”

“Is that so.”

She turned her head. Looking out, Francis observed her side profile. It seemed she wasn’t keen on making conversation. He sighed, and leaned against the seat. What else could he do? Jump out? What was he? A superhuman? A fall from this height was impossible to survive. Not to mention, those cuffs around his wrists and ankles. There was nothing else he could do. All he had was the assurance that he would be treated well.