Chapter 36

Myrell

“I clung to her words like a drowning man to the plank of wood – ‘Save the world’, she said ‘Save the world’. Did I save it, Ley? Or did I destroy it?”

My Dawn, Vol. XX

Myrell stood nervously in front of a tall, imposing stone-built building cast out of white marble in its entirety, built into four floors in total, simple in design yet still majestic-seeming. There weren't a lot of people going in and out of the building despite the fact that it was situated on the side of the fort's main street, one so wide four carriages could be stacked side-by-side. In her view, hundreds of people spread like fireflies, ushered into their own lives, living them at their own pace.

She swallowed a mouthful of saliva, yet the lump in her throat wouldn't go away. Her Master was not with her – not anymore. It was up to her, up to her to walk into that place and to right the wrongs. She lacked confidence and faith in herself, yet, for some reason, her Master didn't seem to feel the same; he trusted her, and believed in her. She feared to betray that faith, yet feared more not living up to it.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced at Sash behind her who smiled encouragingly, prompting her forward. Up the stairs she went, ones surrounded by two rectangular gardens of stray weeds, and up to the entrance unguarded. The doors were already flung open, plaque hanging above the entrance, reading ‘Administrative Office’. A few people left the building, paying the two of them a curious glance, their expressions distorting once they found Sash. That’s right, she thought miserly, he has it much worse than me…

She entered the building, greeted by a spacious hall of simple decorations. The floor was made of stone, rugged but clean, the reception desk just a few steps away. A stairwell sprung to the right, leading to the upper floors, while the left side was filled with doors leading to small rooms. She approached the reception desk courageously, or at least as courageously as she could muster, squarely meeting the eyes of the attendant – a rather old and disinterested-seeming man who was currently fiddling with a quill, not noticing her.

She coughed gently, bringing the attention to herself; the attendant’s eyes veered up and beyond her, noticing Sash and immediately frowning.

“… what?” he asked in a harsh tone.

“I am here to file a complaint, representing my Master’s Name.” she said simply, handing him over the stamped file that was associated with their goods. The attendant looked over it lazily – or, rather, glanced over it – before flinging it down at the desk.

“Ah, is that so? Have you paid your fees?”

“We have.”

"Do you have proof?"

“You just threw it down.” Myrell took to the first teaching, rising her voice faintly and making it hollow, looking down at the attendant.

“…” the man frowned, though picked up the parchment and went over it once again.

“What is the issue?” he asked.

“My Master’s goods were unfairly confiscated,” she said. “I am here, by his Name, to retrieve them as is decreed by the law.”

“… ah, whatever, go up the stairs,” he said, shrugging and returning her the parchment, in addition to another one – a much smaller one. “Second floor, first doors to your right. There is a number ‘88’ carved out.”

“… thank you.” Myrell nodded faintly, turning around and heading up the stairs. Sash followed right behind in silence, ignoring the piercing gazes from behind, keeping his head up high. He can’t falter, not when Myrell was enduring.

The climb was quick and the two wound up on the second floor; it was rather simple, shaped like the letter 'U', with the hollow part designated for the stairwell that led further up. The two disembarked and looked for the doors with '88' carving, finding them quickly. There was nothing else strange about them, built out of a hardwood. Taking a deep breath, she knocked three times as was the custom, and waited patiently.

“… come in.” an aggravated voice came from the inside, harsh in its tone. Myrell glanced at Sash helplessly for a moment before entering.

The room was small and felt stuffy, with the solitary window having been closed. Two desks were visible, one on each side; to her right, where the man’s voice seemed to come from, was a messy one, with papers and parchments and tomes strewn about, inked stains visible across its surface. Behind it sat a forty-something seeming man dressed in flamboyant clothes of gold and red, his hair artificially dyed in outrageous green. It was a rather comical sight, though Myrell didn’t dare laugh.

“… what?!” the man suddenly exclaimed as he looked at the two. “Y-you dare bright the filthy Yosshir here?!! Do you want to be executed, woman?!” Myrell, having already expected this, ignored the man’s outburst and walked in, Sash in tow, before closing the door. She glanced at the man, the desk, and the chair she was supposed to sit on, ignoring it all and simply taking out the parchment.

“I am here, by my Master’s name, to retrieve his unfairly confiscated goods,” she said in a distant tone.

“… huh? Did you hear me? Are you deaf? Get that monkey out of here this instant, or rather than retrieving his goods, your master will be retrieving your corpses instead!”

“…” Myrell’s and Sash's gaze turned terribly cold at that moment as the latter reached for the handle of the sword, with the former reaching out and seemingly halting them. The man flinched in his chair, shaking momentarily. "I am here, by my Master’s name, to retrieve his unfairly confiscated goods,” she repeated, this time around in a much colder tone. “If you would kindly read my Master’s complaint…”

“—d-did, did he just try to take a swing at me?! The filthy monkey?! G-guards! Guards!”

“Yarl!” a feminine voice seemed to curb his desperate attempts, causing Myrell and Sash to glance back, at the much cleaner side of the room, where a woman in her early thirties was sitting, calmly sipping her tea, looking at the two of them with a faint interest in her eyes. She couldn’t be classified as a beauty, per se, but, Myrell noted, there was something peculiar and drawing about her appearance. Long, shimmering black hair and a pair of black eyes formed a striking combination. “Excuse my colleague’s improper behavior,” she smiled faintly at the two. “Please, hand me the file. I’ll process your complaint.”

“… much obliged.” Myrell replied the smile, handing the parchment over. The woman looked over it for a few minutes before putting it down.

“… retrieval of goods is possible,” she said, frowning slightly. “But I’m afraid the second part will be a bit more difficult…”

“I am afraid my Master was rather insistent…” Myrell maintained her smile as the woman met her gaze, both unflinching.

“You are asking us to open an investigation into the Brightguards based on the words of two slaves,” the woman said, her tone growing colder. “Please, consider your position.”

“… my Master,” Myrell chuckled strangely for a moment, surprising even Sash who barely kept his shock hidden. She reached stealthily into her breastpocket and flashed something briefly, part only the woman could see; the cold face turned into a horrified one in the blink of an eye. “Cares very much for his goods, living or otherwise,” she added, smiling still. “I am afraid I will have to insist, in his Name, of course.”

“How dare you?! You filthy slaves! I’ll have you both—”

“YARL!!!” the woman growled suddenly, chilling the atmosphere, the piercing gaze of her black eyes freezing the man behind them. “Get out. Now.”

“W-what—”

“I said get out,” she repeated coldly. “Report to the Chancellor I’ll be opening up an investigation.

“…”

“… have I misspoken?!”

“N-no… r-right away…” the man scurried like a rabbit in front of the predator, quickly leaving the room. Sash remained confused, though said nothing as it was not his job; his job was simply to look menacing, and nothing else.

“… if I may so boldly ask,” the woman’s countenance changed immediately into one of respect and even fear. “Who is your Master?”

“…” Myrell simply smiled wider, turning around, signaling Sash with her eyes. “I am sure my Master will be pleased with today’s results. As far as the goods go, there is no need to go the extra mile; the current stock is sufficient. We will, naturally, pay the transportation fee. Our location can be found on the file. It was a pleasure.” The two left as calmly as they entered, leaving the woman stupefied and silent for a long while. Though it was brief, that seal… it was, without a doubt, the Royal Seal. It cannot be forged by anyone as it is made of Royal Light.

However, as far as Eleny knew, there was no scheduled visit by any of the Royal Members. So… how? How do the two slaves, one of them Yosshir no less, have a Royal Seal? And, more importantly, who is their Master? Eleny shuddered, intending fully to find who caused the scene at the Wall. If they angered a Royalblood, a hundred necks wouldn’t be enough to repay their mistake…

Myrell and Sash left without speaking a word to anyone else, calmly, deliberately, and slowly. Right after leaving the building, they headed back toward the inn. Myrell, however, dipped into a small alleyway just across from the building, her legs giving way as she collapsed, breathing heavily. Sash stood in front of her, shielding her from any potential curious eyes.

“… aaaaaah,” she exhaled, still shaking. “T-that… that was terrifying… terrifying…”

“… you did well.” He said.

“… how can Master always keep his composure like that?” she shuddered. “I felt like my heart was going to explode…”

“What did you do to make her flip like that, though?” he asked.

“… I flashed the Royal Seal,” Myrell replied, feeling somewhat proud of what she managed to pull off. In the original plan, she was supposed to hand it over if things truly escalated, but her intuition told her that the woman was someone who was quick on the uptake, and that simply flashing it for a moment would be enough. Thankfully, she was right. "Do you think the Master will be angry?"

“I don’t see why,” Sash chuckled. “He gave it to you with the intent of you using it.”

“… I wonder where is he now…”

“No point in wondering,” Sash shrugged. “Recover quickly, and let’s go back to the inn. We’ll wait for him there.”

“… yeah.”